Chapter XVIII · ONLOOKERS ONLY

And now the time has come for me to return to my native land, I ask myself what have been my final impressions of my life as a Turkish woman. All these weeks, which have slipped by without my noticing their going, I have felt like an actress seated in the theatre, watching another play my part—indeed a restful sensation.

I came here with perhaps just a little of the “downtrodden woman of the East” fallacy left, but that has now completely vanished. To me, an Englishwoman, there are sides of this life which would irritate me into open rebellion. That the customs of the country should have power to make me wear a veil, whether I wished it or not, that I should be forced to travel in a compartment reserved exclusively for women, that I must always have the hood up when I drive in a carriage, that if I chance to stray into a café of the people, I am served in a superior kind of rabbit-hutch, separated by a grating from the opposite sex, that if I go into a tea-shop where there are men, I will be requested to leave, and last, but not least, that I should have to depend for male society exclusively on my blood relations—Heaven indeed forbid!

A Turkish woman asked me once what it felt like to be able to mix freely with men who are not blood relations. “I cannot tell,” I answered; “it dates right back to the time when my big brother teased me to tears, and his friend wiped them away. To ask me what it means to mix freely with men is almost like asking what it means to have lungs. I never stopped to think, but I know I should die without them.”

But then, after all, is not everything relative? Had I never known the pleasures of male society, had not circumstances forced me to take my life in my own hands and work out my own destiny, I should not perhaps quarrel with what is part of a Turkish woman’s existence. If we in the West possess what is known as the “joy of liberty,” have not so many of us been denied the blessing of protection? The veiled Turkish woman asks, Can you imagine how distressing it is to be willing to work and for the conventions of the country not to allow it? Many of the poor tired workers of my country might ask, Can you imagine what it is to have to work and not to be able to find work?

All these weeks I have been leading a Turkish existence. I have really tried to put myself in a Turkish woman’s place, but I cannot somehow pity her. Is it that I have been too near the suffering heart of my own countrywomen? “Our lives are so empty,” pointed out one woman. “Really we do not have enough social distractions.” I close my eyes and think of the women of my own country, worn out with a London season and its festivities. In their moments of sincerity they would not tell you they had expended their time and energy only to be bored; but social obligations cannot be taken in moderate doses, you must swallow the whole draught.

“Can you imagine what it is to have longed all your life to hear Wagner and a full orchestra and not to be able?” said one woman; and another, who is an exceedingly good musician, tells me she has no idea of her own value as a pianist, seeing she never had an opportunity of hearing professionals.

But all this is changing, and it is a passionately interesting study to see them taking off the customs of ages to put on something different. How will they appear when next I visit them?

I have called the Turkish woman an “onlooker.” She is at present, as it were, only on the margin of the great life; she understands enough of the game, however, to long to take a part. How will she play that part? Is it absolutely necessary for her to come to us for assistance?

This is the question I have asked so many Turkish women. They must think I argue almost like a reactionary. Yet I have not defended the harem system. There is, however, so much in the Turkish home life which is beautiful that I would prefer to see them progressing on the lines of their own civilization, rather than becoming a poor imitation of us. Let them come to us and learn to organize their studies; the rest they can, if they will, manage for themselves.

But I have a feeling that, except for a very few, Turkish women will not take too kindly to our civilization. When my charming English friends, who reconcile me just a little to Pera, took me to the Dorcas Ball I felt uncomfortable prickings of conscience, going to enjoy myself and leaving my friends at home. I might have saved my regrets, however, for it was they who were sorry for me, having to waste my time dancing till the small hours of the morning with mere acquaintances.

And those Turkish women who have come to Europe? How well they have adapted themselves to our civilization. When they were with us who could have supposed they were wearing hats for the first time? Who could suppose, to hear them speaking our language, to see them threading their way in and out of the traffic of our big capitals, that they had not lived with us all their lives? And yet how glad they were to return to their own home life!

The Turk has always been most severely attacked in Europe on the manner in which he treats his womenkind. He considers them, it is said, “mere possessions.” But surely this is the case with the men of most nations. On what but this is the woman’s rebellion based?

That the Moslem woman has no status, I most emphatically deny. If the Moslem women are “possessions,” they are “cherished possessions” and treated as such. Are Moslem women obliged to exercise the most hideous of professions as are their Christian neighbours? Is there anywhere in the East the terrible degradation of our poor Whitechapel women? It is not because he despises her that the Turk has kept his womankind screened from the world. Her rôle is maternity, therefore the cares and temptations of the world must not be known to her, and nothing ought to interfere with this supreme reason of her existence.

Quite recently a decision of the greatest importance and daring was taken by the Ottoman Government. Without their having to ask, the University was thrown open to women, and they are now attending lectures on gynæcology, hygiene, woman’s rights, etc.

When I heard the news, much as I rejoiced, I could not help making a comparison between the methods of the East and those of the West. Here are these “unspeakable” Turks giving to women privileges for which they have not asked, simply because they are theirs by right, and since they are to take their place as workers in the world, they must be educated. And yet, here in England, much as women have tried to work along the lines of evolution they have been driven to revolution. Is this sex antagonism of their asking? From the beginning of the woman’s movement, every privilege has had to be bought with rebellion.

And now, with reluctance, I close the diary of my existence as a Turkish woman. I have not attempted to give a careful and finished picture of my life here; this is the age of impressions, and the beautiful Eastern colouring would lose much of its warmth, were it not put on fresh from the brush. My boxes are corded and ready, the Messageries Maritimes steamer which brought me here will take me back through the beautiful Sea of Marmora, where the setting sun casts itself in such magnificence on to the water beneath it, and the dolphins bathed in sunlight pop up to greet us as we pass along.

A little Turkish friend is going to Europe with me. Her first hat is in readiness, and when the steamer has gone through the “Dardanelles” she will put it on.

If only I could order the same calm sea which brought me here to take me back again; but I must trust to Providence. All through my visit the glorious sun of Eastern hospitality has been darting its beams upon me—it has been a wonderful experience.

Ah! the beautiful unceremoniousness of the East, the absolute sincerity, the liking of one’s friends for friendship’s sake irrespective of position, and the true brotherhood and democracy of the kindly Turk ... if these qualities must vanish in the inevitable march of progress, then may I never see Turkey again; for, without these qualities, it would no longer be the Turkey I have admired and loved.