Having said thus, I will begin the true story of my life and adventures in the harem. I write English so badly that you must attribute the responsibility to a Miss, who flirted with the eunuchs young and old. She filled them with admiration with a series oh high kicks to initiate them into the mysteries of the cancan.
Under the magnificent sway of Sultan Abdul Aziz in the year 1864, there came into the outskirts of the village of Stenia a little girl of four or five years old, led by a poverty-stricken old woman, who, going up to a boatman who was mending his caïq, proposed that he should look after the child whilst she entered the village to buy bread.
"You should give back the child to those you have stolen it from," said the boatman. "I shall take you to the Kadi if you do not at once tell me where you stole it."
"I swear to you I found this English girl on the road," said the woman stolidly, and she turned and, leaving the child, walked into the village.
"Machallah!" said the boatman, looking at the girl, "the rays of the sun are in your hair, and the velvet of Damascus in your eyes."
In a little while, as the woman did not return, Hussein the boatman ejaculated once more "Machallah!" and taking the little girl by the hand he led her to the village.
The child was dressed in a shabby garment of yellow silk trimmed with sable fur; on her head a gauze fichu embroidered with silk flowers, and on her feet little shoes with rose-coloured pompons.
"I am hungry," she said to Hussein.
He immediately bought her a cake, which she ate with avidity.
"You are an English girl, are you not, my lamb?" he asked.
The child said "Yes," and then "No."
Hussein had the idea that everything that was very fair and pink and white must have English blood in its veins, so thought the answer was "Yes."
With the delicacy innate amongst the Islamites he would not take the child into a Mussulman household; so he knocked at the door of a Christian, by name Cocona Elenco.
Like the greater part of the Greeks of Constantinople she was a gossip and liar; so had no hesitation in calling all the saints of her religion ( and Allah knows how many Greek ones ) to witness how great a marvel was the child.
"Ah! Kaïmeni, Kaïmeni," she repeated, "may the Blessed Virgin protect her! That beggar-woman has gone by - she will never come back."
And then, as nothing tends so much to solidify Greek friendship as little thefts, she took the gold thread embroidered handkerchief that was in the child's sash, and advised Hussein to take that lamb of God to some other roof than hers.
Hussein then led the child to the cottage of Doudou Artine, an Armenian woman, who lived by the sea. She received the girl with a smile, saying that they were already a large family, but would keep her. She offered her bread and olives, which the child ate with much appetite.
The cottage which Doudou and her girls inhabited was face to face with a mill belonging to a Frenchman, by name Pigeon, an extremely vulgar man but a good sort.
The Greek captains with black beards and fiery eyes brought the wheat for the mill, and girls used to glide languorously in front of the cottage, with their white veils folded back like the wings of tired birds.
It gave the virtuous daughters of Doudou a great deal of pleasure to watch the Greek captains, which was quite contrary to the projects of their mother. She held the Greek race in abhorrence, and in default of Armenians she would have preferred to see them marry Mussulmen. For Armenians and Turks, though differing in religion, have the same patriarchal tastes; and the father of a Turkish family, like that of an Armenian, is a model of devotion and goodness for his children. He likes a peaceful life, and is faithful to his creed, does not drink or gamble, and only finds pleasure amongst his own family.
From all times the Turks, recognising the quality of the Armenians, have given them posts of confidence. The best jewellers and agents are nearly always Armenians. Certain intriguers, members of the higher Armenian clergy, work hard to raise troubles in Armenia. It is said that they are paid by an European nation, but it is doubtful whether these adventurers, will succeed in their endeavours.
Doudou Artine, like the greater part of Armenian women, was of austere morals, for she had respect for fine traditions, and lived in the fear of evil, like the Mussulmen her neighbours.
Amongst these honest surroundings the little girl grew up, without their being able to conquer her wandering instincts. Doudou was very poor, and worked hard to keep her house together, whilst her daughters embroidered brilliant flowers on muslin handkerchiefs called Yemeni, which they sold for a livelihood.
But the child could never keep still long. She wandered into the streets where the Greek sailors drank raki. She jumped on the tables in front of wine shops - she sang- she danced - she kissed her hands to the rough sailors. She harangued them with pretty gestures, crying to them, "Ah, my fine captains with black beards and fiery eyes, what have you brought me back from your voyages?"
And the sailors, with their thick hair and strong necks and bright-coloured shirts, we're delighted and laughed back, "My soul - my pretty little girl, here is what we have brought back from Odessa; we have not been further, come take them, they are for you," and they showered gilded sweetmeats on her, which were said to come from Paris. The child happy, and with sparking eyes, accepted all as an offering that was due to her. She also had a very business-like friendship with a non-commissioned officer and the soldiers of the Ottoman Guard. She tyrannised over these brave soldiers, and her tyranny made itself heavily felt on their purse, for they received their pay very irregularly - but when the payment had been made a certain instinct seemed to warn her, and she claimed immediately her imperious desires. She wanted mahalebi or friandises, and the simple soldier paid for the caprices of this little pillaging soul. In the month of Ramazan she used to glide like an adder into the little low room where the humble iftar was laid out, the hors-dœuvre with which the fast was broken. At the first sound of the cannon which announced that the sun was set and the fast over for the day, she swallowed everything, and the slices of pasterma disappeared down her young greedy throat. The rough soldier, who could have easily crushed her like a fly between his strong fingers, looked at her with big stupid eyes and said, "Machallah," ("Glory to God").
On days when she was good, the child, who was now definitely called Ela, helped Artine Effendi to split open freshly-caught fish and spread them out in the sun, with a laurel leaf carefully placed under each.
When night came she slept on the floor on a mattress beside Doudou, who kept her warm and promised her cabbage and rice on the morrow. But these marrows became rare, and she thought more and more of escaping to a neighbouring village where an Egyptian Prince, whom they said was rich and beautiful like the Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid, had settled for the winter.
This indomitable child - this capricious Ela, was the author of this true story. Many years have passed since these rememberances of childhood, but I still see clearly those village streets, those little cabarets where the Greek sailors used to quarrel - the house of poor Doudou whom in my unconscious cruelty I martyrised by my caprices and ingratitude.
Weary of living in such poverty, I left one day with Cocona Elenco, who was going to sell scents in the harems of the grand vizier Fuad Pasha. The grandson of the Pasha noticed my pretty face, where sparkled eyes with a brightness surprising for my age. He brought me before the vizier, whom my gestures and manner much amused, and he promised that the family which had adopted me should be looked after; but I spoilt it all by saying to him, "Why do you have so ugly and old a wife? You would do better to marry me." That made every one laugh; and the son of the house, who spoke French fluently, said, "Cette petite ira loin, j'en donne ma parole!"
That was only a first incident without any consequences. Very soon I succeeded in penetrating, thanks to Cocona, into the harem of K...... Bey, who presented ambassadors. I created some little sensation, and they resolved to keep me as a playmate for the children of His Excellency. At the end of the week the eldest son of the Pasha took a fancy to me, and they sent me back to Doudou. I returned with my eyes full of tears and my arms filled with dresses given me by F...... Hanem, the eldest daughter of the Bey, a charming woman, who also was smitten with a desire to taste the education and life of Europeans. She went to pass a winter in Paris with a lady of the highest Parisian society, and returned with joy to the harem, much disillusioned on the subject of progress.
Doudou with deep sighs took me in her arms, and lifting her eyes to heaven said, "Lamb of God! you must have Circassian blood in your veins to wish so much to be sold." And I - I kissed her hands, begging her to sell me to the Palace, crying, "You will see, Doudou, I shall be Sultana, and you will be able to hang big emeralds in your ears and wear sables."
I did not then understand how much the poor Doudou loved me. I saw nothing of the beauty of the soul of those people, so honest, so good, who never lied or had an evil though, and lived with peace amongst them.
