| T. Allom. | J. Jenkins. |
THE MEDÂK, OR EASTERN STORY-TELLER.
CONSTANTINOPLE.
The Turks have no theatres where various persons habited in appropriate costume represent the manners, usages, and feelings of real life, among artificial scenery, which imitates objects of nature and art; they have no resemblance of woods, or gardens, or streets, or houses, where men and women, supporting various characters, meet as in the daily intercourse of society, and every thing combines to create the delusions of dramatic representation. All these things are considered as coming under the prohibition of making the likeness of anything; and proscribed, with the art of painting, as idolatrous representations. They have, however, occasionally something approaching to our plays; where more than one character appears in a naked room, or in the open air, in front of a kiosk, while the spectators look from the windows, or form a circle round the performers. On these occasions some very gross indecencies take place, and the gravity and sense of decorum of a Turk is laid aside. They permit, and seem to enjoy, in these representations, a violation of morals and propriety, which, in real life, they would punish with the greatest severity. The sultans themselves are often present at such exhibitions, and set the example of encouraging them.
Such things, however, are rare, only of extraordinary occurrence, and on memorable occasions; but the Medâk, or Story-teller, is a source of every-day enjoyment. This is a very important personage, and an essential part of Turkish amusement. He enacts by himself, in a monologue, various characters, and with a spirit and fidelity quite astonishing, considering the inflexible and taciturn disposition of the people. The admirable manner in which one unassisted individual supports the representations of various persons, the versatility with which he adopts their countenance, attitude, and phraseology, are so excellent, that Frank residents, who have been accustomed to the perfection of the scenic art in their own country, are highly delighted with this Turkish drollery, and they are constant spectators, not only for amusement, but to perfect themselves in the language by hearing it under its various inflections, and thus acquire a knowledge which a common master could never impart; they also go to see different traits of manners, and of real life faithfully represented, which a long residence in the country would hardly allow them an opportunity of witnessing. The Medâk, therefore, is a public character, of importance to strangers as well as others.
The subjects he selects for representation are Oriental stories, some actually taken from, and all greatly resembling the tales of the Arabian Nights, in which the incidents and persons seem to have the same origin. Sometimes the corruption of a cadi, and his manner of administering justice, are detailed with considerable humour and sarcastic severity. Sometimes a Turkish proverb is illustrated, and forms, as it were, the text of his details; and the effects of various vices and virtues are exhibited, so as to form an excellent moral lesson. Among the proverbs illustrated and dramatized, the following are the most usual. “In a cart drawn by a buffalo, you may catch a hare.” “It is not by saying ‘honey, honey,’ it will come to your mouth.” “A man cannot carry two melons under one arm.” “Though your enemy be no bigger than an ant, suppose him as large as an elephant.” “More flies are caught by a drop of honey, than by a hogshead of vinegar.” “He who rides only a borrowed horse, does not do so often.” “Do not trust to the whiteness of a turban.” “Though the tongue has no bones in it, it breaks many.” In these and similar ones, the effects of industry, perseverance, idleness, caution, cunning, and such other moral qualities, are illustrated in a manner equally striking and amusing. In these representations, he passes from grave to gay with a singular and happy facility, seemingly unattainable by the dullness and limited capabilities of a Turk. The volatile Greek at his strokes of pathos or humour sheds tears, or bursts out into uncontrollable laughter−the grave Armenian, incapable of higher excitement, looks sad, or smiles−while the phlegmatic Turk, though profoundly attentive to the various passions so admirably depicted by his countryman, scarcely alters a feature of his face.
The place where the Medâk exhibits is usually a coffee-house. He generally has a small table, placed before him, which he either stands behind or sits on. His cuffs are turned up, and he holds generally a small stick in his hand. If he illustrates a proverb, he gives it out as a text, and then commences his story. He introduces individuals of all sects and nations, and imitates with admirable precision the language of each. But he is particularly fond of introducing the Jews, whose imperfect pronunciation of every language which they attempt to utter, presents him with a happy subject of caricature. Thus he imitates the multifarious tones of all the varieties of people in the Turkish empire, with a happy selection of all their characteristic expressions.
Our illustration presents the most distinguished story-teller of the capital, who may be considered the Matthews of Constantinople. He is called Kiz-Achmet, or “Achmet the Girl,” as we have noticed before. He keeps a coffee-house himself, and adds to his profits by entertaining his company; but at festivals he is invited to others, and paid liberally for his exhibition. There stood opposite the gate of the British palace, before the district was consumed by fire, one of the most celebrated and frequented coffee-houses in Pera. During the Bairam he continued telling stories here without intermission, and with unabated skill, till after midnight, to an unwearied audience, sitting on joint-stools in the street before the coffee-house. His auditors indulge as usual in coffee and tobacco, during his recitations, but sometimes his details are so interesting, that even this luxury is suspended while they listen with profound attention. It is only when he pauses, and descends with a coffee-cup to collect paras, that the click of flints is heard, chiboques are lighted, and refreshments served, when he remounts, and pursues his tale to his impatient hearers.