Gentleman from Istanbul

On the occasion of a visit to a Turkish

gentleman in his garden, it so happened that two of his

nieces, not knowing that any one was calling, came to greet their uncle.

Surprised at seeing a man with him, the young ladies started back, as gazelles

might start at the sight of a hunter. Their uncle, however, summoned them to

return, and with extreme courtesy introduced them to his visitor, with the

information that one of the young ladies could speak English. Conversation in

that language had not gone far, when another gentleman was announced. Instantly

the girls sprang to their feet and darted away as for dear life. “See,” said

the uncle in tones of mingled vexation and sorrow, “See what it is to be an

educated Turkish lady!”

A Turkish gentleman of high rank wishing

his daughters to enjoy the advantage of a European education, but anxious to

spare them as much as possible the chagrin and ennui of being educated above

the station of a Turkish lady, hoped to attain his object by having his girls

learn to speak French without being able to read in that language. Such

experiences are disheartening. But, as the pale flowers which come ere winter

has wholly gone herald the spring and foretell the glory of summer, so the

recent improvements in the lot of Turkish women, however slight they may appear

meantime, warrant the hope of further progress and final emancipation.

EPILOGUE

To live in Constantinople is to live in a

very wide world. The city, it is true, is not a seat of lofty intellectual

thought. Upon none of its hills have the Muses come to dwell. It is not a center

of literary activity; it is not a home of Art Here is no civic life to share,

no far-reaching public works of philanthropy to enlarge the heart, no

comprehensive national life to inspire patriotism, no common religious

institutions to awaken the sense of a vast brotherhood enfolded within the same

great and gracious heavens. If one is so inclined, it is easy for life here to

be exceedingly petty. And yet, it is certain that to live in Constantinople is

to live in a wide world. It is not for any lack of incentive that a resident

here fails “to think imperially” or to feel on an imperial scale.

When a man possessed by the genius of the

place quits the city to reside elsewhere, the horizon of his life contracts and

dwindles, as when a man descends from the wide views of a mountain peak to the

life pent within the walls of a valley. For nowhere else is the mind not only

confronted, but, if one may thus express it, assailed by so many varied

subjects demanding consideration, or the heart appealed to by so many interests

for its sympathy.