As mercy does.[[28]]
[28]. Shakespeare: “Measure for Measure,” II. 2.
The stranger, whatever his opportunities, only comes into contact with one-half of the Mohammedan population; the other is barred from his observation, from his very sight. In the course of all my visits to Turkey I never had an opportunity of approaching a Turkish woman within speaking distance. Even when I visited Ahmed Midhat, at his patriarchal residence at Beikos on the Bosphorus, in spite of our intimacy I saw no woman, though it was a large family gathering.
Avellis was my principal source of information regarding Turkish women, as he now and again was admitted to the harem in connexion with his calling. He often spoke to me of the distinction and the kindliness of the Turkish lady. But their graceful bearing was easily observable as they alighted from their carriages to shop in the Grande Rue de Pera. Their costumes—the quality of the rich silks of dark hues of blue or purple—were all noticeable, and indicative of good taste. Never have I seen a gaudily attired Turkish lady.
Only once was I privileged to obtain an idea of the impulsive kindness of their hearts. It was one afternoon at Scutari, when I went with Avellis and two ladies to visit the English cemetery. A closed carriage passed us, which, to judge by the richly gilt harness and the striking uniform of the menservants, evidently belonged to some high-placed Turk. Not until the third time it passed us did it attract our attention, when our two ladies had separated from us and had gone a little ahead. Then we saw all on a sudden two veiled faces lean out of the carriage and kiss their hands to the beautiful English-woman with auburn hair and angel face. Never am I likely to forget this incident, since she who was thus distinguished by high-bred Turkish ladies was the mother of my children.
A feeling of clannish affection for their family is said to be especially strong among Turkish women. It shows itself in their lasting attachment to their family long after they have left their homes and been separated from their kith and kin. For many of the women of the Imperial harem and of those of the great dignitaries of State come from the interior of Asia Minor, and are of lowly origin. Yet they keep up a regular communication with their relations in distant parts of the Empire, and are often the means of bringing these relations to Constantinople, where they are now and then given good appointments. Hassan Bey, the Circassian who assassinated Hussein Avni Pasha, the Minister of War, in open Council (June 15, 1876), was a brother of the favourite mistress of Sultan Abdul Aziz, whose death he wanted to avenge.
A certain primitive simplicity in the Mohammedan character—not the least of its attractions—is pointedly illustrated by the following incidents drawn from Mohammed’s life, for which, as for so much else in these pages, I am indebted to my deceased friend Ahmed Midhat.
In his early days Mohammed belonged to a humble sphere of life. At the age of twenty-four he married the widow of a rich merchant in whose employ he had been in a subordinate capacity. He remained devotedly attached to her, although she was sixteen years his senior. Only after her death did he marry again; but his thoughts would still revert to the one he had lost and to whom he owed his rise in the world. This excited the jealousy of his second wife, with whom otherwise he lived most happily. One day she pressed him to assure her that she was as dear to him as his first wife had been. “I love you dearly,” Mohammed replied, “but do not ask me to say that I love you as much as Chadidja, for she was the first human being to believe in me.” It was only after his first wife’s death that Mohammed, at the age of forty, really came forward and proclaimed himself a leader of men with a divine mission.
It is related of Mohammed that when he felt his end approaching he summoned his followers around him, and, being still possessed of sufficient strength to address them, told them that he knew his days were numbered, and he wished to ask whether there was anyone present who could say that he had done him a wrong; if so, he was ready to crave his forgiveness. They replied with one voice that Mohammed had been their friend and benefactor and that he had wronged no man. Then someone got up and said he had a claim against him. On a certain occasion he had been present when a beggar had solicited alms of Mohammed, who, apparently having no money with him, had borrowed a drachma of the speaker to give to the beggar. This drachma Mohammed had omitted to return to him. Such, we are told, was the slight record of wrong and indebtedness of the founder of a religion which hundreds, aye thousands, of millions of human beings have professed in life and have adhered to until their last breath.