DISENCHANTED
 
 DISENCHANTED 
 
 (DESENCHANTEES) 
 
 BY 
 
 PIERRE LOTI 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 CLARA BELL 
 
 orfe 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 LONDON : MACMILLAN & CO., LTD. 
 1906 
 
 Jill rights reserved
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1906, 
 BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. 
 
 Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1906. 
 Reprinted November, 1906. 
 
 J. S. Gushing & Co. Berwick & Smith Co. 
 Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
 
 THIS is a purely imaginary tale. Any endeavour 
 to find real names for Djenan, Zeyneb, Melek, or 
 Andre would be waste of time, for they never 
 existed. 
 
 The only real thing in it is the high level of 
 culture now prevailing in the harems of Turkey, 
 and the suffering which comes of it. 
 
 This suffering, more striking perhaps to my 
 eyes as a foreigner, is already an anxiety to my 
 dear friends the Turks, and they would fain 
 diminish it. 
 
 I, of course, do not pretend to have discovered 
 the remedy which profound thinkers, there on the 
 spot, are still seeking. But I, like them, feel sure 
 that there is one, and that it will be found ; for 
 the wonderful Prophet of Islam, who was above 
 all else compact of light and charity, cannot have 
 desired that the rules he dictated of old should 
 become in the lapse of time a cause of suffering. 
 
 PIERRE LOTI.
 
 I 
 
 ANDRE LHRY, a well-known romance writer, was 
 wearily opening his letters one cheerless spring 
 morning in a little house on the shore of the Bay 
 of Biscay, in which his latest whim had held him, 
 more or less settled, since the previous winter. 
 
 'So many letters this morning,' he sighed. 'Too 
 many letters !' 
 
 To be sure, on the days when the postman 
 brought him fewer he was no better pleased, 
 suddenly fancying himself isolated in the world. 
 Letters from women for the most part, some signed, 
 others not, breathing the incense of delicate intel- 
 lectual adoration of the author. Almost all began 
 in the same strain: 'You will be much surprised, 
 Monsieur, to see the writing of a woman who is 
 
 unknown to you ' Andre always smiled at 
 
 this opening phrase; surprised! oh no; he had 
 long ceased to be surprised. And then each new 
 correspondent, generally believing herself to be 
 the only woman in the world bold enough to 
 take such a step, never failed to add : ' My soul is 
 the younger sister of yours; no one, I can con- 
 fidently assure you, has ever so fully understood 
 you as I.' And at this Andre did not smile, in
 
 2 DISENCHANTED i 
 
 spite of the stale repetition of the assurance; on the 
 contrary, he was touched. And besides, the con- 
 sciousness of his power over so many beings, widely 
 scattered and for ever remote from him, the con- 
 sciousness of a certain responsibility for their 
 mental evolution, often gave him pause. 
 
 Among these letters, too, there were some so 
 spontaneous, so trusting, such earnest cries for 
 help, sent out, as it were, to an elder brother who 
 could not fail to hear and pity ! And those Andre 
 Lhery would put away after tossing the pre- 
 tentious and commonplace effusions into the 
 paper-basket would keep, in the firm intention 
 of replying to them. But generally, alas ! time 
 was lacking, and the poor letters grew into a pile, 
 drowned ere long under the tide of their successors, 
 and finally quite forgotten. 
 
 Among the letters this morning was one with 
 a Turkish stamp, and a post-mark showing in clear 
 definition the word which always brought a thrill 
 to Andre: 'Stamboul.' 
 
 Stamboul ! what powers of evocation lay in 
 the mere name ! Before tearing open this letter, 
 which might in itself be utterly indifferent, 
 Andre paused, suddenly thrilled by the emotion 
 - the same, and of a kind essentially impossible 
 to put into words, as he had always experienced 
 whenever Stamboul was unexpectedly brought 
 before him from the depths of his memory 
 after many days of oblivion. And again, as 
 often already in dreams, a phantom city rose 
 before his eyes which had seen all the world and 
 gazed at its infinite variety the city of minarets
 
 i DISENCHANTED 3 
 
 and domes, majestic and unique, unrivalled still 
 even in its irredeemable decay, standing out high 
 against the sky, with the blue waters of the sea of 
 Marmora circling the horizon. 
 
 About fifteen years since there had been among 
 his correspondents a few of the idle fair in Turkish 
 harems; some had been vexed with him, while 
 others had remorsefully delighted in him, for 
 having told, in one of the books of his earliest 
 youth, the story of his adventures with one of 
 their humbler sisters. They clandestinely sent 
 him confidential pages in French, incorrect but 
 often quite adorable; and then, after the exchange 
 of a few letters, they lapsed into silence and 
 inscrutable mystery, dismayed at the thought 
 of what they had dared, as though it were a 
 deadly sin. 
 
 At last he tore the envelope stamped in that 
 dear beyond and the contents made him at first 
 shrug his shoulders : No, really, this lady was 
 certainly playing with him. Her language was 
 too modern, her French too perfect and easy. It 
 was all very well to quote the Koran, to sign 
 herself Zaideh Hanum, to beg for an answer by 
 return of post, Poste-restante, with as many pre- 
 cautions as a Red Indian on the warpath; she could 
 only be a traveller visiting Constantinople, or the 
 wife of some attache who could tell ? or, perhaps, 
 some Levantine educated in Paris. 
 
 And yet the letter had a charm which was 
 irresistible, for Andre, almost in spite of himself, 
 answered it at once. Indeed, he could not but 
 show his thorough knowledge of the modern world
 
 4 DISENCHANTED i 
 
 and say, with all due courtesy of course: 'You, 
 a Turkish lady! Nay, you cannot take me in!' 
 
 The charm of the letter was in fact indisputable, 
 in spite of its improbability. Until the morrow, 
 when he naturally ceased to think about it, Andre 
 had a vague feeling that this was the beginning of 
 something in his life, of something which would 
 lead him on on to sweetness, danger, and sorrow. 
 
 And it was, besides, like a call from Turkey to the 
 man who of yore had loved it so well, but who had 
 never gone back. The Biscay sea, on that doubt- 
 ful April day, under the still wintry light, suddenly 
 revealed itself to his sight as intolerably melancholy; 
 a dim green sea, with the long rollers of almost 
 unceasing surge, a vast, gaping void open to an 
 infinite distance, at once alluring and appalling. 
 How tenderer far was the sea of Marmora as he 
 saw it in remembrance, how much more soothing 
 and lulling, with the mystery of Islam on its em- 
 bracing shores. The Basque country, which had 
 so often captivated him, no longer seemed worth 
 lingering in. The spirit of the past, which he had 
 formerly imagined was surviving yet in the 
 Pyrenean highlands and the rugged hamlets near 
 at hand, nay, even below his window here in the 
 ancient city of Fuentarabia, notwithstanding the 
 invasion of impertinent villas the old Basque 
 spirit no, to-day he could no longer discern it. 
 But there far away in Stamboul how much 
 more of the past still lived, of the primal human 
 dream, lingering in the shade of the great mosques, 
 in the oppressive silence of the streets, and in the 
 widely pervading region of graveyards, where tiny
 
 i DISENCHANTED 5 
 
 lamps with a thin yellow gleam are lighted up at 
 night by thousands for the souls of the dead. Ah ! 
 those two opposite shores ! Europe and Asia, dis- 
 playing to each other's eyes minarets and palaces 
 along the banks of the Bosphorus, under constantly 
 changing aspects in the play of Eastern light and 
 shade ! After the magic of the Levant what could 
 be more dismal, more repellent, than this Atlantic 
 gulf? Why did he stay here instead of going 
 there ? How preposterous to waste the numbered 
 days of life, when over there lay a land of airy 
 enchantment, and the sad delicious intoxication 
 which takes no note of the flight of time. 
 
 Still, it was here, on the shore of this colourless 
 bay thrashed by the gales and by the tides of ocean, 
 that his eyes had opened to the spectacle of the 
 world, that consciousness had been given to him 
 for a few fugitive years; hence, in spite of all, 
 he passionately loved the things he belonged to, 
 and he knew that he would miss them when he 
 was away from them. 
 
 And so, on this April morning Andre Lhery 
 was once more alive to the incurable anguish of 
 having scattered himself over many lands, of having 
 been a wanderer over the whole earth, attaching 
 himself to more than one place by his heart strings. 
 Dear Heaven ! why must he now be so bound to 
 two native lands : this, of his birth, and that other, 
 his oriental home.
 
 II 
 
 THE April sun, in that same April but a week 
 later, fell, subdued by blinds and muslin curtains, 
 into the room of a sleeping girl. The morning 
 sun, bringing with it, even through curtains, 
 shutters, and latticed screens, the ephemeral glad- 
 ness, the perennial delusion of earthly renewal 
 which, ever since the world began, has always 
 ensnared the soul, complicated or simple, of 
 every living creature the soul of man, the soul 
 of beasts, the tiny soul of piping birds. 
 
 Outside, the flutter and twitter of newly 
 arrived swallows could be heard, and the hollow 
 thud of a tambourine beaten to an Eastern 
 rhythm. Now and again a sound as of some 
 monstrous, bellowing beast rent the air: the 
 voice of the hurrying liners, the hoot of the 
 steam-sirens, revealing the existence of a harbour 
 
 7 O 
 
 somewhere near, a great harbour in frenzied stir; 
 but these cries of the ships sounded very remote 
 and came up from below, and this gave a sense 
 of loftiness and peace, as of a hill-top far above 
 the sea. 
 
 The room into which the sun shone on the 
 sleeping girl'was elegant and white; very modern, 
 furnished with pretentious simplicity and the
 
 ii DISENCHANTED 7 
 
 affectation of archaic taste, which at that date 
 (1901) represented one of the latest refinements 
 of French decadence, and was styled I' art nouveau. 
 In a bed enamelled white on which flowers were 
 vaguely sketched with a mixture of primitive art- 
 lessness and Japanese freedom, by the hand of 
 some fashionable London or Paris decorator - 
 the girl was sleeping quietly; a very small face 
 in the midst of a dishevelled tumble of fair hair, 
 an exquisitely oval face, so perfect that it might 
 have been modelled in wax, really too perfect to 
 seem quite real; a small nose with nostrils almost 
 too delicate and the faintest aquiline curve; large 
 Madonna-like eyes, and very long eyebrows, curved 
 down towards the temples like those of our Lady 
 of Sorrows. Rather too much lace, perhaps, frilled 
 the sheets and pillow-cases; too many sparkling 
 rings were on the slender hands that lay lightly 
 on the satin coverlet; too much magnificence, as 
 we should think, for a child so young; but for 
 that, everything about her was quite in harmony 
 with the latest ideas of Western luxury. But 
 there were iron bars to the windows, and besides 
 these the chequered wooden screens closely 
 fastened, never to be opened which gave a 
 sense of restraint to all this elegance, the oppression 
 almost of a prison. 
 
 In spite of the brilliant sunshine and the glad 
 excitement of the swallows outside, the girl slept 
 on late, with the heavy torpor that suddenly falls 
 after a sleepless night, and there were dark lines 
 under her eyes, as though she had yesterday shed 
 many tears.
 
 8 DISENCHANTED n 
 
 On a small, white-enamelled writing-table a 
 forgotten taper was still burning, amid a litter of 
 written papers and finished letters in envelopes 
 with a gilt monogram. There was music-paper 
 too, on which notes were dotted down as in the 
 fever of composition. Some books lay about, 
 with fragile Dresden china ornaments; the last 
 poems of the Comtesse de Noailles, side by side 
 with those of Baudelaire and Verlaine, Kant's 
 Philosophy with Nietzsche's. Evidently there 
 was no mother here to weed the reading, and 
 moderate the over-heating of this maiden brain. 
 
 And strange indeed in this room, where any 
 spoilt and petted Parisienne would have found 
 herself at home, a text in Arabic characters hung 
 in the very place where, with us, the Crucifix 
 might still be suspended; words embroidered in 
 gold thread on bright green velvet, a passage 
 from the book of Mahomet, the letters flourished 
 and interlaced with antique and elaborate elegance. 
 
 The more excited chirping of two swallows, 
 both at once, as they boldly clung to the very 
 sill of the window, suddenly made the large 
 eyes half-open in the small face so small and 
 infantine in its lines; eyes with a large greenish 
 brown iris, at first seeming to crave mercy from 
 life, to implore reality to come and quickly drive 
 out some intolerable dream. 
 
 But reality and the hideous dream were 
 apparently too intimately one, for the eyes grew 
 darker and sadder as thought and memory came 
 back; and they settled altogether into gloom, as 
 if hopelessly resigned to the inevitable, when they
 
 ii DISENCHANTED 9 
 
 fell on certain objects which brought irresistible 
 evidence to her mind a diadem sparkling in an 
 open jewel-case, and spread out on chairs a white 
 silk dress, a wedding dress, with orange flowers 
 down the hem of the long train. 
 
 Like a gale of wind, and without knocking, a 
 woman rushed into the room, thin, with eager, 
 disappointed eyes, in a black dress and a shady 
 black hat, elegantly simple, severe, yet with just 
 a hint of extravagance. She was almost an old 
 maid, but not quite a governess as might be 
 guessed, very highly educated and of a good but 
 impoverished family. 
 
 'I have it! We have it, dear child!' she said 
 in French, showing with childish triumph an 
 unopened letter which she had just brought from 
 the poste-restante. 
 
 And the little princess in bed replied in the 
 same language without the slightest foreign accent : 
 
 1 Not really!' 
 
 'Yes, yes, really. Who should it be from, 
 child, but from him ? Is this envelope addressed 
 to Zaideb Hanum, or is it not ? Well, then. Oh, 
 if you have given the same password to others 
 then indeed !' 
 
 'You know I have not ' 
 
 'Well, then, you see ' 
 
 The girl was sitting up in bed, her eyes now 
 very wide open and a faint flush in her cheeks 
 like a child who has been very unhappy and to 
 whom such a wonderful toy has been given that 
 for the moment all else is forgotten. The toy 
 was the letter; she turned it about in her hands,
 
 io DISENCHANTED n 
 
 fingering it hungrily, and yet afraid, as if it were 
 a crime only to touch it. And then, just as she 
 was about to tear the envelope, she paused to say 
 in a coaxing tone : 
 
 'Dear Mademoiselle, sweet Mademoiselle, do 
 not be vexed by my whim, but I want to be quite 
 alone when I read it.' 
 
 'Certainly, of all odd little creatures there is 
 none more odd than you, my darling. But you 
 will let me see it afterwards, all the same ? That 
 is the least I deserve, it seems to me. Well, well ! 
 I will go to take off my hat and veil, and will 
 come back/ 
 
 An odd little being no doubt, and, moreover, 
 curiously coy, for she now felt that the pro- 
 prieties necessitated her rising and putting on 
 some clothes and covering her hair, before she 
 could open a man's letter, for the first time in 
 her life. So hastily slipping on a light blue 
 morning wrapper, made in the Rue de la Paix 
 by the right maker, and covering her fair head 
 in a gauze veil of old Circassian embroidery, with 
 trembling hands she broke the seal. 
 
 A very short letter; ten very simple lines, 
 with a touch of the unexpected that made her 
 smile in spite of her disappointment at finding 
 nothing more confidential, more fraught with 
 meaning a polite and friendly response, and 
 thanks .which betrayed some weariness; that 
 was all. 
 
 But at any rate there was his signature, very 
 legible, very real Andre Lhery. This name, in 
 his own hand, went to her brain like a fit of
 
 ii DISENCHANTED 11 
 
 giddiness. And just as he, in the far West, on 
 receiving the letter with the Stamboul post-mark, 
 had felt as if something were beginning, so she 
 here had a presentiment of some indefinable 
 delight and disaster as the outcome of his an- 
 swer, arriving on such a day the eve of the 
 great event of her whole life. This man, who 
 had for so long reigned supreme in her dreams, 
 this man, as far sundered from her, as inaccessible 
 as if they were the inhabitants of different planets, 
 had this morning really come into her life, by the 
 mere fact of these few lines written and signed by 
 him for her. 
 
 Never had she so keenly felt herself imprisoned, 
 and rebellious, and longing for freedom, and 
 space, and flight into the unknown world. It 
 was but a step to the window where she was wont 
 to rest on her elbows and gaze out; but no, 
 there were the carved lattices, the iron bars, which 
 exasperated her. She turned away towards a door 
 that stood ajar kicking the train of the wedding- 
 gown out of her way, where it lay on the hand- 
 some carpet the door of her dressing-room, all 
 lined with white marble, a larger room than the 
 bedroom, and with windows unscreened and very 
 wide, opening on the garden with its patriarchal 
 plane-trees. The letter still in her hand, she 
 rested her arms on the sill of one of these 
 windows to see the open sky, the trees, the 
 splendour of the first roses, to feel on her cheeks 
 the soft touch of the air and sun. But ah ! what 
 high walls enclosed the garden ! Why such high 
 walls, like those built round the yard of prisons
 
 12 DISENCHANTED n 
 
 for solitary confinement ? With buttresses at 
 intervals to prop them up, they were so enor- 
 mously high ! their height contrived expressly to 
 hinder any one in the tallest house in the neigh- 
 bourhood from ever seeing who might be walking 
 in that secret enclosure. 
 
 In spite of its dismal seclusion the garden was 
 very lovable, because it was very old, with moss 
 and lichen growing on its stones, and because its 
 walks were invaded by grass between the box- 
 edges; a jet of water danced in a marble basin of 
 antique fashion, and it had a little kiosque, much 
 the worse for time, to dream in under the shade 
 of the gnarled and knotted planes crowded with 
 birds' nests. All these had this garden of old; 
 and above all it held a soul, a sweet, homesick 
 spirit, a soul breathed into it little by little in the 
 course of years, the sadly exhaled repining of 
 cloistered women, of youth and beauty here kept 
 captive. 
 
 This morning four or five men, beardless 
 negroes, were there in their shirt-sleeves, working 
 at the preparations for the great event of to- 
 morrow, one stretching an awning between the 
 trees, another spreading splendid Asiatic rugs on 
 the ground. Catching sight of the girl at the 
 window, they greeted her with a twinkle of the 
 eye full of covert meaning, and a 'Good day' at 
 once familiar and respectful, which by an effort 
 she returned with a frank smile, not at all scared 
 by their gaze; till suddenly she started back in 
 dismay at the aspect of a young peasant with a 
 fair moustache, who came in loaded with baskets
 
 ii DISENCHANTED 13 
 
 of flowers, and who must almost have seen her 
 face. 
 
 But the letter! She had in her hands a letter 
 from Andre Lhery a real letter. For the 
 moment this alone mattered. Last week she 
 had committed the audacious freak of writing 
 to him, so completely had the dread of this mar- 
 riage, fixed for to-morrow, thrown her off her 
 balance. Four pages of innocent self-betrayal, 
 things which to her had seemed quite terrible; 
 and to conclude, a request, an entreaty, that he 
 would reply at once, poste-restante, to an assumed 
 name. She had sent this off forthwith, for fear 
 lest reflection should bring hesitancy, sent it ofF 
 more or less at the mercy of good luck, having 
 no exact address, with the complicity and assist- 
 ance of her former governess, Mademoiselle Esther 
 Bonneau Bonneau de Saint-Miron, if you please, 
 holding the diploma of the University and a quali- 
 fication of Public Instruction the lady who had 
 taught her French, and added, for the fun of it, 
 as a crowning accomplishment, a little slang 
 studied in the works of 'Gyp.' 
 
 It had reached its destination, that child's cry 
 of distress, and the poet had replied, with a little 
 undercurrent of suspicion and irony, but on the 
 whole quite nicely, in a letter which could be 
 shown to the most sarcastic of her friends, and 
 would be enough to make them jealous. And 
 then, all of a sudden, she was fired with impatience 
 to make her cousins read it cousins who were 
 like sisters, for they had declared that he would 
 not answer. Their home was quite close, in the
 
 i 4 DISENCHANTED n 
 
 same high, lonely quarter of the city, so she could 
 go in her wrapper without wasting time in dress- 
 ing; and at once, in the languid imperious tone 
 of a child addressing some over-indulgent old 
 nurse, she called to some unseen attendant, 
 'Cadine!' And again, more sharply, 'Cadine!' 
 evidently being accustomed to know that some 
 one was always waiting to serve her caprices ; then, 
 as Cadine did not appear, she pressed the knob 
 of an electric bell. 
 
 Finally Cadine came, a figure even more in- 
 congruous in such a room than the text from 
 the Koran in gold embroidery above the bed : 
 a perfectly black face, a head wrapped in a veil 
 spangled with silver an Ethiopian slave, whose 
 name was Kondje-Gul (Rosebud). Her young 
 mistress addressed her in some far-away tongue, 
 an Asiatic language, amazing surely to the hang- 
 ings, the furniture, and the books. 
 
 'Kondje-Gul, you are never on the spot!' but 
 the reproof was spoken in a tone of affectionate 
 melancholy which greatly mitigated it. And it 
 was indeed a base reproach, for Kondje-Gul was, 
 on the contrary, always a great deal too much 
 on the spot, like a tiresomely faithful dog, and her 
 mistress was, in fact, rather the victim of the 
 custom of the country which allows no bolts to 
 the doors ; permitting the women of the household 
 to walk in at any hour, as if all the rooms were 
 theirs, so that no one is ever sure of an instant 
 of solitude. Kondje-Gul, entering on tip-toe, 
 had come certainly twenty times that morning 
 to be at hand when her young mistress should
 
 n DISENCHANTED 15 
 
 wake. And how strongly she had been tempted 
 to blow out the burning taper. But then ! It 
 was on the writing-table, and she was forbidden 
 ever to touch anything there; it was to her a 
 shrine of dangerous mysteries, and she feared 
 lest by extinguishing that little flame she might 
 break who knows what spell. 
 
 'Kondje-Gul, my tcharcbaf, 1 quick. I want to 
 go to see my cousins.' 
 
 And Kondje-Gul proceeded to wrap the girl 
 in black. Black was the skirt she put on over 
 the wrapper made by the right maker, black the 
 long cape she threw over her shoulders, and black 
 the thick veil fastened by pins to the hood she 
 pulled down over her face to hide it as under 
 a cowl. As she trotted to and fro to shroud her 
 young mistress, she murmured sentences in her 
 Asiatic tongue, talking to herself, as it seemed, 
 or chanting a song childish, lulling things, as 
 not taking a serious view of the little bride's 
 melancholy. 
 
 'He is fair, he is handsome, is the young Bey 
 who will come to-morrow to carry away my sweet 
 mistress. And how happy we shall be in the fine 
 palace to which he will take us both !' 
 
 'Be silent, Cadine; ten times have I told you 
 I will not hear him mentioned!' 
 
 And the next moment: 'Cadine, you were 
 there, you must have heard his voice the day 
 when he came to talk to my father. Tell me, 
 what is the Bey's voice like? At all soft?' 
 
 'As soft as the music of your piano, the music 
 
 1 Enveloping veils worn on the street.
 
 16 DISENCHANTED n 
 
 you make with your left hand, you know, at the 
 end where the notes cease. As sweet as that 
 oh, and he is so fair and handsome, that young 
 Bey- 
 
 'Well, well; so much the better,' interrupted 
 the girl in French, with a mocking accent that 
 was almost Parisian. 
 
 And she added in the Asiatic tongue : 
 'Is my grandmother up, do you know?' 
 'No, the Lady said she would stay in bed late 
 to look the fresher to-morrow.' 
 
 'Well, when she wakes, let her be told I have 
 gone to my cousins. Go and tell old Ismail to 
 escort me you and he I will take you both.' 
 Meanwhile Mademoiselle Esther Bonneau (de 
 Saint-Miron), upstairs in her own room the 
 room she had had in former days when she lived 
 in the house, and that she had come back to now 
 to be present at to-morrow's high function - 
 Mademoiselle Esther Bonneau had some prickings 
 of conscience. It was not she, of course, who 
 had brought Kant's works to find a place on the 
 white writing-table, nor Nietzsche's, nor Baude- 
 laire's even. For eighteen months past, since her 
 pupil's education was regarded as finished, she 
 had been settled under the roof of another Pasha 
 to teach his little girls, and not till then had her 
 first charge emancipated herself in the matter of 
 reading, since there was nobody to check her 
 vagaries. Still, all the same, the governess felt 
 herself to a certain extent responsible for the 
 erratic flight taken by that youthful mind. And 
 this correspondence with Andre Lhery to which
 
 ii DISENCHANTED 17 
 
 she had lent herself to what might it not lead? 
 Two persons, to be sure, who would never meet; 
 that, at least, was quite certain; custom and 
 barred windows would hinder that. And yet - 
 
 When she presently went downstairs again, she 
 found herself face to face with a little figure 
 bundled up like a black bogey to go out in the 
 street, very excited and in a great hurry. 
 
 'And where are you off to, my dear?' 
 
 'To see my cousins and show them this.' 
 This was the letter. 'You must come too, of 
 course. We will all read it together there. 
 Come, let us be trotting/ 
 
 'To your cousins ? By all means I will get 
 my hat and veil again.' 
 
 'Your hat! That means an hour Drat it!' 
 
 'Come, my child, come!' 
 
 'Come? Where, what? Even if you don't 
 say it you "drat it" too, when you are in 
 a temper. Drat the hat ! and drat the veil, 
 and drat the young Bey drat the future, drat 
 life death drat everything !' 
 
 Mademoiselle Bonneau had a suspicion that 
 a flood of tears was threatening, and to effect a 
 diversion she clasped her hands, bowed her head 
 in the attitude sacred on the stage to tragic 
 remorse, and said : 
 
 'And to think that your unhappy grandmother 
 paid and kept me for seven years for such a 
 result!' 
 
 The black bogey, in fits of laughter under her 
 veil, in the twinkling of an eye had thrown a lace 
 kerchief over Mademoiselle Bonneau's head, and
 
 i8 DISENCHANTED n 
 
 now dragged her off with her arm round her 
 waist. 
 
 'That I should be bundled up is one thing; I 
 must, it is the law. But you, who are not com- 
 pelled and to go two yards and in this part 
 of the city, where you never see even a cat/ 
 
 They ran downstairs two steps at a time. 
 Kondje-Gul and old Ismail, an Ethiopian eunuch, 
 waited for them at the bottom to attend them; 
 Kondje-Gul muffled from head to foot in a green 
 shroud spangled with silver, and the man buttoned 
 and belted into a black European frock coat, in 
 which, but for his fez, he might have been a 
 country attorney. 
 
 The heavy door was thrown open; they were 
 outside on the hill, in the bright sunshine of 
 eleven o'clock, looking down on a wooded ceme- 
 tery, thick-set with cypresses and tombs with tar- 
 nished gilding, which sloped gently down to the 
 deep bay crowded with shipping. 
 
 And beyond the inlet of the sea at their feet, 
 on the other side, half-hidden by the cypress trees 
 in the sad, peaceful wood, high up against the sky 
 in the clear, limpid air, the mass stood outlined 
 of the city which for twenty years had haunted 
 Andre Lhery with longing. Stamboul sat en- 
 throned, not dim in twilight, as in the poet's 
 dreams, but sharp, luminous, and real. 
 
 Real though veiled in a diaphanous blue 
 mist, in remote silence and splendour, Stamboul 
 was there, Stamboul the immemorial, still the 
 same as when the old Khalifs had looked out 
 on it; as when Suleyman the Great had imagined
 
 ii DISENCHANTED 19 
 
 and created its noble outline by adding the finest 
 of the cupolas. Of all this vast number of 
 minarets and domes standing up in the morning 
 air none seemed to be in ruins, and yet over all 
 there was an indescribable impression of Time. 
 In spite of distance and the rather dazzling light, 
 it could be seen that it was very, very old. The 
 eye was not deceived; a ghost, a magnificent 
 ghost of the past, is this city, still standing, with 
 its endless spindles of stone, so slender, so light, 
 that how they have lasted is a marvel. Minarets 
 and mosques have faded in the course of years to 
 various tints of whiteness streaked with neutral 
 greys; and as to the myriad wooden houses 
 crouching in their shadows, they are yellow ochre, 
 russet brown, subdued by the almost unceasing 
 haze exhaled from the all-surrounding sea. And 
 the vast prospect was mirrored in the glassy waters 
 of the gulf. 
 
 The two women, the one veiled and the other 
 with the lace kerchief tied anyhow on her head, 
 walked quickly, followed by their negro attend- 
 ants, and scarcely glancing at the wonderful view 
 which was the background to all their days. 
 They took a path with paving stones in wild 
 disorder along the hill, between old and aristo- 
 cratic mansions mummified behind their gates on 
 one hand, and on the other the hillside cemetery 
 of Kassim Pacha, the fairy magnificence of the 
 view gleaming between its gloomy trees. The 
 swallows, which had built their nests everywhere 
 under the barred and shuttered balconies, were 
 chirping deliciously, the cypresses exhaled a good
 
 20 DISENCHANTED n 
 
 smell of resin, the ancient earth, full of the bones 
 of the dead, exhaled a fresh smell of spring. 
 
 They did not, in fact, meet a creature in their 
 short walk, no one but a water-carrier in his 
 oriental dress, who had come to fill his water-skin 
 at a very old cistern by the roadside, of ancient 
 marble sculptured with exquisite arabesques. 
 
 On arriving at a house with closely barred 
 windows, a pasha's house, a tall, moustachioed 
 porter, dressed in red and gold with pistols in 
 his sash, opened the door without uttering a 
 word; and they, as intimates and privileged, 
 without a word on their part, went upstairs to 
 the harem. 
 
 A vast white room on the first floor, whence, 
 through the open door, came the voices and 
 laughter of young women. They were amusing 
 themselves by talking French, no doubt because 
 they were discussing dress. The point in question 
 was whether a certain bunch of roses on a bodice 
 would look best placed on this side or on that. 
 'Six of one and half-a-dozen of the other,' said 
 one. 
 
 'Much of a muchness, only more so,' asserted 
 another, a little red-haired damsel with a skin like 
 milk, and saucy eyes, whose governess had been 
 past mistress of slang. 
 
 This was the bedroom of the cousins, two 
 sisters of eighteen and twenty-one, for whom the 
 bride of the morrow had reserved the privilege of 
 first reading the great man's letter. There were 
 two white enamel bedsteads for the two girls, each 
 with its Arabic text, embroidered in gold on a
 
 ii DISENCHANTED 21 
 
 velvet panel, hanging above it against the wall. 
 On the floor, other beds had been improvised, 
 mattresses with coverlets of blue or pink satin, for 
 four girls invited to the wedding festivities. On 
 the chairs white enamelled chairs with Pompa- 
 dour flowered silk their dresses for the great event 
 but just arrived from Paris, lay in light masses of 
 gay colour, all the usual disorder of a day before 
 a function; an encampment it might have been 
 an encampment of little gipsy maidens, but very 
 fashionable and very rich. As the Moslem rule 
 prohibits women from going out of doors after 
 dark, the pleasant custom has grown up of their 
 remaining in each other's houses for days or even 
 weeks together, with or without any reason, some- 
 times merely to pay a visit; and dormitories are 
 arranged, with much chat and laughter. Oriental 
 veils were lying about, wreaths of flowers, and 
 jewels by Lalique. The window bars and carved 
 wood lattices gave a sort of clandestine note to all 
 this strewn luxury, all intended to charm or dazzle 
 other women, but which no eye of moustachioed 
 man might ever be allowed to gaze on. And in 
 one corner two negress slaves, seated at their ease, 
 were singing their native songs, beating out the 
 time on a little muffled drum. Our vehement 
 democrats of the West might learn lessons of 
 fraternity in this easygoing land, where, in practice, 
 caste and social differences are not recognised, and 
 the humblest servants of either sex are always 
 treated as members of the family. 
 
 The arrival of the bride-elect startled and 
 amazed them all. She was certainly not expected
 
 22 DISENCHANTED n 
 
 that morning. What could have brought her ? 
 Black, entirely in her street wrappings, how 
 mysterious and ominous she appeared in the 
 midst of all this white and pink and pale blue, 
 all these silks and muslins. Why had she come 
 in this unexpected way, to see her bridesmaids at 
 home ? 
 
 She threw back her mournful veil, showing her 
 dainty features, and in an airy, uninterested way 
 she explained in French a language evidently 
 familiar in the harems of Constantinople: 
 
 'A letter I want to show you.' 
 
 'A letter from whom ?' 
 
 'Ah ! guess now.' 
 
 'From the aunt at Adrianople, I wager, 
 promising you a set of brilliants.' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 'Then from the aunt at Erivan, who is sending 
 you a pair of Angora cats as a wedding present.' 
 
 'No, again. It is from a stranger. It is from 
 a gentleman - 
 
 'A gentleman! How dreadful! A gentle- 
 man, you little wretch !' 
 
 And she held out the letter, satisfied with the 
 effect she had produced; two or three pretty 
 golden heads real gold and artificial gold came 
 together at once to see the signature. 
 
 'Andre Lhery ! No ! Has he answered you ? 
 Is it from him ? Impossible !' 
 
 All the little circle had been taken into con- 1 
 fidence as to the letter to the author. There is 
 such a consentaneous spirit of revolt among the 
 Turkish women of to-day against the severe rule
 
 ii DISENCHANTED 23 
 
 of the harem, that they never betray each other; 
 if the delinquency were ever so serious, instead of 
 quite innocent as in this case, there would be the 
 same secrecy, the same silence. 
 
 They crowded up to read it together, head 
 against head, including Mademoiselle Bonneau de 
 Saint-Miron, all holding on to the paper. At the 
 third sentence they shouted with laughter. 
 
 'Oh, do you see? He will not believe you 
 are Turkish. That is too good ! He knows all 
 about us so well, it would seem, that he is quite 
 sure you are not.' 
 
 'But that really is a triumph, my dear/ said 
 Zeyneb, the elder of the cousins. 'That shows 
 how keen your wit is and the elegance of your 
 style.' 
 
 'A triumph!' retorted the red-haired girl, with 
 a pert nose and an expression of comic mockery. 
 'A triumph! If he takes you to be a Perote, 
 thank you for nothing, I say/ 
 
 The tone in which the word Perote was said (an 
 inhabitant of Pera) was a thing to hear. In the 
 mere pronunciation of it she had infused all her 
 scorn as a pure-bred daughter of the Osmanli for 
 the Levantines Armenians, Greeks, and Jews 
 of which the Perote is the prototype. 1 
 
 ' Poor Lhery/ added Kerimeh, one of the young 
 visitors; 'he is behind the times. He must be 
 still in the Turkey of the novels of 1830 
 narghilehs, sweetmeats, and the divan all day.' 
 
 1 While heartily agreeing with the Osmanlis as to the Perotes in general, 
 I must admit that I have known many amiable exceptions to the rule ; men 
 of perfect respectability and breeding, women who would be exquisite in any 
 country and any society. P. L.
 
 24 DISENCHANTED n 
 
 'Or even/ added Melek, the saucy, red-haired 
 maiden, ' merely in the Turkey of his own youth. 
 He must be getting a little wrinkled, you know, 
 must your poet.' 
 
 It was certainly true, indisputably true, that 
 Andre Lhery could no longer be young. And this 
 fact intruded itself for the first time on the fancy 
 of his little unknown adorer, who had never thought 
 about it; a rather disappointing fact, disturbing 
 her dream, and casting pale melancholy on her 
 worship of him. 
 
 But in spite of their pretence at laughter and 
 irony they were all in love with the man, so remote 
 and almost disembodied all who were there; 
 they loved him for having loved their Turkey and 
 spoken with respect of their Islam. A letter 
 written by him to one of them was an event in 
 theircloistered lives, in which nothing ever happens 
 till the great annihilating catastrophe of marriage. 
 It was read aloud. Each one was eager to hold 
 the sheet of paper on which his hand had rested. 
 And then, all being students of character from 
 writing, they tried to unveil the mystery of his 
 handwriting. 
 
 But a mamma appeared, the mamma of the 
 two sisters, and at once the subject was changed 
 and the letter was conjured away. Not that this 
 was a very strict mamma with her placid face, but 
 she would have scolded all the same, and, above all, 
 she would not have understood, she was of another 
 generation, spoke but little French, and had read 
 nothing since Alexandre Dumas pere. A wide gulf 
 lay between her and her daughters, an abyss of at
 
 ii DISENCHANTED 25 
 
 least two centuries, so fast does the world progress 
 in Turkey nowadays. Even physically she was a 
 different being; her fine eyes were soft, with 
 a rather vacant calm which was far from the 
 admirers of Andre Lhery ; she had, in fact, restricted 
 her part on earth to being a tender mother and 
 a blameless wife, and had asked no more. Besides 
 this she wore her European clothes badly, and 
 was awkward in over-trimmed dresses; while her 
 daughters, on the contrary, already understood 
 how to be elegant and refined in very simple 
 materials. 
 
 Next the French governess in the house made 
 her appearance on the same pattern as Esther 
 Bonneau, but younger and even more romantic. 
 And now, as the room was really too crowded 
 with so many persons, and gowns lying on the 
 chairs, and mattresses on the floor, they went into 
 the larger adjoining room, in 'modern style,' the 
 drawing-room of the harem. 
 
 Here entered presently, without knocking, for 
 the door always stood open, a fat German lady, 
 wearing spectacles and a hat loaded with feathers, 
 leading by the hand Fahr-el-Nissa, the youngest 
 of the guests. And at once the whole bevy of 
 girls began talking in German, with as much 
 ease as before they had spoken in French. This 
 portly lady was the music mistress, and a woman 
 of indisputable talent; she and Fahr-el-Nissa, who 
 already played like an artist, had just been practis- 
 ing a new arrangement of Bach's fugues, for 
 two pianos, and each player had thrown her whole 
 soul into it.
 
 26 DISENCHANTED n 
 
 They talked German with no more difficulty 
 than Italian or English, for these young Turkish 
 damsels read Dante, Byron, and Shakespeare in 
 the original. Better cultivated than most girls of 
 the same class in the West, as a consequence, no 
 doubt, of their strict seclusion and long quiet 
 evenings, they had devoured alike ancient classics 
 and modern degenerates, and in music were 
 equally enthusiastic for Gluck, and for Cesar 
 Franck, or Wagner, or for reading the scores of 
 Vincent d'Indy. Perhaps, too, they profited by 
 the long repose and mental slothfulness of their 
 mothers and grandmothers ; in their brain matter, 
 newly tilled, or at least long fallow, every seed 
 sprouted and grew, as rank weeds and beautiful 
 poisonous flowers run wild in virgin soil. 
 
 The drawing-room of the haremlik that 
 morning, grew fuller and fuller. The two 
 negresses, with their little drum, had followed 
 their mistresses. After them came an old lady, 
 whom all rose to greet with respect the grand- 
 mother. Then they all spoke in Turkish, for 
 she knew nothing of Western languages, and 
 what did she care for Andre Lhery, this ancient 
 dame ? Her dress, embroidered in silver, was 
 of the old Turkish make, and a Circassian veil 
 covered her white hair. The gulf of non-com- 
 prehension between her and her grand-daughters 
 was for ever unfathomable, and at meals she had 
 more than once horrified them by the habit she 
 had not quite lost of eating rice with her fingers, 
 after the manner of her forebears, though even as 
 she did it she was all the while a great lady to
 
 ii DISENCHANTED 27 
 
 those finger-tips, and always an imposing per- 
 sonage. 
 
 So, out of deference to the old lady, they all 
 spoke Turkish, and at once the hum of voices 
 sounded more harmonious as soft as music. 
 
 Presently a lady came in, slender and un- 
 dulating in her gait; she came from outside, and, 
 of course, looked like a black spectre. This was 
 Alimeh Hanum, a diplomaed professor of philos- 
 ophy in the college for girls founded by His 
 Imperial Majesty the Sultan. She came regularly 
 three times a week to give lessons to Melek in 
 Arabic and Persian literature. There was no 
 lesson to-day, of course, on the eve of the 
 wedding, when everybody's head was turned; 
 but when she had removed her cowl-like veil, 
 showing her pleasant, serious face, the conversa- 
 tion turned on the old poets of Iran, and Melek, 
 now quite grave, recited a passage from the ' Land 
 of Roses,' by Saadi. 
 
 No signs here of odalisques nor of narghilehs, 
 no sweetmeats in this Pasha's harem, consisting of 
 a grandmother, a mother, the daughters, and two 
 nieces with their governesses. 
 
 And, in fact, with two or three exceptions 
 perhaps, every harem in Constantinople is of the 
 same type; the harem in these days is neither 
 more nor less than the female part of a family 
 constituted as our own families are, and educated 
 in the same way, with the exception of their seclu- 
 sion, of the thick veils worn out of doors, and of 
 the improbability of ever exchanging ideas with a 
 man, unless it be the father, or the husband, or
 
 28 DISENCHANTED n 
 
 a brother, or, in some cases, by special grace, a 
 very intimate cousin who was a playfellow in 
 childhood. 
 
 They were now speaking French again, and 
 discussing dress, when a voice, so clear and pure 
 that it might have been from Heaven, was heard 
 outside as if dropping from on high; the Imam 
 of a neighbouring mosque was calling from the 
 top of a minaret, bidding the faithful to midday 
 prayer. 
 
 On this the little bride, remembering that 
 her grandmother breakfasted at noon, fled like 
 Cinderella, followed by Mademoiselle Bonneau, 
 who was the more alarmed of the two at the 
 idea that the old lady might be waiting.
 
 Ill 
 
 IT was a silent meal, this last breakfast in her old 
 home, as she sat between two women so obscurely 
 hostile as the governess and her stern grand- 
 mother. 
 
 When it was over, she went to her room, and 
 only wished she could lock and double-lock 
 herself in, but Turkish women's bedrooms have 
 no locks; she could only give orders through 
 Kondje-Gul to all the servants and slaves, who 
 were for ever on guard, day and night, as is the 
 custom, in the halls and the long passages of her 
 suite of rooms, like so many tame and intrusive 
 watch-dogs. 
 
 During this last supreme day, still her own, 
 she wanted to prepare herself as if for death, sort 
 her papers, and a thousand little treasures, and, 
 above all, burn things, burn them for fear of the 
 eye of the unknown man who in a few hours 
 would be her master. There was no haven of 
 refuge for her distressful soul, and her terror and 
 revolt increased as the day went on. 
 
 She seated herself in front of her writing-table 
 and relighted the taper which was to communicate 
 its flame to a host of mysterious little letters that 
 lay sleeping in the white enamelled drawers; 
 
 29
 
 30 DISENCHANTED m 
 
 letters from friends just married, or quaking in 
 
 r - J , -ri i & 
 
 anticipation of marriage; letters in 1 urkish, in 
 French, in German, in English, all proclaiming 
 rebellion, all poisoned by the deep pessimism 
 which, in our day, is ravaging the harems of the 
 Turks. Now and again she re-read a sentence, 
 hesitated regretfully, and then, after all, put the 
 little sheet into the colourless flame a hardly 
 visible glimmer in the sunshine. And all these 
 treasures, all the little secrets of beautiful young 
 women, their suppressed indignation, their vain 
 laments all turned to ashes, piled up and mingled 
 in a copper brazier, the only oriental object in the 
 room. 
 
 The drawers emptied, the letters destroyed, 
 there still lay before her a large blotting-case with 
 a gold snap, crammed full of note-books written 
 in French. Should she burn these too ? No, 
 she really had not the courage. They were the 
 whole history of her girlhood, her private diary, 
 begun on her thirteenth birthday, the fatal day 
 when she had donned the tcharchaf, to use the 
 phrase of the country; that is to say, the day 
 when she was condemned for ever to hide her 
 face from the world, to take the veil and become 
 one of the innumerable black spectres of Con- 
 stantinople. 
 
 Nothing earlier than this veiling was recorded 
 in her journal. Nothing of her infancy as a 
 little barbaric princess, far away in the remotest 
 plains of Circassia, the obscure realm over which 
 her family had ruled for two centuries. Nothing, 
 either, of her life as a little girl in the fashionable
 
 in DISENCHANTED 
 
 3 1 
 
 world, when, she being about eleven years old, 
 her father had come to settle in Constantinople, 
 where the title of Marshal of the Court had been 
 conferred on him by the Sultan; that had been 
 a time of wonders, of elegant tutelage, with 
 lessons, too, to be learnt and exercises to be 
 written. For two years she had been seen at 
 fetes, at tennis parties, at the Embassy dances; 
 she had waltzed like a grown-up girl with the 
 most fastidious partners of the European colony; 
 her card was always full, for she charmed them 
 all by her sweet little face, her grace, her luxu- 
 rious elegance, and also by an inimitable expres- 
 sion a look at once very gentle and very capable 
 of revenge, very diffident and very haughty. And 
 then one fine day, at a ball given for children at 
 the English Embassy, some one asked: 'Where is 
 the little Circassian ?' and the men of the country 
 had replied quite simply: 'Ah, of course, you did 
 not know. She has taken the Tcharchaf.' 
 
 'Taken the Tcharchaf!' as much as to say 
 buried, smuggled away by the stroke of a wand, 
 never to be seen again. If by chance you should 
 meet her going past in a shuttered carriage, she 
 will be a mere black shape, impossible to recognise. 
 She might as well be dead. 
 
 So, her thirteen years complete, she had passed, 
 in obedience to an immutable law, into the veiled 
 world which lives in Constantinople on the 
 confines of the other, which you rub up against 
 in the streets but may never look at, and which 
 at sunset is shut up within prison bars ; the world
 
 32 DISENCHANTED m 
 
 of which you are aware all about you, a disturbing 
 and attracting influence, but impenetrable, while 
 it watches, conjectures, criticises, and sees many 
 things through its immovable shroud of black 
 silk, and guesses all it does not see. 
 
 Thus, suddenly imprisoned at the age of 
 thirteen, with a father who was always on duty at 
 the Palace, and a stern grandmother devoid of all 
 show of tenderness, alone in a vast house at 
 Kassim Pacha, a quarter of old mansions and 
 cemeteries, where at nightfall silence and terror 
 were all pervading, she had devoted herself 
 passionately to study. And this had lasted till she 
 was now within a few days of two-and-twenty 
 this ardent desire to know everything: literature, 
 history, transcendental philosophy. Among the 
 young women her friends, themselves very highly 
 educated in this propitious seclusion, she was 
 regarded as a sort of star, whose erudition and 
 opinions and innocent audacity were quoted, while 
 her expensive elegance was copied; especially 
 was she the standard-bearer of female insurrection 
 against the discipline of the harem. 
 
 No, after all, she would not burn this diary, 
 begun on the first day of the tcharchaf. She 
 would rather confide it, carefully sealed up, 
 to some trustworthy and rather independent 
 friend, whose drawers were not liable to be over- 
 hauled by a husband. And, who could tell ? In 
 the future, perhaps, she might ask for it back 
 again, and carry it on further. She clung to it, 
 because she had almost fixed in its pages the details 
 of the life which must end to-morrow, the happy
 
 in DISENCHANTED 33 
 
 moments of the past, certain spring days more 
 strangely bright than others, evenings of more 
 delicious languor in the old garden of roses, and 
 excursions on the enchanted waters of the Bos- 
 phorus with the cousins she so fondly loved. All 
 this would seem more irrevocably sunk in the 
 abyss of time if that poor diary were destroyed. 
 Writing it had been her chief resource against the 
 melancholy moods of an immured maiden, and 
 suddenly she was moved to write in it again at 
 this very moment, and divert the distress of this 
 last day. So, still sitting at her writing-table, she 
 took up her pen, a little rod of gold with a ring 
 of rubies. When, in the first pages of this 
 record, now nine years old, she had adopted the 
 French language, it was to make sure that neither 
 her grandmother nor any one else in the house 
 should find amusement in reading it. But for 
 the last two years, the French, written with the 
 utmost care and elegance, had been intended for 
 the eye of an imaginary reader. A young woman's 
 diary always is intended for a reader, fictitious or 
 real, but necessarily fictitious when the writer is 
 a Turkish woman. That reader was a remote, 
 very far-away person for her, indeed, he hardly 
 existed the author, Andre Lhery. It was all 
 written now for him, to him, even in quite in- 
 voluntary imitation of something of his manner. 
 It assumed the form of a letter addressed to him 
 in which, for more complete illusion, she called 
 him by his name, Andre, as if he were a real 
 friend, a big brother. 
 
 So, that evening, this was what the little hand,
 
 34 DISENCHANTED m 
 
 loaded with too splendid rings, traced upon the 
 paper: 
 
 April 1 8, 1901. 
 
 'I have never told you anything about my 
 childhood, have I, Andre ? And you must know 
 this : I, whom you have thought so civilised, am 
 by nature a little barbarian. Something will 
 always survive in me of the child of open spaces, 
 who once used to gallop on horseback to the 
 clatter of arms, or dance in the lamplight to the 
 tinkle of her silver girdle. 
 
 'And in spite of a veneer of European 
 culture, when my newly found soul of which I 
 was so proud, my soul as a thinking being, my 
 self-conscious soul, when this soul of mine suffers 
 too acutely, these memories of my childhood come 
 back to haunt me. They rise up dominant, vivid 
 and brilliant; they show me a land of light, a lost 
 paradise, to which I cannot nay, and would not 
 return ; a Circassian village far from hence, far, 
 far beyond the Konieh, known as Karadjemir. 
 There my family has reigned ever since it came 
 from the Caucasus. My ancestors in their own 
 land were the Khans of Kiziltopeh, the Sultan of 
 that time gave them as a fief the territory of 
 Karadjemir. There I dwelt till I was eleven 
 years old. I was free and happy. Girls in 
 Circassia are not veiled; they dance and talk with 
 young men, and choose their husbands by the 
 guidance of their heart. 
 
 'Our house was the finest in the village, and on 
 all sides long avenues of acacias led up to it.
 
 in DISENCHANTED 35 
 
 Acacias stood round it, too, in a wide circle, and 
 the least breath of wind bowed their branches as if 
 in homage; then the scented petals fell like snow. 
 In my dreams I see a rapid river, from the living- 
 room I could hear the song of its hurrying 
 ripples. Oh ! how fast they rushed on in their 
 flow to the unknown bourne ! When I was little, 
 I laughed to see them foam in a rage against the 
 rocks. 
 
 'By the side of the hamlet, in front of the 
 house, stretched a wide, open space. There we 
 were wont to dance in the Circassian mode to the 
 sound of our old-world instruments. Two and 
 two we formed in chains, all draped in white silk, 
 with garlands of flowers in our hair. I can see 
 them now my companions of those days. Where 
 are they ? They were all lovely and gentle, with 
 long eyes and bright smiles. 
 
 'As day fell in summer my father's Circassians, 
 the youths of the village, left their labor and rode 
 on horseback across the plain. My father, an old 
 soldier, placed himself at their head, and led them 
 as to a charge. When I was little, one of them 
 would perch me on his saddle; I was intoxicated 
 with speed, with the passion that had been silently 
 rising all day from the burning soil to break out 
 in the evening in the clatter of arms and wild 
 songs. The sky would presently change colour; 
 first came the purple hour of an evening battle, 
 and the riders shouted battle songs to the winds. 
 Then came the rosy, opal-tinted hour ' 
 
 She had got so far as this opal-tinted hour,
 
 36 DISENCHANTED m 
 
 wondering if the epithet might not be too preten- 
 tious to satisfy Andre, when Kondje-Gul, in spite 
 of prohibition, burst into the room. 
 
 'He is there, mistress, he is there!' 
 
 'He is there? Who?' 
 
 'He, the young Bey. He has been to call on 
 the Pasha, your father, and he is just going away. 
 Quick, run to your window and you will see him.' 
 To which the little princess replied, without 
 moving, and with an icy indifference which quite 
 stupefied good old Kondje-Gul: 
 
 'And you disturb me for that? I shall see 
 him too soon ! To say nothing of seeing him as 
 often as I want till I am an old woman !' 
 
 This she said to emphasise, in the presence of 
 the servants, her disdain of the young lord. But as 
 soon as Kondje-Gul had disappeared in deep con- 
 fusion, she tremulously went up to the window; 
 he had just mounted, in his handsome uniform as 
 a staff-officer. She had time to see that his 
 moustache was in fact fair, rather too fair for her 
 taste, but that he was a handsome youth with a 
 fine stalwart figure. He was none the less the 
 enemy, the master forced upon her, who should 
 never be admitted to her secret soul. Then, 
 determined to think no more about him, she went 
 back to her table her cheeks flushed and tingling, 
 nevertheless to go on with her journal, her letter 
 to the unreal confidant. 
 
 'The rosy hour (merely rosy, that was certain; 
 opal-tinted was erased) when memory awakes and 
 the Circassians would recall the country of their
 
 in DISENCHANTED 37 
 
 ancestors; one would chant a song of exile and 
 the others would draw rein to listen to the single 
 mournful voice. Then the hour was violet, tender 
 and sweet; the whole plain would ring with a 
 hymn of love. And then the horsemen hastily 
 turned their steeds and spurred them to a gallop to 
 ride home. The flowers drooped in the road, 
 exhaling their last fragrance. The riders glittered, 
 seeming to bear with them on their weapons all 
 the liquid silver that floated in the summer 
 twilight. 
 
 'In the distance a glare of fire marked the little 
 spot where the acacias of Karadjemir were grouped 
 in the midst of the level, silent steppe. The flame 
 grew and soon became a flare of tall flames licking 
 the first stars; for those who had remained at 
 home lighted bonfires, and round about these were 
 girls dancing and singing, accentuated by waving 
 white robes and floating scarves. The young 
 people amused themselves, while men of riper age 
 sat out of doors smoking, and mothers, looking 
 through the window screens, watched the coming 
 of love to their children. 
 
 'In those days I was a queen. My father, 
 Tewfik Pasha, and Seniha, my mother, loved me 
 above all else, for their other children were dead. 
 I was the Sultana of the hamlet; no one else had 
 such rich dresses or such finely chased belts of 
 gold and silver, and when by any chance a mer- 
 chant from the Caucasus passed that way, with his 
 sacks full of gems and bales of silk spangled with 
 gold, every one in the neighbourhood knew that 
 he must call first at our house; no one would
 
 38 DISENCHANTED in 
 
 have dared to buy so much as a scarf till the 
 Pasha's daughter had taken her choice of the 
 treasures. 
 
 'My mother was wise and gentle; my father was 
 kind, and was known to be just. Every passing 
 stranger might knock at our door; the house was 
 his. Though poor he was as welcome as the 
 Sultan himself. An exile, a fugitive and I have 
 seen such the shelter of the house would have 
 protected him till his hosts were killed. But woe 
 to the man who should have tried to make use of 
 Tewfik Pasha to help him in any base or even 
 doubtful action ; my father, though so kind, could 
 be a ruthless judge. I have seen him ! 
 
 'Such, Andre, was my childhood. Then we 
 lost my mother, and my father would not stay at 
 Karadjemir without her, so he brought me with 
 him to Constantinople to my grandmother's house, 
 near my cousins. 
 
 'Now, my uncle, Arif Bey, governs there in his 
 stead. But hardly any change has taken place in 
 that obscure corner of the world, where the days 
 pass on, silently linking into years. I believe a 
 mill has been erected on the river; the little waves 
 which used only to play at being furious, are now 
 trained to be of use, and I fancy I can hear them 
 bewailing their lost liberty. But the fine old 
 house still stands among the trees, and this spring, 
 once again, the acacias will have shed their snows 
 on the roads where I sported as a child. And 
 some other little girl, no doubt, goes riding in my 
 place with the horsemen. 
 
 'Nearly eleven years have passed since then.
 
 in DISENCHANTED 39 
 
 'The gay and thoughtless child is now a grown- 
 up girl, who has shed many tears. Would she 
 have been happier if her old life had still gone on ? 
 But it was written that she must leave it because 
 she had to be transformed into a thinking being, 
 and her orbit was destined one day to cross yours. 
 Oh, who will tell us the wherefore, the supreme 
 reason for such meetings, when souls scarcely 
 touch and yet never again forget each other ? For 
 you, Andre, you too will never forget me.' 
 
 She was tired of writing. And, in fact, the 
 brief vision of the Bey had disturbed the flow of 
 her memory. 
 
 What could she do to finish this last day ? 
 Ah! the garden; the dear garden, haunted by 
 her youthful dreams; she would linger there till 
 nightfall. Quite at the end there was a certain 
 bench under the venerable plane-trees against the 
 old moss-grown wall; there she would sit alone 
 till the close of the April day, which seemed to 
 her to promise no to-morrow. She rang at once 
 for Kondje-Gul to give the necessary warning of 
 her coming; orders to all the gardeners, coachmen, 
 male domestics of every kind, that they must leave 
 the paths clear, so as not to profane by a glance the 
 little goddess who meant to walk there unveiled. 
 
 Nay, on second thoughts she would not go 
 out; it was always possible that she might meet 
 some eunuch or women servants with their 
 meaning smiles at the bride-elect, and in their 
 presence she would have to assume the rapturous 
 expression required by etiquette in such circum-
 
 40 DISENCHANTED m 
 
 stances. And then, how exasperating to see all 
 the preparations for the fete, tables laid under the 
 trees and fine rugs spread on the ground. 
 
 So instead she took refuge in a little room next 
 her bedroom, where there was an Erard piano. 
 She must bid farewell to music too, since there 
 would be no piano in her new home. The young 
 Bey's mother a I32O, 1 as these old-fashioned 
 ladies are called by the young flowers of hothouse 
 culture brought up in modern Turkish homes 
 an unmitigated 1320, had, not without mistrust, 
 allowed the library of new books in Western 
 tongues and the illustrated magazines, but the 
 piano had evidently shocked her; they had not 
 dared to mention it again. The old lady had 
 come several times to see her son's betrothed, 
 overwhelming her with coaxing ways and little 
 old-world compliments which fretted the girl, 
 staring her out of countenance with persevering 
 attention, so as to be the better able to describe 
 her to her son. So, no more piano in her home 
 after to-morrow, her home over there, across the 
 bay, in the very heart of old Stamboul. Seated at 
 the instrument, her strong, swift little hands, 
 wonderfully accomplished and supple, ran over the 
 keys, at first improvising vague and extravagant 
 impromptus with neither head nor tail, to an 
 accompaniment of sharp rattling taps, each time 
 her heavy loose rings knocked against the flats and 
 sharps. Then she took ofF her rings, and after 
 a moment's thought she began a very difficult 
 
 1 The nickname given to any one who recognises no dates but from the 
 Hegira, instead of using the European calendar.
 
 in DISENCHANTED 41 
 
 arrangement by Liszt of an air by Wagner; and 
 by degrees she ceased to be the girl who was, on 
 the morrow, to be married to Captain Hamdi 
 Bey, aide-de-camp to His Imperial Majesty; she 
 was the betrothed of a young warrior with long 
 hair, who dwelt in a castle on the heights, in the 
 darkness of the clouds, overhanging a broad 
 tragical river; she heard the symphony of old 
 legendary ages in the deep forests of the north. 
 But when she ceased playing, when the glamour 
 had died away with the last vibration of the strings, 
 she noticed the sunbeams already reddening and 
 coming in almost level through the eternal 
 chequers of the windows. Yes, the day was 
 ending, and she was suddenly seized with a terror 
 of being alone on this last evening, though just 
 now she had wished it. She flew to her grand- 
 mother to ask permission, which was granted, and 
 wrote in haste to her cousins, begging them dis- 
 tressfully, come what might, to visit her and keep 
 her company but only the two sisters, not the 
 other little damsels encamped in their room; only 
 Zeyneb and Melek, her bosom friends, her con- 
 fidants, the sisters of her soul. She feared their 
 mother might not allow it on account of their 
 many visitors; she feared lest the hour were too 
 late, the sun too low, for Turkish women do not 
 go out after it has set. And from the barred 
 window she looked after old Ismail, who hurried 
 off with the message. 
 
 For some days past, even with her cousins, who 
 had been hurt by it, she had been silent on all 
 serious matters, reserved, and almost haughty;
 
 42 DISENCHANTED m 
 
 even with those two she had cherished the decency 
 of her misery; but she could no more: she 
 wanted them, to weep on their shoulder. 
 
 How fast it sank the sun of her last evening ! 
 Would they have time to come ? To know as 
 soon as possible, she leaned over the street as far 
 as the bars and wooden lattice would permit. It 
 was now the 'purple hour of evening battle,' as she 
 had written in her childhood's diary, and thoughts 
 of flight and open revolt raged in her indomitable 
 and dainty little head. And yet what serene peace, 
 what a fatalistic, resigned calm reigned around. 
 An aromatic fragrance came up from the great 
 funereal wood lying so quiet under the windows 
 the odour of the old, unchangeful soil of Turkey, 
 of short grass and tiny plants that had basked all 
 day in the April sun. The black-green of the 
 trees standing out against the fiery west was here 
 and there pierced, as it were riddled, by shafts of 
 light. Here and there touches of ancient gilding 
 flashed on the tops of those monumental mile- 
 stones, stuck in haphazard in the ample space, 
 scattered among the cypresses. The Turks have 
 no terror of the dead ; they do not exile them ; 
 they lay them to rest in the very heart of the 
 cities. Beyond the melancholy objects in the fore- 
 ground, and the spires of dark foliage standing up 
 as straight as towers, in the intervals between them 
 the distance could be seen the matchless view: 
 all Stamboul and the gulf, in the broad blaze of 
 a fine sunset. Below, far below, the waters of the 
 Golden Horn, down to which the graveyards 
 sloped, were red and fiery as the sky itself;
 
 in DISENCHANTED 43 
 
 hundreds of caiques furrowed their surface the 
 perennial to and fro following the closing of the 
 bazaars; but from so high up no sound could be 
 heard of their rippling wake or the splash of the 
 oars; they looked like long insects creeping across 
 a mirror. And the opposite shore, the shore of 
 Stamboul, changed while she gazed. All the 
 houses down by the sea, all the lower strata of 
 the enormous pile, were blurred and blotted out, 
 as it were, by the eternal violet haze of the even- 
 ing, a mist of vapour and smoke. Stamboul 
 changed like a mirage; no details were now visible, 
 neither the decay nor the misery, nor the hideous- 
 ness of some of the modern structures; it was a 
 mere mass in outline, dark purple with edges of 
 gold, a colossal city in cut jasper, bristling with 
 spires and d.omes, set up as a screen to shut out a 
 conflagration in heaven. 
 
 And the same voices as had sounded at noon 
 in clear celestial tones sang out again in the air, 
 calling the faithful Moslems to the fourth prayer 
 of the day the sunset hour. 
 
 The little prisoner, soothed in spite of herself 
 by the glory and the peace, was growing uneasy 
 about Zeyneb and Melek. Would they be able 
 to come in spite of the late hour ? She looked 
 more eagerly towards the end of the road, shut in 
 on one side by the old barred houses, and on the 
 other by the beautiful home of the dead. 
 
 Yes, they were coming. There they were, two 
 slender black spectres with no face, just emerging 
 from a great dusty gateway, and hurrying on, 
 attended by two negroes with long sabres. They
 
 44 DISENCHANTED m 
 
 had settled it quickly, and were very soon ready, 
 poor little things ! And as she identified them 
 hastening to respond to her cry of despair, she felt 
 her eyes fill; tears, but comforting tears this time, 
 rolled down her cheeks. 
 
 As they came in, raising their veils, the bride 
 threw herself weeping into their arms. 
 
 They clasped her to their young hearts with 
 tender pity. 
 
 'We fancied somehow that you were not happy. 
 But you would not say a word. We did not dare 
 to speak of it. For many days past we felt you 
 were so secret with us, so cold ! ' 
 
 'Well, you know my way. It is silly, but I 
 am ashamed that any one should see me in 
 distress.' 
 
 She was fairly sobbing now. 
 
 'But why, my dearest, did you not say 
 "No"?' 
 
 'Oh, I have said "No" so often. The list of 
 men I have refused is really too long, it would 
 seem. And consider, I am two-and-twenty, almost 
 an old maid. After all, what does it matter, this 
 one or another, since I must end by marrying 
 somebody ?' 
 
 Before now she had heard others talk in this 
 way on the eve of marriage, and their submission 
 had disgusted her; now she had come to the same 
 end. 'Since I have not chosen and loved the 
 man,' one had said, ' what does it matter whether 
 he is called Mehmed or Achmed ? Shall I not 
 have my children to console me for his presence ?' 
 Another, a quite young girl who accepted the first
 
 in DISENCHANTED 45 
 
 comer that offered, had excused herself by saying, 
 'Why not the first as much as the second, of whom 
 I shall know no more than of this one ? What 
 can I say in refusing ? And then all the to-do ; 
 think of it, my dear!' The apathy of all these 
 girls had seemed to her incomprehensible, allowing 
 themselves to be married off like slaves ! And 
 here was she consenting to just such a bargain, 
 and to-morrow to-morrow was the dreadful day 
 of reckoning. Weary of constantly refusing, con- 
 stantly contending, she, like all the rest, had at 
 last spoken the 'Yes' which had been her ruin, 
 instead of the 'No' which would have saved her 
 at least for a little while longer. And now, too 
 late to retreat, she stood on the very edge of the 
 abyss ; it was to-morrow ! 
 
 They wept together, all the three, shedding the 
 tears which had been repressed for many a day by 
 the pride of the betrothed, weeping the tears of 
 bitter separation, as if one of them were condemned 
 to death. 
 
 Melek and Zeyneb, of course, were not to go 
 home this evening, but to sleep here in their cousin's 
 room, as is customary when women go out at 
 nightfall, and as they had constantly done during 
 the last ten years. The three girls, always together, 
 like inseparable sisters, were in the habit of sleep- 
 ing together in one house or the other, but generally 
 here with the young Circassian. 
 
 This evening, when the slaves, without even 
 asking for orders, had spread on the carpet the 
 silken mattresses for the visitors, and the three 
 girls were left to themselves, they felt as if they
 
 46 DISENCHANTED m 
 
 were keeping funereal watch by the dead. They 
 had asked and obtained permission not to go 
 downstairs to dinner, and a beardless negro with 
 a grotesque over-fat face had brought them on a 
 silver-gilt tray some food, which they had forgot- 
 ten to eat. 
 
 Downstairs, their grandmother, the Pasha, father 
 of the bride, and Mademoiselle Bonneau de Saint- 
 Miron ate without talking in the silence of catas- 
 trophe. The old lady, more offended than ever 
 at the conduct of her daughter's daughter, knew 
 well whom to blame, and abused modern education 
 and the governess. She loved the child, a daughter 
 of her impeccable Moslem race, but who had 
 proved to be a sort of prodigal whose return to 
 hereditary tradition was never to be hoped for; 
 loved her in spite of all, though she had always 
 felt that severity was a duty; and now, face to face 
 with this wordless and incomprehensible rebellious- 
 ness, she meant to be harder and sterner than ever. 
 As to the Pasha, he, who had always petted and 
 spoiled his only child like a Sultana of the Arabian 
 Nights, and whr> had been so sweetly loved by her 
 in return, could understand her no better than his 
 old '1320* mother-in-law; indeed, he too was 
 angry; this last caprice was really too much! 
 To set up for a little martyr because, now that it 
 was high time she should have a master, a hand- 
 some young fellow had been chosen for her, rich, 
 of good family, and in favour with His Imperial 
 Majesty. And the hapless governess, guiltless at 
 any rate of this betrothal, who had always been 
 the confidential friend of her beloved pupil, sat in
 
 in DISENCHANTED 47 
 
 silent consternation. Since she had been invited 
 to the house for the wedding, why would the girl 
 have none of her company up in her own rooms 
 this last evening ? 
 
 No, the three fantastic little damsels not 
 dreaming, indeed, of the pain they gave her had 
 wished to be alone on the eve of such a separation. 
 
 The very last, this, of their evenings together 
 in the room which to-morrow would be deserted, 
 and to which they must bid farewell ! To make 
 it a little more cheerful they had lighted all the 
 wax candles in the candelabra, and the tall pillar 
 lamp, with its shade in the newest fashion that 
 year, as large as a parasol, and made of flower 
 petals. And they went on turning over, sorting, 
 and sometimes destroying a thousand trifles which 
 they had long treasured as precious souvenirs. 
 Here were the tufts of gold or silver thread with 
 which it is the custom to deck the hair of a bride, 
 and which the attendant maidens preserve till their 
 turn comes ; there were several of these, glittering 
 where they were hung by knots of ribbon to the 
 mirror-frames and the white walls,. and they raised 
 visions of the pale, pretty faces of' friends now in 
 durance, or perhaps dead. In a closet were the 
 dolls they had once loved so dearly; broken toys, 
 withered flowers, the sad little relics of their child- 
 hood and early youth spent together within the 
 walls of this old house. There were, too, in frames 
 painted or embroidered by their own hands, photo- 
 graphs of the ladies of the Embassies or of young 
 Moslem ladies in evening dress; they would have 
 passed for Frenchwomen of fashion but for the
 
 48 DISENCHANTED m 
 
 little scrawl below in Turkish characters, a senti- 
 ment or a name. Finally, there were the dainty 
 trifles won in past winters in the lotteries got up 
 by Turkish ladies in the cause of charity during 
 the long evenings of Ramazan; they were not of 
 the very least value, still they recalled some past 
 moments of the life which was ending to their 
 acute sorrow. As to the wedding presents, some 
 of which were splendid, arranged by Mademoiselle 
 Bonneau, and displayed in an adjoining drawing- 
 room, they did not care a fig about them. 
 
 They had hardly ended their task when once 
 more above the roofs came the sweet, clear voices 
 calling the faithful to the fifth prayer of this last 
 day. 
 
 The three girls, to hear the better, seated 
 themselves by the open window, and there inhaled 
 the soft coolness of the night, smelling of cypress 
 and aromatic herbs and the salt sea. The window 
 though open was of course barred, and besides the 
 iron bars were screened by the all-pervading 
 chequered lattice, through which alone a Turkish 
 woman may look on the outer world. The voices 
 in the air still chanted their call near at hand, and 
 others seemed to answer from afar, a host of 
 others, ringing down from the tall minarets of 
 Stamboul, and across the sleeping waters, borne 
 on the hollow bass of the waves. It seemed 
 indeed as if the sound came from the sky itself, 
 a sudden outburst of clear voices calling, calling, 
 in a very airy chant intoned on all sides at 
 once. 
 
 But it was soon over, and when all the
 
 in DISENCHANTED 49 
 
 Muezzins had sung out, each to the four points 
 of the compass, the religious bidding of im- 
 memorial tradition, utter silence suddenly fell. 
 Stamboul now stood out between the thickly set 
 black cypresses as a blue mass against a dimly 
 moonlit sky, a filmy shape, larger than ever, a city 
 of giant cupolas ; and its ancient, unalterable silhou- 
 ette sparkled with endless lights reflected in the 
 waters of the gulf. The girls admired it, gazing 
 through the tiny squares in the imprisoning screen; 
 they wondered whether the famous cities of the 
 West, which they knew only from prints and would 
 never see, since no Moslem woman is allowed 
 to go out of Turkey, whether Vienna, Paris, or 
 London could give such an impression of beauty 
 and vastness. They even put their fingers out 
 through the lattice, as prisoners always do to 
 amuse themselves, and a wild longing came over 
 them to travel, to see the world or merely once 
 to take a walk by night, on such a night as this, 
 through the streets of Constantinople or even to 
 go only so far as the cemetery, there beneath the 
 window. But at night no Moslem woman may 
 stir out. 
 
 Silence, total silence, gradually enwrapt the old 
 suburb of Kassim Pacha and its closely shut houses. 
 Everything around them grew deadly still. The 
 noise of Pera, where there is a life of the night as 
 in European cities, died out before it could reach 
 them. As to the strident howls of the steam- 
 ships which lie in swarms under Seraglio Point, 
 there is always respite from them even before the 
 hour of the fifth prayer, for all navigation is
 
 50 DISENCHANTED m 
 
 stopped on the Bosphorus as soon as it is dark. 
 In this oriental hush, unknown to our towns, one 
 sound alone was heard from time to time, a sound 
 essentially characteristic of the night in Constan- 
 tinople, resembling no other in the world, though 
 for centuries the Turks have known it always the 
 same: tap, tap, tap, tap, on the old pavements; 
 a tap, tap made resonant by the funereal echoes 
 of streets where no one passes along. This was 
 the watchman of the district, who, making his 
 slow rounds in slippers, struck the stones with his 
 heavy iron-shod staff. In the distance other 
 watchmen responded, doing the same; and the 
 sounds rang out at no great distance apart 
 throughout the vast city; from Eyoub to the 
 Seven Towers, and along the shores of the 
 Bosphorus, the sea of Marmora, and the Black 
 Sea, saying to the inhabitants: 'Sleep, sleep on; 
 we are here open-eyed till morning, on the look- 
 out for thieves or fire.' 
 
 Now and then the three girls forgot that this was 
 the last evening. As so often happens just before 
 the great crises of life, they allowed themselves to 
 be deluded by the cairn of long-familiar things; 
 here, in this room, everything was in its place and 
 looked as it was wont to look. But sudden 
 reminders struck them each time with a death- 
 chill; to-morrow the parting, the end of their 
 sisterly intimacy, the fall and ruin of all the 
 cherished past. 
 
 Oh ! that morrow ! For her, the bride, a 
 whole day when she must act a part, as custom 
 demanded, and act it well, whatever it might cost
 
 in DISENCHANTED 51 
 
 her. A whole day when she must smile like an 
 idol, smile at friends by the dozen, smile at the 
 endless tribe of inquisitive gossips who, on the 
 occasion of a grand wedding, invade the house. 
 And then she must find pleasant things to say, 
 receive congratulations with a grace, wear happy 
 looks from morning till night, keep them set on 
 her lips, in her eyes, in spite of revolt and terror. 
 Yes, yes, she would smile through it all; her 
 pride indeed required it of her; to be seen as 
 victim would be too humiliating to her, the 
 unsubdued spirit who had boasted that she would 
 never be married against her will, who had 
 preached to others the crusade of womanhood. 
 But the morrow's sun would rise on a day of 
 irony and cruel fate. 
 
 'And if only with the end of the day it might 
 all be ended!' said she. 'But no; afterwards 
 there will be months and years, a whole lifetime 
 to be enslaved, spurned, tormented by this 
 unknown owner. To think that not a day, not 
 a night, will ever be my own again, and that 
 simply because this man has had a fancy to marry 
 the daughter of a Marshal of the Court !' 
 
 The gentle little cousins, as they saw her stamp 
 with nervous vexation, suggested as a diversion 
 that they should make some music for the last 
 time. They all went together into the room 
 where the piano had remained open. Here there 
 were quantities of objects lying on the tables, the 
 consoles, the rugs, which snowed the mind of the 
 modern Moslem woman eager to try everything 
 in her seclusion, to possess and know everything.
 
 52 DISENCHANTED m 
 
 There was even a phonograph, with the latest 
 improvements of that year; they had amused 
 themselves with it for a few days, being intro- 
 duced to the noises of a Western theatre, to the 
 insipid music of an operetta, and the imbecilities 
 of a cafe concert. But there were no memories 
 bound up with these incongruous toys; they 
 might stay where chance had dropped them, 
 uncared-for lumber, the delight of the eunuchs 
 and serving women. 
 
 The bride, seated at the piano, hesitated for a 
 moment; then she began a concerto of her own 
 composition. Besides having studied harmony 
 under excellent teachers, she had a vein of spon- 
 taneous inspiration, often a little wild, and almost 
 always delicately charming; now and then, per- 
 haps, a reminiscence of the galloping Circassian 
 horses on her native steppe, but no others. She 
 went on to an unfinished nocturne, begun the 
 previous evening; it opened with a sort of gloomy 
 whirlwind, but the peace of the neighbouring 
 cemeteries got the upper hand in the end. And 
 a sound from outside was heard now and then, 
 accentuating the music the sound peculiar to 
 Constantinople the taps of the night-watchman's 
 stick in the reverberating silence, now as deep as 
 that of the tomb. 
 
 Zeyneb then sang to the accompaniment of her 
 young sister Melek; like all Turkish women, she 
 had a rich, rather tragical voice, which she infused 
 with passion, especially in the fine deep notes. 
 She, after hesitating too in her choice, opened a 
 score by Gluck, and gave out magnificently the
 
 in DISENCHANTED 53 
 
 immortal invocation : Divinitts du Styx, ministres 
 de la Mort! 
 
 The past generation lying in the cemeteries 
 below, the Turks of old, sleeping among the roots 
 of the cypress trees, must have been greatly 
 astonished at this window open so late, and 
 shedding a bright shaft of light on their gloomy 
 domain ; a harem window, no doubt, since it was 
 latticed and barred, and from it came such 
 melodies as were very strange to them. 
 
 Zeyneb, however, had hardly ended the defiant 
 words: Je ninvoquerai point votre piti& cruelle, 
 when the pianist stopped in alarm, striking a 
 wrong chord. A human figure, which she was 
 the first to perceive, stood by the piano; a tall, 
 lean figure in dark draperies, who had appeared 
 noiselessly like a ghost ! 
 
 It was not a Divinity of the Styx to be sure, 
 but hardly more reassuring. Much of a muchness, 
 to use the expression which had amused little red- 
 haired Melek. It was Madame Husnugul, the 
 terror of the household. 'Your grandmother,' 
 said she, 'orders you to go to bed and put out the 
 lights.' And she went away as she had come 
 without a sound, leaving them all three frozen with 
 alarm. She had a gift of appearing always and 
 everywhere without being heard; this is easier no 
 doubt in a harem than anywhere else, since the 
 doors are never shut. 
 
 Madame Husnugul (the Beauty of the Rose) 
 was a Circassian slave who, thirty years ago, had 
 come to be almost one of the family, having borne 
 a son to the Pasha's brother-in-law. The child
 
 54 DISENCHANTED in 
 
 died, and she was given in marriage to an intendant 
 in the country. Her husband presently died, and 
 one fine day she made her appearance here again, 
 on a visit, bringing quantities of clothes in blanket 
 bags, in the old Turkish way. And this 'visit' 
 had now lasted for nearly five-and-twenty years. 
 Madame Husnugul, half lady-companion, half 
 superintendent and spy over the young people, 
 had become the right-hand of her former mistress ; 
 she was a well-educated woman, and now, on her 
 own account, visited all the ladies of the neighbour- 
 hood; so complete is the feeling of indulgent 
 equality in Turkey that she was received even in 
 the best circles. Many a family in Constantinople 
 has under its roof a Madame Husnugul or 
 Gulchinassa (Handmaid of the Rose), or Chemsigul 
 (Rose of the Sun), or Purkiemal (the Perfect), or 
 something of that kind who is always a scourge. 
 But the old '1320' ladies appreciate the services 
 of these duennas, who accompany the young people 
 when they go out and report on them when they 
 come home. 
 
 The orders transmitted by Madame Husnugul 
 left no opening for discussion; the three unhappy 
 girls silently closed the piano and blew out the 
 candles. 
 
 But before going to bed they threw themselves 
 into each other's arms for a final farewell; they 
 wept for each other as if the events of the morrow 
 meant eternal parting. For fear of bringing back 
 Madame Husnugul, who was no doubt listening 
 outside the door that stood ajar, they dared not 
 speak; but as to sleeping, that was impossible,
 
 in DISENCHANTED 55 
 
 and from time to time a sigh or a sob was heard 
 from one of the little bursting hearts. 
 
 The bride herself, in the deep stillness of the 
 night, which favoured the prescience of despair, 
 grew more and more distraught at the thought 
 that every hour, every minute, brought her nearer 
 to the culminating humiliation and disaster. 
 With barbaric vehemence she now abhorred the 
 stranger, whose face she had scarcely seen, but 
 who would so soon and for ever be the irre- 
 sponsible owner and master of her person. Since 
 nothing was done yet, an overwhelming tempta- 
 tion came over her to make some supreme 
 attempt, no matter what, to escape him at all risks. 
 But what, how ? What human succour could she 
 look for, who would have pity on her ? It was 
 too late to throw herself at her father's feet; he 
 would not yield now. 
 
 It was near midnight; the moon shed its pale 
 light into the room, its beams fell through the 
 inexorable bars and lattice, outlining them on the 
 white walls. They fell, too, on the text from the 
 Koran over the little princess's head, the 'Ayet' 
 which every Moslem woman must have above her 
 pillow. Her text was on bright green velvet, an 
 antique and exquisite piece of embroidery in gold, 
 designed by a famous writer of a past period, and 
 the words, as mild as those of the Christian 
 gospel, were these: 'My sins are as great as the 
 seas, but thy pardon, O Allah ! is greater still.' 1 
 
 Long after the girl had ceased to believe, the 
 holy words that guarded her slumbers had still 
 
 1 Garih Bahr-i isyauim, Dahilek ya ressoul Allah.
 
 56 DISENCHANTED in 
 
 had their influence on her soul, and she had 
 retained a vague trust in supreme goodness, 
 supreme forgiveness. And now all was over; 
 henceforth she looked for no mercy, however 
 indefinite, either before death or after; no, she 
 must suffer alone, protect herself unaided, and be 
 alone responsible. So at this moment she felt 
 prepared for extreme resolves. 
 
 Again, then, what steps could she take ? She 
 had no weapon in her room, besides, such a 
 solution of the difficulty would be too vulgar; 
 and, indeed, what she craved for was to live ! 
 Then she must fly; but whither and how ? At 
 midnight, at random, rushing through the terrify- 
 ing streets ? And where could she take refuge, 
 not to be caught ? 
 
 Zeyneb meanwhile, who could not sleep, was 
 saying something in a whisper. She had just 
 remembered that it was the day of the week 
 known to the Turks as Vazar-Ghuri, correspond- 
 ing to our Sunday, on the eve of which day they 
 pray for the dead as well as on the eve of Tchar- 
 chembeh, corresponding to our Thursday. Now 
 they had never omitted this duty; it was indeed 
 one of the very few religious traditions of Islam 
 which they still faithfully observed; for the rest, 
 they were much like the other Moslem women of 
 their generation and social rank, touched and 
 scorched by the influence of Darwin and Schopen- 
 hauer and other writers. Their grandmother 
 would often say to them: 'It is a sad thing in 
 my old age to see that you have done worse than 
 if you had been converted to Christianity, for
 
 in DISENCHANTED 57 
 
 after all God loves all who profess some religion. 
 But you are really the infidels whose time, as the 
 prophet so wisely foretold, was certain to come.' 
 
 Infidels they were indeed, more sceptical and 
 hopeless than the average of girls in Western lands. 
 But still, praying for the dead remained a duty 
 they dared not fail in, and it was a soothing duty 
 too. Even in the course of their walks in the 
 summer, in the villages by the Bosphorus that 
 have delicious graveyards under the shade of 
 cypress and oak, they had often stopped to pray 
 over some humble and nameless tomb. 
 
 So they noiselessly lighted a very small night- 
 light; the little bride took up her Koran, which 
 lay on a console near her new-fangled bedstead 
 the Koran, always wrapped in a silk handkerchief 
 from Mecca scented with sandal-wood, which 
 every Moslem woman must keep by her pillow on 
 purpose for these prayers that are said at night; 
 and they all began to murmur in a low voice, 
 becoming soothed as they went on, for prayer 
 refreshed their spirit as cold water cools a fever. 
 
 But in a few minutes a tall woman in dark 
 draperies, as noiselessly as before, came in with no 
 sound of opening doors, and like a spectre stood 
 beside them: 'Your grandmother orders you to 
 put out the night-light/ 
 
 'Very well, Madame Husnugul. Have the 
 kindness to put it out yourself, since we are in 
 bed, and be good enough to explain to my 
 grandmother that it was not out of disobedience 
 but we were reading the prayers for the dead.' 
 
 It was near two o'clock in the morning.
 
 58 DISENCHANTED in 
 
 When the night-light was extinguished, the three 
 young creatures, exhausted by their emotions, 
 their regrets, and their rebellious rage, went to 
 sleep at once, sound, peaceful sleep, like the sleep 
 of the condemned the night before the fatal 
 morning.
 
 IV 
 
 FOUR days later. The bride is in the heart of the 
 very old and very lordly dwelling of her young 
 master; alone in the room of the harem which 
 has been given to her as her private sitting-room 
 a Louis XVI. drawing-room in pale blue and 
 gold, freshly fitted and furnished for her. Her 
 pink dress, imported from the Rue de la Paix, is 
 of an impalpable material, looking like an envelop- 
 ing cloud, in obedience to the fashion that spring, 
 and her hair is dressed in the last-invented 
 fashion. In one corner is a white enamelled 
 writing-table, very much like that in her room at 
 Kassim Pacha, and the drawers can be locked, 
 which was her dream. 
 
 It might be a lady's room in Paris, but for the 
 lattices, of course, and the Moslem inscriptions 
 embroidered on the loveliest old silks which adorn 
 the walls here and there : the name of Allah and 
 texts from the Koran. There is, to be sure, a 
 throne, which would seem strange in Paris; her 
 marriage throne, very splendid, and standing on a 
 platform raised by two or three steps and covered 
 with a canopy, from which hang curtains of blue 
 satin richly embroidered with flowers in silver. 
 And finally, here again is old Kondje-Gul, any- 
 
 59
 
 60 DISENCHANTED iv 
 
 thing but Parisian in appearance; she sits by a 
 window crooning in very low hum a song of her 
 own black race. 
 
 The Bey's mother, the rather silly lady of 
 '1320' with her old pussy ways, has turned out 
 to be in fact an inoffensive creature, rather kind, 
 and who might be really excellent but for her 
 blind idolatry of her son. She is entirely 
 bewitched by the charms of her daughter-in-law, 
 so much so, that only yesterday she came of her 
 own accord to offer her the longed-for piano; 
 post-haste, in a closed carriage, the bride, escorted 
 by an eunuch on horseback, had crossed the 
 Golden Horn to choose one in the best shop in 
 Pera, and two relays of porters with poles to 
 carry it had just been ordered to fetch it to- 
 morrow morning, bearing it on their shoulders 
 up to this elevated spot of rather difficult 
 access. 
 
 As to the young Bey the enemy the smart- 
 est captain of the Turkish army, where so many 
 officers wear the uniform smartly, he was certainly 
 a very handsome fellow, with a soft voice, as 
 Kondje-Gul had said, and a somewhat feline smile 
 inherited from his mother he had hitherto, with 
 the most refined delicacy, half sportively, half 
 respectfully, paid his court most discreetly to his 
 wife, whose superiority he fully appreciated, and, 
 as is the rule in good society in the East, tried to 
 win her affection rather than assert his rights. 
 For, though a Moslem marriage is roughly 
 handled and no consent invited before the cere- 
 mony, after it, on the contrary, there is an
 
 iv DISENCHANTED 61 
 
 amount of consideration and delicacy quite foreign 
 to our Western manners. 
 
 Hamdi Bey, on daily duty at the Yildiz 
 palace, comes home every evening, is formally 
 announced to his wife, and at first behaves as a 
 visitor. After supper he takes a seat more inti- 
 mately by her side on the sofa, and they smoke 
 together thin, light-coloured cigarettes, while each 
 studies and watches the other like fencers on 
 guard; he tender and insinuating, with pauses 
 full of suggestive agitation; she witty and brilliant 
 so long as they merely chat together, but dis- 
 arming him at once by an assumed slave-like 
 submission if he attempts to draw her to him or 
 to kiss her. Finally, when ten o'clock strikes, he 
 withdraws, kissing her hand. If only she had 
 chosen him, she would probably have loved him, 
 but the little unbroken princess of the plain of 
 Karadjemir will never bend to a master who is 
 forced upon her. Besides, she knows full well that 
 the moment is near and inevitable when her lord, 
 instead of bowing himself out respectfully, will 
 follow her to her room. She will not resist, far 
 less entreat him. She has achieved the sort of 
 duality of identity which is common to many 
 Turkish women of her age and rank, who say : 
 'My person is delivered over by contract to an 
 unknown man, and I devote it to him because I 
 am an honest woman ; but my soul, which was 
 not consulted, is still my own, and I keep it with 
 jealous reserve for an ideal lover whom I may 
 never meet with, and who in any case will never 
 know anything about it.'
 
 62 DISENCHANTED iv 
 
 So she is at home alone all the afternoon, this 
 young bride. 
 
 To-day, while awaiting the return of the enemy 
 from Yildiz, the idea occurs to her of continuing 
 for Andre her interrupted diary, and to take it up 
 at the fateful date of the 28th of Zil-Hidjeh 1318 
 of the Hegira, the day of her marriage. The earlier 
 sheets are coming back to her to-morrow; she 
 has asked the friend who took charge of them to 
 return them, regarding her new bureau as safe 
 enough to keep them in. 
 
 She began to write. 
 
 The 2%th of Zil-Hidjeh 1318. 
 April 19, 1901, in the Prankish calendar. 
 
 'My grandmother herself came to call me; I 
 had gone to sleep so late that night. "Make 
 haste," said she; "you forget that you are to be 
 ready by nine o'clock. You should not sleep so 
 late on your wedding-day!" 
 
 ' How stern was her tone ! It was the last 
 morning I was to know in her house in my own 
 dear little room. Could she not avoid severity 
 but for one day ? On opening my eyes I saw 
 my cousins, who had already risen noiselessly, and 
 were putting on their tcharchaf to go home at 
 once and make their toilet, which would be a long 
 business. Never again should we all wake up 
 together there, and once more we took a long 
 farewell. We could hear the swallows piping in 
 the joy of their hearts; we could feel that spring 
 was radiant out of doors ; a bright day of sunshine 
 had risen on my sacrifice; I felt like one drown- 
 ing whom nobody would rescue.
 
 iv DISENCHANTED 63 
 
 ' Before long the house was full of an infernal 
 turmoil. Doors opening and shutting, bustling 
 footsteps, the rustle of silk trains, women's voices, 
 and then the falsetto tones of the negroes, tears 
 and laughter, sermonising and lamentations. In 
 my room there was a perpetual coming and going; 
 relations, friends, slaves, a whole rout of women 
 offering their advice as to how the bride's hair 
 should be dressed. Every now and then a big 
 negro in attendance called them to order, and 
 besought us to make haste. 
 
 'Nine o'clock; the carriages were ready, the 
 procession waiting : my mother-in-law, sisters-in- 
 law, and the young Bey's guests. But the bride 
 was not dressed; the ladies about her pressed their 
 services upon her, but it was, in fact, their presence 
 which complicated matters. At last, quite too 
 nervous, she declined all help, and begged to be 
 left to herself. She dressed her own hair, hastily 
 put on her dress trimmed with orange-blossom 
 and three yards of train, fastened her diamonds, 
 her veil, and the long skeins of gold thread in her 
 hair. Only one ornament she had no right to 
 touch her diadem. 
 
 'The heavy diamond tiara, which with us takes 
 the place of the wreath of flowers worn by 
 Europeans, must, according to custom, be placed 
 on her head by a young wife chosen from among 
 her friends, who has been but once married, has 
 not been divorced, and is notoriously happy in her 
 wedded life. This chosen friend must first recite 
 a short prayer out of the Koran, and then crown 
 the bride, while expressing good wishes for her
 
 64 DISENCHANTED iv 
 
 happiness, and more especially that she may thus 
 be crowned once only in her life. In other words, 
 you, Andre, will understand, no divorce, no second 
 marriage. 
 
 * Among the young women present one seemed 
 so particularly fitted for this office that she was 
 unanimously chosen Djavideh, my very dear 
 cousin. What had she not, that fortunate 
 woman ? Young, lovely, immensely rich, and 
 married eighteen months since to a man who 
 was reputed delightful ! 
 
 ' But when she came up to me to endow me with 
 her happiness, I saw two large tears in her eyes. 
 "My poor darling," said she, "why is this my 
 part ? I am not indeed superstitious, but I can 
 never cease to regret having endowed you with my 
 happiness. If in the future you should be doomed 
 to suffer as I suffer, I shall feel as if it were my 
 doing, my crime." So she, too, apparently the 
 happiest of us all, she too was in distress. Oh 
 woe is me ! Would no one hear my cry for 
 mercy before I left that house ? 
 
 * But the diadem was fixed ; I said, " I am ready." 
 A tall negro came forward to carry the train of 
 my dress, and I made my way along the passages 
 to the stairs those long corridors, watched night 
 and day by women or slaves, and which lead to our 
 rooms, Andre, so that we live in a mouse-trap. 
 
 'I was conducted downstairs to the largest of 
 the reception rooms, where I found the whole 
 family assembled. First there was my father, of 
 whom I was to take leave. I kissed his hands. 
 He made some appropriate speech, which I did
 
 iv DISENCHANTED 65 
 
 not hear. I had indeed been enjoined to thank 
 him publicly here for all his kindness in the past, 
 and above all for that of to-day the marriage he 
 had arranged for me. But no, that was beyond 
 my powers; I could not. I stood before him 
 speechless, frozen, not looking up, and not a word 
 could I utter. It was he who had concluded the 
 bargain, who had surrendered me, ruined me; he 
 was responsible for everything. How could I 
 thank him when in the depths of my soul I cursed 
 him ? Was it possible this fearful fact that I 
 suddenly felt a mortal grudge against the being I 
 once most dearly loved ? Ah, it is an awful 
 moment when the tenderest affection turns to the 
 acutest hatred ! And all the time I was smiling, 
 Andre, because on one's wedding day one is 
 expected to smile. 
 
 'While some old uncles were giving me their 
 blessing, the ladies of the party, who had been 
 having refreshments under the plane-trees in the 
 garden, began putting on their tcharchaf. 
 
 'The bride alone could not put one on, but 
 negroes held up screens of damask silk to enclose 
 a sort of passage and hide her from the eyes of 
 the people in the street, between the door of the 
 house and that of the closed landau with windows 
 darkened by wooden shutters pierced with little 
 holes. It was time to start, and I passed down 
 between the silken walls. Zeyneb and Melek, my 
 bridesmaids, both wearing blue dominos over their 
 elegant dresses, followed me and got in with me, 
 and there we were in a tightly closed case, im- 
 penetrable to every eye.
 
 66 DISENCHANTED iv 
 
 'After thus being put into the carriage, which 
 to me seemed like being put into my hearse, there 
 was a long pause. My mother-in-law and sisters- 
 in-law, who had come to fetch me away, had not 
 finished their glasses of strop, and kept everybody 
 waiting. Well, so much the better ! It was so 
 much gained, a quarter of an hour less sacrificed to 
 the other. 
 
 'However, the long line of carriages started at 
 last, mine leading the way, and we began to jolt 
 over the street pavement. My companions and I 
 did not exchange a word. On we went in our 
 dark cell, in perfect silence, seeing nothing. Oh 
 how I longed to smash everything, to wreck every- 
 thing, to fling open the doors, and cry to the 
 passers-by, "Save me ! I am being robbed of my 
 happiness, my youth, my life!" I clenched my 
 hands, I felt my face redden and the tears start to 
 my eyes, while the two poor little things in front 
 of me were stricken by my too evident misery. 
 
 'Then there was a change of noise; the carriage 
 was rumbling on wood, on the endless floating 
 bridge over the Golden Horn. In fact I was 
 going to live on the other shore. And then 
 began the pavement of Stamboul, and I felt 
 myself yet more abjectly a prisoner, for I must be 
 rapidly approaching my new cloister, so abhorred 
 in anticipation. What a long way through the 
 town; by what endless streets we drove, up 
 what impossible steeps ! Heaven, how far away 
 I should be, in what sinister exile ! 
 
 'At last we stopped. The carriage door was 
 opened. In a flash I saw a waiting crowd in front
 
 iv DISENCHANTED 67 
 
 of a gloomy doorway, negroes in uniform, cavasses 
 blazing with gold lace and medals, intendants with 
 the chalvar, down to the night-watchman with his 
 long rod. And at once the silken screens stretched 
 by stalwart arms, as at my departure, shut me in; 
 I was again invisible, and again could see nothing. 
 I rushed madly through this corridor of silk, and 
 at the end found myself in a large hall full of 
 flowers, where a fair young man in the full-dress 
 uniform of a cavalry captain came forward to meet 
 me. With smiles on our lips we exchanged an 
 inquiring glance and a flash of intense defiance; 
 it is over; I have seen my master, my master has 
 seen me. 
 
 'He bowed, offered me his arm, and conducted 
 me to the first floor, to which I mounted as if 
 dragged there; he led me to the end of a large 
 drawing-room, where a throne stood raised on 
 three steps. On this I seated myself, and he 
 bowed again and went away; his part was over 
 for the rest of the day. I watched him as he 
 went; he met a tide of ladies pervading the stairs 
 and rooms, a surge of light gauze, flowers, jewels, 
 and bare shoulders ; not a face was veiled nor the 
 diamond-decked hair; every tcharchaf had been 
 left at the door. It might have been a crowd of 
 Western ladies in evening-dress, and the bride- 
 groom, who had never before seen, and never 
 again will see, such a sight, seemed to me dis- 
 turbed in spite of his easy manner the only man, 
 drowned in this flood of women, and the object of 
 interest to all these curious eyes. 
 
 'His part was played, but I had to remain, the
 
 68 DISENCHANTED iv 
 
 rare and curious creature on view all the day, on 
 my seat of dignity. Near me on one side was 
 Mademoiselle Esther, on the other were Zeyneb 
 and Melek, who had also shed the tcharchaf, and 
 were dressed in bodices open at the throat with 
 flowers and diamonds. I implored them not to 
 desert me while all the company passed before 
 my throne, an interminable procession : relations, 
 friends, mere acquaintances, each one asking me 
 the exasperating question, "Well, my dear, what 
 do you think of him?" How was I to know 
 what I thought of him ? a man whose voice I had 
 scarcely heard, whose face I had scarcely glanced at, 
 and whom I should not recognise in the street. 
 Not a word could I find in reply; only a smile, 
 since a smile is indispensable or rather a grimace 
 resembling a smile. Some of these women as they 
 asked me had an ironical or sneering expression; 
 these were the embittered and rebellious wives; 
 others thought proper to assume an air of encourage- 
 ment the docile and resigned. But in the eyes 
 of the rest I read most clearly a look of irremedi- 
 able sadness, and pity for the sister who had fallen 
 this day into the common pit, and become their 
 comrade in humiliation and woe. And still my 
 lips smiled. Marriage, then, was just what I had 
 thought it. Now I knew. I read the truth in the 
 eyes of each one of them all. And sitting there 
 on my bridal throne I began to reflect that there is 
 a way after all of getting free, a way permitted by 
 Allah and the prophet : yes, I would get a divorce. 
 Why had I not thought of it sooner ? Isolated 
 now in the midst of the crowd, and concentrating
 
 iv DISENCHANTED 69 
 
 my thoughts though still smiling, I eagerly plotted 
 my new plan of campaign; I already counted on 
 that blessed divorce; for, after all, a marriage in 
 our country, if only one is bent upon it, is so easily 
 undone. 
 
 ' But after all, that procession was a pretty sight. 
 I should really have been very much interested if 
 I myself had not been the melancholy idol which 
 all these women had come to stare at. Nothing 
 to be seen but lace, gauze, bright and delicate 
 colours. Not a black coat, of course, to make an 
 inky spot, as at your European parties. And 
 indeed, Andre, from the little I have seen of them 
 at the Embassies, I do not think your entertain- 
 ments can bring together so many charming faces 
 as are seen at ours. All these Turkish women, 
 never seen by men, are so slender, elegant, be- 
 witching as lithe as cats. I mean, of course, the 
 women of this present generation the least good- 
 looking have something to attract; all are pleasing 
 to behold. And then there are the old "1320" 
 ladies, mingling with the young whose eyes are 
 deliciously melancholy or restless, the good old 
 women, so amazing now with their placid grave 
 looks, their superb hair in heavy plaits, never 
 thinned by intellectual toil, their gauze turbans 
 edged with flowers worked in crochet, and their 
 rich silks, all purchased in Damascus, so as to put 
 no profits into the hands of the infidel merchants 
 of Lyons. 
 
 'Now and again, when a guest of distinction 
 came past me, I had to rise and return her bow 
 with one just as low as she had chosen to make to
 
 70 DISENCHANTED iv 
 
 me, 1 and if she were young, to beg her to be seated 
 by me for a few minutes. 
 
 'I really believe I was by this time beginning to 
 be thoroughly amused, as though the procession 
 of guests had been in honour of some one else, 
 and I had nothing to do with it. The scene, in 
 fact, had suddenly changed, and from my raised 
 seat I was well placed to lose nothing of it. All 
 the doors on to the street had been thrown wide 
 open; all might enter who would; invited or no, 
 any woman was admitted who wished to see the 
 bride. And such extraordinary figures came in, 
 utter strangers passing by, all in yashmak or 
 tcharchaf, all spectres with their faces hidden in 
 the way peculiar to the province they came from. 
 The old houses in the neighbourhood, latticed and 
 barred, were emptied of their residents or their 
 chance inhabitants, and fine old materials had 
 been brought out of every chest. There were 
 women wrapped from head to foot in Asiatic 
 silks curiously wrought with tinsel of gold or 
 silver; there were gorgeous Syrians, and Persians 
 robed entirely in black; there were even old 
 women of a hundred leaning on their sticks. "A 
 gallery of costume,'* said Melek in a whisper, very 
 much amused too. 
 
 'At four o'clock came the European ladies; 
 this was the most unpleasant episode of the day. 
 They were kept a long time at the refreshment 
 tables, eating little cakes, drinking tea, and even 
 smoking cigarettes, but at last they came on in a 
 crowd towards the throne of the strange creature. 
 
 1 The Temenan.
 
 iv DISENCHANTED 71 
 
 ' I must tell you, Andre, that they almost always 
 have with them some foreign stranger for whose 
 presence they apologise, some English or American 
 tourist passing through, who is extremely excited 
 by the idea of seeing a Turkish wedding. This 
 person comes in a travelling dress, perhaps even 
 in Alpine climbing boots. With those haggard 
 eyes which have looked down on the world from 
 the summit of the Himalayas, or contemplated the 
 midnight sun from the North Cape, she stares at 
 the bride. As a crowning touch, my traveller, she 
 whom fate had reserved for my wedding day, was 
 a writer, a journalist, who had on her hands the 
 dirty gloves she had worn on the steamship; 
 impertinent and inquisitive, caring only for copy 
 for a newly started paper, she asked me the most 
 astounding questions with absolute want of tact. 
 My humiliation was complete. 
 
 'Very disagreeable and odious were the ladies 
 of Pera, who came extravagantly over-dressed. 
 They had been to fifty weddings at least, and 
 knew exactly how everything should be done. 
 This, however, did not hinder them from asking 
 the stupidest, ill-natured questions. 
 
 "Of course you are not yet acquainted with 
 your husband ? It really is very funny, you 
 know ! What a strange custom ! But, my dear 
 child, you ought to have cheated, just cheated ! 
 And you did not, really and truly, no ? Well, I 
 can only say that in your place I should simply 
 have refused him." 
 
 'And as she spoke she exchanged satirical 
 glances with a Greek lady by her side, a Perote
 
 72 DISENCHANTED iv 
 
 too, and giggled compassionately. I smiled to 
 order all the time, but I felt as if these rude 
 minxes were slapping my cheeks till the blood 
 came. 
 
 'At last all were gone, all the intruders in 
 tcharchafs or in hats. Only the invited guests 
 remained. 
 
 'The candelabra and lamps that were now 
 lighted illuminated none but the most splendid 
 dresses none black, since there were no men ; 
 none dark or sober, a crowd of beautiful and 
 varied colours. I do not believe, Andre, that you 
 in the West ever see such an effect; at any rate, 
 what I used to see at the Embassies when I was a 
 little girl did not come near this in brilliancy. 
 Mingling with the exquisite Asiatic silks displayed 
 by the grandmothers, there were quantities of Paris 
 dresses that looked even more diaphanous; they 
 might have been made of blue or pink mist. All 
 the latest creations of your famous dressmakers (to 
 use their imbecile phraseology), worn to perfection 
 by these little ladies, whose governesses have trans- 
 formed them into French women, or Swiss, or 
 English, or Germans, but whose names are, never- 
 theless, Khadija, or Tcheref, or Fatima, or Gulizar, 
 and on whom no man has ever set eyes ! 
 
 'I was now allowed to come down from my 
 throne, where I had been perched for five or six 
 hours; I might even leave this blue drawing-room, 
 where the old ladies were for the most part 
 assembled, the " 1320" fanatics and scorners, severe 
 and rigid of spirit under their flat braids of hair 
 and small turbans. I wanted rather to join the
 
 iv DISENCHANTED 73 
 
 throng of young women, the "unbalanced" like 
 myself, who were crowding now into an adjoining 
 room where a band was playing. 
 
 'It was a stringed orchestra accompanying six 
 singers, who took it in turn to recite passages of 
 poems by Zia Pasha, Hafiz, or Saadi. You, 
 Andre, know how melancholy and impassioned is 
 our oriental music; indeed you yourself have 
 tried to express it, though it cannot be put into 
 words. The musicians men were hermetically 
 screened off by a vast curtain of Damascus silk; 
 only think of the scandal if one of them should 
 get a glimpse of us ! And my friends, when I 
 joined them, had just arranged a seance of fortune- 
 telling by song. This is a sort of game played at 
 wedding parties where there is a band. One says, 
 "The first song shall be for me"; another says, 
 "I will take the second," or the third, and so on. 
 And each regards the words of her song as pro- 
 phetic of her fate. 
 
 '"The bride will take the fifth," said I as I 
 went in. And when the fifth was to be sung all 
 came close, eager not to miss a word, their ear 
 against the silken screen, leaning on it at the risk 
 of bringing it down. 
 
 ' " I who am Love 
 the voice of the invisible singer recited 
 
 burn with too fierce a fire. 
 Even if only I pass and touch the soul 
 Life is not long enough to close and heal the wound. 
 I pass, but my touch for ever leaves its mark. 
 I who am Love burn with too fierce a fire."
 
 74 DISENCHANTED iv 
 
 'How rich and thrilling was the voice of this 
 man, whom I felt quite near, but who remained 
 hidden, so that I might attribute to him any 
 features, form, and eyes that I chose to fancy. 
 I had come in to amuse myself like the others; 
 the oracle so often suggests some absurd inter- 
 pretation that it is hailed with laughter in spite of 
 the beauty of the words. But this time the per- 
 former had sung too well, with too much passion. 
 The girls did not laugh no, not one of them, - 
 but looked at me. For my part, I felt as I had 
 felt in the morning, that my youth was buried that 
 day. Yes, in one way or another, I would be 
 separated from the man to whom I was delivered 
 over, and I would live my own life elsewhere, 
 where I knew not, and I would seek and find 
 "Love burning with too fierce a fire." And 
 everything was transfigured before me in the room, 
 where I ceased to be aware of the women who 
 crowded round me; the mass of flowers in the 
 large vases seemed suddenly to fill the air with 
 heavy perfume, and the crystal chandeliers to 
 beam like stars. Whether from fatigue or ecstacy 
 I did not know, but my head swam. I saw no 
 one, nor what was going on around me, and I felt 
 indifferent to everything, because I now knew 
 that some day in the course of my life I should 
 find Love and if I die of it, so much the worse ! 
 
 'A minute later a. minute or a long time, I 
 know not which my cousin Djavideh, the same 
 who in the morning had "set her happiness" on 
 my head, came up to me. "Why, you are all 
 alone ! The others are gone down to supper, and
 
 IV UlbJ2.INUtIAJNlJtJJ 75 
 
 are waiting for you. What can you have been 
 doing to absorb you so ?" 
 
 'It was true; I was alone; the room was 
 empty. The others had gone. When ? I had 
 not even perceived it. 
 
 'Djavideh had with her the negro who was to 
 bear my train and cry "Destour" as I went, for 
 every one to make way. She took my arm, and 
 as we went down the stairs she asked me in a low 
 voice, "My dear, tell me the truth I entreat you, 
 of whom were you dreaming when I came up ? " 
 
 '"Of Andre Lhery." 
 
 '"Of Andre Lhery? No! You are mad or 
 making game of me. Of Andre Lhery ! Then 
 what I was told of your fancy for him was true." 
 She was laughing now, quite satisfied. "Well, so 
 far as he is concerned, at any rate, it is certain 
 there is no fear of your meeting. But in your 
 place I should indulge in a better dream than 
 that. Why, I have been told that there are 
 charming men up in the moon. You might work 
 out that idea, my dear. A moon-man, it seems to 
 me, would be the very thing for a little lunatic 
 like you." 
 
 'We had to go down about twenty steps, gazed 
 at by those who were waiting for us at the bottom 
 of the stairs; the trains of our gowns, one white 
 and the other lilac, were held together in the 
 gloved hands of our ape. Fortunately, my dear 
 Djavideh's moon-man such an unexpected sug- 
 gestion, made me laugh as she did, and our faces 
 both wore the appropriate expression as we entered 
 the supper-rooms.
 
 76 DISENCHANTED iv 
 
 'At my request the younger ladies were seated 
 at tables apart; round the bride there were about 
 fifty guests under five-and-twenty, almost all of 
 them pretty. Also, by my desire, the cloth was 
 decorated with white roses laid closely side by side, 
 without leaves or stems. You know, Andre, it is 
 no longer the custom here to lay the table in the 
 Turkish manner; here were French silver plate, 
 Sevres porcelain, and Bohemian glass, all bearing 
 my new initials; our old oriental magnificence 
 was not to be seen at this marriage feast, excepting 
 in the array of silver candlesticks, all alike, which 
 were placed all round the table, touching each 
 other, like the roses. I forgot, to be sure, the 
 crowd of slaves who waited on us, fifty of them 
 at least in one room for the young people alone; 
 all Circassian girls of the best type and wonderfully 
 pleasant to look upon : calm, fair beauties, moving 
 with a sort of native majesty, like princesses. 
 
 'Among the Turkish ladies seated at my table 
 most of them of middle height and fragile grace, 
 with brown eyes some ladies of the Imperial 
 palace who had come, the "Serailis," were dis- 
 tinguished by their goddess-like stature, lovely 
 shoulders, and sea-blue eyes. These also were Cir- 
 cassians, daughters of the mountain or the plain, 
 of labourers or of shepherds, purchased as children 
 for their beauty, and after serving many years as 
 slaves in some seraglio, turned by the touch of a 
 wand into great ladies of amazing elegance by 
 marrying some chamberlain or other magnate. 
 They look down with pity, these splendid women, 
 on the little city-bred ladies with frail forms, dark
 
 iv DISENCHANTED 77 
 
 lines round their eyes, and wax-like skins; they 
 call them degenerate. It is their function theirs, 
 and that of thousands of their sisters brought here 
 every year to be sold to bring into the old worn- 
 out city an infusion of their rich, pure blood. 
 
 'The company was extremely gay. They talked 
 and laughed at everything. A wedding supper 
 among Turkish women is always an occasion for 
 forgetting trouble, for relaxation and enjoyment. 
 Besides, Andre, we are gay by nature, I assure 
 you; if the merest trifle leads us to forget our 
 restrictions, our daily humiliations and sorrows, 
 we plunge very readily into childlike, heedless 
 laughter. I have heard that it was so in the 
 convents of the West, the most strictly secluded 
 nuns sometimes playing and amusing themselves 
 with the sports of a little girls' school. And a 
 French woman of the Embassy, on the eve of 
 returning to Paris, said to me one day: "It is all 
 over; never again shall I laugh so heartily, and so 
 innocently too, as in your harems at Constantinople." 
 
 'The supper being ended with a toast to the 
 bride's health, the ladies at my table proposed to 
 give the Turkish orchestra a respite and to play 
 some European music. They were most of them 
 good pianists, and some of them quite admirable; 
 their fingers, which have so much time for practis- 
 ing, generally achieve the most faultless execution. 
 Beethoven, Grieg, Liszt, and Chopin are familiar 
 to them, and in singing, Wagner, Saint-Saens, 
 Holmes, or even Chaminade. 
 
 ' Alas ! I was obliged to confess with a blush 
 there was not a piano in the house. Amazement
 
 78 DISENCHANTED iv 
 
 indeed among my guests, and they looked at 
 me as if they would say : " Poor little thing ! 
 They must be '1320' indeed in her husbands' 
 family. Life in this house promises to be very 
 enjoyable !" 
 
 'Eleven o'clock. We hear the horses of the 
 fine carriages pawing the horribly dangerous pave- 
 ments, and the steep old street is full of negroes in 
 livery carrying lanterns. The guests are putting 
 on their veils and preparing to depart. The hour 
 was in fact very late for Moslem women, and but 
 for the exceptional event of a grand wedding they 
 would not be out. They began to take leave, and 
 the bride, still eternally standing, must curtsey and 
 thank each lady for having "condescended to be 
 present at this humble entertainment." 'When my 
 grandmother in her turn came up to bid me good- 
 bye, her satisfied expression clearly said: "At last 
 we have married off this fantastic girl. What a 
 good thing done!" 
 
 'They were all gone, I was left alone in my 
 new prison; there was nothing now to stun my 
 brain. I was left to the reflection that the irre- 
 mediable deed was done. 
 
 'Zeyneb and Melek, my beloved little sisters, 
 had remained till the end, and came now to kiss me 
 last; we dared not look at each other for fear of 
 tears. Then they also were gone, dropping their 
 veils over their faces. It was all over; I was 
 sunk in an abyss of loneliness, of the unknown. 
 Still, I had found the will to escape from it. I 
 was more alive this evening than I had been 
 in the morning, and ready for the struggle, for
 
 iv DISENCHANTED 79 
 
 I had heard the call of "Love of the too fierce 
 fire." 
 
 'At this point I was informed that the Bey, my 
 husband, in the blue drawing-room upstairs had 
 been waiting for some minutes for the pleasure 
 of a few words with me. He had just come in 
 from my father's house at Kassim Pacha, where 
 there had been a dinner given to men. Well 
 and good ! I too was eager to see him and to 
 face him. I went up with a smile on my lips, 
 armed with craftiness, and determined to amaze 
 him, to dazzle him at first, but my spirit was 
 seething with hatred and schemes of revenge. . . . ' 
 
 A rustle of silk behind her and quite close to 
 her made her start; her mother-in-law had come 
 in with the velvet footfall of an old cat. Happily 
 she could not read French, being quite of the old 
 school, and, moreover, she had forgotten her eye- 
 glasses. 
 
 'Come, my dear child, you really write too 
 much ! You have been sitting at this table for 
 very nearly three hours. I have been in several 
 times already on tiptoe. Our Hamdi will be 
 coming in from Yildiz, and your pretty eyes will 
 be quite heavy to receive him. Come, come, rest 
 a little; put those papers away till to-morrow.' 
 
 She needed no asking to put away the papers, 
 to lock them quickly by in a drawer for 
 another figure had just appeared at the door of 
 the room one who could read French and had 
 piercing eyes : the fair Durdaneh (the Pearl), a 
 cousin of Hamdi Bey's, who was lately divorced
 
 8o DISENCHANTED iv 
 
 and had been staying in the house for two days. 
 Her eyes were touched with henna, her hair was 
 dyed with henna, her face was too pretty, but her 
 smile malignant. The bride had already felt that 
 she was perfidious. It was quite unnecessary to 
 warn her to look her best when Hamdi should 
 come in, for she was vanity itself, especially in the 
 presence of her handsome cousin. 
 
 'Here, my dear child,' the old lady went on, 
 giving her a worn jewel-case; 'I have brought you 
 a necklace of my young days ; it is oriental, so you 
 cannot say that it is out of fashion, and it will look 
 well on the dress you are wearing to-day.' 
 
 It was a fine old necklace, and she put it round 
 the girl's neck; emeralds, of which the green 
 harmonised delightfully with the pink costume. 
 
 * It suits you, my child ! It suits you to perfec- 
 tion. Our Hamdi, who has such a taste in 
 colours, will think you irresistible this evening.' 
 
 She herself, she must own, was anxious that 
 Hamdi should think her attractive, for she relied 
 on her charms as her chief weapon in rebellion and 
 revenge. But nothing could humiliate her more 
 deeply than the mania they all had for dressing 
 her up from morning till night. 'My dear child, 
 just put that lock of hair a little higher there - 
 above your ear. Hamdi will think you prettier 
 than ever. My dear child, put this tea-rose in 
 your hair. It is our Hamdi's favourite flower.' 
 Treated all the time as an odalisque, a beautiful 
 doll for her lord's greater enjoyment. 
 
 Blushing scarlet, she had scarcely thanked the 
 old lady for the emerald necklace, when a huge
 
 iv DISENCHANTED 81 
 
 negro in attendance came to announce that the 
 Bey was in sight; he was coming on horseback 
 and had turned the corner of the mosque hard by. 
 His mother rose at once. 'We have only time 
 to make a retreat, Durdaneh, you and I. We 
 must not be in the way of the new-married couple, 
 my dear.' They fled like two Cinderellas, and 
 Durdaneh, looking back from the door before 
 she disappeared, bestowed on her a spiteful parting 
 smile. 
 
 The bride went to look in a glass. The other 
 day she had arrived at her husband's home, as 
 white as her dress and train, as pure as the water 
 of her diamonds; throughout her former life, 
 wholly devoted to study, secluded from contact 
 with young men, no sensual idea had ever even 
 crossed her imagination. But Hamdi's increas- 
 ingly tender courtship, the wholesome savour of 
 the man, the smoke of his cigarettes were beginning, 
 in spite of herself, to arouse in her a nervous excite- 
 ment which she had never dreamed of. 
 
 On the stairs the click of a cavalry sword he 
 was coming, close at hand; and she felt the hour 
 was near when their two personalities would be 
 merged in such intimate communion as she could 
 not picture to herself. And now, for the first 
 time, she was aware of an unconfessed wish for 
 his presence and the shame of wishing for any- 
 thing this man could give her aroused in her spirit 
 a fresh impulse of rebellion and aversion.
 
 THREE years later; 1904. 
 
 Andre Lhery, who was loosely and inter- 
 mittently connected with the Embassies, had, after 
 much hesitation, just asked for and obtained an 
 appointment for about two years at Constantinople. 
 He had hesitated, in the first place, because any 
 official position means a chain, and he clung to his 
 freedom; also because two years of absence from 
 his own country seemed to him longer now than it 
 had been of yore, at a time when almost all his 
 life lay like a high road before him; and above 
 all, because he dreaded the disenchantment of 
 modernised Turkey. 
 
 However, he made up his mind to it; and one 
 March morning, in gloomy wintry weather, a ship 
 had landed him on the quay of the city he had 
 loved so well. 
 
 At Constantinople the winter lingers long. 
 The wind, blowing from the Black Sea was wild 
 and icy that day, driving flakes of snow before it. 
 In the squalid cosmopolitan district where the 
 vessels discharge their passengers, in itself a sort 
 of warning to newcomefs to depart quickly, the 
 streets were gutters of sticky mud, through which 
 Levantines and mangy dogs splashed their way. 
 
 82
 
 v DISENCHANTED 83 
 
 And Andre Lhery, sick at heart, his imagination 
 stricken, took his seat like a condemned criminal in 
 the vehicle which conveyed him up streets almost 
 impossibly steep, to the most commonplace of the 
 hotels designated as 'Palaces.' 
 
 Pera, where his position compelled him to 
 reside, is a lamentable sham of an European city, 
 separated by an arm of the sea, to say nothing of 
 many centuries, from grand old Stamboul, the 
 city of mosques and of our dreams. There, not- 
 withstanding his impulse to fly, he was fain to find 
 a residence. He perched himself as high as he 
 could go in the least pretentious quarter of the 
 town, not only to remove himself as far as possible 
 from the smart Perote set that lived and moved 
 below, but also to enjoy the vast prospect, to see 
 from every window the Golden Horn with the 
 mass of Stamboul projected against the sky, 
 and, breaking the horizon, the solemn array of 
 cypresses, the great cemeteries, where for twenty 
 years now the unknown Circassian girl who had 
 been the friend of his youth lay sleeping under a 
 fallen stone. 
 
 The costume of Turkish women had changed 
 since his first stay here. This was one of the 
 things that first struck him. Instead of the white 
 shroud which showed only the eyes, and which 
 was known as the yashmak) and the long straight 
 mantle of some light hue called the feridjeb, they 
 now wore the tcbarchaf, a sort of domino, almost 
 always black, with a short veil, also black, con- 
 cealing all the features, even the eyes. To be 
 sure, they occasionally raised this veil, showing the
 
 84 DISENCHANTED v 
 
 whole oval of the face, which to Andre Lhery 
 seemed a revolutionary innovation. But for this, 
 they were, as of old, spectres, with whom one rubs 
 elbows, but with whom all communication is 
 prohibited, and at whom one is forbidden to look 
 recluses of whom one can learn nothing 
 unknowable, non-existent one might say, the 
 mystery and charm of Turkey. 
 
 Andre Lhery, long ago, by a series of happy fa- 
 vouring chances impossible to recombine a second 
 time in one man's life, had, with the audacity of a 
 boy who knows nothing of danger, been thrown 
 into contact with one of them contact so close 
 that he had left a piece of his soul clinging to her 
 for ever. But as for repeating any such adventure, 
 he never even dreamed of it for a thousand reasons ; 
 he saw them pass as one sees shadows or the clouds. 
 
 The wind off the Black Sea blew incessantly 
 for some weeks, and the cold rain or snow con- 
 tinually fell, and acquaintances invited him to dine 
 and to evenings at the clubs. And he began to 
 feel that this world, this life, was not only making 
 his new visit to the East an empty and disturbing 
 thing, but also threatened to destroy his past 
 impressions, perhaps even to blur the image of his 
 poor little sleeping friend. Since his arrival in 
 Constantinople his remembrance grew less vivid 
 every hour, drowned out by the pervading vulgar 
 modernity; he felt that the people about him 
 profaned it, trampled on it every day. So he 
 decided to go away. The loss of his appointment 
 at the Embassy, it need hardly be said, was a 
 secondary consideration. He would go.
 
 v DISENCHANTED 85 
 
 Since his arrival, nearly a fortnight ago, a 
 thousand unimportant matters had so filled up his 
 leisure that he had not even crossed the bridges 
 over the Golden Horn to go into Stamboul. The 
 great city, which he could see from the top of his 
 house, generally wrapped in the persistent winter 
 fog, was still almost as remote and unreal as 
 before his return to Turkey. He would go away 
 - that was finally settled. Just time to make a 
 pilgrimage over there, to Nedjibeh's grave under 
 the cypresses, and then, leaving all else, he would 
 return to France. Out of regard for the beloved 
 past, and pious respect for her, he would escape 
 before the disenchantment was complete. 
 
 The day, when at last he could set foot in 
 Stamboul, was one of the most dismally cold and 
 dark days of the year, though it was in the month 
 of April. 
 
 On the other side of the water, as soon as he 
 had crossed the bridge and stood in the shadow of 
 the great mosque beyond, he felt himself another 
 man, the Andre Lhery who had been dead for 
 years, and who had suddenly revived to youth and 
 consciousness. Alone, free, unknown to any one 
 in the crowd, he knew every nook and turning of 
 the city as though he had come back to a former 
 existence. Forgotten Turkish words rose up in 
 his memory, phrases formed in his brain, he once 
 more belonged to the place really belonged to 
 Stamboul. 
 
 At once he was uncomfortable in wearing a 
 hat, almost felt himself ridiculous. Less from a
 
 86 DISENCHANTED v 
 
 foolish shyness than from the fear of attracting 
 the attention of some watchman in the cemetery, 
 he bought a fez, which, according to custom, was 
 carefully pressed to the size of his head, in one of 
 the hundred little street shops. He also bought a 
 rosary to carry in his hand like a good Moslem. 
 And now, suddenly in a hurry and excessively 
 impatient to see the tomb, he jumped into a little 
 carnage and said to the coachman, 'Edirneh 
 Kapoussouna ghetir' ('Drive to the Adrianople 
 gate'). It was a very long way to the Adria- 
 nople gate in the great Byzantine wall, beyond 
 quarters of the city now being abandoned, through 
 streets dying of inanition and silence. He had to 
 cross almost the whole of Stamboul, and first to 
 climb steep lanes where the horses slipped and 
 slid. At first these were the swarming parts of 
 the town, full of street cries and things to sell, all 
 round the bazaar and familiar to tourists. Then 
 came the sort of steppes, deserted to-day in the 
 icy wind, which occupy the central plateau, where 
 the eye sees minarets and cupolas on every side. 
 And at last the roads bordered with tombs 
 and funereal kiosks and delicious fountains the 
 avenues of old where nothing had changed; the 
 great mosques one after another with their clustered 
 cupolas, dimly grey against the still wintry sky; 
 their vast enclosures full of the dead, and their 
 squares with the old-world little cafes where the 
 dreamy worshippers assemble after prayer. It 
 was the hour when the muezzins call the faithful 
 to the third service of the day; their voice came 
 dropping from above, from the light balconies so
 
 v DISENCHANTED 87 
 
 high up that they seemed close to the cold, gloomy 
 clouds. Ah, Stamboul still existed ! Andre 
 Lhery, finding it as he had known it, and shivering 
 with an indescribable and delicious pang, felt 
 himself going back by degrees to his own youth ; 
 he was more and more like a being brought to life 
 again after years of oblivion and non-existence. 
 And it was she, the little Circassian, whose body 
 was now destroyed in the earth, who had preserved 
 the power of casting a spell over this land she 
 who was the cause of all this, and who at this 
 moment reigned triumphant. 
 
 As by degrees they drew near to the Adrianople 
 gate, which leads out on the endless stretch of 
 cemeteries, the street became very quiet, running 
 between old barred houses and old crumbling 
 walls. In consequence of the bitter wind no one 
 was sitting in front of the humble cafes, almost in 
 ruins. But the inhabitants of the quarter, the 
 rare passers-by, who looked frozen, still wore the 
 old-fashioned long gown and turban. A dejection 
 as of universal death seemed that day to be exhaled 
 by all earthly things, to be shed from the murky 
 sky, to pervade everything an intolerable sadness, 
 a melancholy to weep over. 
 
 Having arrived under the horseshoe arch of 
 the city gate, Andre prudently dismissed his 
 vehicle and passed out alone into the country - 
 that is to say, into the wide region of neglected 
 tombs and ancestral cypresses. To right and left 
 along the colossal wall, its half-ruined dungeon 
 towers visible in long perspective, there were only 
 tombs, endless gravestones sunk in solitude, and,
 
 88 DISENCHANTED v 
 
 as it were, drunk with silence. Assuring himself 
 that the driver had gone away, and that no one 
 would follow and spy upon him, Andre turned to 
 the right and went downhill towards Eyoub, walk- 
 ing under the huge cypresses, with their branches 
 as white as dry bones and almost black foliage. 
 
 Tombstones in Turkey are like milestones, with 
 turbans or flowers carved at the top, at a distance 
 vaguely like human beings with a head and 
 shoulders; in the first instance they are planted 
 upright and quite straight, but in the course of 
 time earthquakes and heavy rains undermine them; 
 then they lean in every direction, one against 
 another, like dying creatures, and at last fall on 
 the grass, where they lie at rest. And the very 
 ancient cemeteries where Andre was now wander- 
 ing have the melancholy disarray of a battlefield 
 the morning after a defeat. 
 
 There was hardly any one to be seen to-day 
 along by this wall in the vast realm of the dead. 
 It was too cold. A goatherd with his flock, a 
 troop of prowling dogs, two or three old beggar 
 women awaiting a funeral procession to beg alms 
 no other creature, no eye to be feared. But 
 the tombstones in their thousands were like a 
 watching crowd, a crowd of stunted grey people 
 tottering and drooping. And the crows hopping 
 in the grass began to caw in the wintry wind. 
 
 Andre, guiding himself by landmarks once 
 familiar, made his way to the resting-place of her 
 whom he had called 'Medjeh,' among so many 
 others almost exactly alike which covered this 
 wilderness from end to end. It was one of the
 
 v DISENCHANTED 89 
 
 little group out there; he recognised the growth 
 and shape of the cypress trees. And it was this 
 one, this very one, in spite of its look of being a 
 hundred years old, this one with the uprooted 
 stone lying prone on the earth. How quickly 
 destruction had done its work since he last was 
 here, hardly five years ago. Not even these 
 humble stones would Time leave to the poor little 
 dead thing, so utterly lost in oblivion by this 
 time, that perhaps not a soul in the place re- 
 remembered her at all. In his memory alone and 
 nowhere else did the youthful image survive, and 
 when he should die, not the faintest impression 
 would remain anywhere of what her beauty had 
 been, not a trace in all the world of her anxious 
 artless soul. On the headstone sunk in the grass 
 no one would ever read her name her real name, 
 which, indeed, would have ceased to mean anything. 
 In former days he had often thought himself pro- 
 faning her by revealing, though under an invented 
 name, something of her being to a thousand in- 
 different readers in a too unreserved book which 
 ought never to have seen the light; but to-day, 
 on the contrary, he was glad he had done this, for 
 the sake of the pity it had aroused for her, a pity 
 which it might yet arouse for some few years to 
 come in souls unknown to him ; nay, he was sorry 
 that he had not given her real name, for then, he 
 fancied, all that pity would have more immediately 
 touched the beloved little spirit. And, who knows ? 
 one or another of her Turkish sisters, passing by 
 the fallen stone, as she read the name might have 
 paused to think of the dead.
 
 90 DISENCHANTED v 
 
 The light faded rapidly this evening over the 
 expanse of graves, the sky was so overcast with 
 piled-up clouds without a rift anywhere. Under 
 the wall the ruins of this endless wall which 
 seemed to be that of a city of the dead the 
 solitude grew acute, terrifying; a vast expanse of 
 grey monochrome, with scattered cypress trees, 
 and peopled, as it were, with small, decrepit figures, 
 some standing, some leaning over, and some fallen 
 the memorial stones. And for years she had 
 slept here, that Circassian girl who had once trusted 
 that her friend would return; slept through the 
 winters and summers, and would lie there for ever, 
 alone in the silence, alone during the long December 
 nights under her winding-sheet of snow. Now, 
 indeed, there could be nothing of her there. But 
 he shuddered at the thought of what she still 
 might be, so close to him under the coverlet of 
 earth ; no, certainly nothing, a few bones crumbling 
 still amid the deeper roots, and that globular thing, 
 more slow to decay, which represented the head, 
 the spherical cell in which her soul had dwelt, her 
 loving thoughts. 
 
 The wreckage of this tombstone really enhanced 
 his heart-broken attachment and remorse; he could 
 not bear it, he could not endure to leave it thus. 
 Being so familiar with the country he knew what 
 difficulties and dangers beset the Christian who 
 should touch the tomb of a Moslem woman in a 
 holy cemetery. He would have to employ all the 
 cunning of a criminal, in spite of his pious purpose. 
 However, he decided that it must be done. He 
 would remain in Turkey for so long as might be
 
 v DISENCHANTED 91 
 
 needful, for months if necessary, and would not 
 leave till the broken stones were renewed and the 
 tomb restored and consolidated to last. 
 
 On his return to Pera in the evening he found 
 Jean Renaud in his rooms, one of his friends at 
 the Embassy, a very young man, who was amazed 
 at all he saw here, and with whom he had become 
 intimate on the ground of their common admira- 
 tion for everything Eastern. 
 
 He also found the French mail lying on his 
 table, and a letter with the Stamboul postmark, 
 which he at once opened. 
 
 This was the letter: 
 
 *SiR Do you remember that a Turkish woman 
 once wrote to you to tell you of the emotions stirred 
 in her soul by reading "Medjeh," and to beg for a 
 few words in reply written by your own hand ? 
 
 * Well, this Turkish woman has grown ambitious, 
 and now wishes for something more. She wants to 
 see you, to know the delightful author of that book 
 which she has re-read a hundred times, and always 
 with increasing emotion. Will you consent to a 
 meeting on Thursday at half-past two by the 
 Bosphorus, on the Asiatic side between Tchiboukli 
 and Pacha Bagtcheh ? You could wait for me in 
 the little cafe near the sea at the head of the bay. 
 
 *I shall come in a dark tcharchaf, in a talika. 1 
 I will get out of the carriage, and you will follow 
 me, but you must wait till I speak first. You 
 know my country, so you know the risks I run. 
 
 1 A Turkish hired coach, commonly used in the country j it is also called a 
 mohadjir.
 
 92 DISENCHANTED v 
 
 For my part I know I have, in you, to deal with 
 a gentleman. I trust in your discretion. 
 
 'But perhaps you have forgotten "Medjeh"? 
 Perhaps you are no longer interested in her sisters ? 
 
 'If, however, you care to read the soul of 
 the "Medjeh" of to-day answer me and till 
 Thursday. MME. ZAIDEH. 
 
 * Poste-restante, Galata.' 
 
 He laughed as he handed this letter to his 
 friend and took up the others. 
 
 'Take me with you on Thursday,' implored 
 Jean Renaud, as soon as he had read the note. 'I 
 will be very good,' he added in a childlike way, 
 'very discreet. I will not look ' 
 
 'Do you really suppose I am going, my boy?' 
 
 'Oh! what, miss such a thing? But you will 
 go, surely ?' 
 
 'Not if I know it! It is some trick. The 
 lady is no more Turkish than you or I.' 
 
 Though he made difficulties, it was chiefly that 
 he might let himself be overruled by his young 
 companion, for in his heart, though he was still 
 opening his letters, he was thinking more of the 
 lady than he chose to show. Preposterous as the 
 assignation might be, he felt the same unreasonable 
 attraction that, three years ago, when he received 
 her first letter, prompted him to reply. Besides, 
 what a strange thing it seemed that the appeal 
 should come to him in the name of 'Medjeh,' on 
 this very evening when he had but just come in 
 from his visit to the cemetery, with his soul so 
 deeply moved by her memory.
 
 VI 
 
 ON Thursday April 14, rather before the appointed 
 hour, Andre Lhery and Jean Renaud had taken 
 their seats in front of the little cafe, which they 
 easily recognised on the seashore on the Asiatic 
 side, between the two hamlets named by the 
 mysterious Zaideh. It was one of the few solitary 
 and still wild nooks by the Bosphorus, which almost 
 everywhere now is hemmed by houses and palaces ; 
 the lady had chosen well. Beyond lay a deserted 
 field with a few plane-trees three or four hundred 
 years old Turkish plane-trees with prop-roots 
 like the baobab and close by, sloping down from 
 the heights to the quiet strand, an outlying spur 
 of the forests of Asia Minor, which still harbour 
 brigands and bears. 
 
 An ideal spot certainly for a clandestine meet- 
 ing. The men were alone in front of the ruined 
 and perfectly isolated building in which the cafe 
 was kept by a humble old fellow with a white 
 beard. The plane-trees had scarcely yet uncurled 
 their leaves, but the meadow was already so bright 
 with flowers, and the sky so beautiful, that it was 
 strange to feel the icy wind blowing without 
 ceasing the almost perpetual wind from the Black 
 Sea, which spoils the spring in Constantinople. 
 
 93
 
 94 DISENCHANTED vi 
 
 Here, on the Asiatic shore, there was as usual 
 some shelter from it, but opposite, on the European 
 shore, it was blowing hard, though the thousand 
 houses with their feet in the water were basking in 
 the sunshine. 
 
 They awaited the appointed hour in this lonely 
 spot, smoking the humble narghilehs which the old 
 Turk produced for their use, though he was 
 astonished and almost suspicious of two fine gentle- 
 men in hats who had condescended to his shop 
 for boatmen or shepherds, in unsettled weather 
 and such a searching wind. 
 
 'It is very nice of you,' said Jean Renaud, 'to 
 put up with my company/ 
 
 'Do not burthen yourself with gratitude, my 
 boy. I brought you, please understand, merely to 
 have some one to abuse if she does not come, if 
 things turn out badly, if ' 
 
 'Oh, then I must make it my business to see 
 that they turn out well,' said he, affecting alarm, 
 with the pretty smile which betrayed his childlike 
 soul. 'There, see, just behind you. I wager it is 
 she, bringing herself along.' 
 
 Andre looked behind him. A talika was, in 
 fact, emerging from an avenue of trees, jolting 
 over the villainous road. Between the curtains, 
 blown by the wind, two or three female figures 
 were visible, entirely black, faces and all. 
 
 'There are a dozen of them at least packed in 
 there,' Andre objected. 'Do you suppose, my 
 young friend, that a whole party like that comes 
 to keep an assignation ? Callers in a body ?' 
 
 The talika meanwhile was coming near. When
 
 vi DISENCHANTED 95 
 
 it was quite close, a little hand in a white glove 
 came from under a black veil and waved a signal. 
 Here she was then ! But there were three of 
 them ! Three, what an amazing adventure ! 
 
 'Then I leave you,' said Andre. 'Be discreet 
 as you promised and do not look. And settle our 
 account with this old fellow; that is your 
 business.' 
 
 And he followed the talika at some distance, 
 till presently, in the deserted road, it drew up 
 under the shade of a clump of plane-trees. Three 
 black spectres, black from head to foot, at once 
 sprang out on to the grass. They were nimble 
 spectres, light and slender, with long silk skirts; 
 they walked on against the wind, which blew hard 
 and made them bow their heads; but they went 
 slower and slower, as if to invite their follower to 
 come up with them. 
 
 No one who has not lived in the East can con- 
 ceive of Andre's agitation and astonishment, or 
 the novelty of the experience of thus walking up to 
 veiled Turkish ladies, when he had always learnt to 
 regard that class of women as absolutely unap- 
 proachable. Was it really possible ? They had 
 invited him; they were waiting for him; he was 
 about to talk to them. 
 
 When they heard him close behind them they 
 turned round. 
 
 'Monsieur Andre Lhery, are you not?' asked 
 one of them, whose voice was wonderfully sweet, 
 youthful, and shy, and who was certainly trembling. 
 
 He merely bowed in reply, and then from 
 under the three black tcharchafs he saw three little
 
 96 DISENCHANTED vi 
 
 hands appear in long buttoned gloves; they were 
 held out to him, and he bowed over each in turn. 
 
 Their faces were at least doubly veiled; they 
 were three enigmas in mourning; three inscrutable 
 Parcae. 
 
 'You must forgive us/ said she who had already 
 spoken, 'if we say nothing, or mere trivialities 
 we are dying of fear/ This, in fact, was very 
 evident. 
 
 'If you could but know/ said the second, 'all 
 the management needed to get here the negroes 
 and negresses we have dropped on the way ' 
 
 'And then the coachman/ said the third, 
 'a man we do not know and who may be our 
 destruction/ 
 
 Silence. The icy wind eddied in the black silk, 
 and took away the breath. The waters of the 
 Bosphorus, visible between the trees, was white 
 with foam. The few fresh leaves on the trees, 
 though scarcely open, were snatched off and swept 
 away. But for the flowers in the grass that nodded 
 under the long silk skirts, it might have been 
 midwinter. They mechanically walked back all 
 altogether, like friends taking exercise; but this 
 remote spot, this evil weather all was dismal and 
 of rather melancholy augury for the meeting. 
 
 She who had first spoken, and who seemed to 
 be the leader of the perilous scheme, began to talk, 
 just to say something to break the embarrassing 
 silence. 
 
 'As you see, there are three of us ' 
 
 'It is true; I can see that/ said Andre, who 
 could not help smiling.
 
 vi DISENCHANTED 97 
 
 'You do not know us, and yet you have been 
 our friend for years.' 
 
 'We live with your books,' added the second. 
 
 'And you will tell us if the story of Medjeh is 
 true?' asked the third. 
 
 And now, after the first silence, they all talked 
 together; three little women eager to ask a number 
 of questions in an interview which could not but 
 be brief. The ease with which they expressed 
 themselves in French surprised Andre Lhery, no 
 less than their scared audacity. And the wind 
 having almost raised the veils from one face, he 
 caught sight of the under part of a chin and the 
 top of a throat, details which sooner than any other 
 betray advancing years in a woman, and which 
 were exquisitely youthful with no sign of a wrinkle. 
 
 They all talked together, and their voices were 
 like music; the high wind and the thick veils 
 somewhat muffled the sound, to be sure, but the 
 pitch in itself was delightful. Andre, who at first 
 had wondered whether he were not the object of 
 a practical joke by three Levantines, now no longer 
 doubted that the ladies were assuredly Turkish; 
 the softness of their voices was an almost certain 
 certificate of their nationality, for three Perotes all 
 talking together would have reminded him at once 
 of the cockatoos in the Zoological Gardens. 1 
 
 'Just now,' said she who most interested 
 Andre, 'I saw you laugh when I told you we were 
 three. But you did not let me finish my sentence. 
 My point was to explain to you that we are three 
 to-day and shall still be three next time, if you 
 
 1 There are, I am happy to state, some pleasing exceptions. 
 
 H
 
 98 DISENCHANTED vi 
 
 again obey our invitation ; always three, as insepa- 
 rable as those parrots, you know though they 
 indeed are but two. And you will never see our 
 faces, never. We are three little black shades and 
 that is all.' 
 
 'Souls/ said another, 'merely souls, you under- 
 stand ; to you we shall always be souls and nothing 
 more; three poor souls in torment who need your 
 friendship/ 
 
 'It is useless to try to know one from another; 
 still, just to see who knows whether you can 
 guess which is she who wrote to you, she who is 
 called Zaideh, you remember. Come, tell us, it 
 will amuse us/ 
 
 'You yourself, Madame/ replied Andre, with- 
 out seeming to hesitate. And he was right, and 
 from under the veils he heard exclamations of 
 surprise in Turkish. 
 
 'Well, then/ said Zaideh, 'now, since we are 
 old acquaintances, you and I, it is my part to 
 introduce you to my sisters. When that is done 
 we shall have accomplished all the formalities in 
 the most correct way. So listen. The second 
 black domino there, the tallest of us, is Nechedil 
 and very spiteful. The third, a little way off at 
 this moment, is Ikbar very sly. Be on your 
 guard. And from this moment take care not to 
 mistake one for another of us three.' 
 
 These names, it hardly need be said, were all 
 assumed, and Andre suspected it. There was no 
 Nechedil, or Ikbar, or Zaideh. The second tchar- 
 chaf hid the serious regular features and rather 
 rapt gaze of Zeyneb, the elder of the cousins of
 
 vi DISENCHANTED 99 
 
 the bride. As to the third, said to be so sly, if 
 Andre could have lifted the black veil, he would 
 have seen the little pert nose and large merry eyes 
 of Melek, the red-haired damsel, who had declared 
 long ago that 'the poet must be rather wrinkled.' 
 Melek, it is true, was altered since those days by 
 early sorrows and nights spent in tears; still, she 
 was so fundamentally gay by nature that even her 
 long griefs had not altogether extinguished the 
 mirth of her laughter. 
 
 'What idea can you have formed of us?' said 
 Zaideh, after the silence that followed the intro- 
 ductions. 'What kind of women do you suppose 
 us to be, of what social rank, of what position ? 
 Come, tell us.' 
 
 'Dear me, I can tell you that more precisely 
 by and by; still I will not conceal from you that 
 I am beginning to suspect that you are not mere 
 waiting maids.' 
 
 'Ah! And our age? That, to be sure, is of 
 no importance, since we mean only to be souls. 
 But at the same time it really is my duty to confess 
 to you at once, Monsieur Lhery, that we are old 
 women, quite old women.' 
 
 'That, too, I had detected, if I may say so/ 
 
 'Of course, of course,' echoed Ikbar (Melek) 
 in a tone of deep melancholy with a most success- 
 ful quaver in her voice. 'Of course! Old age, 
 alas, is a fact that can always be detected as you 
 say, in spite of all precautions to conceal it. But 
 figures, if you please, be exact let us see if you 
 are a good physiognomist.'
 
 ioo DISENCHANTED vi 
 
 In regard to their thick veils the word physiog- 
 nomist was emphasised as a little funny. 
 
 ' Figures ! But will you be hurt by the figures 
 I may guess ? ' 
 
 'Not in the least. We have so entirely abdi- 
 cated, if only you knew. Go on, Monsieur Lhery.' 
 
 'Well, you at once struck me as being grand- 
 mothers, whose age must range between at the 
 least, the very least between eighteen and four- 
 and-twenty.' 
 
 They laughed under their shrouds, not very 
 sorry to have missed their mark as old women, 
 but too entirely young to be quite flattered. 
 
 In the gale which blew colder and colder under 
 the clean-swept sky, scattering twigs and leaves, 
 they walked to and fro like old friends. In spite 
 of the wind which carried away their words, and 
 the roar of the sea tossing close beside them on 
 the edge of the road, they began to speak their 
 real thoughts, abandoning forthwith the half-mock- 
 ing tone by which they had covered the embarrass- 
 ment of the first moments. They walked slowly, 
 keeping a keen lookout, and obliged to turn 
 round when a blast lashed them too roughly. 
 Andre was amazed to find how much and how 
 well they understood, and also to feel himself on 
 almost confidential terms with these strangers. 
 
 And protected by the bad weather and pro- 
 pitious solitude, they thought themselves fairly 
 safe, when suddenly, just before them, as they 
 turned at the further end, Bogey stood before 
 them in the form of two Turkish soldiers out for 
 an airing, with canes in their hands such as our
 
 vi DISENCHANTED 101 
 
 own soldiers are in the habit of cutting in the 
 copses. This was a most perilous encounter, for 
 these brave fellows, imported for the most part 
 from the wilds of Asia Minor, where there is 
 no compromise with ancient principles, were 
 capable of going to any lengths in view of a 
 proceeding so criminal in their eyes : Moslem 
 women with a man from the West. The soldiers 
 stood still, rigid with amazement, and then, after 
 exchanging a few brief remarks, they took to their 
 heels, obviously to give notice to their comrades 
 or to the police, or perhaps to rouse the inhabitants 
 of the nearest village. The three little black 
 phantoms, thoroughly frightened, jumped into 
 their carriage, which set off at a break-neck gallop, 
 while Jean Renaud, who had watched the incident 
 from a distance, hurried up to offer his assistance; 
 and as soon as the talika, at a tearing pace, was 
 lost to sight among the trees, the two friends 
 turned off into a narrow cross-road which led up 
 to the thick brushwood. 
 
 'Well, what are they like ?' asked Jean Renaud 
 a minute after, when, the alarm being over, they 
 were walking quietly among the trees. 
 
 'Simply astounding,' replied Andre. 
 
 'Astounding! In what way? Attractive?' 
 
 'Extremely. And yet no; a more serious 
 word would be more appropriate, for they are souls 
 you must understand, nothing but souls. My dear 
 fellow, for the first time in my life I have con- 
 versed with souls/ 
 
 'With souls? but, after all, in what form? 
 Are they respectable women ? '
 
 102 DISENCHANTED vi 
 
 'Oh, as for respectable, all that is most correct. 
 If you have been planning in your fancy a love 
 affair for your old friend, you may put that aside, 
 my dear boy, till another time.' 
 
 Andre was in his heart anxious about their 
 return home. What they had ventured to do, poor 
 little Turks, was so extravagantly contrary to all the 
 laws of Islam. Still, was it not in fact of lily-like 
 purity: three together, conversing without the 
 very smallest double meaning about abstract ideas 
 with a man who was not allowed even to sus- 
 pect what their faces were like ? He would have 
 given a great deal to know that they were safe 
 and immured behind the lattices of their harem. 
 But what could he attempt to do for them ? Fly, 
 hide, as he had just done that was all. Any 
 intervention, direct or indirect, could only lead to 
 their ruin.
 
 VII 
 
 THIS long letter was mysteriously delivered to 
 Andre Lhery on the following evening: 
 
 'You told us yesterday that you knew nothing 
 of the Turkish woman of to-day, and we quite 
 believe you, for who can know her when she does 
 not know herself? 
 
 'And what foreigner could penetrate the mys- 
 tery of her soul ? She could more easily betray 
 that of her face. As to foreign women, some 
 few, it is true, have seen our homes; but they 
 know only our drawing-rooms, which are now 
 exactly like those of Western Europe; the mere 
 surface of our life. 
 
 'Well, shall we help you you alone to read 
 our souls, if it is possible to read them ? Now 
 that we have put it to the test, we know that you 
 and we can be friends; for it was a test; we 
 wanted to be sure that there was something more 
 than cleverness under your chiselled phrases. Can 
 we have been mistaken in supposing that at the 
 moment when you quitted the black spectres in 
 peril some emotion stirred within you ? Curiosity 
 disappointment pity, perhaps ; but it was not the 
 indifference produced by an ordinary assignation. 
 
 103
 
 104 DISENCHANTED vn 
 
 'Above all you felt of that we are quite sure 
 that those bundles devoid of shape and grace were 
 not women, as we told you, but souls a soul : that 
 of the modern Moslem woman, whose intelligence 
 is liberated and suffers from it, but who rejoices 
 in that emancipating suffering, and who yesterday 
 went forth to meet you, a friend of yesterday. 
 
 'And now, to be still the friend of to-morrow, 
 you must learn to see in that soul something more 
 than a pleasing incident in your travels, a pretty 
 image marking a stage in your life as an artist. 
 No more must it be to you the young creature 
 over whom you have yearned, nor the lover so 
 easily made happy by the charity of your affection. 
 If you really care that this soul should love you, 
 you must meet half-way the first quiver of its 
 tardy awakening. 
 
 'Your Medjeh is in her grave. We thank 
 you in her name, in the name of us all, for the 
 flowers you have strewn on the tomb of the little 
 slave. In those days, when you were young, you 
 culled happiness without an effort where it lay 
 within reach of your hand. But the young 
 Circassian who rushed and fell into your arms 
 is a thing of the past; the time has come when 
 even to the Moslem women instinctive love and 
 subject love have given place to love by choice. 
 
 'And the time has come when you too must 
 discover and describe something more than the 
 picturesque and sensual aspects of love. Try now, 
 to-day, to send out your heart so far as to make it 
 feel the bitterness of the intolerable suffering which 
 is ours, of having nothing to love but a dream.
 
 vii DISENCHANTED 105 
 
 ' For we are condemned to love that and nothing 
 else. 
 
 'You know how our marriages are arranged ? 
 Still, this mockery of an European home which 
 has become usual since, during the last genera- 
 tion, Western ideas have prevailed in our houses, 
 where formerly odalisques reigned on satin couches, 
 even this represents a change which gratifies us, 
 though such a home is still but a frail joy, liable 
 at any moment to be wrecked by the whim of a 
 capricious husband, or the introduction of a strange 
 woman. In short, we are paired without our con- 
 sent, like yearling sheep or fillies. Very often, no 
 doubt, the man thus allotted to us by fate is gentle 
 and kind; but we have not chosen him. In time 
 we can become attached to him, but this is not the 
 affection of love; feelings are born in us which 
 presently take wings and sometimes alight far, far 
 away, where, no one ever knows but ourselves. 
 Yes, we can love. But we love with our souls, lov- 
 ing another soul; our mind weds another mind; 
 our heart is enslaved by another heart. Such love as 
 this remains a dream, because we are honest women, 
 and even more because the dream is too dear and 
 precious for us to risk its existence by trying to 
 realise it. And it remains for ever innocent, like 
 our walk yesterday at Pacha Bagtcheh when it 
 blew so hard. 
 
 'And this is the secret of the Moslem woman's 
 soul in Turkey in the year 1322 of the Hegira. 
 Our modern education has led to this duality in 
 our lives. 
 
 'This declaration will strike you as more extra-
 
 io6 DISENCHANTED vn 
 
 ordinary than our rendezvous. We amused our- 
 selves beforehand by imagining what your surprise 
 would be. At first you thought it was a practical 
 joke. Then, still doubting, you were tempted to 
 fancy it was an adventure perhaps you hoped it 
 might be; you vaguely expected to meet Zaideh 
 attended by subservient slaves, curious to see a 
 celebrated author, and not too reluctant to lift her 
 veil. 
 
 'And all you met were three souls. 
 
 'These souls will be your faithful friends if 
 you will be theirs. 
 
 'ZAIDEH, NECHEDIL, and IKBAR.'
 
 VIII 
 
 THE STORY OF ZAIDEH FROM THE TIME OF HER 
 MARRIAGE TILL THE COMING OF ANDRE LHERY 
 
 THE young Bey's love-making, which had become 
 more and more acceptable, had gradually lulled to 
 rest her schemes of rebellion. While keeping her 
 soul to herself, she had surrendered all else very 
 completely to her handsome lord, though he was 
 no more than a great spoilt child, whose selfishness 
 was veiled by much gracious elegance and inviting 
 ways. 
 
 Was it for Andre Lhery that she still guarded 
 her soul ? She herself hardly knew, for, as time 
 went on, she did not fail to discern how childish 
 her dream was. She now seldom thought of him. 
 
 She was almost resigned to her new cloister, 
 and life would have been very endurable but that 
 Hamdi, at the end of their second year of married 
 life, took it into his head to marry Durdaneh and 
 have two wives in the old fashion. Then, to 
 avoid an unseemly quarrel, she had simply asked 
 and obtained permission to withdraw for two 
 months to her grandmother's house at Kassim 
 Pacha, to take time for consideration of the new 
 situation, and calmly prepare herself to face it. 
 
 107
 
 108 DISENCHANTED vm 
 
 So she went quietly away one evening, deter- 
 mined, however, to do anything rather than return 
 to this house and play the part of an odalisque, to 
 which she was gradually being subdued. 
 
 Zeyneb and Melek had also come home to 
 Kassim Pacha. Melek, after months of misery 
 and tears, had at last been divorced from an 
 impossible husband, and Zeyneb, released from 
 hers by death, after a year and a half of wretched- 
 ness spent with an invalid who was repugnant to 
 every sense; both thus irremediably blighted in 
 their early youth, weary, widowed, like derelicts 
 of life, had nevertheless been enabled to resume 
 their intimacy as sisters, and feel it the closer for 
 their utter dejection. 
 
 The news of Andre Lhery's arrival in Con- 
 stantinople, which they had seen in the Turkish 
 newspapers, had been utterly astounding; but at 
 the same time their idol of yore fell from his 
 pedestal. What, this man was like any other 
 man; he would have functions, duties as a sub- 
 ordinate in an Embassy; he had a profession; 
 above all he had a definite age ? And Melek 
 forthwith amused herself by depicting to her 
 cousin the hero of her dreams as an old man, 
 bald, no doubt, and probably obese. 
 
 'Andre Lhery!' said one of their friends from 
 the English Embassy, who had happened to see 
 him, and whom they eagerly questioned a few 
 days later. 'Andre Lhery? Well, as a rule, he 
 is quite intolerable. Whenever he opens his lips 
 he seems to think he is doing you a favour. In 
 society he is ostentatiously bored. As to stout or
 
 vni DISENCHANTED 109 
 
 bald, no, that he is not. I must grant that he is 
 not at all ' 
 
 'And his age?' 
 
 ' His age ? he has no age. It ranges over 
 twenty years from one hour to the next. He 
 takes the most extreme care of his person, and 
 still makes you believe he is young, especially 
 when he happens to be amused, for he has a child's 
 laugh and teeth. Indeed a child's eyes too, as I 
 have noticed in such moments. At other times he 
 is arrogant, full of airs, and half in the moon. He 
 has already been most severely criticised.' 
 
 In spite of this report, they had finally decided 
 to dare the audacious adventure of going to meet 
 him, to break the dreary monotony of their life. 
 In the bottom of their hearts, some of their former 
 adoration still survived from the days when he had 
 been to them a soaring spirit, a being dwelling in 
 the clouds. And also, to give themselves the 
 semblance of a reason for running into such 
 danger, they said, 'We will ask him to write a 
 book in favour of Turkish women as they now 
 are; in that way we may help hundreds of our 
 sisters who are crushed as we are/
 
 IX 
 
 AFTER the crazy expedition to Tchiboukli spring 
 rushed on apace, the sudden, exquisite, and tran- 
 sient spring of Constantinople. The unceasing 
 frozen gale from the Black Sea suddenly granted 
 truce. And there came the delightful surprise of 
 discovering that this land, as far south as Central 
 Italy and Spain, could be at times deliciously lumi- 
 nous and warm. Along the Bosphorus the marble 
 steps of the palaces and the old wooden houses that 
 rise out of the water were steeped in hot sunshine. 
 And Stamboul, in the dry clear atmosphere, wore 
 its indescribable air of oriental torpor. The Turks, 
 a dreamy and contemplative people, lived out of 
 doors once more, seated outside the thousand quiet 
 little cafes, or round the sacred mosques, near the 
 fountains, under the young vine leaves and the 
 wistarias on the trellises, or the shady plane-trees ; 
 myriads of narghilehs exhaled their enticing fra- 
 grance at the side of the streets, and swallows piped 
 in a frenzy of joy round their nests. The ancient 
 tombs and grey cupolas slept in an unutterable 
 peace which seemed immutable, sempiternal. And 
 the remote shores of Asia, and the placid sea of 
 Marmora, visible between the buildings, blazed 
 with colour. 
 
 no
 
 ix DISENCHANTED in 
 
 Andre Lhery drifted back into Turkish orient- 
 alism with even deeper melancholy perhaps 
 than in the days of his youth, but with quite as 
 deep a passion. And one day when he was 
 sitting in the shade, among hundreds of turbaned 
 dreamers, far from Pera and its modern turmoil, 
 in the very heart, the fanatical heart, of old 
 Stamboul, Jean Renaud, now his usual companion 
 in these Turkish hours, asked him point-blank : 
 
 'Well, what about the three little spectres of 
 Tchiboukli ? No further news?' 
 
 They were outside the mosque of Mehmed 
 Fatih, on an old-world open place where Euro- 
 peans never come, and at the moment the muezzins 
 were chanting, as if they had been lifted up to 
 heaven, at the very top of the gigantic stone 
 shafts of the minarets ; mere voices, quite remote, 
 coming from so high above all earthly things, and 
 lost in the limpid blue above. 
 
 'Ah! The three little Turkish ladies,' replied 
 Andre. 'No, nothing since the letter I showed 
 you. Oh, I fancy the adventure is at an end, and 
 they are thinking no more about it.' 
 
 As he spoke he affected an air of indifference, 
 but the matter had troubled his meditative peace; 
 for each day that passed without any further sign 
 from his unknown friends made the notion more 
 painful that he might never no, never, again hear 
 Zaideh's voice of singular sweetness beneath her 
 veil. The time was past when he could feel sure 
 of the impression he could produce; nothing 
 tortured him so cruelly as the flight of his youth, 
 and he sadly told himself, 'They expected to see
 
 ii2 DISENCHANTED ix 
 
 me a young man, and they were too greatly disap- 
 pointed.' 
 
 Their last letter had ended with the words, 
 'We will be your friends if you choose.' 
 
 Certainly he asked nothing better; but where 
 was he now to find them ? In such a vast and sus- 
 picious labyrinth as Constantinople, to seek three 
 Turkish ladies whose names and appearance were 
 unknown to him, was as much as to undertake one 
 of those impossible quests which the malignant 
 spirits of old tales were wont to propose to the 
 hero.
 
 X 
 
 BUT on that very day and at that same hour the 
 mysterious little lady who had planned the expedi- 
 tion to Tchiboukli was scheming to cross the 
 redoubtable threshold of Yildiz to cast a supreme 
 throw. On the other side of the Golden Horn, 
 at Kassim Pacha, behind the oppressive lattices, 
 in the room she had occupied as a girl, and to which 
 she had returned, she was very busy in front of a 
 mirror. A dress of grey and silver with a court 
 train, which had arrived the day before from a 
 great house in Paris, made her look more slender 
 even than usual, more fragile and pliant. She 
 meant to be very pretty to-day, and her two 
 cousins, as anxious as she was about the issue, 
 helped her to dress in oppressed silence. Decidedly 
 the dress was becoming, and the rubies were be- 
 coming too on the grey cloudiness of the material. 
 At any rate, the time had come. Her train was 
 looped up by a ribbon to her waist, as etiquette 
 requires in Turkey when approaching the Sov- 
 ereigns; for, though the train is indispensable, 
 no woman who is not a princess of the blood is 
 permitted ta let it sweep behind her over the 
 magnificent carpets in the palace. Then her fair 
 head was covered up in a yashmak, the white 
 i 113
 
 n 4 DISENCHANTED x 
 
 muslin veil which great ladies still wear in their 
 carriage or their caique on certain special occasions, 
 and which is compulsory, like the train, for those 
 who enter Yildiz, where no woman would be 
 admitted in the tcharchaf. 
 
 The time had come. Zaideh, after kissing her 
 cousins, went downstairs and took her seat in her 
 brougham all black, with gilt lanterns, and drawn 
 by black horses with gold plate on the harness. 
 So she started, the blinds closed and two eunuchs 
 on horseback behind the carriage. 
 
 This was the disaster easily foreseen, of course 
 which now threatened her. The two months of 
 seclusion agreed to by her mother-in-law were at 
 an end; Hamdi now insisted on his wife's return 
 to their home. This was a matter of money, 
 perhaps, but it was a matter of love too; for he 
 had not been slow to perceive that she, in fact, was 
 the light of his house, in spite of the empire 
 exerted by the other over his senses. And he 
 wanted to have both. 
 
 Now, then, for divorce at any cost. But to 
 whom could she turn to obtain it ? Her father, 
 who had gradually regained her fond affection, 
 would no doubt have supported her petition to 
 His Imperial Majesty, but for a year now he had 
 slept in the holy cemetery of Eyoub. There was 
 her grandmother, too old now to take such steps, 
 and far too '1320' to understand; in her time 
 two wives under the same roof or three, or even 
 four why not ? This newfangled notion of 
 being the only one had come from Europe with 
 governesses and infidelity.
 
 x DISENCHANTED 115 
 
 So in her misery it had occurred to her that 
 she might throw herself at the feet of the Princess 
 Sultana-mother, who was known for her kindness, 
 and the audience was at once granted to the 
 daughter of Tewfik Pasha, Marshal of the Court. 
 
 Having entered the vast expanse of the park 
 of Yildiz, the black brougham brought her to a 
 closed gate, that of the Sultana's private garden. 
 A negro bearing a large heavy key came to open 
 it, and the carriage, followed now by an escort of 
 the Sultana's eunuchs in livery to help the visitor 
 to alight, made its way through flowery avenues 
 and stopped in front of the great outside stair- 
 case. 
 
 The fair petitioner knew all the ceremonial of 
 the Court, having been several times to the great 
 receptions held by the kind Princess in Bairam. 
 In the hall she found, as she expected, thirty or 
 more little fairies very young girl slaves, mira- 
 cles of beauty and grace, all dressed alike like sis- 
 ters, and drawn up in two lines to receive her. After 
 a deep curtsey these fairies flew about her like a 
 flight of light billing birds, and bore her off to 
 the room of the yashmaks, where every lady must 
 shed her veils. There, in the winking of an eye, 
 with consummate dexterity, the fairies, without a 
 word, took off the enveloping gauzes which were 
 kept in place by innumerable pins, and she was 
 ready, not a hair out of place, under a very tall, 
 very light gauze turban which rests on the top of 
 the head and is indispensable at Court, princesses 
 of the blood alone having the right to appear there
 
 u6 DISENCHANTED x 
 
 bareheaded. An aide-de-camp then came in to 
 welcome her and conduct her to the ante-room 
 a woman, of course, since there are no men 
 about a Sultana a young Circassian slave, 
 always chosen for her tall figure and faultless 
 beauty, who wears a military tunic with gold 
 aiguillettes, a long train looped up to the waist, 
 and a little officer's cap with gold braid. In the 
 ante-room another woman, the Sultana's treasurer, 
 came in as custom requires to keep her company; 
 a Circassian it need not be said, since no Turkish 
 lady is admitted to any function in the palace, but 
 a woman of high birth as holding so important a 
 post; and with her, a woman of the world and 
 indeed a very great lady, conversation was impera- 
 tive. All these delays were of mortal length, and 
 her hopes and her confidence dwindled rapidly. 
 
 As she entered the sitting-room so difficult of 
 access, where the mother of the Khalif would 
 receive her, she was trembling as in a violent 
 fever fit. 
 
 It was a room of purely European luxury, alas ! 
 but for the exquisite carpets and the Moslem 
 texts; a bright, gay room, high up, and looking 
 out on the Bosphorus, which could be seen shining 
 and luminous through the latticed windows. Five 
 or six ladies in court dress, and the kind Princess 
 herself seated at the end of the room, rose to 
 receive the visitor. Three deep curtsies must be 
 made as for the sovereigns of the West; the third 
 a prostration, down on both knees, the forehead 
 bent low as if to kiss the hem of the lady's dress ; 
 but she at once, with a kindly smile, held out her
 
 x DISENCHANTED 117 
 
 hands to raise the suppliant. There was a young 
 prince present, one of the Sultan's sons, who 
 all, like the Sultan himself, have the right to 
 see women unveiled. There were two princesses 
 of the blood, fragile, graceful creatures, with their 
 trains displayed and their heads bare. And, 
 finally, three ladies wearing small turbans on their 
 very fair hair, and their trains looped to their 
 waists; three Serailis, formerly slaves in this very 
 palace and become great ladies by marriage. They 
 had been on a few days' visit to their former 
 mistress and benefactress, having acquired the 
 right, as Serailis, of arriving at the house of either 
 of the princesses without an invitation as if they 
 were members of the family. This is an accepted 
 view of slavery in Turkey, and more than one 
 wife of an uncompromising Western socialist might 
 with great advantage come to a harem to learn to 
 treat her maid, or her governess, as the Turkish 
 ladies treat their slaves. 
 
 All real princesses, with rare exceptions, have 
 the charm of being simple and gracious, and none 
 certainly excel those of Constantinople in gentle 
 simplicity and modesty. 
 
 'My dear child,' said the white-haired Sultana 
 cheerfully, 'I bless the good wind that blows you 
 here. And you know we shall keep you all day; 
 indeed we shall call upon you to give us a little 
 music, you play too delightfully.' 
 
 Some more fair girls who had not yet appeared, 
 the young slaves who had charge of the refresh- 
 ments, now came in carrying, on trays of gold, 
 cups of gold and boxes of gold, containing coffee,
 
 ii8 DISENCHANTED x 
 
 sirops, and preserved rose leaves, while the Sultana 
 turned the conversation to one or another of the 
 matters of the day, which never fail to filter into 
 the seraglio, however hermetically it may be 
 closed. 
 
 But the visitor could ill conceal her distress; 
 she was longing to speak, to beseech, that was 
 only too evident. The prince, with polite dis- 
 cretion, withdrew; the princesses, and the beauti- 
 ful Serailis, under the pretence of seeing some- 
 thing in the distance on the Bosphorus, went 
 to gaze out of the windows of an adjoining 
 room. 
 
 'What is it, my dear child ?' asked the Sultana 
 in a low voice, as she leaned with motherly kind- 
 ness over Zaideh, who fell at her feet. 
 
 The first minutes were full of increasing and 
 
 O 
 
 agonising anxiety when the little rebel, who was 
 evidently and eagerly studying the effect of her 
 petition, saw in the Sultana's face that the princess 
 did not understand and was a little startled. Still 
 those kind eyes did not speak refusal; they 
 seemed only to say, 'A divorce, and with so 
 little justification ! That is a difficult matter 
 indeed ! Well, I will try. But in such a case 
 my son will never grant it.' 
 
 And Zaideh, reading this refusal though it re- 
 mained unspoken, felt as though the carpet, the 
 floor, were sinking under her knees, and thought 
 herself lost, when suddenly something like a 
 religious thrill of awe seemed to run through the 
 palace; soft shuffling feet flew along the corridors, 
 every slave fell prostrate with a fuss of rustling
 
 x DISENCHANTED 119 
 
 silk, and a eunuch rushed into the room, announc- 
 ing in a voice sharpened by dread, 'His Imperial 
 Majesty!' 
 
 He had hardly spoken the words at which 
 every head must bow, when the Sultan appeared 
 at the door. The suppliant, still on her knees, 
 met and for a second felt his gaze, which looked 
 straight into her eyes, and then lost consciousness, 
 sinking like a dead thing, ghastly pale, into 
 the silvery cloud of her dress. 
 
 The man who had just come into the room 
 was perhaps in the whole world the most un- 
 approachably incomprehensible to Western minds 
 the Khalif, whose responsibilities are super- 
 human; the man who holds all Islam in the 
 hollow of his hand, and is bound to defend it 
 alike against the undeclared concert of all Chris- 
 tian nations, and against the consuming fire 
 of time; the man who, to the remotest desert 
 ends of Asia, is known as the 'Shadow of the 
 Almighty.' 
 
 On the present occasion he had merely come to 
 visit his venerated mother, when, in the expression 
 of the kneeling woman, he read such anguish and 
 ardent entreaty. And that look went to the 
 mysterious heart which hardens sometimes under 
 the burden of his solemn pontificate, but on the 
 other hand is always tender with a secret and 
 exquisite compassion that none can know. With 
 a wave of the hand he pointed out the swooning 
 lady to his daughters, who, bowed to the ground 
 in deep prostration, had not seen her fall ; and the 
 two princesses in their flowing trains raised in their
 
 uo DISENCHANTED x 
 
 arms the lady of the looped-up train as tenderly as 
 if she had been their sister. She, unwittingly, had 
 gained her suit by her eyes. 
 
 When Zaideh came to herself some time after, 
 the Sultan had left. Suddenly remembering it all, 
 she looked about her, doubting whether she had 
 really seen, or only dreamed of that awful presence. 
 No, the Khalif was not there. But the Sultana- 
 mother, leaning over her and taking her hands, 
 said affectionately: 'Rouse up, my child, and be 
 happy; my son has promised to sign to-morrow an 
 Iradeh which will set you free.' 
 
 And as she went down the marble stair she felt 
 so light, so excited, so tremulous ! Like a bird 
 which finds its cage door open. She smiled at the 
 fairy-maids of the yashmak, following her in a 
 sheeny group, hastening to cover her up; and in 
 a hand's turn, with no end of pins, they had 
 rearranged over her hair and her face the time- 
 honoured white gauze shroud. 
 
 And yet, as she sat in her black and gold car- 
 riage, while the horses proudly trotted back to 
 Kassim Pacha, she felt a cloud rise to dim her 
 joy. She was free, oh yes, and her pride was 
 avenged. But now she was conscious of an 
 obscure longing, binding her still to Hamdi from 
 whom she had believed herself detached for ever. 
 'This is vile and humiliating!' said she to herself; 
 'for the man has never been loyal or tender, and I 
 do not love him, no ! How utterly he must have 
 profaned my soul, how mercilessly have debased 
 me, that I should still dream of his embraces ! Ah, 
 do what I may, I am no longer wholly my own,
 
 x DISENCHANTED 121 
 
 since this memory can stain me still. And if, by 
 and by, another man should cross my path whom 
 I should really love, nothing worthy to be offered 
 to him is left to me but my soul; and never will 
 I give him anything else, never!'
 
 XI 
 
 ON the following day she wrote to Andre : 
 
 'If the day is fine on Thursday shall we meet 
 at Eyoub ? We shall arrive at about two o'clock 
 in a caique, at the steps by the water, exactly at 
 the end of the avenue paved with marble, leading 
 to the mosque. You can see us land from the 
 little cafe there, and you will recognise us I am 
 sure, the three poor little black spectres of the 
 other day ! As you like to wear a fez, put one on ; 
 it will be a little less risky. We will go straight 
 to the mosque and go in for a moment. You 
 must wait for us in the courtyard. Then walk on, 
 we will follow. You know Eyoub better than we 
 do; find some place, perhaps up the height of the 
 cemetery, where we may talk undisturbed.' 
 
 And the weather was beautiful that Thursday, 
 with a far-away sky of melancholy blue. It had 
 turned suddenly hot after the long winter, and the 
 Eastern aroma, which had been dormant in the 
 cold, had everywhere come to life again. 
 
 The advice to Andre to wear a fez when going 
 to Eyoub was quite unnecessary : he would never 
 have been seen in anything else in that part of the
 
 xi DISENCHANTED 123 
 
 town where he was most at home. This was his 
 first visit here since his return to Constantinople, 
 and as he stepped out of his caique and set foot on 
 those unchanged marble steps, it was with deep 
 emotion that he recognised everything in this 
 favoured nook, as yet ualtered. The little old 
 cafe, a hut of worm-eaten wood, standing out over 
 the water on a foundation of piles, had remained 
 untouched since the days of his youth. When, 
 accompanied by Jean Renaud, also wearing a fez, 
 and strictly charged not to speak at all, he entered 
 to take a seat in the ancient little room, open on 
 all sides to the pure air and coolness of the sea, 
 they found, lying on the divans covered with often 
 washed calico print, a party of comfortable cats 
 sleeping in the sun, besides two or three men in 
 long robes and turbans, contemplating the blue 
 sky. This motionless calm was all-pervading, this 
 indifference to the flight of time, this resigned and 
 very gentle philosophy, which are nowhere to be 
 found but in the lands of Islam, under the isolating 
 influence that emanates from sacred mosques and 
 vast burial grounds. 
 
 He and his accomplice in this dangerous ad- 
 venture seated themselves on the calico-covered 
 benches, and the smoke of their narghilehs soon 
 mingled with that of the other dreamers; these 
 were Imams who had saluted them in theTurkish 
 fashion, not imagining them to be foreigners, and 
 Andre was amused by their mistake, which fa- 
 voured his purpose. 
 
 There, just under their eyes, was the quiet little 
 landing-place where the ladies would presently
 
 124 DISENCHANTED xi 
 
 arrive; an old man with a white beard, who was in 
 charge of it, kept ineffectual guard over it, guiding 
 the approach of the rare caiques with his long pole; 
 and the water scarcely rippled in the secluded little 
 inlet where there was no tide, as it lapped against 
 the old marble steps. 
 
 This is the end of the world, the last curve of 
 the Golden Horn; no one comes by to go any 
 farther; it leads nowhere. Nor on the shore is 
 there any road beyond, here everything comes to 
 an end; the arm of the sea, and the turmoil of 
 Constantinople. Everything is old and abandoned 
 here at the foot of the barren hills as brown as the 
 desert and full of tombs. Beyond the little cafe 
 on piles, where they were waiting, there were a few 
 more huts of crumbling wood, an ancient convent 
 of dancing dervishes, and then nothing but tomb- 
 stones in perfect solitude. 
 
 They watched the light caiques which came 
 in from time to time from the Stamboul shore, 
 or from Kassim Pacha, bringing the faithful to 
 worship in the mosque or to visit the tombs; or 
 sometimes the inhabitants of the peaceful suburb. 
 They saw two dervishes land and then some 
 spectral women all in black, but bent and slow of 
 pace, and then two pious ancients in green turbans. 1 
 Above their heads the reflection of the sun from 
 the dancing surface of the water played on the 
 wooden ceiling, like the changeful lights on watered 
 silk, whenever another caique disturbed the glassy 
 pool. 
 
 At last, far away, something came in sight 
 
 1 Worn by the Hadji who have made the pilgrimage to Mecca.
 
 xi DISENCHANTED 125 
 
 which looked very like the visitors they expected, 
 three slight black figures against the luminous 
 blue of the gulf, elegant and slender even at a 
 distance. 
 
 Yes, here they were. They stepped out close 
 to the cafe, recognised the men no doubt in spite 
 of wearing triple veils, and slowly made their way 
 up the white flagged path towards the mosque. 
 The men, of course, had not stirred, hardly daring 
 to follow them with their eyes up the deserted 
 avenue, so sacred, so surrounded by eternal sleep. 
 
 After a long pause, Andre rose with an air of 
 indifference, and as slowly as they themselves took 
 the beautiful path of the dead which lies between 
 funereal kiosques circular buildings of white 
 marble, and here and there between arcades like 
 porticoes closed by iron railings. If the passer-by 
 stops to look in through the windows of these 
 kiosques he can see inside, in the dim light, tall 
 bright green catafalques hung with ancient em- 
 broidery. And behind the railings of the porticoes 
 there are tombs under the open sky, a crowd in 
 wonderfully close array; tombs that are still 
 magnificent, tall marble slabs, each touching its 
 neighbour, mysteriously beautiful and covered with 
 gilt arabesques and inscriptions; and all about 
 them is a thicket of verdure, of pink roses, wild 
 flowers, and tall grass. And the grass grows, too, 
 between the flagstones of the echoing avenue, and 
 close by the mosque the trees interlace and form 
 a vault of green twilight. 
 
 On reaching the sacred court Andre looked 
 about him, seeking them there. No, nobody yet.
 
 i 2 6 DISENCHANTED xi 
 
 This court lay in deep shade under its cloister and 
 the ancestral plane-trees; here and there on the 
 walls gleamed antique porcelain tiles ; pigeons and 
 storks, dwellers in the neighbourhood, picked their 
 way about the pavement, quite confident in this 
 peaceful spot where man comes only to pray. 
 Presently the heavy curtain over the door of the 
 sanctuary was raised, and the three black spectres 
 emerged. 
 
 'Walk on, we will follow,' Zaideh had written. 
 So he took the lead, and rather hesitatingly turned 
 off down silent funereal side paths, still between 
 railed arches through which the myriad tombstones 
 could be seen, towards a more humble, much more 
 ancient and decrepit part of the cemetery, where 
 the dead lie in what seems a virgin forest. Then, 
 having reached the foot of the hill, he proceeded 
 to mount it. About twenty paces behind came 
 the three ladies, and, further away, Jean Renaud, 
 who was to keep watch and give the alarm. 
 
 They climbed the hill without leaving the 
 endless graveyards which cover all the heights of 
 Eyoub. And by degrees there rose around them 
 a prospect befitting the Arabian Nights; they 
 would presently see the whole of Constantinople 
 on the horizon, rising up above the tangle of trees 
 as if it were mounting with them. Up here there 
 was no longer a grove as in the valley round the 
 cemetery; on this hill the grass lay smooth, 
 and there only grew among the endless tombs, 
 giant cypresses with ample space and air between 
 them, affording a good view. 
 
 They were now quite at the top of this quiet
 
 xi DISENCHANTED 127 
 
 solitude; Andre stopped, and the three slender, 
 black figures with no features came round him. 
 
 'Did you expect ever to see us again?' they 
 asked almost together in their pretty, cajoling 
 voices, offering him their hands. 
 
 To which Andre replied a little sadly : 
 
 'How could I tell whether you would ever 
 come again ?' 
 
 'Well, here they are once more the three 
 little souls in torment who are so daring through 
 thick and thin ! But where are you leading us ?' 
 
 'Why, no further than this if it suits you. See, 
 those four tombstones they seem placed on pur- 
 pose for us to sit upon. I see no one on either 
 side besides I am wearing a fez; we will talk 
 Turkish if any one comes by, and you will be 
 supposed to be out with your father ' 
 
 'Oh !' cried Zaideh, eagerly, 'our husband, you 
 mean.' 
 
 And Andre thanked her with a little bow. 
 
 In Turkey, . though the dead are held in so 
 much respect, no one hesitates to sit among them, 
 even on their tombstones ; and in many cemeteries 
 there are walks laid out and seats in the shade, as 
 in gardens and squares with us. 
 
 'This time,' said Nechedil, seating herself on a 
 fallen stone, 'we would not name a meeting place 
 so far away as on the first day; your kindness 
 would at last have been tried too far/ 
 
 'Eyoub is perhaps a somewhat fanatical spot 
 for such an adventure as ours,' remarked Zaideh. 
 'But you are fond of it, you are at home here. 
 We too love it, and we shall be at home here by
 
 i 2 8 DISENCHANTED xi 
 
 and by, for here, when our time comes, is where 
 we hope to rest.' 
 
 Andre looked at them in fresh amazement. 
 Was it possible that these three little persons, 
 whose extremely modern spirit had been brought 
 so near to him, who read Madame de Noailles, and 
 could on occasion talk like young Parisian women 
 too familiar with the writings of Gyp, these little 
 flowers of the twentieth century, should be destined 
 as Moslems, and no doubt of high rank, to sleep 
 some day in this sacred grove, there down there 
 among all the turbaned dead of the early ages 
 of the Hegira, in one of those inscrutable marble 
 kiosques ? There each would have her green cloth 
 catafalque hung with a pall from Mecca, on which 
 too soon the dust would gather, and, as for all the 
 others, a little oil lamp would be lighted for her 
 at dusk. Ah ! still the perpetual mystery of Islam 
 which enwrapped these women, even in broad day- 
 light when the sky was blue and the spring sun 
 shining brightly. 
 
 They sat talking, on these old, old stones, their 
 feet in the fine grass which was gemmed with 
 small, delicate flowers, the friendly growth of a 
 dry, undisturbed soil. They had here a wonderful 
 spot for their conversation, a site unique in the 
 world and consecrated by centuries of the past. 
 Former generations without number, Byzantine 
 emperors and magnificent Khalifs, had laboured 
 for centuries to complete for their sole use and 
 pleasure that fairy-like scene : here lay all Stamboul 
 in almost a bird's-eye view, its crowd of mosques 
 standing out against the distant blue of the sea;
 
 xi DISENCHANTED 129 
 
 Stamboul seen foreshortened, in close array, domes 
 and minarets piled one above another in profuse 
 and magnificent confusion, and behind them the 
 sea of Marmora, a dizzy circle of lapis-lazuli. In 
 the foreground, close to them, were thousands of 
 tombstones, some upright, some already leaning, 
 but all strange and attractive with their gilt 
 arabesques, gilt flowers, gilt inscriptions. There 
 were cypress trees four centuries old with trunks 
 like church pillars, of stone colour, and black 
 sheaves of foliage rising up to the brilliant sky like 
 black steeples. 
 
 The three souls without features seemed almost 
 gay to-day gay because of their youth, because 
 they had succeeded in escaping and felt free for an 
 hour, and because the atmosphere here was mild 
 and light, with the fragrance of spring. 
 
 'Now repeat our names,' ordered Ikbar; 'just 
 to see that you do not mistake one for the 
 other/ 
 
 And Andre, pointing to each in turn with his 
 finger, pronounced their names like a schoolboy 
 obediently saying his lesson: 'Zaideh, Nechedil, 
 Ikbar/ 
 
 'Good, very good! But these are not our real 
 names at all, you know/ 
 
 'Believe me, I suspected as much, especially as 
 Nechedil of all names is that of a slave/ 
 
 'Nechedil, quite true, yes. Ah, you know so 
 much as that !' 
 
 The high sun fell full on their thick veils, and 
 Andre, under this strong light, tried to discover 
 something of their features. But no nothing.
 
 i 3 o DISENCHANTED xi 
 
 Three or four thicknesses of gauze made them 
 quite inscrutable. 
 
 For a moment he was put off the track by their 
 tcharchafs of poor black silk somewhat frayed, and 
 by the rather shabby gloves they had thought it 
 wise to put on so as not to attract attention. 
 
 'After all,' thought he, 'perhaps they are not 
 such great ladies as I fancied, poor little things!' 
 But then his eye fell on their very elegant shoes 
 and their fine silk stockings. And then, their 
 evidently high culture and perfect ease of manner. 
 
 'Well, and since that last day,' asked one, 
 'have you made no inquiries to identify us ?' 
 
 'An easy task, indeed, to make inquiries; and, 
 besides, I do not care a pin. I have three charming 
 little friends, that much I know, and as to their 
 names I am quite satisfied.' 
 
 'But now,' proposed Nechedil, 'we may very 
 well tell him who we are. We have entire con- 
 fidence in him ' 
 
 'No, I would rather not, indeed,' Andre put in. 
 
 'Do not do anything of the kind,' said Ikbar. 
 'All our charm in his eyes lies in our little mystery. 
 Confess, Monsieur Lhery, if we were not veiled 
 Moslem women, if each time we meet you it were 
 not at the risk of our life nay, of yours too, 
 perhaps you would say: "What do those three 
 little fools want with me ? " and you would not 
 come again.' 
 
 'No, no, come ' 
 
 'Yes, yes. The improbability of the adventure 
 and the danger are all that attract you, I know.' 
 
 'No, I assure you no longer.'
 
 xi DISENCHANTED 131 
 
 'So be it, do not go too far,' said Zaideh 
 decisively, after a moment's silence. 'Do not 
 urge the discussion, I would rather. But with- 
 out affording you particulars of our birth and 
 parentage, Monsieur Lhery, allow us to tell you our 
 real names. While preserving our incognito, I feel 
 as if that would make us closer friends.' 
 
 'I am very willing/ said he. 'I believe I should 
 even have requested it. Assumed names are a 
 sort of barrier.' 
 
 'Well, then: "Nechedil's" real name is Zeyneb; 
 the name of a wise and pious lady who taught 
 theology once upon a time in Bagdad, and it suits 
 her very well. "Ikbar" is Melek, 1 and how dare 
 she have such a name, I wonder, such a little 
 plague as she is. I, "Zaideh," am called Djenan, 2 
 and if ever you should know my history you will 
 see what a mockery it is. Now repeat them : 
 Zeyneb, Melek, Djenan.' 
 
 'Quite unnecessary, I shall not forget. But, 
 since you have gone so far, you must tell one 
 essential thing; in addressing you must I say 
 Madame, or else ' 
 
 'You must say nothing whatever but just 
 Zeyneb, Melek, Djenan, nothing more.' 
 
 'Oh! and yet- 
 
 'That shocks you. But what can we say, we 
 are little barbarians. However, if you insist, it 
 must be Madame Madame, alas ! to all three. 
 But our acquaintance is already so antagonistic to 
 all the formalities; what can a little more or less 
 matter now ? And you see our friendship may 
 
 1 Meaning an Angel. 2 Meaning Well-beloved.
 
 i 3 2 DISENCHANTED xi 
 
 know no to-morrow; such terrible dangers hang 
 over our meetings that when we presently part we 
 do not know that we shall ever meet again. Why 
 then, during this short hour which may never be 
 repeated in all our lives, why not allow us to 
 believe that we are indeed your intimate friends ?' 
 
 Strange as it was, the proposal was made in a 
 perfectly honest, frank, and well-bred manner, 
 with purity above suspicion, soul speaking to 
 soul. And Andre remembered the danger, which 
 he had in fact forgotten, so completely did this 
 enchanting spot wear every appearance of peace 
 and security, and so sweet was the spring day. 
 He remembered their courage, which had faded 
 from his mind, their daring to be here, the bold- 
 ness of desperation ; and instead of smiling at this 
 request he felt how anxious, how pathetic it was. 
 
 'I will address you as you wish,' he replied, 
 'and thank you. But you on your side, you will 
 drop the Monsieur?' 
 
 'Ah ! But then what can we say ?' 
 
 'I see no alternative but to call me Andre/ 
 
 On which Melek, the child of them all, re- 
 marked : 
 
 'So far as Djenan is concerned, it will not be 
 for the first time, you know.' 
 
 'Melek, my dear, for pity's sake !' 
 
 'No, no, let me tell him. You cannot imagine 
 how much we have lived with you in our thoughts, 
 and she especially. And long ago, in the diary 
 she kept as a girl, written as if it were a letter 
 addressed to you, she always wrote to you as 
 Andre/
 
 xi DISENCHANTED 133 
 
 'She is an enfant terrible, Monsieur Lhery; I 
 assure you she is exaggerating wildly.' 
 
 'Ah, and the photo!' exclaimed Melek, sud- 
 denly changing the subject. 
 
 'What photo?' he asked. 
 
 'Of you with Djenan. It was as a thing 
 beyond all possibility, you understand, that she 
 had a fancy to possess it. Be quick, let us do it 
 at once; such a moment may never recur. Stand 
 beside him, Djenan.' 
 
 Djenan, with her languid grace and supple 
 rhythm of movement, rose to obey. 
 
 'Do you know what you are like ?' said Andre. 
 'Like an elegy, in all that light trailing black, with 
 your head bent, as I see you there surrounded by 
 tombs.' 
 
 Her very voice was an elegy when she spoke 
 a little mournfully; its pitch was musical, extra- 
 ordinarily sweet, emotional, and yet far away. 
 
 But this little embodied elegy could be suddenly 
 very gay and saucy, and full of the most original 
 fun ; she was evidently capable of childish nonsense 
 and irrepressible laughter. 
 
 Standing by Andre she arranged herself gravely, 
 with no sign of raising her veil. 
 
 'Why, do you mean to stand so all black, with 
 no face ?' 
 
 'Of course. Just a silhouette. Souls, you 
 know, need no features.' 
 
 Melek, going away a few steps, drew from under 
 her austere Moslem tcharchaf a little kodak of the 
 latest pattern and adjusted it. Snap ! a first print; 
 snap ! a second.
 
 i 3 4 DISENCHANTED xi 
 
 They never suspected how dear to them, in the 
 unforeseen events of days to come, how dear 
 and sad, these vague little shadows would be, re- 
 corded for mere amusement in such a spot at a 
 time when the sunshine and reviving nature made 
 all things gay. 
 
 Melek, to make sure, was about to take another 
 snapshot, when they caught sight of a large pair 
 of moustaches under a scarlet fez, which rose up 
 from behind the tombs quite close to them; a 
 passer-by, amazed at hearing an unknown tongue 
 and seeing Turks taking photographs in a ceme- 
 tery. 
 
 He went away, indeed, without making any 
 remark, but with a look as much as to say, 'Only 
 wait a minute. I shall return; we must find out 
 the meaning of this.' And so, as on the first 
 occasion, the meeting ended by the flight of the 
 three gentle spectres the flight of terror. And 
 it was high time, for down at the foot of the hill 
 the stranger was making a stir. 
 
 An hour later, when Andre and his friend, 
 watching from afar, had assured themselves that 
 the three Turkish ladies, making their way by 
 devious paths, had succeeded in gaining un- 
 molested one of the water-steps on the Golden 
 Horn and securing a caique, they themselves took 
 a boat at a different landing-place and quitted 
 Eyoub. 
 
 All was calm and safe now in the slender caique, 
 where they sat, almost reclining in the fashion of 
 the place, and they floated down the bay shut in
 
 xi DISENCHANTED 135 
 
 by the immense city, at the hour when the magical 
 evening light was in its glory. Their boatman 
 hugged the shore under Stamboul in the vast 
 shadow cast at sundown, century after century, 
 by the pile of houses and mosques over the 
 imprisoned and placid waters. Stamboul, tower- 
 ing above them, was sinking into solemn mono- 
 chrome, with the splendour of its cupolas against 
 the blazing west. Stamboul grew imperial again, 
 weighted with memories, an oppressor, as at the 
 great periods of its past history; and under the 
 beautiful, mirror-like sheet which was the surface 
 of the sea, one could picture in its depths corpses 
 piled up, and the refuse of two sumptuous civilisa- 
 tions. While Stamboul sank into gloom, the city 
 that sat in tiers, on the opposite shore Kassim 
 Pacha, Tershaneh, and Galata looked as if on 
 fire; even Pera, the commonplace, perched on 
 high and bathed in copper-coloured beams, played 
 its part in this marvel of the closing day. There 
 is hardly another city in the world which has such 
 a power of magnifying itself under the favouring 
 light and distance, so as to produce a sudden 
 splendid spectacle, an apotheosis. 
 
 To Andre Lhery these excursions in a caique 
 along the shore, in the shadow of Stamboul, had 
 of old been of almost daily occurrence when he 
 had lived at the top of the Golden Horn. At 
 this moment it seemed to him that that long ago 
 was but yesterday; the interval of twenty-five 
 years was as nothing. He remembered every- 
 thing, down to the merest trifles and long- 
 forgotten details; he could hardly persuade
 
 136 DISENCHANTED xi 
 
 himself that, if he turned back now, he would 
 not find his secluded house in the old place and 
 the faces he had known. And without quite 
 knowing why, he vaguely associated the humble 
 Circassian girl who slept beneath her tombstone 
 with Djenan, who had so lately dropped into his 
 life; he had a sort of sacrilegious sense of the 
 continuity of one with the other, and in this magic 
 hour, when all was peace and beauty, enchantment 
 and oblivion, he did not feel remorseful over thus 
 confounding the two. What could they want of 
 him, these three little Turkish women ? How 
 would this comedy end, so delightful, and so 
 beset with danger ? They had said hardly any- 
 thing beyond playful or indifferent things, and 
 yet they had already attached him, at least by a 
 tendril of affectionate anxiety. Their voices per- 
 haps had bewitched him, especially that of Djenan ; 
 a voice which seemed to come from beyond, from 
 the past, perhaps, and differed, he knew not how, 
 from the common sounds of earth. 
 
 They moved on, floating as if they lay on the 
 water itself, so low down does one lie in these 
 light caiques almost devoid of gunwale. They 
 had left behind them the mosque of Suleyman, 
 which lords it over all the others on the highest 
 point of Stamboul, chief of all the giant cupolas. 
 They had passed that part of the Golden Horn 
 where old-world sailing boats still are moored in 
 a close crowd : tall hulls gaily painted, and an 
 inextricable forest of slender masts all bearing 
 the crescent of Islam on their red flags. The 
 gulf widened before them to the opening into the
 
 xi DISENCHANTED 137 
 
 Bosphorus and the sea of Marmora, where number- 
 less steamships lay before them, transfigured by 
 embellishing distance. Now it was the Asiatic 
 shore which suddenly came into sight in no less 
 splendour. Scutari, yet another town twinkling 
 with light; its minarets, its cupolas rushed into 
 view, as red as coral. Scutari on most evenings 
 produced the illusion of being on fire in its old 
 Asiatic quarters ; the small panes of the Turkish 
 windows, tiny panes in myriads, each repeating 
 the intense refulgence of the half-vanished sun, 
 might make any one who was not prepared for 
 this customary effect believe that all these houses 
 were in flames within.
 
 XII 
 
 IN the course of the following week Andre Lhery 
 received this letter, in three handwritings : 
 
 Wednesday, April 2J, 1904. 
 
 'We are never so silly as when we are with 
 you, and afterwards, when you are gone, we are 
 ready to cry over it. Do not refuse to come 
 once more, for the last time. We have arranged 
 everything for Saturday, and if you knew with 
 what Machiavelian cunning ! But it will be a 
 farewell meeting, for we are going away. 
 
 'Study carefully what follows, so as not to lose 
 the clue. 
 
 'Come to Stamboul, to the front of the mosque 
 of Sultan Selim. Standing facing it, you see on your 
 right a little deserted-looking alley between a con- 
 vent of dervishes and a small cemetery. Turn up it 
 and it will lead you, at about a hundred paces distant, 
 to the courtyard of the little mosque of Tossoun 
 Agha. Exactly in front of you, in that courtyard, 
 you will see a large house, very old, and formerly 
 painted a reddish brown. Go round to the back 
 of it and you will find a rather dark alley with 
 latticed houses on each side and projecting balconies. 
 On the left-hand side, the third house, the only 
 
 138
 
 xii DISENCHANTED 139 
 
 one with a double door and a copper knocker, is 
 the place where we shall await you. Do not 
 bring your friend; come alone, it is safer. 
 
 'DjENAN.' 
 
 'At half-past two I shall be on the watch be- 
 hind the door, which will be ajar. Wear a fez 
 and a coat as nearly as possible of the colour of the 
 wall. The little house where we must say good- 
 bye is of the very humblest. But we will try to 
 leave you with a good impression of the shades 
 that have crossed your path, so swift and so light 
 that perhaps in a few days you will doubt whether 
 they were real. MELEK.' 
 
 'Still, light as they are, they were not mere 
 thistledown wafted to you by a whim. You were 
 the first to feel that the hapless Turkish woman 
 may have a soul, and they wanted to thank you 
 for that. 
 
 'And this innocent adventure, brief and almost 
 unreal as it has been, will not have lasted long 
 enough to weary you. It will remain in your life 
 a picture without a wrong side to it. 
 
 'On Saturday, before we part for ever, we will 
 tell you many things if the meeting is not broken 
 up, as it was at Eyoub, by an alarm and flight. 
 So, till we meet, our friend. ZEYNEB.' 
 
 'I, who am the great strategist of the party, 
 was desired to draw this fine map which I enclose 
 in the letter to help you to find your way. Though 
 the neighbourhood has a rather cut-throat aspect,
 
 I 4 o DISENCHANTED xn 
 
 your friend may be quite easy; nothing can be 
 quieter or more respectable. MELEK again.' 
 
 And Andre answered at once to 'Zaideh,' poste- 
 restante : 
 
 ' April 29, 1904. 
 
 * Saturday, the day after to-morrow, at half- 
 past two, in the required dress a fez and a dark 
 stone-coloured cloak, I will be at the door with 
 the copper knocker, to place myself at the orders 
 of the three black spectres. -- Their friend, 
 
 'ANDRE LHERY/
 
 XIII 
 
 JEAN RENAUD, who augured ill for the expedi- 
 tion, in vain begged permission to follow his 
 friend. Andre would do no more than concede 
 that they should go together before the appointed 
 hour to smoke a narghileh in a place that had 
 formerly been dear to him, not more than a 
 quarter of an hour's walk from the fateful spot. 
 
 It was in Stamboul, of course, in the very 
 heart of the Moslem quarter, in front of the great 
 mosque of Mahomed Fatih, 1 which is one of the 
 holiest. After crossing the bridge it is yet a 
 long walk uphill to this centre of old-world Turk- 
 ish life. Here are no more Europeans, no hats, 
 no modern buildings; on reaching it through 
 a series of little bazaars like those at Bagdad, and 
 streets bordered with lovely little fountains, 
 funereal kiosques, and railings enclosing tombs, one 
 feels that one has gently gone down the long 
 ladder of time, retrograding to long-past ages. 
 
 They had fully an hour to spare when, emerg- 
 ing from the shady alleys, they found themselves 
 in front of the colossal white mosque, whose 
 minarets, crowned with gold crescents, towered 
 up to the infinite blue heavens. Before the tall 
 
 1 Mahomed Fatih or Sultan Fith Mahommed II., the Conqueror. 
 141
 
 142 DISENCHANTED xm 
 
 arched porch, the place on which they found 
 a seat is a sort of external enclosure, chiefly 
 frequented by pious devotees faithful to the 
 costume of their ancestors, the robe and turban. 
 Antiquated little coffee shops stand open all 
 round, haunted by dreamy figures, scarcely speak- 
 ing at all. There are trees there too, and under 
 their shade simple divans are placed for those who 
 prefer to smoke outside, and in cages hanging 
 from the trees are finches, blackbirds, and linnets, 
 specially appointed musicians in this artless, easy- 
 going spot. 
 
 They sat down on a bench where some Imams 
 courteously made room for them to be seated, and 
 there came close up to them first the little begging 
 children, then the sleek cats seeking a friendly 
 rub, an old man in a green turban hawking coco, 
 'as cool as ice,' a party of very pretty gipsy girls, 
 who sold rose-water and danced all smiling and 
 discreet, not insistently urgent. And then they 
 were left to themselves, to smoke in silence, and 
 listen to the singing birds. Ladies went by all in 
 black or wrapped in the Damascus veils which are 
 of red or green silk with large patterns in gold; 
 the sellers of cats' meat passed that way, and 
 then some worthy Turk even those in robes of 
 silk and magnificently dignified would gravely 
 buy a piece for his cat, and carry it off over his 
 shoulder, stuck on the ferrule of his umbrella. 
 Again, here were Arabs from the Hedjaz, on 
 a visit to the city of the Khalif, and mendicant 
 dervishes with uncut hair, returning from a pil- 
 grimage to Mecca. An old fellow of at least
 
 xiii DISENCHANTED 143 
 
 a hundred was trotting babies twice round the 
 little square for about a farthing, in a packing-case 
 on casters which he had made gaudy with paint, 
 but which jolted a great deal on the old broken 
 pavement. As a background to these thousand 
 trivial things revealing the youthful, simple, 
 kindly side of the people, the mosque rose up, 
 seeming all the more grand, majestic, and calm, 
 superb in its lines and its whiteness with its two 
 pointed shafts against the clear sky of the first 
 of May. 
 
 Ah ! what gentle, honest eyes were to be met 
 under those turbans, what trustful, tranquil faces 
 framed in black or fair beards ! How different 
 from the Levantines in short coats who, at this 
 same hour, were bustling along the side-walks of 
 Pera, and from the crowds in our Western cities, 
 with greedy or mocking eyes, scorched by alcohol ! 
 How truly here one might feel oneself in the 
 centre of a happy people, remaining almost such 
 as they were in the golden age, by dint of always 
 temperate desires, of fear of change, and fidelity 
 to the Faith ! 
 
 Among the men who sat there under the trees, 
 
 O ' 
 
 content with a tiny cup of coffee costing a half- 
 penny and the soothing narghileh, many were 
 artisans, working each for himself at his little old- 
 world trade in his booth or in the open air. How 
 deeply they would pity the hapless herds of toilers 
 in our land of 'progress/ who wear themselves 
 out in some horrible factory to enrich their masters. 
 How strange, how deeply to be pitied, they would 
 think the vinous uproar of our labour exchanges, or
 
 144 DISENCHANTED xin 
 
 the follies of our political stump-oratory, in a 
 public-house between two glasses of absinthe ! 
 
 The moment was near. Andre Lhery left his 
 companion and made his way alone towards the 
 more distant quarter of Sultan Selim, still amid 
 purely Turkish dwellings, but along more deserted 
 streets, where abandonment and decay could be 
 felt. Old garden-walls, old shut-up houses, 
 wooden houses all of them, and originally painted 
 dark ochre or a russet brown, the hues that give 
 Stamboul its low tone of colour and make the 
 whiteness of the minarets seem more dazzling. 
 
 O 
 
 Among so many, many mosques, that of Sultan 
 Selim is a very large one; its domes and spires 
 are visible from afar at sea, but it is also one of 
 the most neglected and decayed. There are no 
 little cafes on the square that surrounds it, no 
 smokers; and on this day there was no one within 
 sight; a melancholy desert lay in front of its 
 arched entrance. To the right Andre saw the 
 
 O 
 
 alley described by Melek 'between a convent of 
 dervishes and a little cemetery,' a gloomy spot 
 this alley, the pavement green with weeds. When 
 he reached the humble mosque of Tossoun Agha 
 he recognised the large house, the abode certainly 
 of ghosts, which he was to walk round ; and here 
 again there was nobody; but the swallows were 
 piping to the happy month of May, a wistaria 
 hung in garlands, such a wistaria as can only be 
 seen in the East, with branches as thick as a ship's 
 cable, and thousands of bunches now showing 
 their tender violet hue. And at last here was the 
 blind alley, most funereal of all, grass-grown, and
 
 xin DISENCHANTED 145 
 
 in a sort of twilight under old balconies masked 
 by impenetrable iron-work. Not a creature, not 
 even swallows, and total silence. * It is a cut-throat 
 looking spot,' Melek had written in her post- 
 script; and that it certainly was. 
 
 When only shamming Turk and on mischief 
 bent, almost a malefactor, it is uncomfortable to 
 walk under such balconies, whence invisible eyes 
 may so easily be on the watch. Andre went 
 slowly, fingering his beads, on the lookout, 
 without betraying himself, and counting the closed 
 doors. 'The fifth, a double door with a copper 
 knocker.' Ah, this was it ! Besides, it was 
 just a little way open, and through the crack 
 a small gloved hand was seen, drumming on the 
 wood, a small hand with many-buttoned gloves, 
 much out of its element, it would seem, in this 
 uncanny quarter. It would not do to hesitate, for 
 fear of possible spies, so Andre boldly pushed the 
 door and went in. 
 
 The black phantom in ambush within, which 
 certainly had the figure of Melek, hastily shut and 
 locked it, bolted it to make sure, and said gaily, 
 'So you have found us! Go up, my sisters are 
 upstairs waiting for you/ 
 
 He mounted a flight of carpetless stairs, dark 
 and rickety. At the top, in a small humble harem, 
 very simple, with bare walls, which the iron 
 gratings and wooden lattice over the windows kept 
 in dismal semi-darkness, he found the other two 
 spectres, who gave him their hands. For the first 
 time in his life he was in a harem, a thing which, 
 knowing oriental life as he did, had always seemed
 
 146 DISENCHANTED xm 
 
 to him impossibility itself; he was inside, behind 
 those lattices of the women's windows, those 
 jealous lattices, which no man but the master ever 
 sees excepting from outside. And the door below 
 was barred, and all this was happening in the 
 heart of old Stamboul, and in what a mysterious 
 dwelling ! He asked himself with a little alarm 
 that struck him as very amusing: 'What am I 
 doing here ?' All the child-like side of his nature, 
 all of him that was still eager to get outside itself, 
 still in love with what was foreign and new, was 
 humoured to the top of its bent. 
 
 Meanwhile the three ladies of his harem were 
 like three tragic ghosts, as closely veiled as they 
 had been the other day at Eyoub, and more 
 inscrutable than ever, with no sun to help him. 
 As to the harem itself, far from oriental luxury, it 
 was only decently poor. 
 
 They made him sit down on the faded striped 
 divan, and he looked about him. Poor as the 
 women of the house might be they had good 
 taste, for everything, in spite of the humblest 
 simplicity, was harmonious and Eastern ; nowhere 
 were there any of the trifles ' made in Germany,' 
 which are now, alas ! invading Turkish homes. 
 
 'Am I in your house ?' asked Andre. 
 
 'Oh, no,' they exclaimed in a tone suggesting 
 a smile under the veils. 
 
 'Forgive me, my question was idiotic for a heap 
 of reasons; first of all because, in fact, I do not 
 care. I am with you; nothing else matters.' 
 
 He was watching them. They wore the same 
 tcharchafs as at the former meeting black silk,
 
 xiii DISENCHANTED 147 
 
 frayed here and there. And shod like princesses; 
 and besides, when they took off their gloves, fine 
 gems sparkled on their fingers. Who and what 
 were these women, and what was this little house ? 
 
 Djenan asked him, in her low voice like that of 
 a wounded siren at the point of death : 
 
 ' How long can you give us ? ' 
 
 'All the time that you are able to give me.' 
 
 'We we have nearly two hours of com- 
 parative safety. But that will seem rather long 
 to you, perhaps/ 
 
 Melek brought one of the low tables commonly 
 used in Constantinople for the little meals which 
 are always set before visitors coffee, bonbons, 
 and preserved rose-leaves. The covering was of 
 white satin embroidered in gold and strewn with 
 real Parma violets; the service was of gold fili- 
 gree, and this was the crowning touch of incon- 
 gruous disparity. 
 
 'Here are the photos done at Eyoub,' said she, 
 as she helped him like a dainty little slave. 'But 
 they are a failure. We will try again to-day, as 
 we shall never meet any more ; the light is bad, still, 
 
 with a longer exposure ' And she produced 
 
 two little prints, brown and fogged, in which 
 Djenan's figure was hardly discernible; Andre 
 accepted them carelessly, little thinking how 
 precious they would be to him later. 
 
 ' Is it true/ he asked, ' that you are going 
 away ? ' 
 
 'Perfectly true/ 
 
 'But you will come back; we shall meet 
 again ? '
 
 148 , DISENCHANTED xm 
 
 To which Djenan replied in the vague fatalist 
 words which orientals use when the future is in 
 any way in question: 'Inch Allah!' Were 
 they really going away, or was it an excuse for 
 putting an end to this audacious adventure, for 
 fear of tiring of it perhaps, or of the desperate 
 danger ? And Andre, who after all knew nothing 
 about them, felt them as evanescent as a vision, 
 impossible to detain or to call back, as soon as it 
 was their whim not to see him again. 
 
 'And you are leaving soon ?' he ventured to 
 inquire. 
 
 'In about ten days most likely.' 
 
 'Then you will have time to send me a sign 
 once more.' 
 
 They held council in an undertone, in highly 
 colloquial Turkish intermingled with Arab words, 
 and too difficult for Andre to follow: 'Yes, next 
 Saturday,' they said, 'we will try once more and 
 thank you for wishing it. But do you know 
 what cunning we have to exercise, what com- 
 plicity we must bribe to be able to receive you ?* 
 
 And now, it would seem, they must make haste 
 to take the photographs, to seize the reflection of 
 a sunbeam from the gloomy house opposite, 
 which fell into the latticed room, but was slowly 
 rising higher and higher and would soon vanish. 
 Two or three exposures were tried of Djenan by 
 the side of Andre; Djenan always shrouded in 
 her funereal black. 
 
 'And do you know,' said he, 'how new and 
 strange it is to me, almost alarming, to talk with 
 invisible beings ? Your very voices are masked
 
 xiii DISENCHANTED 149 
 
 by those thick veils. Now and then I am vaguely 
 afraid of you/ 
 
 'But it was agreed between us that we were 
 merely souls.' 
 
 'True, but souls reveal themselves to other 
 souls chiefly by the expression of their eyes. 
 Now I cannot even imagine what your eyes are 
 like. I fully believe that they are bright and 
 honest, but if they were as fearful as those of 
 ghouls I should not know it. I assure you it 
 really discomposes me, frightens me, repels me. 
 At least do one thing, let me have your portraits 
 unveiled. On my honour, I will return them to 
 you at once, or else, if some disaster should part 
 us, I will burn them.' 
 
 At first they were speechless. With their 
 hereditary Moslem traditions, to show their faces 
 seemed to them an impropriety which would at 
 once make their acquaintance with Andre a guilty 
 thing. Finally it was Melek who spoke, pledging 
 her sisters, deliberately, but in a somewhat arch 
 tone which had a suspicious ring in it: 'Our 
 photos without either tcharchaf or yashmak ? 
 That is what you want ? Well, give us time to 
 take them and you shall have them next week. 
 But now let us all sit down. It is for Djenan to 
 speak; she has a great favour to ask of you. 
 Light a cigarette; you will find the time less long 
 at any rate.' 
 
 'My petition is from us all,' said Djenan, 'on 
 behalf of all our Turkish sisters. Monsieur 
 Lhery, undertake our cause; write a book in 
 defence of the unhappy Moslem women of the
 
 150 DISENCHANTED xm 
 
 twentieth century. Tell all the world, since you 
 know that it is true, that we now have a soul; 
 that it is no longer possible to break us like chattels. 
 If you do this you will be blessed by thousands. 
 Will you?' 
 
 Andre sat silent, as they had done before at his 
 request for the portraits. He did not see the 
 book at all; and, besides, he had promised him- 
 self an idle time at Constantinople, to play the 
 oriental, not to write a book. 
 
 'What a difficult thing you expect of me! A 
 book to prove a case ? You, who seem to have 
 read me with care and know me well do you 
 think that would be at all like me ? Besides, 
 what do I know of the Moslem woman of the 
 twentieth century?' 
 
 'We will inform you.' 
 
 ' But you are going away.' 
 
 'We will write to you.' 
 
 'Oh! Letters, written things, you know I 
 can never tell anything I have not seen and 
 lived in.' 
 
 'We shall come back.' 
 
 'But then you will be compromised. People 
 will inquire whence I derived such information. 
 And they will certainly find out at last.' 
 
 'We are ready to sacrifice ourselves for the 
 cause ! What better use can we make of our 
 poor little lives aimless and unprofitable lives ? 
 We are all three eager to devote ourselves to 
 alleviating misery, found a good work, like 
 European women. And even that is forbidden 
 us; we must sit idle and hidden behind our
 
 xin DISENCHANTED 151 
 
 lattices. Well, we mean to be the inspiring spirit 
 of that book; it will be our deed of charity, and 
 if we lose our freedom or our life for it, so much 
 the worse !' 
 
 Andre still tried to escape : 
 
 'Remember, too, that I am not independent in 
 Constantinople, I have a place in an Embassy. 
 And there is another thing: I meet with such 
 confiding hospitality from the Turks. Among 
 the men whom you regard as your oppressors, I 
 have friends who are very dear to me.' 
 
 'Ah, well, you must make your choice: we or 
 they. Take it or leave it. Make up your mind.' 
 
 ' Is it so urgent as that ? Then, naturally and 
 of course, I choose you. And I obey.' 
 
 'At last!' and she gave him her little hand, 
 which he dutifully kissed. 
 
 They talked on. for nearly two hours, in a 
 semblance of security such as they had never 
 before known. 
 
 'But are you not quite exceptional?' he asked, 
 astonished to find them wrought up to such a 
 pitch of desperation and rebellion. 
 
 'We are the rule, on the contrary. Take 
 twenty Turkish women where you please women 
 of the upper class of course and you will not 
 find one who does not talk as we do. They are 
 brought up as prodigies, blue-stockings, musical 
 dolls, objects of luxury for their father and their 
 master, and then treated as odalisques and slaves, 
 like our ancestresses a century ago ! No, we can 
 bear it no longer we can bear it no longer !' 
 
 'Take care lest I plead your cause from the
 
 152 DISENCHANTED xm 
 
 other point of view; I am a man of the past. I 
 should be quite capable of it, believe me. Down 
 with governesses, transcendental professors, and 
 all the books which extend the realm of human 
 misery ! Back to the peace of our forefathers ! ' 
 
 'Well, if need should be, we would make the 
 best of such pleading, especially as any retro- 
 gression is impossible, no one can turn the stream 
 of time backward. The essential point is to 
 move the world at last to pity, to make it under- 
 stood that we are martyrs, we, the women of the 
 transition between those of the past and those of 
 the future. That is what we want you to make 
 heard, and after that you will be the friend of us 
 all all.' 
 
 Andre still hoped for some unforeseen con- 
 tingency that might save him from writing their 
 book. Still, he felt the bewitching influence of 
 their noble indignation, and their sweet voices 
 thrilling with hatred of the tyranny of man. 
 
 By degrees, too, he became used to their having 
 no faces. To give him a light for his cigarette, or 
 hand him the microscopic cup out of which 
 Turkish coffee is sipped, they came and went, 
 elegant, fairy-like, and eager, but still black 
 spectres; and when they stooped, the veil over 
 their features hung forward like a Capuchin's 
 long beard added in derision to these youthful 
 forms of grace. 
 
 Their safety was, in fact, merely illusory in 
 this house at the end of the blind alley, which in 
 the event of a surprise was a perfect trap. When, 
 now and then, a step was heard outside on the
 
 xiii DISENCHANTED 153 
 
 flagstones fringed with starved grass, they looked 
 out anxiously through the protecting bars : some 
 old turbaned Turk going home, or the water-seller 
 of the district with his goat-skin across his back. 
 
 Theoretically, they were all to call each other 
 by their real names and nothing more. But 
 neither of them dared be the first, and they used 
 no names at all. 
 
 Once they had a shudder of alarm : the copper 
 knocker on the outer door rang out under an 
 impatient hand, rousing a terrible echo in the 
 midst of the silence of these dead houses, and 
 they all rushed to the latticed windows : it was 
 a lady in a black silk tcharchaf, leaning on a stick 
 and apparently bent by great age. 
 
 'It is nothing of any consequence,' they said. 
 'We had foreseen this. Only she will have to 
 come into this room/ 
 
 'Then I must hide?' 
 
 'That even is unnecessary. Go, Melek, and 
 let her in, and you will say just what we agreed 
 on. She will only pass through, and we shall see 
 her no more. As she passes you, she may per- 
 haps ask you in Turkish, How is the little invalid? 
 And you have only to reply in Turkish, too, of 
 course that be is much better since this morning.' 
 
 A minute later the old dame came through, 
 her veil down, feeling the poor carpets with the 
 end of her crutch. And she did not fail to ask 
 Andre : 
 
 'Well, and is the dear boy better?' 
 
 'Much better,' said he, 'since this morning 
 particularly.'
 
 154 DISENCHANTED xm 
 
 'That's well, thank you, thank you,' and she 
 disappeared through a small door at the end of 
 the harem. Andre asked for no explanation. 
 He was wrapt in the improbabilities of an Eastern 
 tale; if they had said to him: 'The fairy Cara- 
 bosse will come out from under this divan, will 
 strike the walls with a touch of her wand, and it 
 will become a palace,' he would have accepted the 
 statement without comment. 
 
 After the coming of the lady with the stick 
 they had still a few minutes to spare; when the 
 time came they dismissed him with the promise 
 that they would meet once more at whatever 
 risk: 'Go, friend of us all, go to the end of the 
 alley at a leisurely, dreamy pace, telling your 
 rosary, and we all three, through the lattices, will 
 watch your dignified retreat.'
 
 XIV 
 
 AN old eunuch, stealthy and speechless, came on 
 Thursday to bring Andre notice of a meeting on 
 the day but one following, in the same place and 
 at the same hour, and with it some large port- 
 folios carefully wrapped and sealed. 
 
 'Ah !' thought he, 'the promised photographs !' 
 And, impatient to look into their eyes at last, he 
 tore open the paper. 
 
 They were portraits, no doubt, without tchar- 
 chaf or yashmak, and fully signed, if you please, 
 in French and in Turkish : Djenan, Zeyneb, and 
 Melek. His friends had even got into full dress 
 for the occasion handsome evening dresses, cut 
 low, and quite Parisian. But Zeyneb and Melek 
 presented their backs very squarely, showing only 
 the edge and tip of their little ears; while Djenan, 
 the only one seen in front, held a large feather fan 
 which hid all her face, and even her hair. 
 
 On Saturday, in the mysterious house where 
 they met for the second time, nothing tragical 
 occurred, no fairy Carabosse appeared. 'We are 
 here,' Djenan explained, 'in the house of my 
 nurse, who never in her life refused me anything; 
 the sick boy is her son. The old dame is her 
 
 155
 
 156 DISENCHANTED xiv 
 
 mother; Melek had told her that you were a 
 fresh physician to see him. Now do you under- 
 stand ? Still I feel some remorse at making her 
 play such a dangerous part. However, as it is 
 our last day.' 
 
 They talked for two hours without mentioning 
 the book; they no doubt feared to sicken him of 
 the subject if they talked too much about it. 
 And he was pledged; that point was gained. 
 
 And they had so much else to say, long arrears 
 of things, it seemed ; for it was true that they had 
 lived for years in his companionship through his 
 books, and this was one of the rare instances when 
 he, who usually was so annoyed now at having 
 bared his heart to thousands of readers, did not 
 regret one of his most secret revelations. After 
 all, how contemptible were the shrugs of those 
 who do not understand, in the balance against the 
 fervid affection he had won here and there at the 
 opposite ends of the earth, from the souls of 
 unknown women the only thing perhaps for 
 which one ever cares to write ! 
 
 This day there was unclouded confidence, 
 understanding, and friendship between Andre 
 Lhery and the three little spectres of his harem. 
 They knew a great deal about him by reading; 
 and as he on his part knew nothing about them, he 
 listened more than he talked. Zeyneb and Melek 
 told him of their wretched marriages, and the hope- 
 less imprisonment that awaited them. Djenan, on 
 the contrary, told him nothing so far about herself. 
 
 Besides the intimate sympathy which had so 
 quickly allied them, there was a surprise for them
 
 xiv DISENCHANTED 157 
 
 all in finding each other so gay. Andre was 
 fascinated by the high spirits of their nation, and 
 of their youth, which in spite of everything were 
 still theirs, and which they indulged the more 
 readily now that they had ceased to be shy of 
 him. And he, whom they had pictured to them- 
 selves as gloomy, who had been described to them 
 as icy and distant, had at once taken off that mask 
 in their presence, and was perfectly simple, ready 
 to laugh at anything, at heart much younger than 
 his years, with a vein even of childish roguishness. 
 This was his first experience of conversation with 
 Turkish women of rank. And they had never in 
 their lives talked to a man of any class. In this 
 humble house, all decrepitude and shadow, buried 
 in the heart of old Stamboul, amid ruins and 
 sepulchres, they had achieved the impossible merely 
 by meeting there to exchange ideas. Being re- 
 ciprocally such entirely new elements in life, they 
 were surprised, amazed, to find that they were not 
 altogether dissimilar; but no, on the contrary, 
 they were in absolute communion of feeling and 
 impressions, like friends who had always known 
 each other. For their part, all they knew of life 
 in general, of European things, of the evolution of 
 Western minds, they had learnt in solitude through 
 books. And to-day, in this almost miraculous 
 intercourse with a man from the West, and a man 
 whose name was famous, they found themselves on 
 his level; he treated them as his equals, as intel- 
 lects, as souls, and the effect on them was a sort 
 of mental intoxication such as they had never 
 experienced before.
 
 158 DISENCHANTED xiv 
 
 It was Zeyneb who served their little repast on 
 the low table, covered to-day with green and silver 
 satin, strewn with red roses. As for Djenan, 
 she sat more motionless than ever, a little apart, 
 never stirring a fold of her elegiac veil; she talked 
 more perhaps than the other two, and her questions 
 especially snowed greater depth of thought, but she 
 did not move; she was bent, it would seem, on 
 remaining the most inaccessible of the three, 
 physically the least incorporate. Once, however, 
 her arm raised the tcharchaf, giving a glimpse of 
 one of her sleeves a wide sleeve, very full, as was 
 the fashion that spring, and made of lemon- 
 coloured silk gauze with a pattern in green two 
 colours which Andre's eyes were not to forget, as 
 proofs in evidence another day. 
 
 The world without was more melancholy than 
 it had been the previous week. The cold had 
 come back in the full flower of May; they could 
 hear the wind from the Black Sea whistle at the 
 doors, as if it were winter; all Stamboul was 
 shivering under a sky shrouded with black clouds, 
 and there was dim twilight in the dingy latticed 
 little harem. 
 
 Suddenly the copper knocker on the outer 
 door, always alarming, made them all start. 
 
 'It is they,' cried Melek, leaning out at once 
 to look through the window bars. 'Yes; they 
 have managed to get out ! How glad I am !' 
 
 She flew down to open the door, and soon 
 came up again, following two other black dominoes 
 with impenetrable veils, who seemed also to be 
 young and elegant.
 
 xiv DISENCHANTED 159 
 
 'Monsieur Andre Lhery,' said Djenan, intro- 
 ducing him; 'two friends of mine their names 
 do not matter, I suppose ?' 
 
 'Two spectre-women, and nothing more,' said 
 the ladies, intentionally emphasising the word 
 which Andre had perhaps used too frequently in 
 one of his later books; and they held out small 
 white-gloved hands. They spoke French in very 
 gentle tones, and with perfect ease. 
 
 'Our friends here have told us,' said one of 
 them, 'that you are going to write a book in behalf 
 of the Moslem woman of the twentieth century, 
 and we wished so much to thank you.' 
 
 'What is the title to be?' asked the other, 
 seating herself on the shabby divan, with languid 
 grace. 
 
 'Dear me, I have not yet thought of that. 
 The whole scheme is so new, and I have, I must 
 confess, been taken a little unawares. We will 
 take votes as to the title, if you like. Let me 
 see! I would suggest "Disenchanted." 
 
 "Disenchanted," 1 repeated Djenan thought- 
 fully. 'One is disenchanted with life when one 
 has lived. But we, on the contrary, only ask to 
 live. We are not disenchanted, we are annihilated, 
 sequestered, stifled 
 
 'Yes, there, I have hit on the title,' cried little 
 Melek,who could not be serious to-day. '"Stifled !" 
 And it so well describes our state of mind under 
 the thick veils we wear to meet you in, Monsieur 
 Lhery. For you cannot imagine how difficult it 
 is to breathe under them.' 
 
 'I was intending to ask you why you wear
 
 160 DISENCHANTED xiv 
 
 them. Could you not, in the presence of a friend, 
 be satisfied to dress like all the women we meet in 
 Stamboul ? Veiled, of course, but with a certain 
 lightness, allowing something to be guessed : the 
 profile, the brow, sometimes even the eyes while 
 you show less than nothing.' 
 
 'And you know,' added Melek, 'it does not 
 look at all the correct thing to be so hidden. As 
 
 O 
 
 a rule, when you meet a mysterious personage in 
 the street wearing a threefold veil, you may safely 
 say, she is going where she ought not to go. We 
 ourselves, for instance, to be sure. And this is so 
 well known that other women when they meet 
 them, smile and nudge each other.' 
 
 'Come, come, Melek,' said Djenan in gentle 
 reproof. 'Do not talk scandal like a little Perote. 
 " Disenchanted," yes, it sounds well, but the mean- 
 ing is a little beside the mark.' 
 
 'This was my notion of it. Do you remember 
 in the fine ancient legends, the Walkiire who slept in 
 her subterranean stronghold; the Sleeping Beauty 
 who slept in her castle in the heart of a wood ? 
 But alas ! the spell was broken, and they woke up. 
 Well, you Moslem ladies have been sleeping for 
 ages in peaceful slumbers, guarded by tradition 
 and dogma. And suddenly the Evil Magician, the 
 wicked West Wind, has passed over you and broken 
 the charm; you are all waking up at once, waking 
 up to the woe of living, to the sufFering of know- 
 ledge/ 
 
 Djenan, however, was only half-persuaded. She 
 evidently had a title of her own choice, but would 
 not yet tell it.
 
 xiv DISENCHANTED 161 
 
 The new-comers were rebels too, and of the 
 deepest dye. There was much talk in Constan- 
 tinople that spring of a young woman of rank who 
 had fled to Paris; the adventure had turned all 
 heads in the harems, and these two spectre-women 
 dreamed of it dangerously. 
 
 'You, perhaps/ said Djenan, 'might find 
 happiness there, because you have some Western 
 blood in your veins. Their grandmother, Mon- 
 sieur Lhery, was a Frenchwoman, who came to 
 Constantinople, married a Turk, and embraced 
 Islam. But I, Zeyneb, Melek, leave our Turkish 
 land ! No ; so far as we three are concerned it is an 
 impossible form of deliverance. Worse humilia- 
 tions if they must be endured, harder slavery ! But 
 here we must die, and sleep at Eyoub.' 
 
 'And how right you are!' exclaimed Andre in 
 conclusion. 
 
 They still said that they were going away to 
 be absent for a time. Was it true ? At any rate, 
 when parting from them this time he felt sure 
 they should meet again. He was bound to them 
 by the book, and perhaps by something more, by 
 a tie of a kind quite undefinable as yet, but already 
 tenacious and dear to them, which had begun to 
 grow up between Djenan and himself. 
 
 Melek, who had assumed the duties of the 
 doorkeeper of this strange house, showed him out, 
 and during their brief t2te-a-tete in the squalid 
 dark passage he reproached her for her trick in 
 the faceless photographs. She made no reply, 
 followed him half-way down the tumble-down
 
 162 DISENCHANTED xiv 
 
 stairs, to be sure that he knew how to unfasten 
 the bolts and lock of the outer door. 
 
 Then, when on the threshold he turned back 
 to bid her good-bye, he saw her above him, show- 
 ing her white teeth in a smile, smiling with her 
 little pert nose, saucy but not ill-natured, and her 
 fine large grey eyes, and all her delightful little 
 face, and her twenty years. She held up her veil 
 with both hands, showing the golden red curls 
 that framed her forehead. And her smile seemed 
 to say: 'Yes, it is I, Melek, your little friend 
 Melek, whom I beg to introduce to you. And 
 you know it is not as if I were one of the others, 
 Djenan, for instance ! I really do not count. 
 Good-bye, Andre Lhery, good-bye.' 
 
 It was only for the space of a lightning flash, 
 and the veil was dropped. Andre softly spoke 
 his thanks, in Turkish, for he was almost outside 
 in the gloomy blind alley. 
 
 Out here it was cold under the black clouds 
 and the Siberian wind. The day fell as dismally 
 as in December. It was in such weather as this 
 that Stamboul most poignantly brought memories 
 of his youth, for the brief frenzy of his residence 
 at Eyoub, so long ago, had had winter for its 
 background. As he crossed the deserted square 
 in front of the great mosque of Sultan Selim, he 
 recalled with cruel precision having once before 
 crossed it in just such an hour, and just such 
 solitude, under a lashing north wind, one dreary 
 evening twenty-five years since. And the image 
 of the dead girl he had loved completely effaced 
 that of Djenan.
 
 XV 
 
 ON the following day he happened to be walking 
 up the high street of Pera in the society of some 
 pleasant friends from the French Embassy who 
 had also wandered thither the Saint-Enogats, 
 of whom he was beginning to see a good deal. A 
 black coupe came by, in which he vaguely perceived 
 the form of a lady in a tcharchaf. Madame de 
 Saint-Enogat bowed very slightly to the veiled 
 lady, who at once, a little nervously, closed the 
 blind of the carriage. This abrupt movement 
 revealed to Andre, beneath the tcharchaf, a sleeve 
 of lemon-coloured silk with a pattern in green, 
 which he was quite sure he had seen the day 
 before. 
 
 'What, do you bow to a Turkish lady in the 
 street ?' he asked. 
 
 'It was quite incorrect, no doubt, to do such 
 a thing, especially as I am with you and my hus- 
 band.' 
 
 'And who was she?' 
 
 'Djenan Tewfik Pasha, one of the flowers of 
 elegance of young Turkey.' 
 
 'Aha! And pretty?' 
 
 'More than pretty exquisite.' 
 
 'And rich, to judge by her carriage?' 
 '63
 
 164 DISENCHANTED xv 
 
 'They say she has the revenues of a province 
 in Asia. By the way, one of your great admirers, 
 dear Master.' She slily emphasised the words 
 'dear Master,' knowing that they made his skin 
 creep. 'Last week at the X -Legation all the 
 men-servants were sent out for an afternoon's 
 holiday, you may remember, on purpose to give a 
 tea without any men to which Turkish ladies could 
 come. She came; and a woman there ran you 
 down oh, but ran you down!' 
 
 'You?' 
 
 'Oh, dear no. It does not amuse me to abuse 
 you unless you are by. It was the Comtesse 
 
 d'A . Well, Madame Tewfik Pasha took 
 
 your part, and with enthusiasm and it strikes me 
 now that you seem greatly interested in her.' 
 
 ' I why, how can I be ? A Turkish woman, 
 as you know, simply does not exist for us men. 
 No; but I noticed the coupe very well turned 
 out, I often meet it.' 
 
 'Often! Then you are in luck, for she never 
 goes out.' 
 
 'Indeed she does; and generally I see two 
 other women with her, who both seem young.' 
 
 ' Perhaps her cousins, the daughters of Mehmed 
 Bey, the former Minister.' 
 
 'And what are their names, these Mehmed 
 Beys ? ' 
 
 'The elder is Zeyneb, and the other Melek I 
 think.' 
 
 Madame de Saint-Enogat had, no doubt, 
 scented something, but was far too sweet and 
 too loyal to be dangerous.
 
 XVI 
 
 THEY had certainly left Constantinople, for 
 some days later Andre Lhery received the follow- 
 ing letter from Djenan with the postmark of 
 Salonica : 
 
 May 1 8, 1904. 
 
 'Our friend, you who love roses, why are you 
 not here ? You who feel and love the East as no 
 other Western man can, oh, why cannot you find 
 your way to the old-world palace where we have 
 settled for a few weeks, behind high gloomy walls 
 all hung with flowers ? 
 
 'We are staying with one of my grandparents, 
 a long way from the town, in the heart of the 
 country. Everything around is old old, men 
 and things alike. Nothing is young here but our- 
 selves and the spring flowers, and our three little 
 Circassian slaves, who are happy in their lot and 
 cannot understand our grievances. 
 
 O 
 
 ' It is five years since we were here last, and we 
 had forgotten what our life here was like com- 
 pared to this our life in Stamboul seems almost 
 freedom and ease. Flung back into this atmos- 
 phere, from which we are divided by a whole 
 generation, we feel like foreigners here. We are 
 
 '65
 
 166 DISENCHANTED xvi 
 
 truly loved, but our modern spirit is at the same 
 time hated. Out of deference, and for the sake 
 of peace, we try to submit to external forms, and 
 mould our appearance on the fashions and manners 
 of the past. But that is not enough. The newly 
 born soul is felt beneath it all, bursting through, 
 palpitating, vibrant, and it cannot be forgiven for 
 having emancipated itself, not even for existing. 
 
 'And yet what infinite efforts, what sacrifices 
 and pangs, has that emancipation cost us ! You, 
 a Western, can never have known these struggles. 
 Your soul has no doubt expanded at ease in the 
 atmosphere congenial to it. You can never under- 
 stand. 
 
 'Oh! our friend, how incongruous we should 
 seem to you if you could see us here, incongru- 
 ous but at the same time in harmony. If you 
 could but see us in the depths of the old garden, 
 where I am writing to you in this kiosque of carved 
 woodwork, inlaid with tiles, while a fountain sings 
 in its marble basin ! All round it are divans in 
 the old fashion, covered with faded pink silk in 
 which a few threads of silver still shine here and 
 there. And outside there is a profusion, a mad 
 prodigality of the pale roses that flower in bunches, 
 and which in your world are called bridal bouquets. 
 Your three friends do not wear European dresses 
 here, nor modern tcharchafs; they have assumed 
 the garb of their grandmothers. For, Andre, we 
 have rummaged in old chests to exhume the gar- 
 ments which were the pride of the imperial harem 
 in the days of Abdul Medjib ; the lady-in-waiting 
 who wore them was our great-grandmother. You
 
 xvi DISENCHANTED 167 
 
 know those dresses ? They have long trains, and 
 sashes which would also train on the ground, but 
 they are picked up and crossed to enable us to 
 walk. Ours were once pink, green, yellow hues 
 as dead now as those of dried flowers kept between 
 the leaves of a book, and are no more than a 
 reflection dying away. 
 
 'In these dresses, so full of memories, and 
 under this kiosque by the water, we have read your 
 last book, The Land of Kabul our own copy 
 which you yourself gave us. The artist in you 
 could not have dreamed of a more fitting scene 
 for such reading. The infinity of roses falling 
 on every side made heavy curtains to the windows, 
 and the spring of this southern land is heady with 
 perfume. So now we have seen Kabul. 
 
 'In spite of this, my friend, I like this book 
 less well than its elder brothers; there is not 
 enough in it of you. I shed no tears, as I have 
 so often done in reading other things written by 
 you, which were not all sad, but which touched 
 me to anguish nevertheless. Oh, do not write any 
 more only with your brain ! I fancy you do not 
 wish to put yourself again on the stage. But 
 what can it matter what people say of it ? Write 
 again from your heart; is it too weary, too torpid 
 now, that we no longer feel its throbs in your 
 books as of old ? 
 
 t 'Evening is falling, and the hour is so beautiful 
 in these gardens of stricken stillness, where the 
 very flowers now seem pensive ! I could stay 
 here for ever, listening to the tinkle of the thread 
 of water in the marble basin, though its tune never
 
 i68 DISENCHANTED xvi 
 
 varies and tells only of the monotony of the days. 
 This spot, alas ! might so easily be a paradise; I 
 feel that in my soul, as well as all around me, 
 everything might be so happy; that life and glad- 
 ness might be one and the same thing with 
 liberty ! 
 
 'We must go indoors; I must bid you fare- 
 well, my friend. Here comes a tall negro to 
 fetch us, for it is growing late, and the slaves 
 have begun to sing and play the lute to amuse the 
 old ladies. We shall presently be made to dance, 
 and forbidden to speak French which will not 
 prevent us from going to sleep each with a book 
 by you under her pillow. 
 
 ' Farewell, our friend. Do you sometimes think 
 of the three little featureless shades ? 
 
 'DjENAN.'
 
 XVII 
 
 IN the cemetery under the walls of Stamboul, 
 thanks to the intervention of Andre's Turkish 
 friends, the restoration of the humble tomb was 
 finished. And Andre Lhery, who had not dared 
 to show himself in the vicinity so long as the 
 masons were at work, went on the 3Oth of the 
 sweet month of May to pay his first visit to the 
 dead under her new flag-stones. 
 
 On reaching the sacred wood he could see from 
 afar the tomb so clandestinely repaired, which had 
 the brightness of new things in the midst of the 
 grey decay that surrounded it. The two marble 
 slabs that which is placed at the head of the dead 
 and that which stands at the feet rose up straight 
 and white among those near covered with mosses, 
 and leaning over or fallen altogether. The blue 
 painted background, too, had been renewed, be- 
 tween the letters of the inscription, which shone 
 in bright new gilding; the inscription which, 
 after a short verse on death, said ' Pray for the 
 soul of Nedjibeh, daughter of All Djianghir Effendi, 
 who died on the iSth of Muharrem 1297.' Al- 
 ready the recent touch of the workman had ceased 
 to be conspicuous, for all round the thicker slab 
 which served as a base, mint and thyme, and all 
 
 169
 
 170 DISENCHANTED XVH 
 
 the fragrant vegetation of stony soils had hurried 
 into life under the May sunshine. As to the tall 
 cypress trees, which had seen the passing of Khalifs 
 and of centuries, they were exactly the same as 
 Andre had always known them, and the same no 
 doubt as they had been a century ago; in the 
 same attitudes, with the same petrified gestures of 
 their boughs, in colour just like dry bones, uplifted 
 to the sky like long dead arms. The ancient 
 walls of Stamboul showed in long perspective their 
 line of bastions and broken battlements in the 
 sempiternal solitude, now more complete perhaps 
 than ever. 
 
 The day was limpid and lovely. The earth and 
 the cypress trees smelt sweet; the resignation of 
 these graveyards without end was attractive to-day, 
 soothing and restful ; it was tempting to linger here, 
 to share, if possible, the peace of all these sleepers, 
 resting so deeply under the wild thyme and grass. 
 
 Andre came away comforted and almost happy 
 at having at last been able to fulfil this pious duty, 
 so difficult to accomplish, which had for a long 
 time haunted his night thoughts. For years, in 
 the course of his travels and the vicissitudes of his 
 wandering life, even at the furthest ends of the 
 
 O ' 
 
 earth, he had often in sleepless nights thought of 
 this task, which seemed like one of the impossible 
 feats of a bad dream : the restoration of crumbling 
 tombstones in a sacred cemetery in Stamboul. And 
 now it was done. And now the beloved little 
 tomb seemed to him to be all his own now that 
 it was raised again by his act, and it was he who 
 had made it strong enough to last.
 
 xvn DISENCHANTED 171 
 
 As his spirit felt quite Turkish in this mild and 
 limpid evening, and the full moon would ere long 
 shine bluely on the sea of Marmora, he returned 
 to Stamboul after nightfall, and went up to the 
 very heart of the Moslem quarter, to sit in the 
 open air on the square that had now become fa- 
 miliar to him once more, in front of the mosque of 
 Sultan Fatih. He would sit there and dream, in 
 the cool purity of the evening air and the delicious 
 Eastern peace, smoking his narghileh; with all 
 that dying magnificence about him, and all that 
 decrepitude and religious silence and prayer. 
 
 By the time he arrived there all the little coffee 
 shops had lighted their twinkling lamps ; lanterns 
 hanging from the trees, old oil lanterns, also gave 
 a subdued light, and all around on benches or on 
 wooden stools, turbaned dreamers were smoking 
 and conversing in few words and low tones. The 
 little murmur of the hundreds of narghilehs could 
 be heard, the water bubbling in the glass as the 
 smoker draws a deep, steady breath. One was 
 brought to him with scraps of live charcoal on the 
 bowl of Persian tobacco, and over him presently, 
 as over all the men about him, there came a very 
 soothing languor, quite harmless and favourable 
 to thought. Under those trees, hung with lanterns 
 that gave scarcely any light, he sat exactly facing 
 the mosque, divided from it by the width of the 
 little square. The square was empty and in deep 
 twilight, the paving-stones all loose and alternating 
 with earth and holes ; the wall of the mosque, tall, 
 solemn, and imposing, filled up all the opposite 
 side, as stern as a rampart and with only one
 
 172 DISENCHANTED xvn 
 
 opening : the arched door, at least thirty feet high, 
 which formed the entrance to the sacred precincts. 
 Beyond, to right and left, in the distance was the 
 confusion of darkness, blackness trees perhaps, 
 cypress trees, vaguely marking a forest of the dead 
 darkness stranger than elsewhere, the peace and 
 mystery of Islam. The moon, which had risen an 
 hour or two ago behind the mountains of Asia, 
 now began to show itself above this mass of the 
 Sultan Fatih; slowly it came up, quite round, a 
 disc of bluish silver, and so entire, so aerial above 
 the huge thing of earth, giving so complete an idea 
 of its vast remoteness and its isolation in space ! 
 
 The azure-tinted light spread gradually over 
 everything. It fell on the grave, devout smokers, 
 while the square was still overshadowed by the 
 high sacred walls. At the same time this lunar 
 gleam brought with it a cool evening mist exhaled 
 by the sea, so diaphanous that it had not been 
 perceptible before, but which now became part of 
 the filmy blue, enveloping everything and casting a 
 vaporous veil over the mosque which had looked 
 so ponderous. The two minarets, soaring to the 
 sky, seemed transparent, soaked in the moonshine, 
 and it made him giddy to gaze up at them in the 
 haze of blue light, they looked so tall, so frail, and 
 immaterial. 
 
 At this same hour there was on the other shore 
 of the Golden Horn not very far off in reality, 
 and yet at a quite immeasurable distance a city, 
 called European, just beginning its nocturnal life: 
 Pera. There Levantines of every nationality, 
 and alas some young Turks too, believing that
 
 xvii DISENCHANTED 173 
 
 they had achieved an enviable degree of civilisa- 
 tion by wearing the dress of Parisians more or 
 less -- were crowding into the beer-shops, into 
 idiotic music-halls, or round 'poker' tables in the 
 clubs of the 'upper ten 'of Pera. What poor crea- 
 tures there are in this world ! 
 
 Very poor creatures these, excited, unbalanced, 
 empty-headed, contemptible, bereft of ideal and of 
 hope. Very poor creatures, as compared with the 
 simple sages here, waiting only till the Muezzin 
 should utter his call high in the air to go and 
 prostrate themselves in full trust and faith before 
 the incomprehensible Allah, and ready ere long to 
 die possessing their soul in peace, as men set forth 
 on a happy journey. 
 
 Now they are beginning their chanting call 
 those voices for which they wait. Men who dwell 
 in the tops of those shafts, lost in the high lu- 
 minous haze, hosts of the air, near neighbours 
 it might seem of the moon to-night, suddenly 
 break into song like birds, in a sort of thrilling 
 rapture that has come over them. These men 
 have been chosen for their rare gifts of voice, or 
 they could not be heard from the summit of those 
 prodigious towers. Not a sound is lost; not a 
 word of what they chant fails to come down to us, 
 clear, fluent, and articulate. 
 
 One by one the dreamers rise, go into the 
 broad shadow which still shrouds the square, cross 
 it and slowly make their way to the sacred door. 
 In little groups at first of three, four, five, the 
 white turbans and long robes disappear into the 
 house of prayer. And more come, from all sides,
 
 174 DISENCHANTED xvn 
 
 out of dark purlieus, the black shade of trees, of 
 streets, of shut-up houses. They come in noiseless 
 slippers, walking in calm and grave meditation. 
 The vast archway which invites them all, pierced 
 in the great stern wall, has an ancient lantern 
 supposed to light it; it hangs from the centre, 
 and its feeble flame is yellow and dead under the 
 splendid glory of moonlight that fills the sky. 
 And while the voices above chant on, a streaming 
 procession gathers of heads turbaned in white 
 muslin, and is presently swallowed up under the 
 great portico. 
 
 As soon as the benches on the square were 
 deserted, Andre Lhery also made his way to the 
 mosque, the last of all, feeling himself the most 
 wretched of all, for he had no prayer to say. He 
 went in and stood near the door. Two or three 
 thousand turbans were there, and had instinctively 
 arranged themselves in long rows one behind 
 another, facing the Mihrab. Above the silence a 
 voice seemed to float, a plaintive voice, so pro- 
 foundly melancholy, chanting in a very high pitch 
 like the Muezzins, that it seemed to die away of 
 exhaustion; then to revive once more and vibrate 
 tremulously under the high domes, lingering, 
 protracted as if slowly expiring, dying at last only 
 to begin afresh. This voice was leading the two 
 thousand prayers of this crowd of men; at its 
 bidding they first fell on their knees, then prostrate 
 in yet deeper humiliation, and finally, all at once, as 
 one man, they struck the ground with their fore- 
 heads with a regular movement all together, as if 
 thrown down by that sad, sweet monotone passing
 
 xvn DISENCHANTED 175 
 
 over their heads, dying away at moments to the 
 merest murmur, but nevertheless filling the vast 
 body of the mosque. 
 
 The sanctuary was but feebly lighted by little 
 oil lamps at the end of long wires hanging at 
 intervals from the hollow vault; but for the 
 perfect whiteness of the walls it would have been 
 difficult to see anything. Now and again there 
 was a flutter of wings the tame pigeons which 
 are allowed to build their nests high up in the 
 clerestory, disturbed by the little lights and the 
 soft rustle of so many robes, took to flight and 
 wheeled about fearlessly over the thousand white 
 turbans. And the devotion was so complete, the 
 faith so deep, when every head was bowed to the 
 incantation of that small feeble voice, that one 
 might have fancied they rose up like the vapour 
 from a censer in that silent and multitudinous 
 orison. 
 
 Oh ! may Allah and the Khalif long protect 
 and isolate this religious, meditative people, kind 
 and loyal, and one of the noblest in the world; 
 capable of terrible energy, of sublime heroism in 
 the battle-field if their native land is threatened, 
 or if the cry is Islam and the Faith ! 
 
 Prayer ended, Andre returned with the rest of 
 the faithful to sit outside and smoke under the 
 glorious moon, still rising higher. He thought 
 with very calm satisfaction of the restored tomb, 
 which at this hour must stand out so white, so 
 upright and pretty in the clear beaming night. 
 And this duty accomplished he now might leave 
 the country, since he had already decided that he
 
 176 DISENCHANTED xvn 
 
 need only wait for that. But the oriental charm 
 had gradually taken entire possession of him 
 again; and besides, those mysterious three who 
 would return with the summer, he must hear 
 their voices once more. At the beginning he had 
 felt remorseful over the adventure, considering 
 the trustful hospitality shown him by his friends 
 the Turks; this evening, on the contrary, he felt 
 it no more. 'After all,' he reflected, 'I am 
 offending nobody's honour. Between Djenan, 
 who is young enough to be my daughter, and me 
 who have never even seen her, and probably 
 never shall see her how can there be anything 
 on either side but a pleasant and singular friend- 
 ship ?' 
 
 And in fact he had that very day had a letter 
 from her which seemed to put everything into the 
 right point of view. 
 
 'One day, for a whim' she wrote from her 
 palace in the wood of the Sleeping Beauty, which, 
 however, did not alter the fact that she was very 
 thoroughly awakened - - ' One day, for a whim, in 
 deadly moral abandonment, irritated by the impas- 
 sable barrier against which we were always fighting 
 and which hurt us so, we valiantly set out to dis- 
 cover what sort of a person you could possibly be. 
 Our first wish for an interview was just defiance 
 and curiosity. 
 
 'We found Andre Lhery very unlike what we 
 had pictured him. And now the real you, whom 
 you have allowed us to know so well, we can 
 never forget. Still, I must explain these words
 
 xvii DISENCHANTED 177 
 
 which from a woman to a man seem almost like 
 humiliating advances. We shall never forget you, 
 because, thanks to you, we have learnt what it is 
 that must make life a joy to the women of the 
 West : intellectual intercourse with an artist. We 
 shall never forget you, because you have given us 
 a little friendly sympathy without even knowing 
 whether we are handsome or old harridans; you 
 have cared for that better part of us, our souls, of 
 which our masters hitherto have overlooked the 
 existence; you have enabled us to perceive how 
 precious the pure friendship of a man may be.' 
 
 It had really all been as he had supposed, a 
 gentle flirtation of souls, and nothing more; a 
 spiritual flirtation, with danger in it no doubt, but 
 a material danger, no moral risk. And it would 
 all continue to be as white as snow, as white as the 
 domes of the mosque in the moonshine. 
 
 He had this letter from Djenan in his pocket; 
 it had reached him but just now in Pera; and he 
 took it out to read it again quietly by the light of 
 a lamp hanging in a tree hard by. 
 
 'And now,' she went on, 'when we are away 
 from you, how sad it is to relapse into torpor. 
 Your life, so full of colour and movement, cannot 
 enable you to conceive of ours so grey, made up 
 of the slow years which leave no memories. We 
 always know beforehand what the morrow will 
 bring just nothing; and that every to-morrow 
 till our dying day will glide on with the same 
 insipid smoothness, in the same neutral hue. We
 
 178 DISENCHANTED xvn 
 
 live a life of pearl-grey days, padded with a 
 perpetual feather bed which makes us long for 
 flints and thorns. 
 
 'In the novels which come to us from Europe 
 there are always people who in the evening of life 
 bewail their lost illusions. But at least they had 
 had some illusions; they had once in their lives 
 set out in pursuit of a mirage ! Whereas we, 
 Andre, have never been allowed a chance of 
 having any, and when our life is drawing to a 
 close we shall not have even the melancholy 
 satisfaction of mourning over them. Oh, how 
 much more keenly do we feel this since you came 
 into our lives. 
 
 'Those hours in your society in the old house 
 near the mosque of Sultan Selim ! We there 
 realised a dream, such as we formerly would never 
 have dared to hope for; to have Andre Lhery to 
 ourselves, to be treated by him as thinking beings 
 and not as playthings, to some extent, indeed, as 
 friends, so far as that he revealed to us some of the 
 secret recesses of his soul ! Little as we knew of 
 European life and the manners of your world, we 
 appreciated at its true value the trustfulness with 
 which you met our indiscretions. Oh, for we 
 were very conscious of them, and without our 
 veils should certainly never have been so bold ! 
 
 'Now, in perfect simplicity and sincerity of 
 heart, we have a proposal to make to you. Hear- 
 ing you speak the other day of a tomb that is 
 dear to you, we all three had the same idea, 
 which the same timidity prevented our uttering. 
 But now, by letter, we venture. If we knew
 
 xvii DISENCHANTED 179 
 
 where to find this tomb of the girl you loved, we 
 might sometimes go there to pray and take care of 
 it when you are gone, and let you hear about it. 
 Perhaps it would be a pleasure to you to know 
 that that spot of earth, where a piece of your 
 heart rests, is not abandoned in utter indifference. 
 And we, on our part, should be so happy to have 
 this tangible tie to you when you are far away; 
 the memory of your lost friend might perhaps 
 preserve your present friends from being forgotten. 
 'And when we pray for her who taught you to 
 love our country, we will pray for you for your 
 deep distress is very apparent to us, I assure you. 
 It is strange that I should feel myself alive to new 
 hope since I have known you I who had none 
 left. But it ill beseems me to remind you that we 
 have no right to limit our anticipations and ideals 
 to this life, when you have written certain passages 
 in your books. DJENAN.' 
 
 For a very long time he had been wishing that 
 he could commend Nedjibeh's tomb to some one 
 on the spot who would take care of it; above all 
 he indulged in an apparently impossible dream of 
 entrusting it to Turkish women, the sisters in race 
 and in Islam of the dead girl. Thus Djenan's 
 offer not only attached him the more to her, but 
 fulfilled his desires, and set his conscience finally 
 at rest in regard to the cemetery. 
 
 Under the exquisite night he dreamed of the 
 present; as a rule it appeared to him that, between 
 the first rather childish period of his life in Turkey 
 and the present hour, time had opened a wide gulf;
 
 i8o DISENCHANTED xvn 
 
 this evening, on the contrary, he saw them brought 
 into connection in uninterrupted unity. Feeling 
 himself still so alive, so youthful, while she had for 
 so long been a mere handful of earth amid other 
 earth in the darkness of the underworld, he experi- 
 enced now agonising remorse and shame, and now 
 in his desperate love of life and youth a senti- 
 ment almost of egotistical triumph. 
 
 For the second time that evening he associated 
 in his mind Djenan and Nedjibeh; they were of 
 the same race, both Circassians, and the living 
 voice had again and again reminded him of the 
 other; there were certain Turkish words which 
 they pronounced with the same accent. 
 
 Suddenly he was aware that it must be growing 
 very late; he could hear, out by the dark thicket 
 of trees, the bells of mules bells that always 
 sound so silvery clear in the night of Stamboul - 
 announcing the arrival of market men bringing 
 baskets of strawberries, flowers, beans, salads, all 
 the May produce which the women of the people 
 in white veils come to purchase at break of day. 
 He looked about him and saw that he was left, 
 the only smoker on the square. Almost all the 
 lanterns were out in the little coffee-shops. The 
 dew was falling and wetting his shoulders, and a 
 boy, standing behind him leaning against a tree, 
 was patiently waiting till he had done, to take in 
 the narghileh and shut the shop door. 
 
 It was near midnight. He rose and went down 
 towards the bridges over the Golden Horn to cross 
 to the other side where he lived. There was, of 
 course, no carriage to be had at such an hour.
 
 xvn DISENCHANTED 181 
 
 Before quitting old Stamboul, asleep in the moon- 
 light, he had a very long walk to take in the 
 silence, through a city of dreams, between houses 
 close-shut and still, where everything looked 
 frosted by the broad beams of spectral, intensely 
 white light. He had to pass through quarters 
 where narrow streets went up or down, crossing in 
 a maze as if to mislead the belated wanderer, who 
 would have met no one to put him in the right 
 way; but Andre knew every turning by heart. 
 There were places, too, like deserts round the 
 mosques, with their wilderness of domes wrapped 
 by the moonshine in white winding-sheets. And 
 in all directions there were graveyards, closed by 
 ancient iron gates of Arabic design, and within, 
 the tiny yellow flame of little oil lamps here and 
 there on the tombs. Sometimes a dim gleam was 
 seen through the window of a marble kiosque, and 
 these, too, were lights for the dead, and it was 
 better not to look in; there was nothing to be 
 seen but crowds of tall catafalques devoured by 
 time and powdered with dust. On the pavement 
 lay the dogs, all dusky tan, sleeping in families, 
 curled into large balls the Turkish dogs, as 
 easy-going as the Moslems who let them live, and 
 incapable of being fierce even when you tread on 
 them, so long as they understand that you did not 
 do it on purpose. Not a sound, excepting at long 
 intervals the thud on the ringing pavement of the 
 watchman's iron-shod staff. Old Stamboul, with 
 all its sepulchres, was sleeping in religious peace 
 that night, as it has done every night for three 
 hundred years.
 
 XVIII 
 
 AFTER the changeful skies of the month of May, 
 when the blast from the Black Sea persistently 
 sweeps up clouds charged with cold rain, the 
 month of June had suddenly spread over Turkey 
 the deep blue of the southern Orient. The annual 
 migration of the residents of Constantinople to the 
 Bosphorus was complete. All along the strait, 
 which is stirred almost daily by the breeze, each 
 Embassy had settled into summer quarters on the 
 European shore. Andre Lhery had been obliged 
 to follow the exodus, and to find rooms at Therapia, 
 a sort of cosmopolitan suburb, disfigured by 
 monster hotels, where evening is made hideous by 
 the orchestras of the cafes; but he commonly 
 spent his time on the opposite side, the Asiatic 
 shore, still deliciously oriental, shady, and still. 
 
 Often, too, he went back to his beloved Stam- 
 boul, only an hour away by boat down the Bos- 
 phorus, always crowded with ships and barques 
 going to and fro without ceasing. 
 
 In the middle of the strait, between the two 
 banks, which are fringed all the way with houses 
 and palaces, plies the endless procession of steam- 
 ships, enormous modern liners, or of the fine old- 
 fashioned sailing vessels, working their way in 
 
 182
 
 xviii DISENCHANTED 183 
 
 flotillas as soon as a favouring wind blows. Every- 
 thing exported from the mouth of the Danube, 
 from southern Russia, even from far-off Persia 
 and Bokhara, must pass through this green- 
 set gulf, driven by the current of air which blows 
 perpetually from the northern steppes to the 
 Mediterranean. Nearer the shore there is the 
 unceasing bustle of smaller boats of every kind : 
 yawls, slender caiques carrying rowers gaudy with 
 gold embroidery, electric launches, large barges all 
 painted and gilt, and pulled by crews of fishermen 
 standing at their oars and spreading long nets 
 which catch in everything as they pass. And 
 amid this confusion of moving things noisy paddle- 
 boats ply from morning till night, carrying red 
 fezzes and shrouded women between the various 
 landing-places in Europe and in Asia. 
 
 To right and left along the Bosphorus, twelve 
 miles and more of houses among gardens and trees 
 look out through thousands of windows at the 
 turmoil that never ceases on those green or blue 
 waters. Open windows, some of them, others the 
 closely latticed windows of impenetrable harems. 
 Houses of every date and every style. On the 
 European side, alas ! villas built by delirious 
 Levantines may already be seen, with mongrel 
 fronts or even Art nouveau, horrible by the side of 
 the simple buildings of old Turkey, but still lost 
 and inconspicuous in the beauty of the whole scene. 
 On the Asiatic side, where hardly any but Turks 
 reside, scornful of new devices and only craving 
 silence, you may row your boat close to the shore 
 without vexation, for it is unspoilt; the charm of
 
 i8 4 DISENCHANTED xvm 
 
 the past and of the East broods there still. At 
 every bight in the shore, at each little bay that 
 opens at the foot of the wooded hills, only old- 
 world things are to be seen; tall trees, haunts of 
 oriental mystery. There is no path along the 
 water's edge, each house having its own marble 
 landing-place in the old way, enclosed and apart, 
 where the ladies of the harem are allowed to sit 
 lightly veiled to watch the ever dancing wavelets 
 at their feet, and the narrow caiques that go by, 
 curved up at prow and stern in a crescent shape. 
 Here and there a shady creek, exquisitely calm, is 
 full of fishing barks with long cross-yards. Very 
 holy cemeteries, where the gilt tombstones seem 
 to have come as close as possible to the edge to 
 look out too at all the passing ships, and follow the 
 movements of the rowers. The mosques stand 
 under venerable plane-trees many centuries old, 
 and there are village squares where nets are drying, 
 hung to the overarching branches, and where 
 turbaned dreamers sit round a marble fountain of 
 unchanging whiteness with gilt inscriptions and 
 arabesques. 
 
 Going down towards Stamboul from Therapia 
 and the opening into the Black Sea, the legendary 
 and fairy-like scene gradually increases in splen- 
 dour till we reach the crowning apotheosis at the 
 moment when the sea of Marmora opens out before 
 us : then, on the left, we see Scutari in Asia, and on 
 the right, above the marble quays and the Sultan's 
 palaces, Stamboul towers up with its mass of shafts 
 and cupolas. 
 
 This was the scenery of change and transforma-
 
 xviii DISENCHANTED 185 
 
 tions in which Andre Lhery was to live till the 
 autumn, awaiting his three friends, the little black 
 shades, who had said to him, 'We, too, shall be 
 by the Bosphorus during the summer,' but who 
 now for many days had given no sign of life. And 
 how could he find out now what had become of 
 them, not having any password to admit him to 
 their old palace buried in the forests of Macedonia ?
 
 XIX 
 
 DJENAN TO ANDRE 
 
 BOUNAR BASHI, near SALONICA, 
 June 20, 1904 (Prankish era). 
 
 'YouR friend has thought of you, but for weeks 
 she has been too well guarded to write to you. 
 
 'To-day she will give you her grey little history 
 the history of her married life; endure it, you 
 who listened with so much kindness to those of 
 Zeyneb and Melek at Stamboul, you remember, 
 in my good old nurse's house. 
 
 'The stranger whom my father gave me for a 
 husband, Andre, was neither brutal nor unhealthy; 
 on the contrary, a good-looking officer, fair, well- 
 mannered, and gentle, whom I might have loved. 
 Though at first I execrated him as being the 
 master forced upon me, I feel no hatred of him 
 now. But I could not look upon love as he saw 
 it : love that was nothing but desire, and remained 
 indifferent to the possession of my heart. 
 
 'Among us Moslems, as you know, the men 
 and women in one house live apart. This, it is 
 true, is less universal than it was, and I know 
 some fortunate wives who really live with their 
 husbands. But this is not the case in the old 
 
 1 86
 
 xix DISENCHANTED 187 
 
 families which, like ours, adhere to the old rules; 
 there, the harem where we must remain and the 
 selamlik where our lords and masters live are 
 quite distinct and apart. I, then, lived in our 
 fine, princely harem with my mother-in-law, two 
 sisters-in-law, and a young cousin of Hamdi's 
 named Durdaneh; she is pretty, with a skin as 
 fair as alabaster, hair dyed brightly with henna, 
 sea-green eyes, their glance almost phosphorescent, 
 but you could never meet her gaze. 
 
 ' Hamdi was an only son, and his wife was much 
 petted. I had to myself a whole floor of the vast 
 old mansion; for my own sole use I had four 
 luxurious rooms in the ancient Turkish style, 
 where I was bored to death; my bedroom furni- 
 ture had come from Paris, with that of a certain 
 Louis XVI. drawing-room and of my boudoir, to 
 which I had been allowed to bring my books. I 
 remember that, as I arranged them in the white 
 enamelled bookcases, I was so miserable to think 
 that now, when my life as a woman was about to 
 begin, it must also end; that it had already given 
 me all I could expect of it. This, then, was 
 marriage; petting and kissing which never ap- 
 pealed to my soul; long hours of solitude, of im- 
 prisonment without interest or object, and then 
 those other hours when I was to be a mere doll or 
 even lower than that. 
 
 'I tried to make my boudoir pleasant and 
 tempt Hamdi to spend his leisure there. I read 
 the papers, I talked to him of matters concern- 
 ing the palace and the army; I tried to discover 
 what interested him, to learn to discuss it. No,
 
 i88 DISENCHANTED xix 
 
 this only upset his inherited ideas, as I could see. 
 "All these things," said he, "are for men to talk 
 about in the selamlik." He only asked me to be 
 pretty and lover-like. He asked this so often 
 that he asked it too often. 
 
 *A woman who could no doubt be lover-like 
 was Durdaneh. She was praised in the family for 
 her grace the grace of a young panther, lithe in 
 all its movements. She would dance of an evening 
 and play the lute; she spoke little but was always 
 smiling, with a smile at once inviting and cruel, 
 showing her small sharp teeth. 
 
 'She often came to my room, to keep me com- 
 pany as she said. But the scorn she poured 
 on my books, my piano, my note-books, and my 
 letters ! She always dragged me off, away from 
 them all, into one of the Turkish drawing-rooms, 
 where she stretched herself on a divan and smoked 
 cigarettes, playing eternally with a mirror. To 
 her, I thought, who was still young and had been 
 married, I might confide my woes. But she 
 only opened wide eyes and burst out laughing. 
 "What have you to complain of? You are 
 young, pretty, and you have a husband whom you 
 soon will love !" 
 
 "No," said I, "he does not belong to me since 
 I know nothing of his mind." "What matters his 
 mind ? You have him, and you have him all to 
 yourself ! " She emphasised the last words with an 
 evil look. 
 
 'It was a great disappointment to Hamdi's 
 mother that at the end of a year of married life I 
 had no child. Certainly, said she, a spell must
 
 xix DISENCHANTED 189 
 
 have been cast upon me. I refused to be dragged 
 about to waters and to mosques, and to consult 
 dervishes who were famed for averting such malefi- 
 cent charms. A child ! no, I did not wish for one. 
 If a little girl had been born to us, how should 
 I have brought her up ? As an Oriental, like 
 Durdaneh, with no object in life but to sing and 
 be made love to ? Or as we have been Zeyneb, 
 Melek, and I, and so condemn her to cruel misery ? 
 
 'For you see, Andre, I know that our suffer- 
 ings are inevitable, that we are the ladder, we and 
 no doubt our immediate successors, by which the 
 Moslem women of Turkey may rise and emancipate 
 themselves. But a little creature of my own blood 
 whom I had nursed in my arms I should not 
 have the courage to dedicate her to such a sacrifice. 
 
 'Hamdi at that time was fully bent on asking 
 for an appointment abroad in some foreign Em- 
 bassy. 1 will take you with me," he promised, 
 " and there you can live the life of Western women, 
 like the wife of our Ambassador at Vienna, or the 
 Princess Emineh in Sweden." And I fancied that 
 there, in a smaller house, our existence would neces- 
 sarily become more domestic. And I also thought 
 that in a foreign country he would be glad, perhaps 
 proud, of having a wife who was an educated 
 woman and well informed on all subjects. 
 
 'How I worked to keep myself up to date in 
 my information. I read all the important French 
 reviews, all the leading newspapers, new novels, 
 and plays. It was at that time, Andre, that I came 
 to know you so thoroughly. As a girl I had read 
 Medjeh, and some of your books on our Eastern
 
 DISENCHANTED xix 
 
 lands. I read them again at that time, and under- 
 stood more fully why we, the Moslem women, owe 
 you such deep gratitude, and why we delight in 
 you above so many others. It is because your 
 comprehension of Islam constitutes a real relation- 
 ship of your soul with ours. Islam, our Faith, 
 maligned, misrepresented, to which we are, never- 
 theless, so faithfully attached; for our grievances 
 are no fault of our religion. It was not our 
 Prophet who condemned us to the martyrdom we 
 endure. The veil which he allowed us was to 
 protect us, not to be a symbol of slavery. Never, 
 never did he intend that we should be mere dolls 
 for our owners' pleasure. The pious Imam who 
 instructed us in our holy book told us so plainly. 
 Proclaim this yourself, Andre; say it for the 
 honour of the Koran, and to avenge those who 
 are suffering. Say it, finally, for the sake of the 
 affection we bear you. 
 
 'After your books about the East I wanted all 
 the others. On every page I dropped a tear. Do 
 very popular authors, I wonder, ever think as they 
 write of the infinite variety of the minds into which 
 their ideas will fall with a rush ? On Western 
 women, who see the world and live in it, the im- 
 pressions made by a writer no doubt sink in less 
 deeply. But for us who live cloistered, you hold 
 the mirror which reflects the world we can never 
 know; we see it through your eyes. We feel, we 
 live, only through you; can you not understand 
 that an author we love becomes part of ourselves ? 
 I have followed you all over the world. I have 
 scrap-books full of cuttings from papers speaking
 
 xix DISENCHANTED 191 
 
 of you. I have heard evil spoken of you which I 
 have not believed. Long before I met you I had 
 an exact presentiment of the man you must be. 
 When at last I saw you I had already long known 
 you. When you gave me likenesses of you 
 - why, Andre, I had them all reposing in a 
 secret drawer in a satin pocket ! And after such 
 an avowal can you ask to see me again ? No, 
 such things can be said only to a friend whom one 
 can never see again. 
 
 'Dear me, how far I have wandered from the 
 little history of my married life. I had got as far, 
 I think, as the winter after the great festival of my 
 wedding. It was a long winter that year, and 
 Stamboul was for two months under snow. I had 
 grown pale, and languished. Hamdi's mother, 
 Emireh Hanum, well guessed that I was not 
 happy. She was worried, it would seem, by seeing 
 me so colourless, for one day two doctors were 
 sent for, and by their advice I was sent off to spend 
 two months in the Islands, 1 whither Zeyneb and 
 Melek had gone already. 
 
 'Do you know our islands, and how sweet the 
 spring is there ? You breathe in a love of life, a 
 love of love. In that pure air, under the odorous 
 pines, I recovered my vitality. Painful memories, 
 all the false notes of my life as a wife, were merged 
 in tender homesickness. I thought it was crazy 
 to have been so exacting, so complicated, with 
 regard to my husband. The climate and the 
 April sun had altered me. On moonlight nights, 
 
 1 lies des Princes in the sea of Marmora, known in Constantinople as ' the 
 Islands. '
 
 192 DISENCHANTED xix 
 
 in the lovely garden of our villa, I often walked 
 alone, without a wish, without a thought but that 
 of having my Hamdi at my side, and with his arm 
 round my waist, to be only and wholly loving. 
 I bitterly regretted the kisses I could not return, 
 and pined for the fondness which had wearied me. 
 
 'Before the date fixed, without announcing my 
 return, and accompanied only by my slaves, I went 
 back to Stamboul. 
 
 'The boat in which I crossed was detained by 
 various accidents, and we did not arrive till night- 
 fall. Moslem women, as you know, are not per- 
 mitted to be out of doors after sunset. It must 
 have been nine o'clock when I noiselessly went 
 into the house. At that hour Hamdi, of course, 
 would be in the selamlik as usual with his father 
 and their friends ; my mother-in-law, no doubt, in 
 her room, meditating on the Koran ; and my cousin 
 having her horoscope read by some slave practised 
 in the lore of coffee grounds. 
 
 'So I went straight up to my rooms, and on 
 going in all I saw was Durdaneh in my husband's 
 arms. 
 
 'You, Andre, will think such an adventure 
 commonplace enough, an everyday affair in the 
 West; and in fact I have mentioned it only by 
 reason of the resulting sequel. 
 
 'But I am tired, my friend, whom I may never 
 see again, and the sequel must follow to-morrow. 
 
 'DjENAN.'
 
 XX 
 
 HOWEVER, the whole month of July slipped away 
 and Andre Lhery did not receive the promised 
 sequel, nor any other tidings of the three black 
 spectres. 
 
 Like all the dwellers on the Bosphorus in the 
 summer, he lived a great deal on the water, to and 
 fro day after day between Europe and Asia. Being 
 at heart as oriental as any Turk, he had his own 
 caique, and his rowers wore the traditional costume 
 Broussa gauze shirts with wide sleeves, and 
 sleeveless jackets of velvet embroidered with gold. 
 The caique was white, long, narrow, as sharp as a 
 dart, and the velvet of his liveries was red. 
 
 One morning he was being rowed in this boat 
 under the Asiatic shore, gazing with a vacant eye 
 on the old houses standing on the very brink, the 
 barred windows of the harems, the hanging verdure 
 above the gates of their mysterious gardens, when 
 he saw a light boat coming to meet him, rowed by 
 three women wrapped in white silk; a eunuch, 
 in a severely buttoned frock-coat, sat in the stern, 
 and the three rowers pulled with all their might, 
 as if in a race. They passed very near him, and 
 turned their heads towards him. He observed 
 that they had fine hands, but their muslin veils 
 
 o 193
 
 i 9 4 DISENCHANTED xx 
 
 were down over their faces, and he could see 
 nothing. 
 
 Still he had no doubt that he had met his three 
 little black spectres, who, with the coming of 
 
 summer, had turned white. On the following day 
 i 
 they wrote : 
 
 August 3, 1904. 
 
 'Your friends have been back for two days to 
 settle on the Asiatic shore of the Bosphorus. And 
 yesterday morning they got into their boat, rowing 
 themselves, as is their custom, to go to Pacha 
 Bagtcheh, where the hedges are full of blackberries 
 and the grass full of blue cornflowers. 
 
 'We were rowing. Instead of a tcharchaf and 
 a black veil, we each wore a light silk yeldirmeh 
 and a muslin scarf over our heads. We are allowed 
 this on the Bosphorus, in the country. It was 
 fine, it was young; the weather meant love and 
 the springtide of life. The air was cool and light, 
 and the oars seemed but a featherweight in our 
 hands. Instead of quietly enjoying the lovely 
 morning, some folly possessed us to make us row 
 fast, and our boat flew over the water as if we 
 were hurrying to overtake happiness or death. 
 
 'But what we caught up in our haste was 
 neither death nor happiness, but just our Friend, 
 lording it like a Pasha, in a fine caique with red 
 and gold rowers. And I stared straight into your 
 eyes, which looked at mine without seeing them. 
 
 'Since our return here we are feeling a little 
 tipsy, like prisoners let out of a dark cell to miti- 
 gated confinement ; if you could imagine what it
 
 xx DISENCHANTED 195 
 
 was there where we have come from in spite 
 of the splendour of the roses ! Can any one who, 
 like you, has lived in the West, feverish, free, 
 conceive of the horror of our dead-alive lot, of 
 our horizon where one thing alone looms clear : 
 to be borne away to sleep under the shade of a 
 cypress in the cemetery of Eyoub after an Imam 
 has said all the necessary prayers. DJENAN.' 
 
 'We live like those precious specimens of glass, 
 you know, which are kept packed in cases full of 
 bran. It is supposed that we are thus preserved 
 from every possible jar, but we feel them all the 
 same, and then the vital fracture, with the two 
 edges in perpetual friction, gives us a dull, deep, 
 dreadful pain. ZEYNEB.' 
 
 'I am the only person of sense of the three, 
 Friend Andre, that you must long ago have per- 
 ceived. The other two quite between ourselves, 
 you understand are a little cracked, especially 
 Djenan, who is willing enough to go on writing 
 to you, but never to see you. Happily I am at 
 hand to arrange matters. Reply to the old ad- 
 dress : Madame Zaideh, you remember ? By the 
 day after to-morrow we shall have a trustworthy 
 friend at hand who is going into town, and will 
 call at the post-office. MELEK.'
 
 XXI 
 
 ANDR replied at once. To Djenan he said: 
 'Never see you again ? or rather never hear your 
 voice again, for I have never seen you ? and 
 merely because you have made me a gentle declara- 
 tion of intellectual regard ! It is absurd ! I have 
 received many others, believe me, and it does not 
 excite me at all.' He tried to take the whole 
 matter lightly and confine himself to the tone of 
 an old friend, much her senior and rather paternal. 
 In his heart he was uneasy at the vehement resolu- 
 tions this proud, perverse little spirit was capable 
 of forming; he distrusted her, and he felt too that 
 she was already very dear to him, and that to see 
 her no more would darken his whole summer. 
 
 In his answer he asked for the promised re- 
 mainder of her story, and to conclude, for the 
 relief of his conscience, told them how by chance 
 he had identified the three. 
 
 The answer came next day but one. 
 
 'That you should have identified us is a mis- 
 fortune. Do your friends, whose faces you can 
 never know, still interest you now that their little 
 mystery is worn out, riddled with holes ? 
 
 'The rest of my story? that is simple enough; 
 you shall have it. 
 
 196
 
 xxi DISENCHANTED 197 
 
 'As to our meeting again, that, Andre, is less 
 simple. Let me think it over. DJENAN.' 
 
 'Well, I, for my part, am to be thoroughly 
 identified, for I will tell you where we live. As 
 you go down the Bosphorus on the Asiatic shore, 
 in the second inlet beyond Tchiboukli there is a 
 mosque; next to the mosque there is a large yali 
 in the oldest style, very much latticed, pompous 
 and dismal, with some grim negro in a frock-coat 
 always guarding the harem landing-place: there 
 we are at home. On the first floor, which pro- 
 jects beyond the ground floor over the sea, the six 
 windows to the left, screened by formidable lattices, 
 are those of our rooms. Since you like the Asiatic 
 side, choose it for your excursions, and look up at 
 these windows but do not look too long. Your 
 friends, who will recognise your boat from afar, 
 will pass the tip of a finger out of a hole as a sign 
 of friendship, or perhaps the corner of a handker- 
 chief. 
 
 'I am arranging things with Djenan, and you 
 may count on an interview in Stamboul sometime 
 next week. MELEK.' 
 
 No urging was needed to lead him to pass that 
 way. The following day, as it happened, was a 
 Friday, the day when the Sweet Waters of Asia were 
 always a resort of fashion, and he never failed to 
 join the throng; and Djenan's ancient residence, 
 easy no doubt to recognise, was on the way thither. 
 Stretched in his caique, he passed as close as pru- 
 dence would allow. The yali, built entirely of
 
 ig8 DISENCHANTED xxi 
 
 wood in the old Turkish fashion, a little the worse 
 for the hand of time, and painted a dark ochre, 
 had a grand air, but how gloomy and secret ! At 
 the base it was almost washed by the Bosphorus, 
 and his captive friends' windows overhung the 
 sea water, rippled by the eternal current. Behind 
 it were gardens with high walls, sloping up the 
 hill till they mingled with the adjoining wood. 
 
 Under the house was one of the open tunnels 
 which were in common use in olden days to shelter 
 the owner's boats, and Andre, as he went near, 
 saw a handsome caique emerge, manned for an 
 excursion, the rowers in blue velvet jackets em- 
 broidered with gold, and a long hanging of the 
 same velvet, also embroidered, which trailed in 
 the water. Were his little friends also going to 
 the Sweet Waters ? It looked like it. 
 
 As he passed he glanced up at the windows 
 described to him; slender fingers wearing many 
 rings peeped through and the corner of a lace 
 handkerchief. From the mere way in which the 
 fingers waggled and the handkerchief was flour- 
 ished, Andre could recognise them as those of 
 Melek. 
 
 At Constantinople there are the Sweet Waters 
 of Europe, a little stream among trees and mead- 
 ows, to which visitors come in crowds on Fridays in 
 spring. And there are the Sweet Waters of Asia, 
 an even tinier river, almost a brook, which comes 
 down from the Asiatic hills to. fall into the Bos- 
 phorus; and this is the place of meeting on 
 Fridays in summer. 
 
 At the hour when Andre arrived there that
 
 xxi DISENCHANTED 199 
 
 afternoon numbers of caiques were being rowed 
 in from both shores, some occupied by veiled ladies, 
 others by men wearing the red fez. At the foot 
 of a fantastic castle of mediaeval Saracen work, 
 bristling with turrets and battlements, and near a 
 magnificent kiosque with marble landing-steps, be- 
 longing to His Majesty the Sultan, ends this tiny 
 stream of water which week after week attracts so 
 many mysterious fair ones. 
 
 Before turning up it, between banks of reeds 
 and ferns, Andre looked round to see whether 
 they were really coming, and he fancied that he 
 recognised, far behind him, their three forms in 
 black tcharchafs, and the blue and the gold livery 
 of their boatmen. 
 
 The place was already crowded when he reached 
 it : a crowd on the water in boats of every form 
 with liveries of every hue; a crowd on land, on 
 the lawns, almost too dainty and pretty, arranged 
 in an amphitheatre, as though on purpose for 
 groups who wish to sit and watch the boats go 
 past. Here and there were large trees beneath 
 which coffee-stalls were set up, and where indolent 
 smokers had spread mats on the grass to recline, 
 with their narghileh, in oriental ease. And on 
 both sides rose the wooded hills, unkempt and 
 rather wild, enclosing it all between their exqui- 
 sitely green slopes. They were chiefly women who 
 sat on the natural steps on each of the pretty river 
 banks, and nothing is more pleasingly effective 
 than a crowd of Turkish women in the country, 
 not wearing dark tcharchafs as in the city, but 
 dressed in long gowns all of one colour, pink,
 
 200 DISENCHANTED xxi 
 
 blue, brown, red, and each having her head 
 wrapped in a veil of white muslin. 
 
 This very crowd is the strange and amusing 
 part of the excursion, on water so calm, so enclosed 
 and shrouded with verdure, with so many pairs of 
 bright eyes watchful on every side through slits 
 in the veils. Often this is the end of the journey; 
 the oars clash and get entangled, the rowers shout, 
 the caiques bump; then they pull up all quite 
 close together, with plenty of time for gazing. 
 Ladies, featureless, will sit for an hour close under 
 the bank, their boat almost buried in the reeds 
 and water plants, with long eye-glasses in their 
 hands inspecting the passers-by. Others are bold 
 enough to plunge into the melee, still remaining 
 motionless and enigmatical behind their veils, while 
 their boatmen, blazing with gold, rage and rave. 
 And by proceeding no more than a few yards up 
 the pretty little stream, you find yourself in a 
 thick tangle of boughs, between trees that bend 
 over the water; the boat grates on the white 
 stones at the bottom, and back you must go. 
 Then you turn with great difficulty, for a caique 
 is very long, and go down-stream but only to 
 come up again and then back once more, as if you 
 were pacing to and fro in an alley. 
 
 When his caique had been turned in the green 
 darkness, where the stream ceases to be navigable, 
 Andre reflected: *I shall certainly meet my 
 friends, who must have reached the Sweet Waters 
 a few minutes later than I.' So he looked no 
 more at the women seated in groups on the grass, 
 or the pairs of black, or grey, or blue eyes sparkling
 
 xxi DISENCHANTED 201 
 
 from under the white shrouds; he looked out 
 only at what met him coming up the stream. A 
 procession still enchanting in its whole effect, 
 though now no longer such as it was of old, and 
 though one often has to look the other way to avoid 
 seeing the pretentious American yawls of the 
 younger Turks, and the vulgar hired barges in 
 which the Levantine ladies display scarecrow hats. 
 However, caiques are still in the majority, and on 
 this day there were some splendid boats out with 
 handsome oarsmen in jackets loaded with gold; in 
 them, half-reclining, were ladies in more or less 
 transparent tcharchafs, and a few very elegant 
 women wearing the yashmak as if they were going 
 to Court, showing their foreheads and deeply 
 shadowed eyes. How was it indeed that they did 
 not wearthe yashmak, these little friends, who were, 
 nevertheless, flowers of elegance, instead of appear- 
 ing here all black, as he had seen them just now ? 
 No doubt, in consequence of Djenan's obstinate 
 determination to remain inscrutable to him. 
 
 At last they came into view round a bend in 
 the river. These were certainly the three; elegant 
 little spectres, on a blue velvet rug which caught 
 the water weeds in its gold fringes that hung over 
 the stern. Three are rather many in a caique; 
 two were royally enthroned at the back on the 
 velvet seat of the same colour as the rowers' 
 jackets the two eldest, no doubt and the third, 
 the child of the party, sat crouching at their feet. 
 They passed close enough to touch him. He at 
 once recognised at so short a distance Melek's 
 smiling eyes under the black gauze which to-day
 
 202 DISENCHANTED xxi 
 
 was but single the eyes he had caught sight of 
 one day on the stairs; and he hastily looked up 
 at the two seated in the best places. One of these 
 two had a semi-transparent veil, which enabled him 
 almost to distinguish the youthful features, ex- 
 quisitely regular and finely cut, but not allowing 
 the eyes to be clearly seen. He had no doubt : 
 this was Zeyneb, consenting at last to be less com- 
 pletely hidden, and the third, as utterly invisible 
 as ever, was Djenan. 
 
 It need not be said that no sign, no greeting, 
 was given on either side. Melek alone, the least 
 strictly veiled, smiled, but so faintly that if he 
 had not been so close to her he would not have 
 detected it. 
 
 They crossed twice more, and then it was time 
 to go home. The sun soon shone only on the 
 tops of the hills and the woods, the air was full of 
 the delicious coolness that rose from the water at 
 the close of day. By degrees the little river and 
 its banks were deserted, to remain so till the 
 following Friday; the caiques were scattered all 
 over the Bosphorus, bearing home the fair excur- 
 sionists, who were bound to be at home before sun- 
 set and dolefully incarcerated in the harems all 
 along the shore. Andre allowed his friends to leave 
 long before him, for fear of being suspected of 
 following them; then he returned, keeping under 
 the Asiatic shore, and very slowly, to let his oars- 
 men rest, and to see the moon rise.
 
 XXII 
 
 DJENAN TO ANDRE 
 
 August 17, 1904 (Prankish calendar). 
 
 'TRULY, Andre, do you want to have the end of 
 my story ? But it was a wretched adventure of 
 which I told you the beginning. 
 
 ' What torment is dying love ! If only it could 
 die suddenly, all at once; but it struggles, it 
 fights for life, and this is the cruel agony. 
 
 'My little bag fell out of my hands, and at the 
 sound of a scent-bottle that broke in the fall, 
 Durdaneh turned her head. She was not dis- 
 turbed; her sea-green eyes opened wide and she 
 greeted me with her pretty panther-like smile. 
 We looked at each other, she and I, without a 
 word. Hamdi so far had seen nothing. She had 
 one arm round his neck, and she gently made him 
 look round: "Djenan," said she in a tone of 
 indifference. 
 
 'What he did I do not know, for I fled, to see 
 no more. Instinctively I took refuge in his 
 mother's room. She was reading her Koran, and 
 scolded me at first for breaking in on her medita- 
 tions; then she started up in horror to go to 
 
 203
 
 204 DISENCHANTED xxn 
 
 them, leaving me alone. When she came back, 
 how long after I do not know, "Go back to your 
 rooms," she said with gentle kindness. "Go, my 
 poor child, they are gone." 
 
 'Alone in my boudoir with the doors shut, I 
 threw myself on a couch, and cried till I slept 
 from sheer exhaustion. But oh ! the awakening 
 at dawn ! To find that in my mind, to begin to 
 think once more, to see that I must decide on 
 some course of action. I would have hated them 
 if I could, but there was no feeling left in me but 
 anguish anguish and love. 
 
 'It was very early, the first break of day. I 
 heard steps outside my door and my mother-in- 
 law came in; I saw at once that her eyes had 
 been weeping. 
 
 "Durdaneh is gone/' she said. "I have sent 
 her far away to a relation of ours." Then sitting 
 down beside me, she went on to say that such 
 things happen every day in life; that a man's 
 whims are as uncertain as those of the wind; 
 that I must go to my room and dress myself to 
 look lovely and smile on Hamdi that evening 
 when he should come home from the Palace; he 
 was very miserable, it would seem, and would not 
 come near me till I was comforted. In the course 
 of the afternoon I received some silk blouses, lace, 
 fans, and jewels. 
 
 'Then I begged that I might only be left to 
 myself in my room. I wanted to see clearly to 
 the bottom of my own soul. Remember that I 
 had come home to the harem the day before, in all 
 the thrilling excitement of a new emotion ; I had
 
 xxii DISENCHANTED 205 
 
 brought with me the springtime of the Islands, 
 its fragrance and its song, kisses I had plucked in 
 that air, all the palpitation of an awakening to 
 love. 
 
 'In the evening Hamdi joined me, very quiet 
 and rather pale. I myself was no less calm, and I 
 simply asked him to tell me the truth : Did he 
 still love me, yes or no ? I would go home to my 
 grandmother and leave him free. He smiled and 
 took me in his arms. "What a child you are," 
 said he; "why, how could I cease to love you?" 
 And he covered me with kisses, heaping caresses 
 on me. 
 
 'I meanwhile tried to ask him how he could 
 love another if he still loved me. Ah, Andre, 
 then I learnt the measure of man of our men at 
 any rate. This one had not even the courage 
 of his love. "Durdaneh! That woman!" No, 
 he did not love her. It was a mere fancy; her 
 sea-green eyes, her supple form when she danced 
 in the evening. And she had said that she had 
 arts and spells to bewitch men, so he had wished 
 to put her to the proof. And after all, what could 
 it matter to me ? But for my unannounced 
 return I should never have known anything 
 about it. 
 
 'Oh the pity and disgust of my soul as I lis- 
 tened ! for her, for him, and for myself, who 
 longed to forgive. However, I suffered less 
 violently now that I was resigned. So it was 
 merely her supple form and her sea-green eyes 
 that Hamdi had loved her for. Well, I was 
 prettier than she, I well knew; I, too, had sea-
 
 206 DISENCHANTED xxn 
 
 green eyes, darker and less common than hers, 
 and if all he asked was that I should be lovely and 
 loving I was certainly both just now. 
 
 'The campaign of reconquest began. It was 
 not a long business; the memory of Durdaneh 
 soon weighed no more on her lover's heart. But 
 never in my life have I known such distressful 
 days. I felt all that was lofty and pure in me 
 disappear, drop like roses fading in front of a fire. 
 I had no thought but one: to please him, to 
 make him forget the love of another in my greater 
 love. 
 
 'But soon I perceived with horror that as my 
 contempt for myself grew, so by degrees did my 
 hatred of the man for whom I was degrading 
 myself; for I had become to him neither more 
 nor less than a doll for his pleasure. I thought of 
 nothing but beautifying myself, to be differently 
 charming every day. Cases arrived from Paris 
 full of evening dresses, elegant wrappers, per- 
 fumes, cosmetics ; all the tricks of Western vanity 
 added to those of our Eastern beauties were my 
 only object in life. I never went into my boudoir, 
 feeling the reproach of my neglected books; the 
 air was full of such different ideas, alas ! from 
 those that occupied me now. 
 
 'Djenan the lover might do her utmost, she 
 mourned for the Djenan of the past who had 
 striven to possess a soul. And how can I find 
 words for the agony when I felt at last only too 
 clearly that my blandishments were false, my 
 kisses a lie, that love was dead in me. 
 
 'But he now loved me with a passion which 
 became a terror to me. What could I do to
 
 xxn DISENCHANTED 207 
 
 escape from him, to put an end to this degrada- 
 tion ? I saw no way out of it but death, and I 
 had it always by me, ready prepared and close at 
 hand on the dressing-table at which I now so 
 constantly sat; a swift and gentle death within 
 reach of my hand, in a silver bottle exactly like 
 my scent-bottles. 
 
 'I had come to this, when one morning, on 
 going into my mother-in-law's drawing-room, I 
 found two visitors just putting on their tcharchafs 
 to leave: Durdaneh and the aunt who had taken 
 her in charge. She, that Durdaneh, was smiling 
 as usual, but with a little air of triumph, while the 
 two old ladies seemed quite upset. I, for my 
 part, on the contrary, was perfectly calm. I 
 observed that her dress of fawn-coloured cloth 
 was loosely made, and that she seemed to have 
 grown large and heavy; she slowly fixed her 
 tcharchaf and veil, said good-bye and went. 
 "What did she come here for?" I asked simply 
 when we were alone. Emireh Hanum made me sit 
 down by her, holding my hands and hesitating to 
 reply; I saw the tears trickle down her wrinkles. 
 Durdaneh was going to have a child and my hus- 
 band must marry her. A woman of their family 
 could not be a mother without being a wife, and 
 besides, Hamdi's child had a right to a place in 
 the house. 
 
 'She told me all this weeping the while, and 
 had thrown her arms round me. But how calmly 
 I heard her ! This meant deliverance, brought to 
 me when I thought myself lost. I at once replied 
 that I quite understood all this, and Hamdi was
 
 208 DISENCHANTED xxn 
 
 free; that I was ready to be divorced then and 
 there, and owed no one the smallest grudge. 
 
 '"Divorced!" cried she, with a burst of tears. 
 " Divorced ! You wish to be divorced ? But my 
 son adores you. We all of us love you. You 
 are the joy of our eyes !" Poor woman, she was 
 the only person I regretted when I left that house. 
 And then, to persuade me, she began to tell me 
 of the wives of her young days who could make 
 themselves happy in the like case. She herself, 
 had she not shared the Pasha's love with other 
 women ? As soon as her beauty had begun to go 
 off, had she not seen two, three younger wives, one 
 after another, in his harem ? She called them her 
 sisters; no one of them had ever failed in respect 
 for her, and it was always to her that the Pasha 
 had recourse if he had any private matter to tell 
 or information to ask, or when he felt ill. Had 
 she suffered from all this ? Hardly for she 
 could only remember one sorrow in her life, and 
 that was when little Saida, the youngest of her 
 rivals, died leaving her baby to her. Yes, Hamdi's 
 youngest brother Ferid was not her own son but 
 poor Saida's; and this was the first time I heard 
 of it. 
 
 'Durdaneh was to return to the harem on the 
 morrow. What could the woman matter to me 
 at this juncture of affairs ; and after all Hamdi no 
 longer cared for her, and loved only me. But 
 still she was a pretext I must seize, this oppor- 
 tunity must not on any account be missed. To cut 
 the matter short, in my horror of scenes, and still 
 more my fear of Hamdi who would be in a frenzy,
 
 xxn DISENCHANTED 209 
 
 I then and there temporised. On my knees before 
 his weeping mother, I only begged and obtained 
 leave to spend two months in seclusion at Kassim 
 Pacha in my girlhood's home; I needed that, I 
 said, to resign myself; then I could come back. 
 
 'And I was gone before Hamdi had come in 
 from Yildiz. 
 
 'It was just then, Andre, that you came to 
 Constantinople. At the end of the two months 
 my husband, of course, demanded his wife. I sent 
 word to him that living I would never again be 
 his ; the little silver phial I kept always about me, 
 and it was a fearful struggle till the day when His 
 Majesty the Sultan vouchsafed to sign the Iradeh 
 which set me free. 
 
 'Dare I confess to you that for the first few 
 weeks I was still very unhappy ? Against my 
 expectation the image of that man, and the kisses 
 I had both loved and hated too vehemently, 
 haunted me for a long time. 
 
 'Now all is calm within me. I forgive him 
 for having brought me down almost to the level 
 of a courtesan; I no longer long for him nor 
 hate him. It is all over: I still feel some shame 
 at having believed I had known love because a 
 handsome lad held me in his arms. But I have 
 recovered my dignity, I have found my soul 
 again and resumed my soaring flight. 
 
 'Now answer this letter, Andre, that I may 
 know whether you understand me, or whether, 
 like so many others, you regard me as a poor 
 unbalanced mind in quest of the impossible. 
 
 'DjENAN/
 
 XXIII 
 
 ANDRE wrote to Djenan that Hamdi struck him 
 as very like all men, as much of the West as of 
 the East; but that she was the really exceptional 
 being, the choicer soul. And then he pointed out 
 to her which was certainly not original that 
 nothing flies so fast as time ; the two years of his 
 residence at Constantinople were all slipping past, 
 and would never come again; hence they ought 
 to take every opportunity of exchanging their 
 thoughts, which must so soon perish, like those of 
 every living creature, in the abyss of death. 
 
 He received notice of an assignation for the 
 following Thursday at Stamboul, in the old house 
 at the end of the silent alley beyond Sultan 
 Selim. 
 
 On that day he went down the Bosphorus in 
 the morning on a steamboat, and found Stamboul 
 basking in summer, almost like Arabia, so hot and 
 still was the air, and so white the mosques in the 
 burning August sunshine. How could any one 
 imagine that a city like this to-day could linger 
 through such long winters, under such a persistent 
 shroud of snow ? The streets were more deserted 
 than ever, because so many people had migrated 
 to the Bosphorus, or the islands in the sea of
 
 xxiii DISENCHANTED 211 
 
 Marmora, and oriental smells were aggravated in 
 the over-heated atmosphere. 
 
 To while away the time he went to the square 
 of Sultan Fatih, to sit in the old place under the 
 shade of the trees, facing the mosque. Some 
 Imams there, who had not seen him for so many 
 days, welcomed him warmly, and then sank into 
 dreaming again. And the cafeji, regarding him 
 as a constant customer, brought with his nar- 
 ghileh the little household cat Tekir, which had 
 often been his pet in the spring, and which settled 
 down at once close beside him, her head on his 
 knee to be rubbed. The walls of the mosque 
 opposite were blindingly white. Some children 
 were dipping water out of an old fountain, and 
 they poured it on the pavement all round the 
 smokers, but it was so hot in spite of this that the 
 finches and blackbirds in the cages were mute and 
 sleepy, and yellow leaves were falling already, 
 prophesying the early decline of this glorious 
 summer. 
 
 At Sultan Selim, which he reached at the 
 crushing hour of two o'clock, the alley was so 
 empty and resonant as to be quite alarming. 
 Within the outer door he found Melek on guard, 
 and she smiled at him like a faithful little comrade, 
 glad to see him again at last. Her veil was thin 
 and her face was as visible as that of an European 
 in a mourning veil. He found Zeyneb upstairs 
 in the same light shroud, and for the first time he 
 saw the gleam of her brown eyes, and met their 
 sweet, grave young gaze. But, as he had ex- 
 pected, Djenan persisted in remaining no more
 
 212 DISENCHANTED xxiu 
 
 than a slim, black vision, absolutely without 
 features. 
 
 The question she asked him in a knowing 
 tone, as soon as they were seated on the shabby, 
 faded divan, was : 
 
 ' Well, and how is your friend, Jean Renaud ? ' 
 
 'Perfectly well, thank you; but where did you 
 learn his name ?' 
 
 'Everything is known in the harems. For 
 instance, I can tell you that you dined last night 
 with Madame de Saint-Enogat, and sat next to a 
 lady in a pink gown; that afterwards you and she 
 went out together and sat on a bench in the 
 
 O 
 
 garden, and that she smoked one of your cigar- 
 ettes in the moonlight. And so on, and so on. 
 Everything you do, everything that happens to 
 you, comes to our knowledge. Then you can 
 assure me that Monsieur Jean Renaud is perfectly 
 well?' 
 
 'Why, yes; when I tell you ' 
 
 'Then, Melek, you have wasted your pains 
 it will not work.' 
 
 He then learnt that Melek had for some days 
 devoted herself to prayer and a magic charm, to 
 obtain Jean Renaud's death, partly in childish fun, 
 and yet more in solemn earnest, having persuaded 
 herself that he embodied an adverse influence and 
 kept Andre on the defensive with regard to them. 
 
 'There, you see,' said Djenan laughing. 'You 
 wanted to know oriental women that is what we 
 really are. Scratch the veneer and we are little 
 barbarians/ 
 
 'You were entirely mistaken about him, at any
 
 xxin DISENCHANTED 213 
 
 rate. On the contrary, he is always dreaming of 
 you, poor Jean Renaud. ' Indeed, but for him we 
 should never have known each other. On the 
 occasion of our first meeting at Pacha Bagtcheh, 
 the day of the high wind, he dragged me there ; I 
 had refused to go/ 
 
 'Good Jean Renaud,' cried Melek. 'Well, 
 listen then. Bring him to-morrow, Friday, to the 
 Sweet Waters in your handsome caique, and I will 
 go myself on purpose to smile at him as we pass.' 
 
 In the gloomy, melancholy harem, where the 
 splendour of the day could hardly be guessed 
 even, Djenan remained sphinx-like and motion- 
 less, even more so than last time. It was evident 
 that she felt some fresh shyness and constraint 
 from having so fully betrayed herself in her long 
 letters; and to see her nervous made Andre 
 nervous too, almost aggressive. 
 
 To-day she tried to make him talk about the 
 book. 
 
 * It will be a novel, of course ? ' 
 
 * How should I be able to write anything else ? 
 But I do not yet see that novel, I must say.' 
 
 'Will you allow me to tell you what my idea 
 is ? A novel, certainly, in which you yourself 
 will figure.' 
 
 'Ah, no, never that !' 
 
 'Let me explain myself. You will not write 
 in the first person : that I know you will never 
 do again. But there might be an European in 
 the story, staying at Constantinople for a time, a 
 singer of the East, who would see with your eyes, 
 and feel with your soul.'
 
 2H DISENCHANTED xxm 
 
 'And no one would recognise me, you may be 
 very sure ! ' 
 
 'What could it matter? Let me go on, will 
 you ? In spite of the thousand inevitable risks, 
 he must clandestinely meet one of our Turkish 
 sisters, and they must fall in love * 
 
 'And then?' 
 
 'And then, he must go away, that is inevitable 
 and that is all.' 
 
 'How new and original such an intrigue would 
 be in a book of mine !* 
 
 'I beg your pardon, this might be quite new 
 that their love for each other remained unavowed 
 and perfectly pure.' 
 
 'Ah! And after he has gone she 
 
 'She? why, what would you have her do? 
 She dies.' 
 
 She dies. It was said with such a tone of 
 poignant conviction that Andre felt a shock all 
 through him that kept him silent. 
 
 Then Zeyneb began to speak. 
 
 'Tell him, Djenan, the title you had thought 
 of. We thought it so pretty: The Blue Sky that 
 Kills. No ? You do not seem to like it.' 
 
 'It is pretty, certainly,' said Andre, 'but per- 
 haps a little dear me, what shall I say ? a little 
 in the sentimental ballad style.' 
 
 'Well, well,' said Djenan, 'say at once that 
 you think it 1830. It is rococo let us drop it.' 
 
 'A little in curl-papers,' said Melek. 
 
 He now discerned that it had been a pang to 
 her to be contradicted half ironically in the little 
 literary notions which she had formulated unaided,
 
 xxin DISENCHANTED 215 
 
 with so much toil, and often with such unerring 
 intuition. She suddenly appeared to him as so 
 artless and so young she whom he had thought 
 of at first as too much sunk in books. He was 
 distressed to think that he might have vexed her 
 ever so little, and changed his tone at once to one 
 of gentleness, almost of affection. 
 
 'No, no, my dear little invisible friend; your 
 title is not rococo nor ridiculous, nor could any- 
 thing be that you might imagine or say. Only, 
 let us keep death out of it do not you think so ? 
 In the first place, for the sake of a change; so 
 many people have died in my books, you know. 
 Consider, I shall be taken for a perfect Bluebeard. 
 No, no death in this book; on the contrary, if 
 possible, sheer youth and life. With this granted, 
 I will try to write it in any form you like best, 
 and we will work at it together, like two com- 
 rades, will we not ?' 
 
 And they parted greater friends than they had 
 been till this day.
 
 XXIV 
 
 DJENAN TO ANDRE 
 
 September 1 6, 1904. 
 
 'I WAS among the flowers in the garden, and I 
 felt so lonely there, and so tired of my loneliness. 
 A storm had swept past in the night and wrecked 
 the roses. The earth was strewn with them. As 
 I walked over these freshly fallen flowers, it was 
 like trampling down dreams. 
 
 'It was in that garden that ever since I came 
 from Karadjemir I spent all my summers as a 
 child and a girl, with your friends Zeyneb and 
 Melek. I cannot say that we were unhappy at 
 that period of our lives. Everything smiled on 
 us. Every one about us enjoyed the negative 
 happiness which consists in peace at the passing 
 moment and security for the next. We had 
 never seen hearts bleed. Our days glided by 
 slowly and quietly between our studies and our 
 little pleasures, leaving us half asleep in the torpor 
 which comes with our always hot summers. It 
 had never occurred to us that we were to be 
 pitied. Our foreign governesses had been very 
 unhappy in their own homes. They found relief 
 
 216
 
 xxiv DISENCHANTED 217 
 
 among us, and such peace as was like a haven 
 after a tempest. And we sometimes spoke to 
 them of our vague dreams and ill-defined longings 
 to live like European women, to travel and see; 
 they replied by praising the quiet and ease in 
 which we lived. The quiet, the peace of a Mos- 
 lem woman's life; all our childhood through 
 we heard of nothing else. So nothing from out- 
 side had taught us to endure. Then suffering 
 came upon us from within; restlessness and in- 
 satiable craving were born in us. My drama 
 really began on my wedding day, when the silver 
 threads of my bridal veil still clung to me. 
 
 'Do you remember, Andre, our first meeting 
 in the flagged path and the blustering wind, and 
 could you then have believed that so soon you 
 would be to us so dear a friend ? I am sure too 
 that you are beginning to feel attached to these 
 little Turkish women, although they have already 
 lost the fascination of mystery. A delightful 
 tender feeling has stolen over me since our last 
 meeting, since the moment when your eyes and 
 your tone of voice changed because you were 
 afraid you had hurt me. Then I understood how 
 kind you are, and that you would consent to be 
 my confidant as well as my friend. It will do me 
 so much good to tell you, who will be sure to 
 understand, so many weariful things which no one 
 has ever heard; circumstances in my fate which 
 puzzle me. You, who are a man, and who know, 
 will perhaps be able to explain them. 
 
 'I have a photograph of you close to me on my 
 writing-table, and it looks at me with its clear
 
 2i8 DISENCHANTED xxiv 
 
 gaze. You too, I know, are not far away on 
 the other shore; only an arm of the Bosphorus 
 parts us, and yet what a distance for ever lies 
 between us two, what an abyss of difficulties, with 
 the constant uncertainty of ever meeting again. 
 In spite of all, I could wish that when you have 
 left our country I might not be merely a doubtful 
 spectre in your remembrance. I should like to 
 live in it as a reality, a poor, sad little reality. 
 
 'Do you know what the roses I just now trod 
 underfoot reminded me of? A similar destruction 
 in this same garden two years ago or rather more. 
 But it was not the work of a summer tempest; it 
 was autumn. October had seared the trees, it 
 was cold, and we were to go back to town the 
 next day, to Kassim Pacha. Everything was 
 packed up and the house dismantled. We went 
 out into the garden to take leave of it and gather 
 the last flowers. A bitter blast sighed in the 
 boughs. Old Irfaneh, one of our slaves, who is 
 addicted to sorcery and to reading fortunes in 
 coffee-grounds, had declared that this was a good 
 day for foretelling our destiny. She brought us 
 out some coffee, and we had to drink it; it was 
 in a nook at the end of the garden, sheltered by 
 the hill, and I can see her now, squatting at our 
 feet among the dead leaves, anxious as to what she 
 might discover. In Zeyneb's cup and in Melek's 
 she saw only pleasure and presents, they were still 
 so young. But she shook her head as she read 
 mine. "Ah! love is on the watch," said she; 
 "but love is treacherous. You will not come 
 back to the Bosphorus for a long time, and when
 
 xxiv DISENCHANTED 219 
 
 you return the flower of your happiness will have 
 fallen. Poor thing, poor thing ! There is nothing 
 in your life but love and death." It was true; I 
 did not come back here till this summer, after my 
 distressful marriage. Still, is it the flower of 
 happiness that is gone, since I never had any 
 happiness ? No, I think not. But her last words 
 never struck me as they did to-day: "There is 
 nothing in your life but love and death." 
 
 'DjENAN.'
 
 XXV 
 
 THEY met frequently during this delightful 
 summer end. At least once a week at the Sweet 
 Waters of Asia their caiques touched, they giving 
 no sign. Zeyneb and Melek, whose features he 
 could somewhat distinguish, hardly dared to smile 
 under the black gauze. They met, too, in the 
 worthy nurse's house in Stamboul; they were 
 more free on the Bosphorus than in their vast 
 winter homes at Kassim Pacha, and found a 
 hundred pretexts for going into the town and 
 dropping their slaves on the way. Each in- 
 terview, to be sure, necessitated a tissue of 
 machinations and audacity, which always seemed 
 about to break down and turn an innocent 
 adventure into a tragedy, but which always, by 
 some miracle, turned out happily. And success 
 gave them assurance and made them plot more 
 perilous enterprises. 'You might tell the whole 
 story here in Constantinople,' they would amuse 
 themselves by saying; 'no one would believe 
 you.' 
 
 When they were all together in the little house 
 chatting like old friends, Zeyneb and Melek would 
 now raise their veils and show the whole of their 
 faces ; only their hair remained hidden under the 
 
 220
 
 xxv DISENCHANTED 221 
 
 black hood, and in this way they looked like 
 little nuns, young and graceful. Djenan alone 
 admitted no compromise; nothing could be 
 guessed of her features, perpetually shrouded as 
 funereally as on the first day, and he feared to 
 remark on it, foreseeing that some positive 
 answer might rob him of all hope of ever seeing 
 her eyes. 
 
 He now and then ventured, by agreement 
 with them, to go to hear them make music in the 
 still, perfidious nights on the Bosphorus, breath- 
 less, warm, and enticing, but which drench you at 
 once in penetrating cold dew. Almost every day 
 during the summer the violent draught of air 
 from the Black Sea rushes down the strait and 
 thrashes it into foam, but never fails to die away 
 at sundown, as if the flood-gates of the wind 
 were suddenly shut. As soon as dusk falls the 
 trees on the banks are motionless, everything 
 settles into stillness and dreams; the surface of 
 the sea is an unwrinkled mirror reflecting the 
 stars, the moon, the myriad lights in the houses 
 and palaces; oriental languor comes down with 
 the darkness on these extreme edges of Asia and 
 Europe facing each other, and the constant moisture 
 of the atmosphere wraps all things in softening 
 and magnifying haze, those that are near as well 
 as those that are far off; the hills, the woods, the 
 mosques, the Greek and Turkish villages, the 
 little creeks on the Asiatic side, more silent than 
 those on the European shore, and more sunk 
 every night in their absolute stillness. 
 
 From Therapia, where Andre lived, to his
 
 222 DISENCHANTED xxv 
 
 friends' yali was about half-an-hour's crossing in 
 a rowing-boat. 
 
 The first time he went in his caique, for it was 
 always an enchantment to go about at night in this 
 little bark, so low as to be able to touch the water, 
 lying at full length on the pale blue and silver 
 mirror of the still surface. The European shore, 
 as it receded, also assumed a semblance of 
 mystery and peace; all the lights threw on the 
 Bosphorus innumerable little glittering shafts 
 that seemed to strike down into the depths below. 
 The Eastern music from the little outside cafes, 
 the strange flourishes of the singers pursued him, 
 carried and harmonised by the deeper tones of the 
 sea; even the hideous orchestras of Therapia were 
 mellowed by distance and the magic of the night 
 till they were pleasing to the ear. And there, 
 facing him, was the shore of Asia, towards which 
 he was going so luxuriously. Its thickets of dense 
 verdure, its hills covered with trees, formed black 
 masses, which looked gigantic, towering above 
 their reversed reflection ; the lights, fewer and less 
 garish, came from windows screened by lattices, 
 behind which he could imagine the women that 
 none might see. 
 
 On that occasion, in his own caique, Andre did 
 not dare stop under the lighted windows, and he 
 passed by. His oarsmen, whose embroidered 
 jackets shone too brightly in the moonlight, and 
 might excite the suspicion of some negro sentinel 
 on the bank, were all Turks, and, in spite of 
 their personal devotion, quite capable of betraying 
 him in their indignation if they had scented the
 
 xxv DISENCHANTED 223 
 
 smallest understanding between their European 
 master and the ladies of that harem. 
 
 So on other evenings he came in the humblest 
 of the fishing-boats which go out on the Bos- 
 phorus in thousands every night. Thus, under 
 the pretence of laying the nets, he could linger for 
 a long time; he could hear Zeyneb sing, accom- 
 panied by Melek or Djenan; he knew her rich 
 young voice, such a lovely voice, and so naturally 
 expressive, especially in the lower notes, but in 
 which there was now and then the very slightest 
 huskiness, making it perhaps all the more at- 
 tractive, as marking it for early decay. 
 
 About mid-September they did a most daring 
 thing they climbed a hill all rosy with heath, 
 and took a walk in a wood. This they achieved 
 without let or hindrance, just above Beicos, the 
 point on the Asiatic shore precisely opposite 
 Therapia, to which Andre came every evening 
 towards sunset. Impossible to describe the charm 
 of Beicos, which became one of their favourite 
 meeting-places least disturbed by alarms. Leaving 
 Therapia, the pretentious centre of fashionable 
 folly, he would here find in contrast the silent 
 shade of tall trees, the meditative peace of a past 
 age. From a little landing-place of white stone 
 you step at once into a Garden of Eden, under 
 plane-trees four centuries old, which do not look 
 as if they were native to our climate, so much have 
 they assumed of the growth of the baobab or the 
 Indian banyan. 
 
 This is a perfectly flat meadow, carpeted in 
 autumn with fine velvety turf, smoother than that
 
 224 DISENCHANTED xxv 
 
 of the best-kept garden; a lawn which seems to 
 have been created expressly for pacing in moods 
 of meditation and sage melancholy; it is hardly 
 half a league across, exactly of the right size to 
 lie secreted without suggesting imprisonment, 
 enclosed on all sides by lonely hills overgrown 
 with woods, and the Turks, struck by its peculiar 
 charm, give it the name of the 'Grand Signior's 
 Valley/ It is impossible to suspect that the 
 Bosphorus is so close, with its constant bustle 
 which would disturb meditation; the hills hide it 
 completely. The wanderer is isolated from every- 
 thing; not a sound is to be heard, unless it be, 
 towards evening, the pipe of the goatherds col- 
 lecting their flocks on the hills behind. The 
 majestic plane-trees, whose roots coil over the 
 earth like huge snakes, form a sort of sacred wood 
 at the entrance to this park, but they stand further 
 apart as you go on, and form into avenues, leaving 
 open expanses of lawn on which the white-veiled 
 women walk slowly up and down before sunset. 
 There is a stream, too, through this valley of the 
 Grand Signior, a cool rivulet, the home of many 
 tortoises; it is crossed by little plank bridges; on 
 its banks, under the shade of a few old trees, the 
 sellers of Turkish coffee set up booths for the 
 summer months, and there men sit and smoke 
 their narghilehs, especially on Fridays, and watch 
 the women who promenade to and fro on this 
 meadow of long dreams. They walk in groups 
 of three, four, to ten, somewhat scattered and a 
 little lost, for these lawns are to them a very 
 vast spread of carpet. Their dresses are all in
 
 xxv DISENCHANTED 225 
 
 one form and of one colour, often of Damascus 
 silk, pink or blue, and patterned with gold; these 
 fall in antique folds, and every head is wrapped in 
 white muslin ; this costume, in this deeply secluded 
 place, and the spellbound gravity of their walk, 
 remind one, as dusk comes on, of the happy shades 
 of pagan creeds walking in the Elysian fields. 
 
 Andre was a constant visitor to the valley of 
 the Grand Signior; he spent almost every day 
 there during his residence in Therapia. 
 
 At the appointed hour he landed under the 
 baobab-like plane-trees accompanied by Jean 
 Renaud, who again was to keep watch, and was 
 always amused at playing the part. His Moslem 
 servants, impossible in these circumstances, he had 
 left on the European shore, bringing with him 
 only a faithful Frenchman, who, as usual, had 
 brought his master's fez in a bag. Since his new 
 friendship he was in the habit of changing his 
 headgear, and the fez had hitherto averted danger; 
 he put it on wherever he happened to be in a 
 hired carriage or in a boat, or in some deserted 
 side-street. 
 
 He saw the three arrive in a talika and alight, 
 and, like three little ladies come out for an 
 innocent walk, they crossed the grass, which was 
 rosy already here and there with clumps of the 
 autumn crocus. Zeyneb and Melek wore the 
 thin yeldirmeh, which is admissible in the country, 
 and the white gauze veil which leaves the eyes 
 visible. Only Djenan had put on the black 
 tcharchaf of the town, to remain still austerely 
 invisible.
 
 226 DISENCHANTED xxv 
 
 When they turned into a certain path they had 
 agreed upon, a path winding uphill, he joined 
 them and introduced Jean Renaud, whose hand 
 they had wished to grasp with their finger-tips as 
 some amends for having plotted his death, and 
 who was sent forward as scout. In the exquisite 
 afternoon they lightly climbed the slope amid 
 chestnut trees and oaks; the grass was gay with 
 scabious. Presently they reached the heath, and 
 under the trees all was pink; and then, higher 
 still, the distance came into view. On this, the 
 Asiatic side, there were forests without end; as 
 far as the eye could see, on hills and mountains 
 lay the grand wild green covert which still shelters 
 bears and brigands. 
 
 The Black Sea, suddenly extended to an in- 
 finite distance, lay at their feet, of a greyer and 
 colder blue than the sea of Marmora, which is so 
 near it; it was to-day insinuatingly calm and 
 pensive under the sun of this late summer day, as 
 though it were already looking forward to its 
 perpetual rage and wintry uproar when the fearful 
 Russian wind should blow again. 
 
 The goal of their walk was an old mosque 
 built of wood, a half-forgotten place of pilgrimage 
 
 * or r o o 
 
 on a plateau overlooking the sea of storms, fully 
 exposed to the assaults of the north wind. There, 
 in a tumbledown hovel, was a very humble cafe 
 kept by a white-haired old man. They sat down 
 in front of it to look at the pale immensity 
 slumbering below. The few trees surviving here 
 leaned over, all gnarled, and all on the same 
 side, having yielded at last to the continuous
 
 xxv DISENCHANTED 227 
 
 buffeting of the same blast. The air was bright 
 and sharp. 
 
 They did not talk about the book, nor about 
 anything in particular. Only Zeyneb was at all 
 serious to-day; Djenan and Melek were wholly 
 intoxicated by this clandestine folly, wholly 
 lost in contemplation of the wild magnificence 
 of the mountains, and the cliffs which fell sheer 
 at their feet into the sea. To be alone here 
 with Andre, the little rebels had dropped two 
 negroes and as many negresses in villages on 
 the road, paying them to keep silence; but their 
 daring, hitherto always successful, no longer gave 
 them any alarms. And the white-bearded old 
 man brought them coffee in his old blue cups, 
 outside, in the presence of the gloomy Black Sea, 
 never doubting that his customer was a Turkish 
 Bey on a pilgrimage with the ladies of his harem. 
 
 The air, however, was turning cold after the 
 heat of the valley, and Zeyneb was seized by 
 a little cough, which she strove to conceal, but 
 which told the same ominous tale as the slight 
 huskiness of her voice. The two others looked 
 at each other, and Andre understood that this 
 was no new subject of anxiety; they tried to 
 draw the folds of her dress over her slender 
 bosom, but the invalid, or merely ailing victim, 
 shrugged her shoulders. 'Never mind,' she said, 
 with the calmest indifference. 'Dear me, what 
 does it matter ?' 
 
 Zeyneb was the only one of the three whom 
 Andre fancied he to some extent really knew. 
 Disenchanted in both senses of the word: out
 
 228 DISENCHANTED xxv 
 
 of conceit with life, wishing for nothing, looking 
 forward to nothing, but resigned with unvarying 
 sweetness; a being all of lassitude and tenderness, 
 precisely the soul that fitted her charming face 
 with its regular features, and her eyes which had 
 the smile of desperation. Melek, on the contrary, 
 who seemed to have a kind little heart, never 
 ceased to be fantastical to excess, sometimes violent, 
 and then a child again, ready to mock and laugh 
 at everything. As to Djenan, the most exquisite of 
 the three, how mysterious she still remained under 
 her eternal black veil very complicated, influ- 
 enced by the literature of all ages; at the same time 
 uncertain, at once submissive and haughty, not 
 hesitating at times to reveal herself with an almost 
 disconcerting freedom, and then shrinking back 
 into her ivory tower, more distant than ever. 'As 
 for her,' Andre said to himself, 'I cannot make 
 out what she wants of me, nor why I am already 
 so fond of her. One might sometimes fancy that 
 we had some memory in common of a remote 
 unknown past. I shall not begin to read her till 
 the day when she shows me at last what sort of 
 eyes she has; but I am afraid she never will.' 
 
 They had to go down the hill again early, to 
 the valley of Beicos, to give them time to pick up 
 their slaves on the way and get home before night. 
 So they presently were lost again in the woodland 
 path, and they insisted that Andre himself should 
 pluck for each of them a sprig of the heath which 
 made the whole hillside rosy; it was to wear, out 
 of childish bravado, that evening at dinner with 
 their grandparents and strict old uncles.
 
 xxv DISENCHANTED 229 
 
 On reaching the plain he left them, as a matter 
 of prudence, but watched them as they went, walk- 
 ing at some distance behind them. There were 
 few people now in the valley of the Grand Signior, 
 where the sun was already turning to the redder 
 gold of evening. Only a few women wearing white 
 veils were sitting on the grass in groups far apart. 
 The audacious three went on at a slow and grace- 
 ful pace ; Zeyneb and Melek, in silks of the palest 
 hue, almost white, one on each side of Djenan, an 
 elegy in black; their skirts trailed over the ex- 
 quisite lawn, over the short fine grass, bending 
 the lilac crocus flowers, and sweeping along the 
 yellow leaves already fallen from the plane-trees. 
 They really looked like three Elysian shades 
 crossing the vale of perfect rest; she in the 
 middle, in her mourning, was a shade not as yet 
 consoled, no doubt, for the loss of earthly love. 
 
 He lost sight of them when they reached the 
 great trees, the sacred wood at the further end of 
 the secluded plain. The sun was sinking behind 
 the hills, slowly abandoning this Eden; the sky 
 was clear, with the green transparency of a fine 
 summer evening, and tiny clouds crossing it in 
 long mares' tails looked like orange-coloured 
 flames. The other happy shades, who had been 
 long sitting here and there on the crocus-flowered 
 grass, all rose now to leave too, but very gently, 
 as beseems shades. The shepherds' pipes in the 
 distance began their old-world trilling to call the 
 goats together, and the whole place was preparing 
 for a night of infinite solitude at the foot of the 
 forests, under the stars.
 
 230 DISENCHANTED xxv 
 
 Andre Lhery regretfully turned his steps 
 towards the Bosphorus, which he soon saw lying 
 like a sheet of rosy silver between the black masses 
 of the giant planes on the shore. He bade his 
 rowers not to hurry, not feeling eager to return 
 to the European shore at Therapia, where the huge 
 hotels were turning on their electric lights, and 
 tuning, more or less, their blatant bands for the 
 evening of supposed fashion.
 
 XXVI 
 
 LETTERS received by Andre on the following day: 
 
 September 1 8, 1904. 
 
 'Our Friend, do you know there is one point 
 you ought to enlarge upon, and which would 
 afford the most essentially "harem" passage in 
 your book. That is the sense of emptiness which 
 is produced in our life by the necessity of never 
 talking to any but women, of having no intimate 
 friends but women, of living always among our- 
 selves, our fellow-women. Our friends ? but, 
 mercy, they are as weak and as weary as we are ! 
 In our harems weakness so many weaknesses 
 rather, combined and huddled together, are sick 
 at heart, suffer the more from being what they 
 are, and cry out for strength. O for some one 
 with whom these poor, neglected, humiliated beings 
 might talk and exchange their little ideas, timid 
 and innocent as they generally are. We so sorely 
 need a man friend, a firm masculine hand on 
 which to lean, and strong enough to uphold us 
 when we are ready to fall. Not a father, not 
 a husband, not a brother; no, a friend, I say. 
 
 231
 
 232 DISENCHANTED xxvi 
 
 A being of our own choice, very superior to our- 
 selves, who would be at once severe and kind, 
 tender and serious, and who would feel for us 
 a purely protecting friendship. Such men are to 
 be found in your world, are they not ? 
 
 *ZEYNEB/ 
 
 'An existence in which there is nothing! Con- 
 ceive of its horror. Hapless souls that have now 
 found their wings, and which are kept captive; 
 hearts in which the young sap is fermenting, and 
 which are forbidden to act, which can do nothing, 
 not even do good, and devour themselves, or are 
 worn out by unrealisable dreams. Can you imagine 
 what dreary days your three friends would be living 
 through if you had not come ? Days all exactly 
 alike under the vigilant care of old uncles and 
 old women, whose unspoken disapproval constantly 
 oppresses them. 
 
 'Of all the drama of my marriage of which I 
 have told you, nothing was left at the bottom of 
 my heart but rancour against love, at any rate as it 
 is understood among us a disbelief in its joys, 
 and an ineffaceable bitter taste on my lips. At the 
 same time, I knew that there was in the West 
 another kind of love than that which had so dis- 
 appointed me, and I set to work to study it with 
 passion in literature and in history; and, as I had 
 foreseen, I found it had inspired many follies, but 
 also the greatest deeds. I found it at the core of 
 everything evil in the world, but also of everything 
 good and sublime. And the more I discerned the 
 brilliant lot of the Latin woman, the more bitter
 
 xxvi DISENCHANTED 233 
 
 was my sadness. Oh, how happy in your Western 
 lands was the being who for centuries had been 
 cared for, fought for, suffered for; who might 
 love and choose as she listed, who had a right to 
 demand that a man should be worthy of her before 
 giving herself to him ! What a place she filled 
 in your life, how undisputed was her traditional 
 supremacy ! 
 
 'Whereas in us Moslem women almost every 
 element was unawakened. Self-consciousness and 
 a sense of our value were scarcely alert, and 
 every one about us was perversely ignorant 
 and supremely scornful of the evolution that was 
 beginning. 
 
 'Would no voice uplift itself to proclaim the 
 blindness of men, kind and tender as they often 
 were; our fathers, our husbands, our brothers? 
 For ever, and in the eyes of the whole world, would 
 the Turkish woman remain a slave, purchased for 
 her beauty alone, or a Hanum, fair and fat, smok- 
 ing cigarettes and sunk in perpetual Kief. 
 
 'Then you came, and you know the rest. We 
 all three are at your command as faithful secretaries 
 we three, and many more of our sisters if we 
 are not enough we will lend you our eyes to see 
 with, our heart to understand with, and offer our 
 whole soul to serve you. 
 
 'We may yet again meet you perhaps once or 
 twice, here or on the Bosphorus, before we must 
 return to the city. We have so many trustworthy 
 friends among the ladies who live on this shore 
 ever ready to help us to prove an alibi. 
 
 ' But oh, I dread not your regard for us as
 
 234 DISENCHANTED xxvi 
 
 you said, it is above suspicion but I dread the 
 grief to come, after you are gone. 
 
 ' Farewell, Andre, our friend my friend. May 
 joy go with you ! DJENAN/ 
 
 'Djenan, I am sure, has not told you that the 
 lady in pink who smoked your cigarettes the other 
 evening at the house of the Saint-Enogats Ma- 
 dame de Durmont, not to give her her real name 
 has just spent this afternoon with us, on the pretext 
 of singing Grieg's duets with Zeyneb. But she 
 only talked, and only of you, with such enthusiasm 
 that a young Russian lady who was present could 
 not get over her amazement. We were alarmed 
 lest she suspected something, and was laying a trap 
 for us, so we abused you finely, biting our lips to 
 keep ourselves from laughing, and she was quite 
 taken in, and defended you vehemently. Which is 
 as much as to say that her whole visit was a cross- 
 examination as to our several views of you. What 
 a lucky mortal you are ! 
 
 'We have just been concocting no end of 
 delightful plans for seeing you again. Does your 
 French servant, who is so much to be depended 
 on, know how to drive ? If you make him also 
 wear a fez, we might take a drive with you in a 
 closed carriage, he on the box. But all this we 
 must arrange viva voce the next time we meet. 
 
 'Your three friends join in pretty and tender 
 messages. MELEK.' 
 
 'On no account miss going to the Sweet Waters 
 to-morrow; we will try to go there, too. As
 
 xxvi DISENCHANTED 235 
 
 on former occasions, pass in your caique under the 
 Asiatic shore, under our windows. If you see the 
 corner of a white handkerchief peeping through 
 the lattice, it will mean that we shall join you. If 
 the handkerchief is blue, it means "Disaster": we 
 are imprisoned. M.' 
 
 Thenceforth till the end of the season they held 
 their stolen and wordless meetings at the Sweet 
 Waters of Asia. Every time the weather was fine 
 on a Friday, or on a Tuesday, which is also a day 
 for an outing on the pretty shady river, Andre's 
 caique met and remet that of his friends, but 
 without the faintest sign which could have be- 
 trayed their intimacy to the hundreds of women's 
 eyes on the alert on the shore, peeping through 
 the openings in their muslin veils. If a favourable 
 instant presented itself, Melek or Zeyneb ventured 
 to smile under the black gauze. As to Djenan, 
 she adhered to her threefold shroud, as complete a 
 disguise as a mask; the women in other caiques 
 were a little surprised at it, to be sure, but no one 
 thought any harm of it, the spot being ill-fitted 
 for any wrong doing; and those who recognised 
 her by the boatmen's livery were content to 
 remark without ill-feeling that 'little Djenan 
 Tewfik Pasha always had been eccentric/
 
 XXVII 
 
 DJENAN TO ANDR.6 
 
 September 28, 1904. 
 
 'WHAT a new experience it is to us to know that 
 among the crowd at the Sweet Waters there is a 
 man who is our friend. Among the strangers 
 who will remain for ever unknown to us, and 
 who regard us as strange, inscrutable little animals, 
 to know that there is one eye that seeks us us in 
 particular, not the other similarly shrouded women 
 that one man bestows on us a thought of affec- 
 tionate pity. When our boats touched you could 
 not see me hidden under my thick veil, but I was 
 there, and happy to be invisible, smiling into your 
 eyes which gazed in the direction of mine. 
 
 'Is it because you were so kind and so simple, 
 so precisely the friend I have longed for, the other 
 day on the hill overlooking the Black Sea, during 
 our almost speechless meeting there ? Is it because 
 I have been aware at last, under the brevity of your 
 letters, of a little true and emotional affection ? I 
 do not know; but you no longer seem so remote 
 from me. Oh, Andre, if you could but know 
 what an ideal sentiment of tender admiration 
 means to souls so long repressed as ours ! 
 
 ' DJENAN.' 
 236
 
 xxvii DISENCHANTED 237 
 
 They corresponded frequently this closing 
 summer, to arrange their perilous meetings. They 
 could still send their letters without much difficulty 
 by the hand of some faithful negro, who would 
 cross to Therapia in a boat, or who followed him 
 in the evening to the lovely valley of the Grand 
 Signior. And he, who had no means of reply 
 but through the post-office at Stamboul, generally 
 answered by some secret signal as he passed in his 
 caique under their forbidding windows. They 
 took every advantage of these last days by the 
 Bosphorus, before returning to Constantinople, 
 where a stricter watch would be kept. But autumn 
 was felt to be coming on with strides, especially 
 in the gloomy evenings. Heavy black clouds 
 sailed down from the north on the blast from 
 Russia, and squalls would burst, bringing to 
 naught their most elaborately prepared plans. 
 
 Not far from the plain of Beicos, in an un- 
 known and deserted hollow, they had found a 
 little glade of virgin forest round a pool full of 
 water-lilies. It was a melancholy but safe retreat, 
 shut in by steep slopes and a tangle of verdure, 
 with only one way in, where Jean Renaud kept 
 watch, with a whistle in case of alarm. There 
 they met twice by the green stagnant water, amid 
 huge reeds and ferns, in the shade of the almost 
 leafless trees. The flowers were in no respect 
 dissimilar to those of France, and the gigantic 
 ferns were but the tall osmunda of our marsh 
 lands; all more luxuriant, perhaps, in consequence 
 of the damper climate and hotter summers. The 
 three little black spectres moved about this jungle
 
 238 DISENCHANTED xxvn 
 
 somewhat embarrassed by their trains and their too 
 thin shoes ; and they would seat themselves in some 
 chosen spot in a group round Andre for a few 
 moments of serious talk, or of perfect silence, 
 anxiously watching overhead the swirl of October 
 storm-clouds, which sometimes darkened the day 
 and threatened a heavy shower. Zeyneb and 
 Melek now and again would lift their veil, to 
 smile on their friend, looking straight into his 
 eyes with frank confidence; but Djenan, never. 
 Andre, with all his voyages in the tropics, had 
 not for many long years lived so much among 
 the plants of a cooler climate. These reeds and 
 harts'-tongues, these mosses and noble osmundas, 
 reminded him exactly of a marsh in his own 
 country which as a child he had loved to visit in 
 solitude, while he dreamed of virgin forests he 
 had never yet seen. And this Asiatic marsh was 
 so identically the same as his own that he could 
 fancy himself at home there, carried back to the 
 first period of his awakening to life. But then 
 here were the three little Eastern fairies, 
 whose presence was such a strange and delightful 
 anachronism. 
 
 It was Friday the yth of October, the last 
 Friday at the Sweet Waters of Asia, for the 
 Embassies were to return to Constantinople in the 
 course of the following week, and the household 
 of the three Turkish ladies was preparing to do 
 likewise. All the houses by the Bosphorus would 
 now be closing their doors and windows for six 
 months of wind and rain or snow.
 
 XXVH DISENCHANTED 239 
 
 Andre and his friends had promised each other 
 that they would do everything in their power to 
 meet that day at the Sweet Waters, since that 
 would be the end of all things till next summer, 
 so full of uncertainty. 
 
 The weather was threatening, and he, as he set 
 off in defiance of everything in his caique, said to 
 himself: 'They will not let them escape with this 
 rising wind.' But as he passed under their win- 
 dows he saw through the lattice the white handker- 
 chief flourished by Melek, and which meant in their 
 code, 'Go on; we have leave, and shall follow.' 
 
 There was no crowd to-day on the little stream, 
 nor on the grass-plots where the autumn crocus 
 bloomed among the dead leaves. Few Europeans, 
 or none; only Turks, and they chiefly women. 
 And in the beautiful eyes, which were left uncovered 
 by the white veils worn country-fashion, there were 
 melancholy looks, no doubt because of the approach 
 of winter, the season when the austerity of the 
 harems is the strictest, and imprisonment almost 
 unbroken. 
 
 They met two or three times. Even Melek's 
 gaze through her veil, her black veil for town 
 wear, was full of sadness the sadness always felt 
 in the waning season, and when things are wearing 
 to an end. 
 
 When it was time to leave, the Bosphorus, at 
 the mouth of the little river, had effects of tragical 
 beauty. . The Saracen fortress on the Asiatic shore 
 by which the boat must pass was crimson in the 
 low sun, and its battlements flame colour. While 
 the other castle, much more colossal, opposite on
 
 240 DISENCHANTED xxvu 
 
 the European shore, looked, on the contrary, over- 
 poweringly gloomy, with its walls and towers piled 
 up one above the other to the top of the hill. The 
 surface of the sea was white with foam lashed by 
 blasts that were already keen. And a calamitous 
 sky spread over it all; bronze or copper-coloured 
 clouds, tossed and rent against a lurid background. 
 The little ladies happily had not far to go close 
 under the Asiatic shore to reach the old marble 
 quay, always so carefully guarded, where their 
 negroes awaited them. But Andre, who had to 
 cross the strait, did not arrive till after dark, his 
 oarsmen streaming with perspiration and salt water, 
 their velvet jackets and gold embroidery soaked 
 and pitiable. Late in the year, the return passage 
 from the Sweet Waters has such surprises in store, 
 the first aggressions of the Russian wind, and they 
 
 oo B J 
 
 strike to the heart as the shortening days do. 
 
 In his own house, where he brought in the 
 frozen rowers to warm them, he heard on his 
 arrival a curious small music which filled the 
 house; such music as the goatherds had made at 
 sunset in the woods and valleys of Beicos in Asia 
 a monotonous quick air on low-pitched notes, 
 swifter than a tarantella or a fugue, and at the 
 same time so doleful as to bring the tears. One 
 of his Turkish servants was blowing with all the 
 power of his lungs into a long pipe, suddenly 
 revealing himself as a great performer of wild and 
 plaintive runs. 
 
 * Where did you learn that?' he asked. 
 
 'In my country, among the hills near Eski 
 Chehir. I used to play that in the evening when
 
 xxvn DISENCHANTED 241 
 
 I called in my father's goats.' This alone had 
 been wanting, such a tune as this, to fill full the 
 causeless, nameless anguish of such an evening. 
 
 And for a long time Andre would have this 
 air on the flute played to him by twilight to 
 bring before him the unspeakableness of all these 
 things his return from the Sweet Waters for 
 the last time; the three black spectres on the 
 tossing waves, going home in the dusk to their 
 prison in the dismal harem at the foot of the 
 mountains and the woods; the first gale of 
 
 
 
 autumn; the grass strewn with lilac colchicum 
 and yellow leaves; the end of the Bosphorus 
 season ; the death of the summer.
 
 XXVIII 
 
 ANDR! had been settled in Pera for about a fort- 
 night, and had been able to meet his little friends 
 once in the old house near Sultan Selim. They 
 had introduced to him an unknown lady, hidden 
 under such thick veils that her voice was almost 
 smothered. On the morrow he received the 
 following letter. 
 
 'I am the phantom of yesterday, Monsieur 
 Lhery. I did not know how to speak to you, but 
 for the sake of the book you have promised to 
 write for us I propose to give you an account of a 
 Turkish lady's day. It will be quite seasonable 
 too, for here we are nearly in November; the cold 
 and gloom, and above all an increase of weariness 
 and dark days, loom before us. The day of a 
 Turkish lady in winter. To begin - 
 
 'She rises late, very late. Her toilet is slow, 
 dilatory; she always has very long hair, too thick 
 and too heavy to be arranged. And she thinks 
 how pretty she is in the silvered mirror, how 
 young and charming; and it makes her sad. 
 
 'Then there is the silent walk round the rooms 
 to see if everything is in proper order; lingering 
 over a few favourite things, souvenirs and portraits 
 
 242
 
 xxvin DISENCHANTED 243 
 
 of which the care seems extremely important. 
 Then comes breakfast, often in solitude, in a large 
 room, surrounded by negresses or Circassian slaves ; 
 her hands are chilled as she touches the silver plate 
 on the table, above all her soul is chilled; she can 
 talk to the slaves, asks them questions without 
 waiting for the answers. 
 
 O 
 
 'And now what can she do till the evening? 
 The harems of a past time, when there were 
 several wives, must have been less dull; they 
 kept each other company. What then can she 
 do ? Paint in water-colour ? We can all paint 
 beautifully in water-colour, Monsieur Lhery. Ah, 
 the screens we have painted, the fans, the hand 
 screens ! Or play the piano, or the lute ? Read 
 Pierre Bourget or Andre Lhery ? Or do some 
 embroidery, take one of our long golden strips and 
 be absorbed, all alone, in seeing our white, dainty 
 little fingers, loaded with rings, fly over the stitches ? 
 What we want is something new, which we dream 
 of without hope; something unexpected a flash, 
 a thrill, an excitement, but which never comes. 
 We want to get out walking, in spite of the mud, 
 in spite of the snow, not having stirred for a fort- 
 night; but we are forbidden to go out alone. 
 There is no conceivable errand as an excuse, 
 nothing. We pine for space, we crave air. Even 
 if we have a garden it seems impossible to breathe 
 there, because the walls are too high. 
 
 'A bell rings. If it were but some catastrophe ! 
 What joy ! Or even only a visitor. 
 
 'A visitor! It is a visitor; the slaves are 
 hurrying along the passages. We jump up; a
 
 244 DISENCHANTED xxvm 
 
 looking-glass, quick, to make up our eyes, in 
 eager haste. Who can it be ? Ah, a charming 
 young friend, not long married. She comes in. 
 Mutual delight, eager hands, rosy lips kissing pale 
 cheeks. 
 
 '"Have I come in a good hour? What were 
 you doing, dear?" 
 
 '"Being bored." 
 
 '"Well, I have come to fetch you for a drive 
 together, anywhere you please." 
 
 *A minute later and we drive off in a closed 
 carriage. On the box by the coachman sits a 
 negro, Dilaver, the inevitable Dilaver, without 
 whom we may not stir, and who will report on 
 how we have spent the time. 
 
 'The two friends chat. "Well and do you 
 love AH Bey?" 
 
 '"Yes," replies the bride, "but because I must 
 love some one. I am greedy for affection. This 
 does for the present; if later I see my way to 
 something better ' ' 
 
 '"Well, I do not love my husband no, not 
 at all ; to love on compulsion, no ! I am not one 
 of the women that bend." 
 
 'The carriage rumbles on at the full speed of 
 two splendid horses. We must not stop and get 
 out; that would be quite incorrect. And we 
 envy the beggar women who are free, and who 
 look at us as they pass. 
 
 'Presently, at the entrance to the Bazaar, there 
 is a crowd of common folk buying roast chest- 
 nuts. "I am so hungry!" says one. "Have you 
 brought any money ?"
 
 xxvin DISENCHANTED 245 
 
 '"No. Dilaver has some. Dilaver, buy us 
 some chestnuts." 
 
 'What can they be put into? We hold out 
 our scented lace handkerchiefs; the chestnuts are 
 handed to us in these, and smell of heliotrope. 
 And this is the great event of the day, this 
 luncheon, which it amuses us to eat like the 
 common women, but under our veils in a closed 
 carriage. 
 
 'On our return we embrace again at parting, 
 and repeat the eternal formulas which Turkish 
 women preach to each other : "Now, no chimerical 
 dreams, no vain regrets. Be firm, hold your 
 own !" But it makes us smile, even as we speak, 
 the advice is so familiar and so threadbare. 
 
 'The visitor leaves. It is evening; lamps are 
 lighted very early, for night soon falls in a harem 
 in consequence of the close lattices to the windows. 
 Your fourth spectre of yesterday, Monsieur Lhery, 
 is alone again. But here comes the Bey, her 
 master, announced by the clatter of his sword on 
 the stairs. Then the poor little woman's soul is 
 more chilled than ever. As a matter of habit she 
 looks in a glass ; the reflected image is really very 
 pretty, and she thinks: "All this beauty for him! 
 What a pity!" 
 
 'He, stretching himself insolently on a pile of 
 cushions, begins a history: 
 
 "To-day, you know, my dear, at the 
 palace - 
 
 'Oh, yes, the palace, his fellow-officers, his guns, 
 new weapons, these are all he cares for; nothing 
 else, ever.
 
 246 DISENCHANTED xxvm 
 
 'She does not listen, she is ready to cry. Then 
 she is told she is "out of sorts." She asks leave 
 to withdraw to her own room, and soon she is 
 sobbing bitterly, her head on a pillow of silk 
 brocaded with gold and silver, while the European 
 ladies of Pera are going to a ball or to the theatre, 
 and are gay and admired under a blaze of lights.
 
 XXIX 
 
 FOR the second time since their return from the 
 Bosphorus Andre and the three were together in 
 the secret house in the heart of old Stamboul. 
 
 'You do not know,' said Melek, 'where we 
 are to meet next elsewhere, just for a change. A 
 lady we know, who lives near Mehmed Fatih, your 
 favourite haunt, has offered us the opportunity of 
 meeting at her house. It is quite a Turkish house 
 with no master; it is a real chance, quiet and 
 safe. And I am preparing a surprise for you in 
 a harem more luxurious than this, and at least 
 equally oriental. You will see!' 
 
 Andre did not heed her. He had made up 
 his mind to burn his ships to-day, but at any cost 
 to see Djenan's eyes ; and he was thinking only of 
 that, well aware that if he blundered, and if she 
 persisted in her refusal, with her inflexible temper, 
 there would be an end of his hopes for ever. Now 
 the eternal black veil over her young face had 
 become to him an annoyance, an obsession, an 
 ever growing distress, as by degrees he became 
 more deeply attached to her. Only to know what 
 there was beneath it ! Only to see for an instant 
 the features of this siren of the heavenly voice, 
 and stamp it for ever on his memory. Besides, 
 
 247
 
 248 DISENCHANTED xxix 
 
 why should she hide herself, and not her sisters ? 
 What difference was there between them ? What 
 unconfessed impulse ruled the conduct of that pure 
 and haughty spirit ? Now and again an explana- 
 tion occurred to him, but he at once drove it from 
 his mind as absurd and fatuous. 'Nonsense,' he 
 always told himself, ' she is young enough to be my 
 daughter. It is not common sense/ 
 
 And there she sat, close to him. He need only 
 put out his hand to raise the piece of stuff which 
 hung hardly lower than the frill of an ordinary 
 black mask. Why was it that an act so simple, 
 so tempting, would be as impossible, as shocking, 
 as a crime ? 
 
 Time was slipping by; it would soon be the 
 hour of parting. The beams of the November 
 sun were rising towards the roofs that same sun- 
 beam on the opposite wall, of which the reflection 
 cast a little light into this humble room. 
 
 'Listen to me, dear little friend,' he suddenly 
 exclaimed. 'At any cost I must see your eyes. 
 I cannot, I declare to you I cannot, go on like this. 
 In the first place, it is not fair play, since you can 
 see mine all the while through that double gauze 
 triple for aught I know which protects you. 
 But, if you choose, only your eyes, understand. 
 Instead of that heart-breaking black tcharchaf 
 come next time in a yashmak, as austere a yashmak 
 as you please, only showing your eyes and the eye- 
 brows which contribute to the expression of your 
 gaze. The rest of your face conceal from me 
 for ever I submit, but not your eyes. I entreat 
 you, I implore you. Why do you do this ?
 
 xxix DISENCHANTED 249 
 
 Why ? Your sisters do not. It is want of con- 
 fidence on your part, and that is cruel.' 
 
 She sat a moment speechless. Andre could 
 hear the blood throbbing in his arteries. 
 
 'Well,' she said at last in a tone of grave de- 
 termination, 'look, Andre; am I distrustful?' 
 And raising her veil, which she flung back, she 
 uncovered the whole of her face, and fixed on her 
 friend's eyes, with firm straight gaze, her own 
 lovely young eyes of the colour of the deep sea. 
 
 It was the first time she had called him by his 
 name, excepting in her letters; and her resolve, 
 her action, had a sort of solemnity in them, so 
 that the other two little shades sat mute in surprise, 
 while Andre imperceptibly shrank back under the 
 steady regard of this apparition, as if he had been 
 a little frightened, or his eyes were dazzled and he 
 would not let it be seen.
 
 XXX 
 
 IN the heart of Stamboul, under a November sky. 
 The maze of ancient streets, of course sunk in 
 silence, their paving-stones set in funereal weeds, 
 under low black clouds; the tangle of wooden 
 houses originally painted a dark ochre yellow, all 
 tumbledown and askew, but still with doubly 
 screened windows, impenetrable to the eye from 
 outside. And it was this, all this worm-eaten 
 decrepitude which, seen from afar, looked as a 
 whole like some vast fairy city, but which, seen 
 close, must bitterly disappoint the horde of tourists. 
 For Andre still, and for some others of his mind, 
 these things, even close at hand, preserve their 
 charm of immutability, of meditation, and of 
 prayer. And then, every here and there, is some 
 exquisite detail; a group of ancient tombs deli- 
 cately chiselled at a street corner, under a plane- 
 tree three centuries old ; or a marble fountain with 
 almost effaced arabesques in gold. 
 
 Andre, wearing a Turkish fez, was making his 
 way through these alleys by the help of a map 
 drawn by Melek, with notes to guide him. He 
 stopped once to look at a litter of the little vagrant 
 dogs which swarm in Constantinople, on which 
 the good souls in the neighbourhood had, as usual, 
 
 250
 
 xxx DISENCHANTED 251 
 
 bestowed an alms in the shape of a bed of rags 
 and a bit of old carpet for an awning. They lay 
 there with an air of amiable contentment. He 
 did not, however, stoop to pat them, for fear of 
 betraying himself; for Orientals, though com- 
 passionate to dogs, would scorn to touch one, and 
 reserve all their petting for cats. But the mother 
 came to wriggle at his feet in gratitude, to show 
 how honoured she felt by his notice. 
 
 'The fourth house to the left, past a funereal 
 kiosque and a cypress tree/ was the spot to which 
 he was bidden to-day by the caprice of his three 
 friends. A black figure with her veil down, who 
 did not seem to be Melek, awaited him within the 
 partly open door, led him upstairs without saying 
 a word, and left him alone in a very oriental little 
 room much darkened by harem lattices; there 
 were divans all round, and texts of Islam hung on 
 the walls. In an adjoining room he heard low 
 voices, light steps, and the rustle of silks. 
 
 And when the same veiled figure signed to 
 him to follow her into the other room, Andre 
 could have thought himself Aladdin entering his 
 seraglio. His three austere little black spectres 
 were there, metamorphosed into three odalisques 
 sparkling with gold embroidery and spangles, in 
 delightful old-world magnificence. Very old 
 Mecca veils, in white gauze thickly spangled, 
 covered their hair done in long plaits, and fell back 
 over their shoulders; they stood up, their faces 
 uncovered, and bowed to him as to their master, 
 smiling with all their fresh youth and rosy lips. 
 
 These were their grandmothers' dresses and
 
 \ 
 
 252 DISENCHANTED xxx 
 
 jewels, brought out for him from their cedar chests ; 
 and with the tact of modern elegance they had 
 selected from among the dim and faded satins and 
 archaic embroidery in gold, of flowers in high 
 relief, exactly such as made the most exquisite 
 combinations. They presented such a spectacle as 
 no one now ever sees, and which his European 
 eyes could never have hoped to see. Behind them, 
 in the deeper shadow, reclining on the divans, were 
 five or six trustworthy accomplices, perfectly still, 
 entirely black, in tcharchafs with the veil down; 
 and their silent presence enhanced the mystery. 
 All this, which would never have been done for 
 anybody else, was an act of unheard-of temerity, 
 an appalling defiance of danger. And outside, and 
 around this forbidden meeting, they could feel 
 the, listening melancholy of Stamboul wrapped in 
 winter fog, the wordless disapproval of a quarter 
 full of mosques and tombs. 
 
 They amused themselves by treating him as a 
 pasha, and danced before him a dance like that 
 of their grandmothers in the plains of Karadjemir, 
 very chaste and slow, with much waving of bare 
 arms, to an Asiatic pastoral air played upon a lute 
 by one of the veiled women, in the gloom at the 
 end of the room. Lithe, gay, and affecting lan- 
 guishing airs, they were in these costumes purely 
 oriental these three over-cultured little persons 
 with eager, anxious spirits that had pondered over 
 Kant and Schopenhauer. 
 
 'Why are you not gay to-day?' asked Djenan 
 of Andre in a low voice. ' Does this bore you 
 this that we arranged for you ? '
 
 xxx DISENCHANTED 253 
 
 'On the contrary, you enchant me. But I 
 shall never again see anything so rare and exquisite. 
 No I will tell you what saddens me when these 
 ladies in black are gone. It may perhaps make 
 you a little anxious, but at least I am sure that it 
 will not distress you.' 
 
 The black ladies did not stay long. Among 
 those invited who were all revolutionary it need 
 not be said Andre, as soon as they began to talk, 
 recognised the voices of the two .girls who had 
 come one day to Sultan Selim, those who had a 
 French grandmother and dreamed of flight and 
 escape. Melek implored them to raise their veils 
 out of bravado, in defiance of tyranny; but they 
 refused, saying with a light laugh : ' But it took 
 six months to persuade you to lift yours!' 
 
 There was also a woman, apparently young, 
 who spoke French like a Parisian, and who was 
 enthusiastic about the book promised by Andre 
 Lhery. She asked him: 
 
 'You intend, I suppose and that is what we 
 desire to show the Turkish woman at the point 
 she has now reached in her evolution ? Well, then 
 if you will forgive an ignorant little oriental for 
 offering an opinion to Andre Lhery if you write 
 a quite impersonal romance with a heroine or a 
 group of heroines as the central interest, do you 
 riot run the risk of ceasing to be the impulsive 
 writer we all delighted in ? Could it not be 
 rather a sort of sequel to Medjeh your return 
 to the East after the lapse of years ?' 
 
 'I said exactly the same thing,' exclaimed 
 Djenan. 'But it was so badly received that I
 
 254 DISENCHANTED xxx 
 
 hardly dare again explain my humble ideas about 
 the book.' 
 
 ' Badly received, yes,' he replied, laughing. 
 ' But did I not promise, nevertheless, that, short of 
 putting myself on the stage, I would write exactly 
 whatever you wished ? On the contrary; explain 
 to me fully what your ideas are, now on the spot, 
 and the spectre ladies who hear us will perhaps 
 consent to contribute theirs.' 
 
 'The romance or the idyl of an Eastern woman 
 is always the same,' said the lady who had already 
 spoken. 'There are always numbers of letters 
 and stolen interviews; love, more or less fulfilled, 
 and at the end death ; sometimes, but very rarely, 
 an escape. I am speaking, you understand, of a 
 love affair with a foreigner, the only thing of which 
 an educated Eastern woman is capable a woman 
 of to-day who has learned what lies within her.' 
 
 'How unjust to the men of your own race this 
 spirit of revolt has made you!' exclaimed Andre. 
 'Only among those known to me I could name 
 some who are more interesting than we are, and 
 more 
 
 But Djenan interrupted him: 'Escape, no,' 
 said she; 'only death. And I come back to 
 what I was suggesting the other day to M. Lhery. 
 Why not choose a form which enables him, with- 
 out appearing in person, to set forth his own 
 personal impression ? For instance, " a stranger as 
 like him as his brother" 1 a man spoilt by life as he 
 has been, a writer much read by women, comes 
 back to Stamboul one day, a place he has loved 
 
 1 ' Un etr anger qui me ressemblait comme un jrere ' (A. de Musset).
 
 xxx DISENCHANTED 255 
 
 in his youth. Does he revive his youth and 
 enthusiasms ? (It is for you to say, M. Lhery.) 
 He meets one of us who has once on a time 
 written to him, like many another poor little thing, 
 dazzled by his halo. But now, what twenty years 
 ago would have been love, is no more than artistic 
 and curious interest. You understand, I should 
 not make him a "man of destiny" -they have 
 gone out of fashion since 1830, but merely an 
 artist who is amused by every new and rare im- 
 pression. So he accepts several successive assigna- 
 tions because they are dangerous and unheard of. 
 Then what can come of them if not love ? But 
 for her, not for him. He is a mere dilettante, and 
 sees nothing in the whole business but just an 
 adventure/ 
 
 'Nay!' she suddenly exclaimed, rising with 
 childish irritation. 'You all sit there listening to 
 me, and making me speechify like a blue-stocking. 
 I am making myself ridiculous ! I will dance 
 sooner another of my village dances ; I am an 
 odalisque, and that will beseem me better. 
 Chahendeh, will you be so kind as to play the 
 Ronde des Pastoures that we were practising when 
 M. Lhery came in, you know ? ' 
 
 And she tried to take her two sisters by the 
 hand to dance with her. But every one protested, 
 and demanded the end of the argument. To 
 make her sit down they all tried to drag her, the 
 two houris in spangles, as well as the phantoms in 
 black. 
 
 'Now, you frighten me,' she said; 'really, you 
 tease me ! The end of the story ? But it was
 
 256 DISENCHANTED xxx 
 
 finished, it seems to me. Did we not agree just 
 now that for a Moslem woman love has no issue 
 but escape or death ? Well, then ? My heroine, 
 mine, is far too proud to fly with a foreigner. She 
 must then die; not directly of her love for the 
 man, but, if you like, of the inflexible demands of 
 harem life, which give her no chance of finding 
 consolation in action for her love and dream.' 
 
 Andre watched her while she spoke. Her 
 appearance to-day, as an odalisque in this century- 
 old finery, made her language seem yet more in- 
 congruous ; her dark sea-green eyes were resolutely 
 fixed on the old ceiling with its complicated 
 arabesques, and she poured out the words with the 
 impersonality of a speaker inventing a pleasing tale 
 but who had no interest in the matter. She was 
 unfathomable ! 
 
 Presently, when the black ladies had left, she 
 came up to him, quite simple and confiding, like a 
 contented little comrade. 
 
 'Now, they are gone. What is the matter?' 
 
 'The matter with me? Your cousins may 
 hear, I suppose ?' 
 
 'Certainly,' said she, half offended; 'what 
 secrets can we have from them you and I ? 
 Have I not told you from the very first that we 
 three must always be for you but one soul?' 
 
 'Well, then, the matter is that as I gaze at you 
 I am bewitched and almost terrified by a likeness I 
 see. Even the other day, when you just lifted 
 your veil for the first time, did you not see me 
 start and shrink back ? I saw the same oval face, 
 the same look, the same eyebrows, which she,
 
 xxx DISENCHANTED 257 
 
 however, used to join with a touch of henna. But 
 I did not then see your hair, which you are show- 
 ing me to-day, just like hers, in plaits as she used 
 to wear hers.' 
 
 She answered very gravely. 
 
 'I am like your Nedjibeh. I ! Ah, it startles 
 me as much as it does you, believe me. When I tell 
 you, Andre, that for five or six years that has been 
 my fondest dream ' 
 
 They gazed at each other, dumb in each other's 
 presence. Djenan's eyebrows were a little raised, 
 as if to open her eyes the wider, and he saw the 
 gleam of her deep-sea eyes ; while the two others in 
 the harem, where early twilight was creeping on, 
 stood apart, respecting this melancholy contempla- 
 tion. 
 
 'Stay where you are, Andre, and do not move,' 
 she suddenly exclaimed. 'And you two, come 
 and look at him at our friend. Standing so, in 
 this light, would you not think he was hardly 
 thirty?' 
 
 To him, who had quite forgotten his age, as 
 sometimes happened, and who at that moment had 
 been feeling, fancying, that he was young again, 
 this was a cruel blow, reminding him that he was 
 now in the decline of life, and that that is the 
 irretrievable descent whence no energy can ever 
 mount again. 'What am I doing,' he asked him- 
 self, 'mixing myself up with these strange little 
 beings who are youth incarnate ? Innocent as it 
 may be, the adventure into which they have 
 beguiled me is no mere adventure to me.' 
 
 He went away, taking leave more coldly than
 
 258 DISENCHANTED xxx 
 
 usual, perhaps, to return, so lonely, through the 
 vast city where the autumn day was dying. He 
 had to pass through who knows how many different 
 quarters and different crowds, through streets that 
 went up and streets that went down, and across an 
 arm of the sea, before reaching his temporary 
 home on the highest point of Pera, which seemed 
 to him more odious and empty than ever in the 
 late dusk. 
 
 And why was there no light in his room, no 
 fire ? He called for the Turkish servants whose 
 duty it was to attend to it. His French valet, 
 hastening to do their work, came in, throwing up 
 his hands : 'They are all gone to the great festival. 
 The Turkish carnival begins this evening; impos- 
 sible to stop them !' 
 
 To be sure; he had forgotten. It was the 8th 
 of November, corresponding that year with the 
 beginning of the month of Ramazan, during which 
 Moslems fast rigidly during the day, but fill the 
 night with barbaric rejoicings and illuminations. 
 He went to one of his windows overlooking 
 Stamboul, to see whether the fairy-like scene he 
 remembered in his young days a quarter of a 
 century before was repeated in the year 1322 of 
 the Hegira. Ah, yes, there it was; nothing was 
 changed the matchless mass of the city in the 
 dim obscurity was beginning to sparkle at distant 
 points, and then was rapidly lighted up everywhere 
 at once. All the minarets displayed their double 
 or triple crowns of lamps, and looked like gigantic 
 shafts of shadow crossed by bars of flame at various 
 heights. Arabic inscriptions became visible above
 
 xxx DISENCHANTED 259 
 
 the mosques, traced in the air, and held up by 
 invisible wires, so that at this distance, through the 
 haze, they seemed made of stars, like constellations. 
 And he remembered that Stamboul, the city of 
 silence all the rest of the year, was during the 
 nights of Ramazan full of music, singing, and 
 dancing; in all the crowds, to be sure, no women 
 were to be seen not even under their ordinary 
 disguise as spectres, which still is pleasing since 
 all must be immured at sunset behind their window- 
 bars; but there would be a thousand costumes 
 from different parts of Asia, and narghilehs, and 
 old theatres, and puppet-shows, and shadow figures. 
 Add to this that the Perote element, partly from 
 fear of blows and partly from stupid misapprehen- 
 sion, would be conspicuously absent. So, for- 
 getting once more the tale of his years, which had 
 saddened him so deeply just before, he put on 
 his fez, and, like his Turkish servants, went off to 
 the city of light on the other side of the water to 
 keep the Eastern feast.
 
 XXXI 
 
 THE 1 2th of November, the 4th of Ramazan, 
 was at last the day of their visit together to 
 Nedjibeh's tomb. It had been planned some 
 months since, but it was certainly one of their 
 most perilous undertakings; in fact, it had been 
 put off by reason of its difficulty, and its requiring 
 so many hours of truancy, the cemetery being a 
 long way off. 
 
 The evening before, Djenan, in writing to him, 
 had said : 'It is so fine and blue to-day that I hope 
 to-morrow, too, will smile upon us/ Andre, 
 indeed, had always thought of this pilgrimage as 
 being accomplished in one of those still and heady 
 days in November when the sun of Stamboul 
 lends as a surprise a hothouse warmth, gives an 
 illusion of summer, and, as it sets, turns the whole 
 city rose colour, then, at the hour of Moghreb, 
 lights up the coast of Asia opposite with a yet 
 ruddier flush, for a moment only before night 
 brings down with it the chill from the north. 
 
 ,But no. When he opened his shutters in the 
 morning he saw a black and cloudy sky; the wind 
 was blowing a gale, with no hope of a lull. And 
 he knew that at the same hour the pretty eyes of 
 his cloistered friends were in the same way 
 
 260
 
 xxxi DISENCHANTED 261 
 
 questioning the weather, anxiously gazing through 
 their latticed windows. 
 
 However, there was no question as to going; 
 the whole thing had cost infinite pains to arrange, 
 with the help of accomplices, paid and unpaid, who 
 might not again be available. At the appointed 
 hour, half-past one, he betook himself to Stamboul, 
 in a fez and his rosary in his hand, to Sultan Fatih, 
 in front of the house where four days before they 
 had figured as odalisques. He found them ready, 
 all in black, impenetrably veiled. Chahendeh 
 Hanum, the unknown mistress of the house, had 
 wished to join them, so here were four rather 
 excited spectres, rather tremulous at the daring of 
 their proceedings. Andre, who would have to do 
 the talking on the road, either with the drivers, or, 
 in the event of some unexpected meeting, was a 
 little anxious about his Turkish, his possible hesi- 
 tancy and foreign accent, for the stake was serious. 
 
 'You must have a Turkish name,' they said, 
 'in case we need to address you.' 
 
 'Well,' said he, 'call me Arif without further 
 ado. Of old I used to amuse myself by taking 
 the name of Arif Effendi; by this time I may be 
 promoted I am Arif Bey.' 
 
 A minute later they were walking together in 
 the street, an unheard-of thing in Stamboul, the 
 foreigner and the four Moslem ladies, Arif Bey 
 and his harem. The unrelenting wind brought 
 up blacker and blacker clouds, and was chill with 
 freezing mist; they were shivering with cold. 
 Melek alone kept up her spirits and addressed her 
 friend as Iki gbeuzoum Beyim Effendim (Monsieur
 
 262 DISENCHANTED xxxi 
 
 the Bey my two eyes, a common form meaning 
 'As dear to me as my sight.') But Andre was 
 disturbed by her gaiety, for the face of the dead 
 girl haunted him persistently that day, as if it 
 were held before him. 
 
 On reaching the stand of carriages for hire 
 they took two, one for the Bey and one for his 
 four ladies, propriety not allowing a man to ride 
 in the same carriage with the women of his harem. 
 
 It was a long drive, one behind the other, 
 through the old fanatical quarters of the town, 
 before they at last left the walls behind them and 
 reached the funereal solitude, the vast graveyards, 
 full of ravens at this season, under the black 
 cypress trees. 
 
 Between the Adrianople gate and Eyoub, under 
 the huge Byzantine walls, they had to get out of 
 the carriages, for the road, once paved, is no 
 longer possible. On foot they followed the line 
 of the ruined ramparts for a short way; through 
 gaps and breeches they could now and then get 
 glimpses of Stamboul as if to impress more deeply 
 on the mind a sense of Islam, here exclusively 
 predominant: at a less or greater distance a 
 lordly mosque, or many domes piled up into a 
 pyramid, or minarets rising from the earth like 
 groups of spindles, all white against the inky sky. 
 
 And this scene of impressive desolation through 
 which Andre was now making his way with the 
 four black-veiled women, was the very same as 
 when he and Nedjibeh, a quarter of a century 
 since, had taken their only walk by daylight; 
 here it was that, young and absorbed in each
 
 xxxi DISENCHANTED 263 
 
 other, they had dared to come like two children 
 defying danger; here they had once lingered in 
 the pale winter sunshine to listen to a poor little 
 misguided tomtit singing in a cypress, thinking it 
 was spring; here that, under their very eyes, a 
 little Greek girl had been buried a face of wax. 
 And more than a quarter of a century had passed 
 over these trivial things, so unique, nevertheless, 
 in their two lives, so ineradicable from the memory 
 of the one who was still living. 
 
 They presently left the path under these ancient 
 walls, and plunged into the realm of the dead under 
 an unusually gloomy November sky, among the 
 cypresses and the endless company of tombs. The 
 Russian blast did not spare them, lashing their 
 faces and soaking them with icy vapour. The 
 ravens fled before them, hopping leisurely away. 
 
 The slabs of stone over Nedjibeh's tomb came 
 in sight, still very white; and Andre pointed them 
 out to his companions. The inscriptions, regilt in 
 the spring, still shone brightly new. 
 
 And at a short distance from these humble 
 headstones the four gentle spectres spontaneously 
 stood still and began to pray in the consecrated 
 Moslem attitude with both hands held out open, 
 as if asking a gift to pray fervently for the 
 soul of the dead. To Andre this act was so 
 unexpected and so touching that he felt his eyes 
 suddenly blinded by tears, and for fear of betray- 
 ing himself, he, who had no prayer to offer up, 
 stood a little way ofF. 
 
 He had realised what had seemed such an 
 impossible dream; he had restored this tomb
 
 264 DISENCHANTED xxxi 
 
 and placed it in the keeping of other Turkish 
 women, capable of respecting it and caring for 
 it. The marble slabs were there, upright and 
 quite firm, with their fresh gilding; the Turkish 
 women too were there, like fairies of remembrance 
 brought round this poor, long-neglected, little 
 grave, and here was he with them in close com- 
 munion of reverence and pity. 
 
 When they had recited the fathia they went 
 forward to read the shining inscription. First 
 the Arabic verses beginning at the top of the 
 stone and sloping downwards. And then, quite 
 at the bottom, the name and date: 'Pray for 
 the soul of Nedjibeh Hanum, daughter of Ali 
 Djianghir Effendi, who died the i8th of Muharrem 
 1297.' The Circassians, unlike the Turks, use a 
 patronymic or rather a tribal name; and here 
 Djenan learnt with deep emotion the name 
 of Nedjibeh's family. 'Why,' said she, 'the 
 Djianghirs live in my village. They came 
 originally from the Caucasus with my ancestors; 
 they have lived close to us for two hundred 
 years/ This accounted more clearly for their 
 resemblance, which indeed would have been 
 surprising merely as a matter of race; there 
 was no doubt a tie of blood through the caprice 
 of some prince in past days. What mysterious 
 ancestor was he who, himself long since dust, 
 had bequeathed through who knows how many 
 generations, to two women of such different rank 
 those rare and lovely eyes ? 
 
 The cold was deadly there in the cemetery, 
 where they had been for some few minutes stand-
 
 xxxi DISENCHANTED 265 
 
 ing still; and suddenly Zeyneb's chest, under the 
 black shroud, was shaken by a fearful fit of 
 coughing. 'Let us go!' said Andre in dismay. 
 'For pity's sake let us go, and walk very fast.' 
 Before leaving, each of them must need pick up 
 one of the cypress-twigs which were strewn on the 
 tomb; and when Melek, whose veils were always 
 the thinnest, stooped to pick one up he could see 
 that her eyes were full of tears, and he forgave 
 her wholly for her levity just now in the street. 
 
 On reaching the carriages they separated, so 
 as not needlessly to prolong the peril of being 
 together. After they had promised to give him 
 the earliest possible information of their safe 
 arrival at the harem, for he was a little uneasy 
 now the day was closing in, he went off towards 
 Eyoub, while their driver took them to the 
 Adrianople gate. 
 
 It was now six o'clock. Andre went home 
 to Pera. Such an ominous evening ! Looking 
 through his window-panes he watched the vast 
 panorama sink into the night, and it gave him 
 one of the most painful reminiscences he had 
 ever experienced of the Constantinople of old, 
 the Constantinople of his youth. Darkness had 
 followed the twilight, but it was not yet the 
 hour when the minarets light up their crowns 
 of fire for the fairy-like illumination of a night 
 in Ramazan; as yet they were scarcely visible, a 
 darker grey against the grey, scarcely paler, of 
 the sky. Stamboul, as had often happened, was 
 a mass as misty and blurred as he had seen it in
 
 266 DISENCHANTED xxxi 
 
 his dreams in past years on distant voyages. But 
 on the furthest horizon in the west, there was a 
 sort of black fringe rather clearly cut out against 
 a rosy streak that lingered there, the last reflec- 
 tion of the vanished sun. A black fringe: the 
 cypresses of the great cemeteries. And he was 
 thinking as he fixed his eyes on it: 'She is 
 sleeping in the heart of that immeasurable silence 
 and loneliness, under those humble marble slabs 
 which I have had restored and regilt out of tender 
 pity/ 
 
 Yes, yes; the tomb was repaired and entrusted 
 to Moslem women whose pious care might extend 
 over some years yet, for they were young. But 
 afterwards ? Could this preserve that period of 
 his life, that memory of youth and love, from 
 falling all too soon into the gulf of rolling years 
 and things forgotten of all men ? Indeed, the 
 cemeteries themselves, though so old and venerated, 
 what hope of perpetuity had they ? When Islam, 
 threatened on all sides, should be driven back on 
 Asia, what would the newcomers do with this 
 overpowering tract of ancient tombs ? Then 
 Nedjibeh's headstone would disappear with so 
 many thousand others. 
 
 And now it seemed to him that the mere fact 
 of having accomplished this long-deferred duty, of 
 having paid his debt as it were to the dead, had 
 broken the last tie to the beloved past. Every- 
 thing was more than ever irrevocably ended. 
 
 There were a dinner and ball that evening at 
 the English Embassy, at which he was bound to 
 appear. It would soon be time to dress. His
 
 xxxi DISENCHANTED 267 
 
 servant was lighting the lamps and laying out 
 his clothes. This, after his visit to the cypress- 
 wood with the Turkish ladies in their black 
 tcharchafs what a complete antagonism of 
 period, of atmosphere, of ideas ! 
 
 As he turned from the window to go to dress 
 he saw snowflakes beginning to fall. It was snow- 
 ing out there, on the vast solitude of the graves. 
 
 Next morning he received the letter he had 
 begged for from his friends to give him news of 
 their safe return. 
 
 4th Ramazan, 9 in the evening. 
 
 'We reached home safe and sound, friend 
 Andre, but not without tribulation. It was very 
 late, the last limit of the permitted hour, and then 
 one of my companions carelessly cut herself. This 
 was explained, but as it is the old ladies of the house 
 and the old uncles are suspicious. 
 
 'Thank you with all our hearts for the trust 
 you have shown in us. That tomb now in some 
 degree belongs to us, does it not ? And we shall 
 often go to pray there when you have quitted our 
 land. 
 
 'This evening I feel you so far from me, and 
 yet you are so near ! I can see from my 
 window, over there on the heights of Pera, the 
 lights in the rooms of the Embassy where you are, 
 and I wonder how you can bear to amuse yourself 
 when we are so sad. You will think me very 
 exacting and so indeed I am, but it is not 
 for myself but for her.
 
 268 DISENCHANTED xxxi 
 
 'You at this moment are gay, no doubt, sur- 
 rounded by women and flowers, your mind and 
 eyes delighted. And we, in a harem, barely 
 lighted, warm but very gloomy, we are weeping. 
 
 'We are weeping for our own life. Ah! how 
 dreary and empty it is this evening ! This evening 
 more than on other evenings. Is it the feeling 
 that you are so near and so remote that makes us 
 more miserable ? DJENAN.' 
 
 'And I, Melek, do you know what I have got 
 to say to you ? How can you be enjoying your- 
 self, when we, before these sprays fallen from a 
 cypress tree, are shedding tears ? There they lie, 
 in a holy box of wood from Mecca ; they have a 
 sharp damp smell penetrating, depressing. You 
 know, I am sure, from whence we brought them. 
 
 'Oh! how can you bear to be at a ball this 
 evening and forget the sorrows you have created, 
 the lives you have marred on your road. I 
 cannot conceive that you are not thinking of 
 these things, when we, your foreign and far-off 
 sisters, are weeping over them. MELEK.'
 
 XXXII 
 
 THEY had warned him that Ramazan would im- 
 prison them more closely, by reason of many 
 prayers, sacred studies, and the long daily fast; 
 and especially of the excitement and bustle of the 
 evening, which assumes peculiar importance, dur- 
 ing this lenten month; grand dinners are given 
 called iftars, to which large parties are invited 
 to make up for the abstinence of the day. 
 
 But, on the contrary, Ramazan seemed to 
 favour their wildest scheme of all, a scheme to 
 shudder at: to receive Andre Lhery just once at 
 Kassim Pacha, in Djenan's rooms, two yards away 
 from Madame Husnugul ! 
 
 Stamboul during the Moslem Lent is unrecog- 
 nisable. At night fetes and thousands of lights, 
 streets full of people, mosques crowned with 
 lamps huge, luminous rings high up in the air, 
 upheld by the minarets which themselves are 
 scarcely visible, so nearly do they match the hue 
 of the night-sky. On the other hand, all the day 
 the world is asleep ; the stir of Eastern life comes 
 to a standstill, the shops are shut; in the endless 
 little coffee-booths, which, as a rule, are never 
 empty, no narghilehs, no gossip, only a few 
 sleepers stretched on benches, their faces worn by 
 
 269
 
 270 DISENCHANTED xxxn 
 
 long nights and fasting by day. And in the 
 houses, till sundown the same exhaustion as out- 
 side. In Djenan's home especially, where the 
 servants were as old as their masters, all the 
 world slumbered, the beardless negroes, and 
 the moustachioed guards with pistols in their 
 belts. 
 
 On the I2th of Ramazan, the day fixed for 
 this visit, the grandmother and great uncles, con- 
 veniently indisposed, kept their rooms, and by 
 unhoped-for good-luck Madame Husnugul had 
 for two days been confined to bed by indigestion 
 brought on by an if tar. 
 
 Andre was to arrive at two o'clock, to the 
 minute, to the second; he was to creep close 
 under the wall so as not to be seen from the 
 overhanging windows, and not to venture so far 
 as the great door unless he saw through a lattice 
 on the first floor the corner of a white handker- 
 chief the usual token. 
 
 This time he really was alarmed; alarmed for 
 them and alarmed for himself, not of the imme- 
 diate danger, but of the universal European scandal 
 which would ensue if he were caught in the fact. 
 He approached cautiously, keenly on the lookout. 
 There were favouring circumstances; there was 
 no house opposite that of Djenan, which, like its 
 neighbours, looked out over the great cemetery on 
 that shore; in front of it was nothing but old 
 cypress trees and tombs; no eye could spy them 
 from that side, and this wilderness was wrapped 
 to-day in November fog. 
 
 The white signal was displayed; no retreat was
 
 xxxii DISENCHANTED 271 
 
 now possible. He went in, like a man flinging 
 himself head foremost into an abyss into a 
 monumental vestibule in the old style, empty 
 now of its gilt and armed doorkeepers. Only 
 Melek, in a black tcharchaf, behind the door, 
 who exclaimed with her saucy laugh, 'Quick! 
 quick! Run!' 
 
 They went upstairs together four steps at a 
 time, flew like the wind down the long passages, 
 and rushed into Djenan's room, who awaited them 
 with a beating heart and double-locked the door 
 on them all. 
 
 Then came a burst of laughter; their school- 
 boy laughter, which they flung out as a call of 
 defiance to all and each whenever some new peril 
 was safely overpast. And Djenan, with a droll 
 air of triumph, exhibited the key in her hand; a 
 key, a lock ! What a revolutionary innovation 
 in a harem. She had acquired it yesterday, it 
 seemed, and could not get over such a success. 
 She and Zeyneb, and even Melek, who hastily re- 
 moved her tcharchaf, were paler than usual, a 
 consequence of their strict fast. And Andre saw 
 them under an aspect quite new to him, for he 
 had never seen them excepting as odalisques, or 
 as spectres. They were elegantly dressed as 
 very fashionable European ladies ; the only detail 
 which gave them still an Eastern touch was 
 that very small Circassian scarves of white and 
 silver gauze covered their hair and fell to their 
 shoulders. 
 
 'I thought that you wore no veil at all in- 
 doors/ said Andre.
 
 272 DISENCHANTED xxxn 
 
 'Yes, yes always. But only these small scarves.' 
 They first took him into the music-room, 
 where they found three more ladies invited to 
 this dangerous meeting. Mademoiselle Bonneau 
 de Saint-Miron, Mademoiselle Tardieu, formerly 
 governess to Melek, and a spectre-lady Ubeydeh 
 Hanum, diplomee of the Normal College, Pro- 
 fessor of Philosophy at the school for girls in a 
 town of Asia Minor. Not at all easy were the 
 two Frenchwomen, who had for a long time 
 hesitated between the temptation and the terrors 
 of this visit. Mademoiselle de Saint-Miron, in- 
 deed, had quite the appearance of a person who is 
 saying to herself: 'I, alas ! was the first cause of 
 this preposterous disaster ! Andre Lhery in my 
 pupil's rooms !' 
 
 They talked, however, for they were dying to 
 talk, and it struck Andre that their minds were 
 both lofty and artless almost old maids as they 
 both were. Ladies, too, and very highly educated, 
 but excitably romantic, in a way quite out of date 
 in 1904. They thought they might venture to 
 talk to him of his book, of which they had heard 
 the title and which interested them greatly. 
 
 'Several pages of Desencbantees are already 
 written, I suppose?' 
 
 'Dear me, no!' said he, laughing. 'Not one.' 
 'And I am glad of it,' said Djenan, whose 
 voice always surprised Andre like some super- 
 terrestrial music, even after hearing other voices 
 that were sweet and low. 'You will write that 
 book when you are gone away; then it will at 
 least serve as a bond between us for some months.
 
 xxxii DISENCHANTED 273 
 
 When you need some information you will re- 
 member to write to us.' 
 
 Andre, thinking that he ought out of politeness 
 to address some remark to the veiled lady, asked 
 her in the most commonplace fashion if she was 
 satisfied with the little Asiatic Turks, her girl- 
 pupils. He expected some schoolmistress's reply 
 as obvious as his question. But he was little pre- 
 pared for what the grave, soft voice said from 
 behind the veil, in excellent French. 
 
 'Too well satisfied, alas! They learn only too 
 quickly, and are too intelligent. I am sorry to be 
 one of the instruments to inoculate these women 
 of the future with the microbe of suffering. I 
 grieve for all these blossoms, which will fade even 
 quicker than their simple-minded grandmothers 
 did.' 
 
 Then they discussed Ramazan. The whole 
 day of fasting, spent, of course, in work for the 
 poor and pious reading; in the course of this 
 lunar month .a Moslem woman must read her 
 Koran through without missing a line, and they 
 had no wish to fail in the task, for, in spite of 
 subversive and infidel notions, they all venerated 
 and admired the sacred Book of Islam, and their 
 Korans were there, with green ribbon markers in 
 the chapter for the day. 
 
 Then after sunset comes the iftar. That for 
 the men in the selamlik, followed by prayer, for 
 which guests, masters, and serving-men meet 
 together in the large room, each kneeling on his 
 carpet with the mirkab. In this house, it seemed, 
 the prayer was chanted every evening by one of
 
 274 DISENCHANTED xxxn 
 
 the gardeners, the only young man of them all, 
 whose sweet, muezzin-like voice filled the house. 
 
 In the harem, the women's iftar. 
 
 'These meetings of young Turkish women,' 
 said Zeyneb, 'rarely become frivolous in Ramazan, 
 when mysticism has its sway in the depths of our 
 soul; the questions we discuss are those of living 
 and dying. We always begin with the same 
 ardour, the same eagerness ; and always end with 
 the same dejection, the same despair, which come 
 over us when, after two hours of discussing every 
 dogma and every philosophy, we come back to the 
 same point and the consciousness of being mere 
 feeble, impotent, helpless creatures! Still, hope is 
 so persistent a feeling that, in spite of the failure 
 of every effort, we still have energy enough to 
 start again on the following day on a new road that 
 may lead perhaps to the unapproachable goal.' 
 
 'We young Turkish women,' added Melek, 
 'are a handful of the seed of a very evil plant, 
 which germinates, survives, and propagates in spite 
 of drought and frost, and even of constant cutting 
 back.' 
 
 'True,' said Djenan, 'but we may be divided 
 into two species. Those who, to avoid death, 
 seize every opportunity of diverting their thoughts 
 and forgetting. And those, of finer temper, who 
 take refuge in charity, as, for instance, our cousin 
 Djavideh; I doubt whether among you the Little 
 Sisters of the Poor do more good than she does, or 
 with greater self-sacrifice; and there are many in 
 our harems who do the same. They are, it is 
 true, obliged to do good in secret, and as to
 
 xxxii DISENCHANTED 275 
 
 forming benevolent associations, that is absolutely 
 prohibited, for our masters disapprove of any con- 
 tact with the women of the lower orders, for fear 
 lest we should inoculate them with our pessimism, 
 our eccentricities, and our doubts.' 
 
 Melek, whose speciality was inconsequent inter- 
 ruption, proposed to Andre to try his hiding-place 
 in case of any great alarm; it was in a corner, 
 behind an easel draped with brocade and sup- 
 porting a picture. 'An excess of precaution,' she 
 added, 'for nothing will happen. The only active 
 member of the family at this moment is my father, 
 and he will not leave Yildiz till gun-fire at the 
 hour of Moghreb.' 
 
 'Well, but after all,' objected Andre, 'if some- 
 thing unforeseen should bring him home earlier ?' 
 
 'No one enters a harem unannounced. We 
 should tell him that a Turkish lady was paying us 
 a visit, Ubeydeh Hanum, and he would not dream 
 of coming across our threshold. As easy as lying 
 - if you know how to manage. No, there is 
 really nothing to be thought of but your departure 
 by and by; that will be a delicate matter.' 
 
 The piano was strewn with the manuscript 
 music of a nocturne Djenan had been compos- 
 ing, and Andre longed to hear her play it, for 
 he had never heard her but from a distance when 
 passing under her windows at night on the Bos- 
 phorus. But in Ramazan they hardly dared to 
 have any music, and then, it would be too im- 
 prudent to rouse the great sleeping household, 
 when their slumbers at this moment were so 
 indispensably necessary.
 
 276 DISENCHANTED xxxn 
 
 Djenan's great wish was that her friend should 
 for once sit down to write at her little writing-table 
 
 that of her girlhood, on which long ago, when 
 he was to her but a figure in a dream, she had 
 scribbled her diary while thinking of him. So they 
 led him into the large white room where everything 
 was luxuriously modern. They made him look 
 with them through the ever closed chequered 
 lattice of the windows, at the view familiar to 
 them from their childhood, and in front of which, 
 no doubt, a slow, grey old age would gradually 
 extinguish them cypress-trees and tombstones 
 
 tombstones of every degree of antiquity; below, 
 as at the bottom of a precipice, the Golden Horn, 
 dull and grey to-day like a sheet of lead, and 
 Stamboul on the other side, drowned in wintry 
 mist. He was invited to look, too, through the 
 
 7 O 
 
 unshuttered windows on the inner side, at the old 
 high-walled garden which Djenan had described 
 in her letters. 'A garden so deserted,' she had 
 told him, 'that I can wander there unveiled. And, 
 besides, whenever we go into it our negroes are 
 there to warn off the gardeners/ 
 
 O 
 
 In fact, in the distance, where the plane-trees 
 mingled their enormous leafless boughs, now for- 
 lornly grey, the place looked like an imprisoned 
 forest ; they certainly might walk there unperceived 
 by any living being. 
 
 Andre blessed the happy audacity which enabled 
 him to see, to be acquainted with this home, for- 
 bidden to his eyes. Poor little friends of a few 
 months, met with so late in his wandering life, and 
 from whom he must inevitably part for ever ! At
 
 xxxii DISENCHANTED 277 
 
 any rate, henceforth, whenever he thought of them, 
 the scene and setting of their sequestered lives 
 would be clear in his memory. 
 
 It was now time for him to leave, the perilous 
 hour. Among them Andre had almost forgotten 
 the strangeness of the situation ; but now that he 
 had to get out again he realised once more that he 
 had ventured his skin in a rat-trap, of which the 
 passage, when once he was in, had narrowed and 
 was beset with spikes. 
 
 They made several rounds of inspection. All 
 was well ; the only person in the way was a certain 
 negro named Yussuf, who persisted in guarding 
 the entrance hall. It was necessary to devise for 
 him a long and urgent message. 
 
 'I have it!' Melek presently exclaimed. 'Go 
 into your hiding-place, Andre. We will bring him 
 into the room, that will crown all ! ' 
 
 And when he came in : 
 
 'My good Yussuf,' said she, 'I want this mes- 
 sage done really in a hurry. Go at once to Pera 
 and get us a new book. I will write the name 
 on a card ; if you must, try every book-shop in the 
 high street, but on no account return without 
 it/ 
 
 And this was what she wrote: 'Disenchanted, 
 the latest novel by Andre Lhery.' 
 
 One more round of inspection in the passages, 
 after sending orders to one and another to employ 
 them elsewhere; then, taking Andre by the hand, 
 she dragged him off at a wild run, and rather 
 nervously pushed him out. 
 
 He went away, creeping closer than ever under
 
 278 DISENCHANTED xxxn 
 
 the old walls, and wondering whether the door, 
 perhaps too audibly shut, might not open again to 
 emit a troop of negroes rushing in pursuit with 
 sticks and revolvers. 
 
 The next day they confessed their untruth in 
 the matter of the little Circassian veils. They never 
 wore them in the house. But to a Moslem woman 
 it is even more unseemly to let a man see all her 
 hair, and especially the nape of her neck, than to 
 show him her face, and they could not make up 
 their mind to it.
 
 XXXIII 
 
 DJENAN TO ANDRE 
 l^tb Ramazan 1322 (November 22, 1904). 
 
 'OuR Friend, to-morrow, you know, is Mid- 
 Ramazan, and Turkish ladies take an outing. 
 Will you come between two and four o'clock to 
 the promenade on the Stamboul side, from Bayazid 
 to Chazadeh Bacheh ? 
 
 'We are very busy just now with our iftars, but 
 we will ere long arrange a fine expedition together 
 on the Asiatic shore; the scheme is Melek's, and 
 you will know how well it is planned. DJENAN.' 
 
 On that morrow the wind was from the south, 
 there was bright autumn sunshine and a heady 
 sense of warmth and light perfect weather for 
 the veiled fair who have only two or three days 
 of such liberty in the year. Their 'outing/ of 
 course, was in a closed carriage, with an eunuch on 
 the box by the driver; but they were allowed to 
 draw up the blinds and let down the windows, and 
 to remain stationary quite a long time to look at 
 others, which on ordinary days is forbidden. 
 
 From Bayazid to Chazadeh Bacheh is a distance 
 279
 
 280 DISENCHANTED xxxm 
 
 of more than half a mile, in the heart of Stamboul 
 and the most Turkish quarter, along old-world 
 streets, by colossal mosques and shady gardens of 
 the dead, and sacred fountains. In these usually 
 silent thoroughfares, ill-suited to modern fashion, 
 what an anachronism are these lines of carriages 
 meeting there on the day of Mid-Ramazan. In 
 hundreds ! Coupes and landaus, standing still or 
 creeping slowly along; they had come from every 
 part of the vast city, even from the palaces built 
 on the slopes by the Bosphorus. And in them 
 none but women, very much dressed, in yashmaks 
 veiling them to the eyes but transparent enough to 
 reveal the rest of the face, all the beauties of the 
 harems almost visible to-day as an exception, pink 
 and white Circassians and pale Turkish brunettes. 
 Very few men hung round these open carnage 
 windows, and not one European, for across the 
 bridges, at Pera, no one ever knows what is going 
 on at Stamboul. 
 
 Andre looked about for his three friends, who, 
 it would seem, had dressed themselves very hand- 
 somely, to please him; he sought them a long 
 time but failed to find them, there was such a 
 crowd. At the hour when the ladies all turned 
 to go back to the jealous harem, he went away, 
 rather disappointed; but after meeting so many 
 bright eyes, radiant with the enjoyment of such a 
 delightful day, and expressing such artless pleasure 
 in having for once in a way been allowed to look 
 about them out of doors, he understood better 
 than ever before the deadly dulness of their 
 cloistered life.
 
 XXXIV 
 
 THE three sisters knew of a little lonely strand on 
 the shore of the sea of Marmora, quite sheltered, 
 they said, from the desolating wind of the Bos- 
 phorus, and as warm as an orangery. One of 
 their friends dwelt in the neighbourhood, and 
 
 O < ' 
 
 undertook to provide a probable alibi by declaring 
 stoutly that she had detained them with her all 
 day. So they had decided on going there to try 
 for a last walk together before the coming separa- 
 tion, which might be the fatal, final one. Andre 
 was ere long to take a two months' holiday in 
 France; Djenan was going with her grandmother 
 to spend the cold season on her estate at Bounar 
 Bashi. They could not meet again till the 
 following spring, and between this and then so 
 much might happen ! 
 
 Sunday, December 12, 1904, the day chosen 
 for this excursion, after endless plotting and 
 planning, happened again to be one of those days 
 of glory which in that uncertain climate come 
 suddenly in mid-winter, bringing back the summer 
 between two snowstorms. They met on the 
 bridge over the Golden Horn, whence the little 
 steamers start for the Asiatic shore, in the blaze of 
 noon, but without a sign passers-by that knew 
 
 281
 
 282 DISENCHANTED xxxiv 
 
 not each other; and as if by chance they took the 
 same boat, where, after dismissing their negroes and 
 negresses, the three demurely took their seats in 
 the harem-cabin reserved for Moslem women. 
 
 The fine sunshine had brought out throngs of 
 passengers, going to air themselves on the opposite 
 shore. There were above fifty spectre ladies who 
 embarked at the same time, and when they reached 
 the landing-place at Scutari, Andre lost himself 
 among all the black veils which got off there, and, 
 on a false scent, followed three ladies whom he did 
 not know; this might have led to a terrible dis- 
 aster, but, fortunately, there was something in their 
 figures less elegant than his trio of friends, who 
 had lingered behind, and in great dismay he left 
 them at the first cross-roads and rejoined his three 
 friends the right ladies, this time. 
 
 They hired a carriage for all four, which is 
 permissible in the country. He, as the Bey, took 
 the best seat, quite contrary to our European 
 notions. Djenan was beside him, Zeyneb and 
 Melek opposite. And the horses once off at a 
 round pace, they laughed with glee under their 
 veils at the trick so successfully played, at the 
 freedom they had achieved till the evening, at 
 their own youth, and the fine weather and deep 
 blue sea and sky. They were, in fact, often 
 adorably gay and childlike, between their gloomy 
 fits; even Zeyneb, who would forget her malady 
 and her wish to die. It was with smiling defiance 
 that they risked everything perpetual confine- 
 ment, exile, or, perhaps, some even severer 
 penalty.
 
 xxxiv DISENCHANTED 283 
 
 As they went on by the shore of Marmora, the 
 keen draught down the Bosphorus was less per- 
 ceptible. Their little inlet was remote, but bathed 
 in tempered air as they had promised, and so 
 peaceful in its solitude, so reassuring, so absolutely 
 forgotten ! It opened due south, and a miniature 
 cliff encircled it like a screen made on purpose. 
 On the fine sand they felt themselves at home, 
 sheltered from prying eyes as effectually as in the 
 walled garden of a harem. Nothing could be seen 
 but the sea of Marmora without a wrinkle, not a 
 ship in sight, and beyond, on the further horizon, 
 the outline of the mountains of Asia. Marmora 
 as absolutely still as on the fine calm days of 
 September, but perhaps too pallidly blue, for its 
 sheen, in spite of the sun, had the sadness of 
 winter; it was like a pool of melted silver slowly 
 cooling. And the distant mountains yonder had 
 already caps of dazzling snow. 
 
 As they mounted the little cliff they saw no 
 living soul, nor on the bare and desolate plain all 
 round. So all three, raising their veils as high as 
 their hair, drew deep breaths of fresh air; never 
 till now had Andre seen their young faces, a little 
 colourless, in the sunshine and free air; never 
 before had they felt themselves in such perfect 
 security together in spite of the mad risk of the 
 expedition, and the dangers of their return in the 
 evening. 
 
 First of all they sat down on the ground to 
 eat some bonbons bought of the fashionable 
 confectioner in Stamboul. And then they pried 
 into every nook of the pretty little bay, their
 
 284 DISENCHANTED xxxiv 
 
 secret shelter for this afternoon. A wonderful 
 combination of circumstances, determination, and 
 audacity had met to this end in this unusually 
 sunny December day, almost ominous by dint of 
 being so lovely, and furtively slipped in between 
 two days of Russian wind to bring together 
 visitors from such dissimilar worlds, whose origin 
 would have seemed to decree that they should 
 never meet. Andre, as he looked at the eyes and 
 mouth of Djenan, who was to start the next day 
 but one to go to her palace in Macedonia, under- 
 stood how much this hour held that was rare and 
 irrecoverable : the impossibilities that had been 
 overcome before they could meet here by the pale 
 wintry sea would be the same again to-morrow and 
 for ever. Who could tell ? They might even never 
 meet again, at any rate in such security and with 
 such a light heart. It was an hour in a lifetime, 
 to be remembered, graven, preserved as far as was 
 possible from being ever forgotten. 
 
 They took it in turn to go to the top of the 
 little cliff and signal any danger from afar. And 
 once the sentinel, who happened to be Zeyneb, 
 announced the approach of a Turk along the shore, 
 also accompanied by three ladies with their veils 
 up. They thought there was no danger here, and 
 that they might risk the encounter, only they, too, 
 dropped the black gauze over their faces. When 
 the Turk passed, no doubt some genuine Bey with 
 the ladies of his harem, his ladies also dropped 
 their veils before Andre; but the two men looked 
 carelessly at each other without suspicion on either 
 part; the new-comer had at once supposed the
 
 xxxiv DISENCHANTED 285 
 
 party he found in the bay to be all members of 
 one family. 
 
 Some flat pebbles, that might have been 
 made on purpose, laid by the quiet waters in a 
 neat line on the sand, suddenly reminded Andre 
 of a game of his childhood; he showed his three 
 friends how to throw them in such a way as to jump 
 again from the glassy surface of the sea, and they 
 set to work eagerly at playing 'ducks and drakes,' 
 but without success. Ah ! how childlike and 
 merry and simple they were that day, these com- 
 plicated little souls ! Especially Djenan, who had 
 been at such pains to ruin her life. 
 
 After this unique hour they went back to the 
 carriage, which was waiting a long way off, to go 
 back to Scutari. Then on the boat they were of 
 course strangers. But during the short passage 
 they saw once more the wondrous vision of Stam- 
 boul in the light of a glowing evening. Stamboul 
 seen in front of them and in perspective; first the 
 ferocious battlemented ramparts of the old Seraglio, 
 its base bathed in the rose-tinted silver of the sea 
 of Marmora; then, higher up, the maze of cupo- 
 las and minarets against a different rose colour. 
 A wintry rose too, but less silvery, less pallid, 
 than that of the sea, and golden rather than pink.
 
 XXXV 
 
 DJENAN TO ANDRE THE FOLLOWING DAY 
 
 'SAFE! once more safe ! We had dreadful difficul- 
 ties on our return home, but now the household 
 has calmed down. Did you notice how beautiful 
 our Stamboul looked as you arrived ? 
 
 'To-day rain and melting snow beat on our 
 windows, the icy blast pipes a doleful tune under 
 the doors. How unlucky it would have been if 
 this weather had burst upon us yesterday. Now 
 that our expedition is well over, and we remember 
 it as a beautiful dream, all the tempests of the 
 Black Sea may rave. 
 
 'Andre, we shall not meet again before I leave; 
 circumstances will not allow of our arranging for 
 another meeting in Stamboul. So I am bidding 
 you farewell, probably till the spring. But would 
 you do one thing I ask of you as a favour ? A 
 month hence, when you are going to France, since 
 you intend to travel by steamer, take a fez with 
 you, and choose the Salonica route. The vessel 
 stops there for some hours, and I know of a way of 
 meeting you there. One of my negroes will go 
 on board and give you your instructions. Do not 
 refuse me this. 
 
 286
 
 xxxv DISENCHANTED 287 
 
 'All happiness go with you, Andre, to your own 
 land. DJENAN.' 
 
 After Djenan's departure, Andre remained five 
 weeks at Constantinople, where he again saw 
 Zeyneb and Melek. When the day came for 
 him to start on his two months' holiday, he went 
 by the line she had suggested, taking his fez; but 
 at Salonica no negro made his appearance on board 
 the vessel. The stay there was to him but a sad 
 one, being disappointed in this hope by reason, 
 too, of the memory of Nedjibeh, which still 
 haunted this town, and the barren surrounding 
 mountains. And he had to leave without any 
 news of his more recent friend. 
 
 A few days after arriving in France he received 
 this letter from Djenan : 
 
 BOUNAR BASHI, near SALONICA, 
 "January IO, 1905. 
 
 'When and by whom shall I ever get this 
 letter posted, watched as I am here ? 
 
 'You are far away, and who knows when you 
 will return ? My cousins told me of your meeting 
 and parting, and how sad they have been since you 
 left. What a strange thing it seems, Andre, 
 when you think of it, that there should be beings 
 whose fate it is to drag sorrow wherever they go; 
 a sorrow that casts its shadow on all who come 
 near them. You are one of them, and it is no 
 fault of yours. You suffer infinitely complicated 
 griefs or are they infinitely simple ? But you
 
 288 DISENCHANTED xxxv 
 
 suffer; the suspension of your soul is always 
 resolved into a chord of pain. Those who come 
 into contact with you hate you or love you. And 
 those who love you suffer with you, through you, 
 for you. You have this year been a sunbeam in 
 the life of your little friends at Constantinople a 
 transient gleam, but that they knew beforehand. 
 And now they are wretched in the darkness that 
 has again closed round them. 
 
 'For my part, perhaps, I may tell you some 
 day what you have been to me. My anguish is 
 not so much because you are gone, as because I 
 ever met you. 
 
 'You were annoyed with me, I daresay, for not 
 having arranged a meeting when you stopped 
 at Salonica. The thing would, in fact, have been 
 possible in this country, which is still as deserted as 
 in your Nedjibeh's day. We might have had ten 
 minutes to ourselves, to exchange a few parting 
 words and grasp each other's hand. My grief, 
 indeed, would not have been comforted, on the 
 contrary; for reasons of my own I kept away. 
 But it was no fear of danger that hindered me. 
 No, far from it ! If, to go to you, I had known 
 that Death lay in ambush for me on my way back, 
 I should have felt no hesitation or anxiety; I 
 should have gone to you, Andre, to bid you my 
 heart's farewell as my heart would bid me speak 
 it. We Turkish women of to-day do not fear 
 death. Does not love drive us to death ? When 
 has love ever meant life to us ? DJENAN.' 
 
 And Melek, to whom this letter was sent to be
 
 xxxv DISENCHANTED 289 
 
 forwarded to France, added a few reflections 
 which had occurred to her. 
 
 'By long thinking of you, our friend, I am 
 sure I have discovered some of the causes of your 
 sorrows. Oh, I know you by this time, believe 
 me. In the first place, you want everything to 
 last for ever, and never wholly enjoy anything 
 because you are telling yourself "this must end." 
 Besides, life has given you so much, you have 
 had so many good things, so many things, one of 
 which would suffice to make any one else happy, 
 that you have let them go because you had too 
 much. Your greatest woe is that too many 
 women have loved you and have told you so too 
 often; it has been too much impressed on you 
 that you were indispensable to the lives in which 
 you have played a part; you have too constantly 
 been met on the threshold; you have never had 
 to make one step in advance on the road of 
 feeling; you have always sat still and waited! 
 And now you feel emptiness in and about you, 
 because you yourself do not love, you only let 
 yourself be loved. Believe me, love some one in 
 your turn, never mind whom of your innumer- 
 able adorers, and you will see, you will be cured. 
 
 'MELEK.' 
 
 Djenan's letter did not satisfy Andre; he did 
 not think it spontaneous enough. 'If her affec- 
 tion were so deep,' though he, 'she would have 
 wished above everything, and in spite of every- 
 thing, to say good-bye to me, either at Stamboul
 
 290 DISENCHANTED xxxv 
 
 or at Salonica. This letter is "literature." He 
 was disappointed in her, his trust in her was 
 shaken, and that tortured him. He forgot that 
 she was an Oriental, more effusive than an Euro- 
 pean and far more inscrutable. 
 
 He was tempted, in replying, to treat her as a 
 child, as he sometimes did: '"A being who drags 
 sorrow after him." I, then, am the very "man 
 of destiny" whom you declared to be out of date 
 since 1830.' But he feared to go too far, and 
 answered quite seriously, telling her that she had 
 wounded him deeply by allowing him to depart 
 thus. 
 
 No direct communication was possible with her 
 at Bounar Bashi, in the Palace of the Sleeping 
 Beauty; everything must be sent via Stamboul 
 through the hands of Zeyneb or Melek, to say 
 nothing of other accomplices. 
 
 At the end of three weeks he received these few 
 lines enclosed by Zeyneb. 
 
 'Andre, how can I wound you by anything 
 I can do or say I who am nothing as com- 
 pared with you ? Do you not know that all my 
 thoughts, all my affection, are but a humble tribute 
 that you can trample underfoot; a long-worn 
 carpet, still pleasing in design, on which your feet 
 may tread. This is all I am; and can you be 
 angry or offended with me ? DJENAN.' 
 
 Here she was purely oriental, and Andre, 
 charmed and touched, wrote to her at once, and 
 this time in a burst of sweet affection all the
 
 xxxv DISENCHANTED 291 
 
 more so because Zeyneb had added : ' Djenan is 
 ill of a nervous fever which makes our grand- 
 mother anxious, and the doctor does not know 
 what to think of it.' 
 
 Some weeks later Djenan replied in a little 
 note, very short, and as Eastern as the last : 
 
 BOUNAR BASHI, February 21, 1905. 
 
 'I have for many days been asking myself, 
 "Where is the remedy that will cure me ?" The 
 remedy has come, and my eyes, which have been 
 growing too large, devoured it. My poor thin 
 fingers now hold it, and I thank you. Thank you 
 for the gift of a little of yourself, for the alms of 
 your thoughts. Bless you for the peace your 
 second letter has brought me. 
 
 'I wish you happiness, my friend, in return for 
 the moment of joy you have just bestowed on me. 
 I wish you happiness, sweet and perfect happiness, 
 that may bring joy to your life like a garden of 
 fragrance, like a bright summer morning. 
 
 ' DJENAN/ 
 
 111 and worn by fever, the poor secluded 
 creature had gone back to her old self on the 
 plain of Karadjemir, had become a child again. 
 And under this aspect, antecedent to the remark- 
 able culture of which she was so proud, Andre 
 loved her more than ever. 
 
 This time again there was a postscript by 
 Melek to Djenan's note. After reproaching him 
 for the rarity of his always too brief letters, she 
 said:
 
 292 DISENCHANTED xxxv 
 
 'We admire your busy-ness, and would ask you 
 how we can set to work to be busy too, absorbed, 
 overworked, hindered from writing to our friends. 
 Teach us how, if you please. We, on the con- 
 trary, have all the day to write in, for our sins 
 and your misfortune. MELEK.' 
 
 When, his leave at an end, Andre returned 
 to Turkey early in the month of March, 1905, 
 Stamboul was still wrapped in a mantle of snow, 
 but the day he arrived was exquisitely blue. 
 Thousands of gulls and terns whirled round the 
 vessel he was in. The Bosphorus was covered 
 with the white birds, like a sort of snow in very 
 large flakes; crazy, numberless birds, a cloud of 
 white plumage fluttering in front of a white city, a 
 marvellous winter scene with the glory of Southern 
 sunshine. 
 
 Zeyneb and Melek, knowing by what boat he 
 was to arrive, sent him their Selams of welcome by 
 a negro the same evening, and at the same time a 
 long letter from Djenan, who was well again, they 
 told him, but would stay for some time yet in her 
 remote old palace. 
 
 Now she had recovered, the little barbarian of 
 Karadjemir was wilful and complicated once more, 
 no longer by any means the thing of nought which 
 her friend might 'trample underfoot.' Oh, no! 
 She wrote now in a key of rebellion and anger. 
 In fact, there had already been a good deal of 
 talk, behind the lattices of many a harem, about the 
 book Andre was to write ; a young woman, whom 
 he had scarcely seen, and only under the thickest
 
 xxxv DISENCHANTED 293 
 
 of black veils, had boasted, so it was said, of being 
 a friend of his and the chief inspirer of the intended 
 work; and Djenan, cloistered so far away, was 
 raging with rather savage jealousy. 
 
 'Andre, can you understand what a fury of 
 impotence comes over us when we fancy that any 
 one can creep in between you and us ? And it is 
 still worse when the rivalry encroaches on what is 
 our special domain : your memories and impres- 
 sions of the East. Do you not know, or do you 
 forget, that we staked our lives, to say nothing of 
 our peace, solely to give you such impressions of 
 our country in full completeness; for it was not 
 even to win your heart; that, we knew, was weary 
 and closed; no, it was to inspire your sensibility 
 as an artist, and set before it, if we may so express 
 it, a sort of half-real dream. To achieve this, 
 which seemed possible, and to show you what 
 without us you could only have imagined, we took 
 the risk, with our eyes open, of planting in our 
 own souls eternal grief and regret. Do you think 
 that many Europeans would have done as much ? 
 
 'There are times when it is torture to think 
 that other thoughts will come to you that will 
 drive away your memories of us, that other 
 impressions will be dearer to you than those of our 
 Turkey, seen with us and through our eyes. And 
 what I want is that when you have finished this 
 book you should never write another, that you 
 should think no more, that your hard, bright eyes 
 should never soften for any other woman. When 
 life is too unbearable I tell myself that it will not
 
 294 DISENCHANTED xxxv 
 
 last long; and then, if it is possible for souls in 
 freedom to influence the living, my soul will take 
 possession of yours and draw it to itself, so that 
 wherever I may be yours will have to come. 
 
 'I would give all of my life that remains to me 
 to read your heart for ten minutes. I long to 
 have the power to make you suffer and to know 
 it; yes, I, who a few months ago would have 
 given that life to make you happy. 
 
 ' Good God ! Andre, are you so rich in friend- 
 ship that you waste it so ? Is it generous to inflict 
 such misery on one who loves you, and who loves 
 you from so far, with such disinterested devotion ? 
 Do not foolishly destroy an affection which, even 
 if it is a little jealous and exacting, is nevertheless 
 the truest perhaps and the deepest you have in- 
 spired in all your life. DJENAN.' 
 
 Andre was greatly disturbed by this letter. 
 The reproaches were childish and inconsistent, 
 since he had no friends among Turkish women 
 but those three. But the whole tone of it jarred. 
 'There is no mistake this time,' he said to himself. 
 'This is really a wrong note, a crashing discord in 
 the harmony of sisterly friendships which I so 
 perversely persuaded myself was indestructible. 
 Poor little Djenan ! But is it possible?' 
 
 He tried to understand the new situation, which 
 seemed to him insolvable. 'It cannot be,' said he 
 to himself; 'it shall never be, because I will not 
 have it. So much for my share in it; so far as I 
 am concerned the matter is settled.' And when a 
 decision is thus formulated it is a great protection
 
 xxxv DISENCHANTED 295 
 
 against agitating thoughts and seductive lan- 
 guishing. 
 
 Not that there was any great merit in such a 
 decision, for he was perfectly convinced that 
 Djenan, even if she loved him, would always be 
 inaccessible. He knew the little being who was 
 at once confiding and reserved, audacious and 
 immaculate; she was capable of surrendering her 
 soul from a distance to a friend who, as she 
 thought, would never deviate from the part of an 
 elder brother; but she would certainly veil 
 her face for ever, and remain irrevocably lost, at 
 the mere hint of a lingering or agitated grasp of 
 her hand. 
 
 The adventure was none the less sinister; and 
 certain phrases formerly spoken by her, which at 
 the moment had nardly struck him, recurred to 
 his mind with ominous resonance: 'The love of a 
 Moslem woman for a foreigner can have no issue 
 but in flight or in death.' 
 
 Next day, however, in lovely weather, already 
 almost spring, things looked altogether less serious. 
 As before, he reflected that this letter was 'litera- 
 ture,' probably to no small extent, and above all 
 full of oriental exaggeration. But, in fact, for 
 some years past, a woman, to convince him that 
 she loved him, had to prove it by substantial 
 evidence, so perpetually present to him was the 
 sum of his years a cruel obsession. 
 
 His heart was lighter than it had been yester- 
 day, and he went off in better spirits to Stamboul, 
 where Zeyneb and Melek, whom he longed to see
 
 296 DISENCHANTED xxxv 
 
 again, awaited him at Sultan Selim. Stamboul, 
 always differently magnificent at a distance, was 
 on that day a pitiable spectacle seen close at hand, 
 in the damp and mud of the rapid thaw; and in 
 the blind alley where stood the house of their 
 meetings, there were still patches of snow in the 
 shade under the wall. 
 
 They received him with their veils raised in the 
 humble little harem, where it was very cold, and 
 they were eager and affectionate, as to an older 
 brother returned from a foreign journey. But he 
 was at once struck by their altered appearance. 
 Zeyneb's face, still exquisitely refined and chiselled, 
 had a waxen pallor, her eyes were larger, and her 
 lips colourless ; the winter, which had been excep- 
 tionally severe, had no doubt aggravated the 
 malady she scorned to nurse. As to Melek, pale 
 too, with an anxious furrow on her brow, she was 
 evidently concentrated, almost tragical, suddenly 
 matured and ready for a supreme effort of rebellion. 
 'They want to make me marry again!' she said 
 bitterly, without another word in reply to the 
 wordless questions she read in Andre's eyes. 
 
 'And you ?' he asked Zeyneb. 
 
 'I? Oh, I have my deliverance under my 
 hand,' she replied, touching her chest, shaken now 
 and then by an ominous little cough. 
 
 Both were much excited about Djenan's letter, 
 which had passed through their hands only the day 
 before, and which had been sealed, an unprece- 
 dented thing among them, for they had never had 
 any secrets. 
 
 'What can she have had to say to you . ?>
 
 xxxv DISENCHANTED 297 
 
 'Oh, nothing. Childish reproaches. Some 
 absurd harem gossip which had upset her without 
 reason/ 
 
 'Ah, this new talk of some one who has 
 inspired your book, who has risen up apart from 
 us?' 
 
 'Exactly that. And it is absolutely without 
 foundation, I assure you, for besides you three, 
 and one or two veiled figures to whom you your- 
 selves introduced me 
 
 'We never believed it, my sister and I. But 
 so far away from everything, in such seclusion 
 what can you expect ? Your brain works - 
 
 'And hers has worked so effectually that she is 
 seriously vexed with me.' 
 
 'It is not a deadly hatred, at any rate,' Melek 
 put in. 'At least it would not seem so. See 
 here, what she wrote to me this morning.' And 
 she held out part of a letter, after folding back 
 the lower portion, which, no doubt, he was not to 
 read. 
 
 'Tell him I constantly think of him, and to 
 remember him is the only joy in my life. I envy 
 you every minute you spend with him and all of 
 his presence he bestows on you; I envy you for 
 being so near him, for seeing his face, for grasping 
 his hand. Do not forget me when you are 
 together; I demand my share of your meetings 
 and your risks.' 
 
 'Certainly,' he said, returning the folded letter, 
 'that does not look like mortal hatred.'
 
 298 DISENCHANTED xxxv 
 
 He did his best to speak lightly, but these few 
 phrases shown to him by Melek, left him more sure 
 and more disturbed than the long and vehement 
 letter addressed to himself. There was no 'litera- 
 ture' here it was perfectly simple and perfectly 
 clear! How innocently she had written these 
 transparent sentences to her cousins, after taking 
 the trouble to seal so carefully her impassioned 
 reproaches to him. 
 
 So this was the turn taken quite against his 
 expectations by the curious, calm friendship of 
 last year, with three women who were for ever to 
 be an inseparable trinity, 'one soul' and 'for ever 
 featureless' The outcome terrified him, but it 
 fascinated him too; at that moment he was quite 
 incapable of deciding whether he was glad or not 
 that it should be so. 
 
 'When is she to return ?' he asked. 
 
 'At the beginning of May,' said Zeyneb. 'We 
 are going to spend the summer as we did last year 
 in our yali on the Asiatic shore. Our modest 
 scheme is to enjoy a last summer together, if the 
 despotism of our masters does not divide us by a 
 marriage before the autumn. I say last, because, 
 so far as I am concerned, next winter will no doubt 
 carry me off, and in any case the other two will be 
 married again before next summer.' 
 
 'As for that, we shall see!' exclaimed Melek, 
 with gloomy defiance. 
 
 For Andre also this would be the last summer 
 on the Bosphorus. His appointment at the 
 Embassy would end in November, and he had 
 made up his mind to follow the leading of destiny,
 
 xxxv DISENCHANTED 299 
 
 partly out of fatalism, and also because there are 
 things which it is folly to insist on prolonging, 
 particularly when the issue can only be disastrous 
 or criminal. So he looked forward with deep 
 melancholy to the return of the summer, so enchant- 
 ing on the Bosphorus, where the light caiques carry 
 one over the blue water, along the two shores with 
 their latticed houses, or up to the valley of the 
 Grand Signior and among the hills on the coast of 
 Asia carpeted with pink heath. This was all to 
 return for one supreme season, but only to end 
 without any hope for the future. Over his meet- 
 ings with his three friends there would hang, as 
 before, the perpetual dread of spies or of treachery, 
 which might in an instant part them for ever; and 
 added to this the certainty that they could not 
 meet in the following year would be ever present 
 to give increased pathos to the flight of the fine 
 days in August and September, the blossoming of 
 the autumn colchicum, the yellow shower of falling 
 leaves, the first October rains. And over all there 
 would hang this new and unforeseen element : 
 Djenan's love for him, which, though only covertly 
 avowed, nay, suppressed as she could suppress it 
 with her small iron hand, could not fail to make 
 the close of this Eastern dream more breathless 
 and more cruel.
 
 XXXVI 
 
 ABOUT the loth of April Andre's French servant, 
 when he called him in the morning, announced in 
 a gleeful voice, as an event sure to please him: 
 
 'I have seen two swallows ! Oh, and they were 
 piping piping!' 
 
 The swallows were already in Constantinople ! 
 And what a hot sun was pouring in at the windows 
 that morning ! Why, the days certainly flew 
 faster even than of old. Spring already here; 
 already cut into instead of being in reserve for the 
 future as Andre had been able to fancy only 
 yesterday, in gloomy weather before the swallows 
 had been seen. And the summer, which would 
 be here to-morrow, immediately, would be the 
 last, irrevocably the last of his life in the East the 
 last, too, no doubt, of his spuriously renewed 
 youth. Back to Turkey by and by, in the grey 
 twilight of his declining years, perhaps. But after 
 all for what ? When one comes back, what does 
 one retrieve of oneself and of what one has loved ? 
 How disappointing a venture is such a return 
 when all else is changed or dead. 'Besides,' 
 thought he, 'when I shall have written the book 
 for which these poor little things have extorted a 
 promise, shall I not have closed this country 
 
 300
 
 xxxvi DISENCHANTED 301 
 
 against myself for ever; shall I not have lost the 
 confidence of my friends the Turks and the rights 
 of a citizen in my beloved Stamboul ? ' 
 
 The month of April sped like a single day. 
 Andre spent it in pilgrimages to Stamboul, in 
 dreams and long visits to Eyoub or to Sultan 
 Selim, in narghilehs smoked out of doors in spite 
 of uncertain weather, with spells of cold and wind 
 off the snows. 
 
 The first of May came, and still Djenan said 
 nothing of leaving her inaccessible old castle. She 
 wrote less often than she had done last year, and 
 her letters were shorter. 'Forgive my silence,' 
 she wrote once. 'Try to understand it; it means 
 so much/ 
 
 Still Zeyneb and Melek said she would come, 
 and seemed very sure of it. Andre saw less of 
 this pair than before; one was slowly giving up 
 life; the other was less evenly sweet, under the 
 threat of a second marriage. Again, surveillance 
 was stricter this year, over all women in general 
 and perhaps more especially over these two, who 
 were suspected, as yet very vaguely, of illicit 
 coming and going. They wrote often to their 
 friend, who, though he was very fond of them, 
 generally contented himself with replying in the 
 spirit, with good intentions only. And then they 
 would reproach him with much diffidence. 
 
 KASSIM, PACHA, May 8, 1905. 
 
 'Dear Friend, what is the matter? We are 
 uneasy we your poor, humble, distant little
 
 302 DISENCHANTED xxxvi 
 
 friends. When days go by without a letter from 
 you a heavy cloak of sadness crushes our shoulders, 
 and everything is dismal, the sea and the sky and 
 our hearts within us. 
 
 'Still, we do not complain, I assure you, and 
 this is only to tell you once more a very old story 
 that you know full well that you are our great 
 and only friend. 
 
 'Are you happy just now? Are your days 
 strewn with flowers ? 
 
 'Time flies or lingers according to what life 
 brings us. For us it dawdles indeed. Really, I 
 cannot see what we are here in the world for. 
 Perhaps, indeed, for the sole joy of being your 
 very devoted slaves, faithful till death and beyond 
 it. ZEYNEB AND MELEK.' 
 
 Already the 8th of May. He read this letter 
 at his window in the warm twilight, which invited 
 him to linger there in front of the vast expanse of 
 distance and sky. In his rooms Pera could really 
 be ignored; the turbulent high street was far 
 away; he looked down a wood of fragrant cypress 
 trees which is enclosed in the town and known as 
 the Little Field of the Dead; and the domes of 
 Stamboul stood up in front, on the horizon. 
 
 Night came down on Turkey, a moonless night 
 but bright with stars. Stamboul in the darkness 
 draped itself in magnificence and came out, as it 
 does every night, in lordly shadowy outline against 
 the sky. The clamour of the dogs, the thud of 
 the watchman's iron-shod staff began to be heard 
 in the silence. And then it was the appointed
 
 xxxvi DISENCHANTED 303 
 
 hour for the muezzins, and from every part of the 
 phantasmal city rose the usual symphony of minor 
 chants, high-pitched, light, and pure, winged like 
 prayer itself. 
 
 The first night this of summer, a night of real 
 glow and enchantment. Andre at his window 
 hailed it with less joy than melancholy; his last 
 summer had begun. 
 
 At the Embassy, on the following day, he heard 
 that the move to Therapia was to take place soon. 
 To him this meant the final departure from Con- 
 stantinople, since he would return for only a few 
 sad days at the end of the season, before finally 
 leaving Turkey. 
 
 Turks and Levantines, too, were already busy 
 preparing for the annual migration to the Bosphorus 
 or the Islands. Houses were being opened all 
 along the Strait on both the European and the 
 Asiatic shores. Eunuchs were rushing to and fro 
 on the stone or marble landing-quays, making 
 ready for their mistresses' summer stay, bringing, 
 in gaudy gilded caiques, hangings of silk, mattresses 
 for divans, and embroidered cushions. Yes, it 
 was the summer, come upon Andre more quickly 
 than of yore, he thought, and fated certainly to 
 end more quickly still, since spans of time seem 
 to diminish more rapidly in length as we advance 
 in years.
 
 XXXVII 
 
 THE first of the lovely month of June ! May had 
 slipped away in no time; still Djenan had not 
 come back, and her letters, now always short, gave 
 no explanation. 
 
 The first of the lovely month of June. Andre, 
 who had his old rooms in Therapia, on the edge 
 of the water, looking up to the opening into the 
 Black Sea, woke to the splendour of the morning, 
 his heart gripped at the mere idea of its being 
 June. Just the change of date gave him the sense 
 of a long stride forward towards the end. Indeed, 
 his incurable malady, which was his distress at the 
 flight of the days, never failed to be more acute in 
 the extra-lucid moments of awakening. What he 
 now felt slipping away from him was the Eastern 
 spring, which went to his head as it was wont to 
 do when he was young, and which he would never, 
 never see again. And he reflected: 'All this 
 will end to-morrow, this sun will be extinct for 
 me to-morrow; my hours are strictly numbered 
 till old age comes and annihilation.' 
 
 But when he was fully awake, as usual his 
 thoughts went back to the thousand pleasing and 
 amusing things that come into daily life, the 
 thousand little delusions that help us to forget the 
 
 304
 
 xxxvn DISENCHANTED 305 
 
 march of time, and death. In the first place it 
 was the valley of the Grand Signior which rose 
 before his mind; it was over there, opposite, 
 behind the wooded hills of the Asiatic shore which 
 he saw every morning as soon as he had opened 
 his eyes. He would go this afternoon and sit 
 there as he had done last year, in the shade of the 
 plane-trees to smoke a narghileh, while he watched 
 from afar the veiled ladies who wandered there 
 like Elysian shades. Then he gave his attention 
 to his new caique; his man told him it had just 
 been brought up from Stamboul under his windows, 
 fresh in its new gilding, and that the rowers begged 
 to try on their new livery. For this last summer 
 in the East he wished to be seen in a fine equipage 
 on Fridays at the Sweet Waters, and he had devised 
 a quite oriental combination of colours ; the oars- 
 men's jackets and the long trailing carpet were to 
 be in dark orange velvet embroidered with gold, 
 and on this carpet the servant who squatted quite 
 at the end of the slender prow was to wear sky- 
 blue embroidered in silver. When the men were 
 dressed in their new splendour, he went down to 
 see the effect on the water. At this moment the 
 surface was a scarcely heaving mirror this water 
 of the Bosphorus generally rather broken. There 
 was infinite peace in the air, the joy of the morn- 
 ing and of June in the verdure on either shore. 
 Andre was satisfied with the trial, his eye was 
 pleased by the contrast between the blue and silver 
 figure and the orange velvet on which he squatted 
 the design on the carpet formed the words of 
 an old Arabic poem setting forth the perfidy of
 
 3 o6 DISENCHANTED xxxvn 
 
 love. And then he stretched himself in the 
 caique to be rowed over to the Asiatic shore before 
 the heat of the midday sun. 
 
 That evening he had a note from Zeyneb 
 appointing a meeting for the next day at the 
 Sweet Waters only to pass each other in their 
 cai'ques, of course. Dangers were increasing, she 
 said. The watchers were doubled; they had now 
 been forbidden to take exercise along the shore as 
 they had done last year, rowing themselves, in 
 muslin veils. At the same time, there was never 
 a bitter word in Zeyneb's complaints ; she was too 
 gentle to be vexed, besides being too weary; and 
 so resigned to everything, in her certainty of the 
 merciful and approaching death she had welcomed 
 to her bosom. In a postscript she added that poor 
 old Mevlut, an Ethiopian eunuch, had just died 
 in his eighty-third year, and that this was a real 
 misfortune, for he loved them, having known them 
 from childhood, and would never have betrayed 
 them for silver nor gold. They, too, loved him 
 truly; he was like one of the family. 'We 
 nursed him,' she wrote; 'nursed him like a 
 grandfather,' but the last word had been erased, 
 and above it in Melek's pert writing was inserted 
 'grand uncle !' 
 
 O 
 
 Friday came, so he went to the Sweet Waters, 
 for the first time that year, in his boat of more 
 conspicuous colours than those of the past season. 
 He passed and repassed his two friends, who had 
 also changed the colour of their livery from blue 
 to green and gold; they both wore the black 
 tcharchaf, and a semi-transparent veil, pulled down
 
 xxxvn DISENCHANTED 307 
 
 over the face. Other ladies of fashion, also veiled 
 with black, turned their heads to look after him, 
 ladies who went by lying as it seemed almost on 
 the water, which was crowded with similar enig- 
 matical figures between the shores fringed with 
 ferns and flowers ; almost all these shrouded ladies, 
 interested in him from having read his books, 
 knew him by sight, having had him pointed out 
 to them by others. With some he had perhaps 
 spoken during the previous autumn, without see- 
 ing their faces, in his adventurous meetings with 
 his friends. He caught an attentive glance now 
 and again, or a faint smile scarcely perceptible 
 under a black veil. And they perhaps approved 
 of the combination of colours he had devised, 
 which glided over the green stream a blaze of 
 orange and hydrangea blue between the emerald 
 banks and the shady screens of trees, and were 
 sympathetically surprised at an European who thus 
 showed himself so purely oriental. 
 
 And he, still at times such a child, was 
 amused by attracting the attention of these un- 
 recognisable fair ones, at having possibly haunted 
 their thoughts by the influence of his books, which 
 were now being widely read in the harems. The 
 June sky was exquisitely calm and deep. The 
 spectators in white veils, who watched as they sat 
 in groups on the grassy banks, showed large calm 
 eyes above the folds of muslin. There was a 
 sweet smell of hay mingling with that of the 
 nar'ghilehs that were being smoked in the shade. 
 And the summer, he knew, would last for three 
 months yet, and the season of the Sweet Waters
 
 308 DISENCHANTED xxxvn 
 
 was but just beginning; so there were still many 
 Fridays to come, and everything would really 
 endure for some little time and not all come to 
 an end to-morrow. 
 
 When Andre left his gay boat for a while 
 among the reeds, to smoke a narghileh himself 
 under the trees, and play the part of spectator in 
 his turn, watching the caiques as they glided over 
 the water, he felt once more the illusion of youth, 
 the intoxication of forgetting.
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 A LETTER from Djenan to Andre the following 
 week. 
 
 June 22, 1905. 
 
 'Here I am once more by the Bosphorus, 
 Andre, as I promised you, and I am really longing 
 to see you. Will you come to Stamboul on 
 Thursday, and be at Sultan Selim at about two 
 o'clock in my nurse's house ? I would rather see 
 you there than at my friend's at Sultan Fatih, be- 
 cause it was the scene of our first meetings. 
 
 'Wear your fez, of course, and take the same 
 precautions as before, but do not come in unless 
 our usual signal, the corner of a white handker- 
 chief, appears through one of the lattices on the 
 first floor. Otherwise the chance will be lost, 
 and probably, alas, for a long time; in that case 
 walk on to the end of the alley and turn back as 
 if you had missed your way. 
 
 'Everything is much more difficult this year, 
 and we live in constant alarms. Your friend, 
 
 ' DJENAN/ 
 
 On that Thursday when he awoke he was 
 more than ever disturbed about his appearance. 
 
 309
 
 310 DISENCHANTED xxxvm 
 
 *I must have grown much older,' said he to him- 
 self, 'since last year; there are silver threads in 
 my moustache which were not there when she 
 went away.' He would have given much never 
 to have disturbed his friend's peace of mind, but 
 the thought that he might fall off personally in 
 her eyes was nevertheless intolerable. 
 
 Men such as he, who might have been great 
 mystics but that they failed to find anywhere the 
 light they so earnestly sought, fall back with all 
 the disappointed ardour of their souls on love and 
 youthfulness, and cling to them desperately when 
 they feel them slipping from them. And then 
 begins childish and pitiable despair, when they see 
 their hair turn white and their eyes grow dull, and 
 they look forward in heart-broken dread to the 
 moment when women will look away at other 
 men. 
 
 That Thursday came, and Andre made his way 
 through the fascinating desolation of old Stamboul 
 under the sweet June sky to Sultan Selim, dreading 
 to see her and even more to be seen by her. 
 
 On reaching the dismal little street and looking 
 up, he at once saw the guiding speck of white 
 against the dark brown and ochre of the houses ; 
 and behind the door Melek was on the watch. 
 
 'Are they here ?' he asked. 
 
 'Yes, both of them; they are waiting for 
 you.' 
 
 At the door of the harem stood Zeyneb, her 
 face uncovered, more faded and wasted than ever. 
 
 At the end, in the shadow, was Djenan, who 
 came to meet him with spontaneous eagerness like
 
 xxxvni DISENCHANTED 311 
 
 a girl, and gave him her hand. Yes, it was she; 
 he heard once more her voice like distant music. 
 But the deep-sea eyes, where were they ? The 
 eyebrows with their pathetic slant like those of 
 Our Lady of Sorrows, the oval face ? nothing 
 could he see. The veil had fallen over them all 
 as impenetrable as in the early days. Seized with 
 horror at having gone too far the little white 
 princess had retired into her ivory tower. And 
 at once Andre understood that no entreaty would 
 avail, that the veil would never again be lifted - 
 unless perhaps in some tragical and supreme 
 moment. He felt that the stage of freedom and 
 sweetness was past in this doubly forbidden affec- 
 tion. Thenceforward they would move on to the 
 inevitable catastrophe.
 
 XXXIX 
 
 STILL a few days of apparent calm were to be 
 allotted to them. 
 
 July passed, it is true, without their being able 
 to meet again, even at a distance, at the Sweet 
 Waters. July is, at Constantinople, a month of 
 wind and storms, a time when the Bosphorus is 
 lashed from morning till night into white foam. 
 All through that month Djenan could hardly write 
 to him, so closely was she guarded by a cross- 
 grained old aunt, who had come from Erivan to 
 pay her an interminable visit, and who could not 
 bear to go out in a caique unless the water was as 
 smooth as a mirror. 
 
 But this lady, called by Andre and his three 
 friends ' Plague Hanum,' took herself off early in 
 August, and the end of the summer, their last 
 summer, was no longer spoilt for them. August, 
 September, and October are the delightful season 
 on the Bosphorus, when the sky is as clear as in 
 Eden, and the days, as they shorten, grow calmer 
 and more sober, but lose nothing of their splendour. 
 
 Once more they frequented the Sweet Waters 
 of Asia, and plotted meetings at Stamboui in the 
 house near Sultan Selim. Superficially everything 
 was the same again as in the summer of 1904, 
 
 312
 
 xxxix DISENCHANTED 313 
 
 even to the black veil perpetually shrouding 
 Djenan's face; but in their souls there were 
 different feelings, thoughts as yet unspoken, of 
 which they were not yet sure, but which, neverthe- 
 less, led to moments of oppressive silence in the 
 midst of their talk. 
 
 Besides, the year before they could say: 'We 
 have another summer to look forward to.' Whereas 
 now everything was coming to an end, since Andre 
 was leaving Turkey in November; and they con- 
 stantly thought of the approaching separation, which 
 seemed to them as final as entombment. Being 
 old friends now, they had reminiscences in common, 
 they laid plans for doing once more, before the in- 
 exorable end, the things they had already done, 
 excursions or pilgrimages they had made all four 
 together. 'We must try once more in our lives 
 to go together to the little wild wood at Beicos; 
 and once more, for the last time, we must visit 
 Nedjibeh's grave.' 
 
 To Andre, whose heart turned cold each time 
 the name of the month changed, the morning of 
 the ist of September marked a long stride down- 
 ward in this descending slide in life, which gathered 
 pace like a fall. It seemed to him that the air had 
 suddenly, since yesterday, acquired an autumnal 
 clearness and crispness, and that it was more 
 pervious to sound, an effect generally of the later 
 year; the deep-toned Turkish trumpets rang out 
 louder when they were sounded on the opposite 
 shore at Beicos, where the soldiers have barracks 
 under the shady plane-trees. The summer was 
 departing, no doubt, and here collected with a
 
 3H DISENCHANTED xxxix 
 
 shiver that the lilac crocuses were flowering now 
 among the dead leaves in the valley of the Grand 
 Signior. 
 
 And yet how radiant it all was this morning, 
 and what perfect calm lay on the waters ! There 
 was not a breath, and as the sun mounted in the 
 heavens it grew deliciously warm. A long caravan 
 of sailing vessels was now passing up theBosphorus, 
 towed by a steam-tug old-world Turkish boats 
 with a high-cabined poop covered with gaudy 
 archaic painting, such ships as are seen nowhere 
 else. With all sails reefed they submissively fol- 
 lowed each other towards the Black Sea, to which 
 the passage was visible between two steep mountain 
 shores, and it looked like the most calm and in- 
 offensive sea in the world to any one who did not 
 know it better. Just beneath his windows Andre 
 saw the sun-smitten little quay by which gay 
 caiques lay moored, his among the number, to 
 carry him in the evening to the Sweet Waters. 
 
 The Sweet Waters ! Four or five times yet 
 he might be seen there, figuring as an Oriental - 
 on the green-set stream where he was 'dressed in 
 a little brief royalty, and veiled ladies recognised 
 the livery of his rowers from afar. And for some 
 days yet he might sit at sunset under the giant 
 planes of the Grand Signior, smoking narghilehs 
 in the heart of unutterable peace, while watching 
 the slow, wandering women, happy shades in the 
 Elysian meadows beyond. Thirty or thirty-five 
 summer days yet to come, a really precious respite 
 before the end of everything, which was not 
 immediate after all !
 
 xxxix DISENCHANTED 315 
 
 The slopes of Asia above Beicos were brightly 
 pink that morning with full-flowering heath as 
 pink as pink ribbon. The little houses of the 
 Turkish villages standing quite in the water, the 
 huge green plane-trees, on which for three hundred 
 years the fishermen have hung their nets all 
 these and the blue sky were calmly gazing at their 
 own reflection in the mirror of the Bosphorus, as 
 perfect as if its beauty never changed. All these 
 things together seemed so confident of the per- 
 manence of summer, of peace, of life, and of 
 youth, that Andre once more allowed himself to 
 be beguiled, forgot the time of year, and ceased 
 to feel the threat of coming days. 
 
 So, in the afternoon, he went to the Sweet 
 Waters, where everything shone in an ideal light; 
 he passed his three friends, and met the glances of 
 other veiled ladies. He returned in a matchless 
 evening, creeping along under the Asiatic coast: 
 old houses closely dumb, in which tragedies may 
 be acting which none may know; old gardens, 
 secret gardens under dense leafy shade; old 
 marble quays, jealously watched, where invisible 
 fair ones sit on Fridays to see the caiques coming 
 home. Lulled by the quick measure of the oars 
 he was borne through the softly fanning air; 
 merely to breathe it was intoxicating. He felt 
 rested; he knew he looked young again at this 
 moment, and the zest for life was aroused in him 
 as keen as in his first youth, the same thirst to 
 revel utterly in everything that might come. His 
 soul, usually a dark abyss of weariness, could still 
 change under the voluptuous fascination of outer
 
 316 DISENCHANTED xxxix 
 
 things, or of some phantasmagoria that appealed 
 to his artist's sense, change, be born again, and 
 feel ready for a whole chapter of adventures and 
 love affairs. 
 
 He brought back with him in his caique his 
 friend Jean Renaud, who confided to him in 
 burning words his woe in being in love with a 
 lady of an Embassy, very politely indifferent to 
 his devotion, and at the same time in love with 
 Djenan, whom he had never seen, but whose form 
 and voice disturbed his slumbers. Andre listened 
 without even shrugging his shoulders, such 
 avowals were so completely in the right key this 
 evening; he felt himself at the same pitch as this 
 boy, and absorbed in precisely the same ideas; 
 nothing else counted. Love pervaded the air. 
 Confidence for confidence, he was tempted to cry 
 out in a tone of triumph : 'Well, and I I am 
 better loved than you !' 
 
 They proceeded on their way in silence, each 
 man for himself egotistically lost in thought, 
 chiefly of love; the splendour of a summer 
 evening on the Bosphorus wrapped them in 
 reverie. Alongside, the prohibited landings of 
 the old houses glided by; women sitting at the 
 very edge watched them pass in the now copper- 
 coloured light, and it amused them to think that 
 to these veiled spectators their presence, their 
 caique with its quaintly strange colouring, must 
 have a fine effect under the apotheosis of sunset.
 
 XL 
 
 SEPTEMBER is ended. The fine rosy hue of the 
 heath on the hills is fading day by day, turning to 
 the colour of rust. And in the valley of Beicos 
 the lilac colchicum is in profuse bloom among the 
 grass of the lawns; the strewn leaves of the 
 planes, a bed of gold, lie everywhere. In the 
 afternoon, to smoke a narghileh outside the booth 
 of one of the humble cafes which still remain 
 though they will soon be gone, a place in the 
 sunshine is desirable, the last warmth of the 
 shortening summer; presently when the beams 
 lie level on the ground, and a red glow like the 
 reflection of a conflagration lights up the great 
 boughs of the trees, a sudden chill nips and 
 distresses you; you start up to go, and the dead 
 leaves in the grass rustle under your feet. The 
 heavy autumn rains which leave the meadow 
 soaked, alternate with days still hot and strangely 
 clear, when bees hum over the last flowers of the 
 scabious, till at nightfall cold mists rise from the 
 ground and the woods. 
 
 All this strew of yellow leaves Andre had 
 already seen in this same valley the previous year; 
 and one is attached to a place where twice one has 
 seen the leaves fall. So he knew what the pain 
 
 317
 
 3 i8 DISENCHANTED XL 
 
 would be of leaving for ever this little pastoral 
 nook of Asia, whither he had come almost every 
 day during two sunlit summers. He knew, too, 
 that this pain, like so many others he had already 
 suffered, would, alas ! be soon forgotten, lost in 
 the ever greyer gloom of the near future. 
 
 All this season Andre and his friends had 
 found it impossible to arrange any expedition 
 together. But they had planned two at all risks, 
 for the 3rd and 5th of October, the last the last 
 of everything. 
 
 Their destination to-day, the 3rd, was the little 
 forest wilderness they had discovered in 1904. 
 And there they met, on the fringe of the marsh 
 that lay hidden, as if on purpose, in a fold of the 
 hills. They took their seats as before, on the 
 same mossy stones, near the stagnant water where 
 the tall reeds grew, and the great Osmunda ferns, 
 like a tropical jungle. 
 
 Andre saw at once that they were not quite 
 themselves, poor little persons, but nervous and 
 excessive, each in her own way; Djenan with 
 exaggerated coldness, Melek with vehemence : 
 'Now we are all to be married again,' they ex- 
 plained, 'to break up the trio of revolutionaries. 
 And our proceedings are too independent, it 
 would appear; we must have husbands who will 
 break us in.' 
 
 'So far as I am concerned,' said Melek, 'the 
 matter was settled in family council on Saturday. 
 The executioner is chosen, a certain Omar Bey, a 
 cavalry captain, a handsome man with hard eyes,
 
 XL DISENCHANTED 319 
 
 whom they condescended to point out to me one 
 day below my window; so there will be no delay.' 
 And she stamped her foot, looking away, and 
 crumpling all the leaves she could reach between 
 her ringers. 
 
 He could find nothing to say, but looked at 
 the other two. He was going to say to Zeyneb, 
 who was next to him: 'And you?' but he 
 dreaded the reply; he could guess too well the 
 gentle melancholy gesture with which she would 
 point to her chest. So it was to Djenan, who 
 alone, as usual, kept her veil down, that he ad- 
 dressed his question: 'And you?' 
 
 'I oh, I,' she said with the rather haughty 
 indifference she had assumed of late, 'I am to go 
 back to Hamdi !' 
 
 'But what then will you do ?' 
 
 'Dear heaven! what would you have me do? 
 I shall probably submit. Since I must be handed 
 over to somebody, it may just as well be to the 
 man who was my husband; it would seem less a 
 degradation than with an unknown man.' 
 
 Andre heard with amazement. The thick veil 
 she wore hindered him from reading in her eyes 
 whether she were sincere or not in this sudden 
 resignation. This unexpected consent to return 
 to Hamdi was the best he could hope for as a 
 solution to an inextricable predicament; but he 
 could scarcely believe in it, and he also perceived 
 that it was a solution full of suffering for him. 
 
 They spoke no more on these burning ques- 
 tions, and a thoughtful silence ensued. It was 
 Djenan's soft voice that broke it in this still spot,
 
 320 DISENCHANTED XL 
 
 so calm that they could hear each leaf as it fell. 
 Her tone was quite simple, quite cool, as she 
 spoke of the book. 
 
 'Ah, yes/ said he, trying to be less serious; 
 'to be sure, let us discuss the book. We have 
 thought no more about it for a long time. Now, 
 what am I to say in it ? That you pine to go to 
 parties in the evening, to wear hats by day fine 
 hats with heaps of roses and feathers like the 
 ladies of Pera ?' 
 
 'No, Andre, do not make fun of it, to-day 
 so near the last.' 
 
 So he listened to them attentively. Without 
 having the smallest illusions as to what he could 
 achieve for them, at least he was anxious not to 
 place them in an imaginary light, or write any- 
 thing that did not accord with their own ideas. 
 It seemed to him that they clung to most of the 
 traditions of Islam, and really loved the veil as a 
 habit, if only they might sometimes lift it in the 
 presence of chosen and tried friends. The maxi- 
 mum they claimed was that they should be 
 regarded to a greater extent as thinking, free, and 
 responsible beings; that they should be allowed 
 to see certain men in their homes, veiled, if it 
 were insisted on, but to talk to them especially 
 when there was any question of marriage. 'With 
 no greater concessions than these,' said Djenan 
 emphatically, 'we would rest satisfied, we and the 
 women after us for at least half a century, till 
 a more advanced stage of our evolution. Say 
 plainly, as our friend, that we ask no more, so 
 that we may not be condemned for folly and
 
 XL DISENCHANTED 321 
 
 rebellion. Moreover, I defy any one to find in 
 the Book of the Prophet any plain text which 
 is opposed to what we demand.' 
 
 When he took leave of them as evening came 
 on, he felt that the little hand Melek held out to 
 him was burning. 
 
 'Oh!' he exclaimed in alarm, 'but you are in 
 a high fever.' 
 
 'Since yesterday a fever which is increasing. 
 So much the worse for Captain Omar Bey eh ? 
 This evening I am really ill; such a weight in my 
 head a weight ! I felt I must see you again ; 
 for nothing else should I have got up to-day.' 
 
 She leaned on Djenan's arm. When they 
 reached the plain the meadow carpeted with lilac 
 flowers and strewn with golden leaves they must 
 seem not to know him, since there were other 
 people there, and groups of women, those graceful, 
 slow-paced groups, who come in the afternoon to 
 walk in the valley of Beicos. Andre, as usual, 
 watched them depart, but with the conviction this 
 time that never, never again should he see this 
 scene: at the golden hour of autumn sundown, 
 these three slender creatures of transition and 
 anguish, looking like pagan shades and vanishing 
 down this Vale of Rest, over the bright, unreal- 
 looking grass; one in her black shroud, and the 
 other two veiled in white. 
 
 When they had disappeared he turned towards 
 the booths of Turkish coffee, still there under the 
 trees, and ordered a narghileh, though the cool 
 dew of an October evening had already begun to be 
 felt. He sat down to meditate, against one of the
 
 322 DISENCHANTED XL 
 
 great planes in a fast-dying sunbeam. A cata- 
 clysm had engulfed him. Djenan's resignation 
 had destroyed his dream, his last dream of the 
 East. Without being quite aware of it, he had 
 so entirely trusted to everything lasting after his 
 departure. Separated from him, and not seeing 
 him grow older, she would, he had hoped, have 
 preserved for him a sort of idealised love which 
 would long have withstood the shocks and dis- 
 
 O 
 
 appointments which kill ordinary love. But no, 
 taken back by Hamdi, who was young, and who 
 doubtless still had a hold over her senses, she 
 would be utterly lost to him, Andre: 'She did 
 not love me so much as all that,' thought he. 'I 
 
 * o 
 
 am very simple and presumptuous still ! It was 
 all very pretty, but it was "literature"; and it is 
 all over, or to be accurate, it never existed. I am 
 as old as my years, and this at any rate proves it. 
 To-morrow I shall be naught at all, either for her 
 or for any other woman.' 
 
 He remained the last smoker left under the plane- 
 trees. Quite past now was the time of fine warm 
 evenings which brought so many dreamers from 
 the neighbourhood to loiter in this valley; the 
 low red sun had no power; it was cold. 
 
 'I still persist in trying to spin out my last 
 summer,' said he to himself, 'but it is as vain and 
 absurd as trying to prolong my youth. The time 
 for such things is past and gone.' 
 
 The sun had now set behind the European 
 shore, and in the distance the goatherds were 
 piping to collect their flocks. The meadow about 
 him, deserted now under the scattered yellow
 
 XL DISENCHANTED 323 
 
 trees, had the look of wild melancholy which he 
 remembered so well from the late autumn last 
 year. The melancholy of twilight and of fallen 
 leaves, the melancholy of parting, the melancholy 
 of having lost Djenan, and going back to daily 
 life, it was all unendurable, and spoke too plainly 
 of universal death.
 
 XLI 
 
 FOR some few days past they had contrived a 
 very ingenious means of corresponding in case of 
 urgency. One of their friends named Kiamouran 
 had authorised Andre to imitate her handwriting, 
 which was well known to the suspicious household, 
 and to sign her name; she had also supplied him 
 with several envelopes with her monogram ad- 
 dressed to Djenan by her own hand. Thus he 
 could write to them, in carefully chosen words, 
 however, for fear of letters being opened, and his 
 man-servant, accustomed to wearing a fez and 
 carrying a rosary, conveyed these notes direct to the 
 yali of the three little sinners. Sometimes Andre 
 sent him at a fixed hour, agreed upon beforehand ; 
 then one of the three would happen to be in the 
 vestibule and to have sent away the negroes, so 
 that a verbal message might be given to such a 
 trustworthy messenger. 
 
 So on the following day he ventured to send one 
 of these notes, signed 'Kiamouran,' to ask after 
 Melek's fever, and inquire whether they would 
 still make the excursion to the mosque on the hill. 
 In the afternoon he had an answer from Djenan, 
 saying that Melek was in bed with increased fever, 
 and that the two others could not leave her. 
 
 324
 
 XLI DISENCHANTED 325 
 
 Well, even alone, he was bent on the walk on 
 the 5th of October, the day they had named for 
 going there all together for the last time. 
 
 The weather was exquisite, that of the Southern 
 autumn; the bees were humming. He believed 
 himself to be less attached to-day to his little Turk- 
 ish friends, even to Djenan, and he felt that he 
 could take up life once more, elsewhere, where 
 they would not be. He thought, too, that his 
 regrets on leaving would be less for them than for 
 the East itself, the unchanging East which he had 
 so passionately loved from his earliest youth, and 
 for the lovely summer here, now ending; for this 
 pastoral nook of Asia, where he had spent two 
 seasons in the old-world calm, under the shade of 
 the trees, with the fragrance of the leaves and 
 mosses. And what lovely sunshine, again to-day ! 
 The oaks, the scabious, the bracken all russet and 
 gold, reminded him of the woods of his French 
 home, to such a pitch that he suddenly was thrown 
 back to the impressions of a long-past time when, at 
 the end of his holidays as a boy, he was obliged at 
 this time of year to leave the country where he 
 had played games for many happy hours under 
 September skies. 
 
 As he mounted the hill by the narrow mossy 
 paths through the heath, and the horizon rose 
 before him, his vision of France faded away. 
 This was no longer the thing; the sense of being 
 in Turkey took its place. The reaches of the 
 Bosphorus lay at his feet, the villages and palaces 
 on its shores, and the long lines of slowly moving 
 boats. Inland, too, the aspect was foreign, an
 
 326 DISENCHANTED XLI 
 
 endless chain of hills covered with a dense mo- 
 notonous cloak of verdure, forests too vast and 
 silent, such as France has no more. 
 
 When he finally reached the plateau, beaten by 
 all the winds of heaven, which formed the front 
 court of the old lonely mosque, a number of 
 Turkish women were there, seated on the grass, 
 having come on a pilgrimage in very primitive 
 ox-carts. Quick as soon as they saw him 
 quick with the muslin veils to wrap and hide their 
 faces. And they were at once a silent company of 
 shrouded spectres, projected with archaic charm 
 against the immense expanse of the Black Sea, 
 which had suddenly come into view, filling the 
 distance. 
 
 And Andre said to himself that the enchant- 
 ment of this land and its mystery would survive 
 everything, even his disillusionment in Djenan, 
 and the disenchantment of the decline of years.
 
 XLII 
 
 ON the next day, a Friday, he would not miss 
 going to the Sweet Waters of Asia, for this was 
 indeed the very last time. His agreement for the 
 season, for the hire of the caique and oarsmen, 
 expired that evening, and the Embassies were 
 to move back to Constantinople in the following 
 week. The season on the Bosphorus was ending. 
 
 No day of midsummer was ever so brilliant 
 and so still; but that there were fewer pleasure- 
 boats, perhaps, by the already somewhat deserted 
 shore, it might have been a Friday in a fine 
 August. Out of habit, and attachment too, he 
 would once more, come what might, steer his 
 caique past the closed windows of his friends' yali. 
 The little white signal was in its place. What an 
 inexplicable surprise ! Were they coming out ? 
 
 At the Sweet Waters the meadows were golden 
 by the side of the pretty stream, so covered were 
 they with fallen leaves, and the trees told plainly 
 of autumn. Nevertheless, most of the handsome 
 caiques that frequented the place came in one after 
 another, full of beauties from the harems, and 
 Andre, as he passed, met once more, in final fare- 
 well, many a covert smile from beneath a veil. 
 
 He waited a long time, looking out on all 
 327
 
 328 DISENCHANTED XLII 
 
 sides; but his friends did not come, and the day 
 was waning, and the ladies began to go home. 
 
 So he, too, was going away when, just as he got 
 out of the river, he saw coming, in a handsome 
 caique, with a blue and gold livery, a woman alone, 
 wearing a white yashmak, letting her eyes be seen. 
 She was perched, no doubt, on cushions, for she 
 looked tall, and sat high above the water, as if on 
 purpose to be better seen. 
 
 The boats crossed, and she looked at him 
 steadily. Djenan ! Those bronze-green eyes and 
 the long tawny eyebrows, which she had hidden 
 from him for a year past, were like no others, 
 and could not ever be mistaken. He shuddered 
 at this apparition an arm's length from him; but 
 he must keep his countenance before the boatmen, 
 and they passed each other motionless, without a 
 sign on either side. 
 
 However, he turned his caique a minute later, 
 to meet her again as she came down the stream. 
 There was hardly any one left when they again 
 crossed each other in a flash; and on this second 
 meeting the form enveloped in the white muslin 
 yashmak stood out against the dark cypresses and 
 the headstones of the old graveyard on the very 
 edge of the water there for in that land there are 
 cemeteries every where, no doubt to keep the thought 
 of death ever in mind. 
 
 The sun was low, and its beams already red; 
 they must go. Their two caiques left the little 
 river almost at the same time, and turned up the 
 Bosphorus in the glorious evening, Andre's boat 
 about a hundred yards behind Djenan's. He saw
 
 XLII DISENCHANTED 329 
 
 her, from afar, set foot on her marble steps and go 
 back into her gloomy dwelling. 
 
 What she had done told him a tale : to have 
 gone alone to the Sweet Waters, and yet more in 
 a yashmak, to show him her eyes and stamp their 
 expression on her friend's memory. But Andre, 
 who had at once felt how special and how pathetic 
 this was, remembered presently a passage in Medjeh, 
 in which he had related something analogous in 
 speaking of looks solemnly exchanged in a vessel 
 at the moment of parting. 'It was very pretty 
 of her,' he sadly reflected, 'but, again, rather 
 "literary"; she was imitating Nedjibeh. It will 
 not hinder her a few days hence from opening her 
 arms again to her Hamdi.' 
 
 He went on his way up the Bosphorus close 
 under the Asiatic shore. Many nouses were 
 already empty, hermetically closed; many gardens 
 had their gates barred under a tangle of crimson 
 Virginia creeper; everywhere autumn had laid its 
 hand departure the end. Here and there on 
 the little, prohibited landing-places some women 
 who had lingered in the country were sitting by 
 the water on this last Friday of the season; but 
 their eyes all that could be seen of their features 
 were sad at the thought of returning, now so 
 soon, to the town harems, and at the apprehension 
 of winter. And the setting sun lighted up all this 
 melancholy like red Bengal fire. 
 
 When Andre was at home again in his rooms 
 
 *-- ^ 
 
 at Therapia, his rowers came to make their farewell 
 selam; they had put on their own common 
 clothes, and each man brought back, carefully
 
 330 DISENCHANTED XLII 
 
 folded, his fine Broussa gauze shirt and smart 
 orange-velvet jacket. They brought also the long 
 carpet of the same stuff, artlessly advising him to 
 have it well dried, as it was soaked with damp and 
 salt. Andre looked at the tawdry relics; the gold 
 embroidery had already begun to assume, in the 
 wind and sun, the rich tawny tones of things old 
 and precious. What could he do with them ? 
 Would it not be less sad to destroy them than to 
 take them home with him and say to himself in 
 the dreary future, one day when he found the 
 things, 'That was the livery of my boatmen, 
 long ago, in the good time when I lived on the 
 Bosphorus ' ? 
 
 It was growing dark. He desired his Turkish 
 servant, the man who had once been a shepherd at 
 Eski Chehir, to bring his pipe and play the same 
 air again as he had played last year, the sort of 
 wild fugue, which now held to him the unutterable 
 expression of the dying summer in this place and 
 under these particular circumstances. Then, with 
 his elbows on the window-sill, he watched his 
 caique disappear, the rowers mere poor boatmen, 
 who would pull it down to Constantinople to hire 
 themselves to some new master. For a long time 
 he watched the slender white thing on the ever 
 darkening water, for its disappearance in twilight 
 greyness represented to him the similar vanishing 
 of two oriental summers.
 
 XLIII 
 
 ON Saturday the yth of October, his last day by 
 the sea, he received a few lines from Djenan, telling 
 him that Melek's fever was worse, that the old 
 people were uneasy, and that they were returning 
 to the city that very day for a consultation of 
 physicians. 
 
 All the Embassies were packing to go. Andre 
 hurried through his preparations in order to have 
 time to go over once more to the Asiatic shore 
 before nightfall, and bid farewell to the valley of 
 the Grand Signior. It was late when he arrived 
 there, under a sky across which heavy clouds were 
 racing and shedding some drops of rain as they 
 swept by. The valley was deserted, and the little 
 coffee-stalls under the trees had been removed since 
 yesterday. He took leave of two or three humble 
 souls who dwelt there in huts; and of a good 
 yellow dog and a good grey cat, little souls also of 
 this valley; he had known them for two summers, 
 and they seemed to understand that he was going 
 for ever. And then, at a funereal pace, he walked 
 round these quiet, sheltered meadows, now aban- 
 doned, where the veils of his friends had so often 
 brushed the grass and the lilac flowers of the 
 colchicum. This walk kept him there till the hour 
 
 331
 
 332 DISENCHANTED XLIII 
 
 of dusk, when the stars come out and the barking 
 of the wandering dogs begins to be heard. His 
 pilgrimage ended, by the time he found himself 
 under the huge trees, a sort of sacred grove, at the 
 entrance to the valley, it was quite dark, and his 
 feet caught in the roots that lay like snakes under 
 the thick mass of dead leaves. In the gloom he 
 went down to the little landing-place, of which 
 each granite block was familiar to him, and took a 
 caique to return to the European shore.
 
 XLIV 
 
 THE wind has raged all night on the Bosphorus, 
 the wind from the Black Sea whose lugubrious tones 
 will ere long be heard almost incessantly during 
 four or five winter months; and this morning the 
 
 * O 
 
 blast has gained in violence and shakes Andre's 
 dwelling, to add to the sadness of his last waking 
 at Therapia. 
 
 'My word, but this is weather!' exclaims his 
 man as he opens the shutters. Opposite, on the 
 hills of Asia, low heavy clouds are being dragged 
 along, almost touching the storm-tossed trees. 
 
 And it was in this threatening gale and the 
 lashing squalls of rain that he went to-day down 
 the Bosphorus for the last time, passing his friends' 
 yali, where everything was closed and shuttered, 
 while flights of dead leaves danced in a whirl on 
 the marble steps. 
 
 This evening he would be again in Constanti- 
 nople, but for such a little while before his final 
 departure ! Just fifty days, for he had decided to 
 take the steamship sailing on the 3Oth of November 
 and return to France by sea, just to have a fixed 
 date before him, unalterable, and to which he must 
 adhere. 
 
 A letter from Djenan at nightfall brought him 
 333
 
 334 DISENCHANTED XLIV 
 
 the report of the physicians. Brain fever, of a 
 serious type from the first. So poor little Melek, 
 no doubt, was to die, worn out by so much nervous 
 excitement, and the rebellion and horror she felt at 
 this second marriage.
 
 XLV 
 
 THE two weeks at the end of October, while 
 Melek lay dying, were almost invariably fine, 
 with a melancholy sun; Andre, every evening, 
 like a schoolboy, scratched through the day that 
 was gone on a calendar, where the 30th of 
 November was marked with a cross. He spent 
 as much time as possible in Stamboul, in the 
 Turkish life that was so soon to end for him. 
 But here, as on the Bosphorus, the sadness 
 of autumn added to that of his approaching 
 departure; already it was growing cold, almost 
 too cold for narghilehs and dreams in the open 
 air, in front of the sacred mosques under the trees 
 shedding their leaves. 
 
 He, of course, saw no more of his friends, for 
 Zeyneb and Djenan never left her who was dying. 
 Towards the end they placed in the lattice of a 
 window an imperceptible scrap of white which 
 meant: She is still alive; and he felt sure that 
 a scrap of blue would tell him : All is over. So, 
 early every morning, and again once or twice in 
 the day, he, or his friend Jean Renaud, or his 
 French servant, went to the cemetery at Kassim 
 Pacha, to look up anxiously at the window. 
 
 All that time, in the house where she was 
 335
 
 336 DISENCHANTED XLV 
 
 dying, and where perfect silence reigned, Imams, 
 at the request of the old people, were perpetually 
 praying. Islam, old Islam, with its divine care 
 for the dying, was closing in on its recalcitrant 
 child, who yielded gradually to its influence and 
 was falling asleep without terror. In her, indeed, 
 doubt was still a curable evil, a very recent graft 
 on a long-inherited stock of faith and quietism. 
 And so by degrees the crude observances which 
 are to the Koran what, with us, the practices at 
 Lourdes are to the Gospel, nay, even the supersti- 
 tions of her venerable grandmothers, no longer 
 shocked this little infidel of yesterday, who allowed 
 them to provide her with amulets and submitted 
 to have her clothes exorcised by dervishes; her 
 dainty shifts were blessed in the mosque at Eyoub, 
 elegant garments from the 'right shop' in Paris, 
 or they were sent further still, to Scutari, to the 
 Howling Saints whose breath has the gift of 
 healing, so long as they remain in their ecstasy 
 after long appeals to Allah. 
 
 As October ended, she had already been speech- 
 less for two days and probably unconscious, sunk 
 in a hot and heavy sleep which the doctors said 
 must end in death.
 
 XLVI 
 
 ON the 2nd of November Zeyneb, who was 
 watching by her pillow, suddenly turned round 
 with a shudder, for, at the end of the half- 
 darkened room, a voice was heard breaking the 
 persistent silence, a very sweet, young voice 
 saying prayers. She had not heard the girl 
 come in a girl with a veiled face. Why was 
 she there, Koran in hand ? Ah, yes ; she under- 
 stood at once ! The prayer for the dead. It is 
 the custom in Turkey when some one is dying in 
 a house, for the girls or women of the neighbour- 
 hood to come in turns to read prayers ; they enter 
 as a right, without giving a name or raising their 
 veils, nameless and fateful; and their presence is a 
 sign of death, as that of the priest who brings 
 extreme unction, is to Catholics. 
 
 Melek, too, understood, and her eyes, for some 
 time shut, opened again. She had reached that 
 mysterious better which almost always super- 
 venes in dying persons. She recovered her voice 
 too, which they had thought extinct for ever. 
 'Come nearer/ she said to the unknown reader; 
 'I do not hear distinctly. Do not think that I 
 am afraid, come close. Read louder that I may 
 
 not lose ' 
 
 z 337
 
 338 DISENCHANTED XLVI 
 
 Then she desired herself to confess the Moslem 
 faith, and spreading her little waxen white hands 
 in the attitude of prayer, she repeated the sacra- 
 mental words: 'There is no God but one God, 
 and Mahomet is his Prophet.' 1 
 
 But before she reached the end of the con- 
 fession, as inaudible as a breath, the poor out- 
 stretched hands fell. Then the nameless one 
 reopened her Koran and began to read once 
 more. How sweet is the rhythm, the lulling 
 music of those Moslem prayers, especially when 
 they are chanted by a girl's voice under a thick 
 veil ! Till a very late hour the unknown readers 
 carried on their pious task, one after another 
 coming in as silently as shades; but there was 
 no pause in the melodious drone that soothes and 
 helps the departing spirit. 
 
 Others, too, would come in on tiptoe, and 
 without speaking would bend over the bed of 
 mortal sleep : the mother, a kind and passive 
 creature, always so much ignored that she hardly 
 counted; the two grandmothers, not resigned, 
 but dumb and almost fierce in their concentrated 
 despair; or the father, Mehmed Bey, his face 
 disfigured by grief and perhaps by remorse, for 
 in his heart he adored his little Melek, and it 
 was his inexorable observance of old customs 
 that had led to her death. Or else, trembling 
 all over, Madame Tardieu, the former governess, 
 sent for a few days since because Melek had 
 wished it, but only tolerated with some hostile 
 
 1 La illahe illallah Mohammed Ressoul allah. Ech hedu erme la illahe 
 illallah ve ech hedu enne Mohammedul alihe hou ve ressoulouhou.
 
 XLVI DISENCHANTED 339 
 
 feeling, and regarded as a responsible and evil 
 influence. The dying girl's eyes had closed 
 again; but for a slight clenching of her hands 
 now and then, or a twitching of her lips, she 
 gave no more sign of life.
 
 XLVII 
 
 IT was about four in the morning. Djenan was 
 now keeping watch. A minute since the veiled 
 reader, whose prayers filled the room, had raised 
 her voice a little in the more solemn silence, 
 praying with excited fervour, as if conscious that 
 something had happened something final. And 
 Djenan, who was still holding one of the little 
 transparent hands without noticing that it was 
 growing cold, started with terror when a hand 
 was laid on her shoulder two little warning pats, 
 ominously gentle. But oh ! the fearful face of 
 an old woman she had never seen before, who 
 suddenly stood behind her, having entered with- 
 out a sound by the always open door; a tall, old 
 woman, broad, but lean and haggard, who without 
 a word signed to her: 'Go/ She had, no doubt, 
 long been waiting in the passage, and then, feeling 
 with professional certainty that her moment had 
 come, she approached to perform her part. 
 
 'No! no!' cried Djenan, throwing herself on 
 the dead. 'Not yet! I will not let you take her 
 away. No ! no ! ' 
 
 'There, there, gently,' said the old woman, 
 raising her authoritatively. 'I will not hurt her/ 
 
 And in fact there was nothing malignant in 
 340
 
 XLVII DISENCHANTED 341 
 
 her ugliness; rather a sullen compassion, and 
 above all utter weariness. So many, so many 
 sweet flowers mown down in the harems ! so 
 many she had carried out, this strong-armed 
 woman, -this 'Washer of the dead,' as they are 
 called. 
 
 She took her in her arms like a sick child, and 
 the fine red hair, all tumbled, fell over her hideous 
 shoulder. Two of her assistants, old hands too, 
 and more terrifying still, were waiting in the 
 ante-room with lights. Djenan and the praying 
 woman followed them along corridors and halls 
 wrapped in the cold silence of dawn the weirdly 
 woeful group which went on and on towards the 
 stairs to go down. 
 
 Thus little Melek Sadia Saadet, at the age of 
 twenty years and six months, died of dread at the 
 idea of being a second time thrown into the arms 
 
 O 
 
 of a strange master. 
 
 Having descended to the lower floor, the old 
 women carried their burden to the door of a large 
 room in the servants' quarters of this ancient 
 dwelling; a sort of serving-room paved with 
 marble, with a deal table in the middle, a large 
 pan of steaming hot water, and a sheet lying 
 unfolded on a tripod. In the corner was a 
 coffin a light coffin of thin boards, as they are 
 made in Turkey and finally, on the floor an 
 antique shawl rolled round a pole, one of the 
 'Valideh' shawls which are used as winding- 
 sheets for the wealthy; and all had been pre- 
 pared beforehand, for in Turkey no time is lost 
 in burying the dead.
 
 342 DISENCHANTED XLVII 
 
 When the old women had laid the girl on the 
 table, which was rather short, the beautiful red 
 hair, not yet fastened up, fell to the ground. 
 Before beginning their task they dismissed Djenan 
 and her veiled companion by a sign. But in fact 
 they withdrew of their own accord to wait out- 
 side. And Zeyneb, aroused by some intuition of 
 what was happening, came to join them Zeyneb, 
 not weeping, but as pale as the dead, her eyes set in 
 purple rings. All three stood there motionless, 
 frozen, following in fancy the processes of this toilet 
 of the dead, listening to the splashing of water and 
 moving of various objects in the echoing room; 
 and when it was all over the tall old woman called 
 them in: 'Come and look at her now.' 
 
 She lay sunk in the narrow coffin, wrapped in 
 white all but her face, left uncovered for farewell 
 kisses; they could not quite shut her eyelids nor 
 her mouth ; but she was so young, her teeth were 
 so white, that she was still exquisitely pretty, with 
 the expression of a child, and a sort of sorrowful 
 half-smile on her lips. 
 
 Then every one was roused to come and kiss 
 her: her father, her mother, her grandparents, 
 her stern old uncles, who for some days now had 
 ceased to be stern, the servants, and the slaves. 
 The great mansion was full of sudden lights, of 
 alarms, hurrying feet, sighs and sobs. 
 
 When one of the grandmothers came in, the 
 most violent of the two she who was also 
 Djenan's grandmother and had for some time 
 taken up her abode in this house a thorough- 
 going ' 1320,' an uncompromising Moslem if ever
 
 XLVII DISENCHANTED 343 
 
 there was one, only this morning exasperated by 
 the new evolution which had carried away her 
 granddaughters when this old lady came into 
 the room the shivering governess, Mademoiselle 
 Tardieu, was on her knees by the coffin. The 
 two women looked at each other for a moment 
 in silence, one terrible, the other terrified and 
 humble. 
 
 'Go!' said the old woman in Turkish, quiver- 
 ing with hatred. 'What have you to do here - 
 you ? Your work is done. Do you hear me ? 
 Go!' 
 
 But the poor soul, shrinking away from her, 
 looked up with such honesty and woe in her tear- 
 filled eyes, that the old woman was suddenly 
 moved to pity; she understood, no doubt, in a 
 lightning-flash, what for years she had refused to 
 recognise: that the governess, all through, was 
 but the irresponsible tool of Time. Then, holding 
 out her hands, she cried, 'Forgive!' and the two 
 women, hitherto enemies, wept and sobbed in each 
 other's arms. Incompatibility of ideas, of race, 
 and of period had long kept them apart; but they 
 were both kind and motherly, capable of tenderness 
 and of spontaneous reaction. 
 
 Meanwhile a pale gleam of light through the 
 windows announced the end of the November 
 night. Djenan, remembering Andre, went up- 
 stairs to find a scrap of blue ribbon, as they had 
 agreed, and tied it to the lattice of the well-known 
 window.
 
 XLVIII 
 
 THE man-servant who went to see at break of day 
 came back to Pera quite scared. 
 
 ' Mademoiselle Melek must be dead,' he said 
 to his master when he called him. 'They have 
 put up a blue signal; I have just seen it/ 
 
 The man had more than once had occasion to 
 speak with Melek through a partly open door 
 when he was sent on Andre's dangerous messages ; 
 she had even let him see her face when thanking 
 him. And to him she was Mademoiselle Melek, 
 she looked so very young. 
 
 Andre, hearing from Djenan an hour later that 
 the body would be taken to the mosque at noon, 
 went to Kassim Pacha at eleven o'clock. He put 
 on a fez and the dress of a man of the people, to 
 make more sure of not being recognised, for he 
 was anxious to be able at a given moment to go 
 close up to his little friend and fulfil a pious rite 
 of Islam. 
 
 He stood apart at first, in the cemetery near 
 the house; and he soon saw the light coffin borne 
 out, carried on the shoulders of unknown men, as 
 the custom is in Turkey; a valuable old shalw 
 was wrapped closely round it, a 'Valideh' shawl, 
 striped green and red, with a minute Cashmere 
 
 344
 
 XLVIII DISENCHANTED 345 
 
 pattern all over. At the end where the head lay, 
 a little white veil was put to show that the dead 
 was a woman, and by way of a wonderful innova- 
 tion, a small bunch of roses was pinned to the 
 shawl. 
 
 Among the Turks the dead are buried with 
 more haste than among us, and no communications 
 are sent out. Those who please may attend the 
 funeral relations, friends, all whom the news has 
 reached, servants and neighbours. There are 
 never any women in these chance gatherings, and 
 above all never any bearers ; the men in the street 
 give their services. 
 
 It was a fine, bright, still day, with a clear 
 November sun. Stamboul was splendid across 
 the Golden Horn in its lofty immutable grandeur, 
 above a thin haze which hung over the sea at its foot. 
 
 The coffin was often lifted from one man's 
 shoulder to another's, as various persons met on 
 the way volunteered for the pious task of bearing 
 for a few minutes the unknown dead. Foremost 
 of all walked two priests in green turbans; a 
 hundred or more men followed; men of every 
 degree, and some old dervishes had come, too, with 
 their tall hats, chanting as they went in loud 
 lugubrious voices, like the howling of wolves in 
 the woods on a winter night. 
 
 They made their way to an ancient mosque 
 beyond the houses, almost in the country, in a 
 valley that verged on the wilderness. Little 
 Melek was deposited on the flags of the court, 
 and the Imams chanted the prayers for the dead in 
 a very sweet falsetto.
 
 346 DISENCHANTED XLVIII 
 
 In about ten minutes at most they resumed 
 their march, going down to the sea to embark in 
 boats and gain the opposite shore and the great 
 cemetery at Eyoub, which was to be her last 
 resting-place. 
 
 As they got nearer to the Golden Horn their 
 progress was slower, by reason of the crowd which 
 joined the procession; and there little Melek was 
 carried by a number of boatmen and sailors who 
 relieved each other. Andre, who had hitherto 
 hung back, now at last came near, feeling safe 
 among the crowd in which he was lost; he laid 
 his hand on the antique shawl, put out his shoulder, 
 and felt the weight of his little friend resting on 
 it for about twenty paces as they approached the 
 shore. 
 
 After that he stole away, fearing lest his 
 persistent following should be noticed.
 
 XLIX 
 
 A WEEK later the two that were left bid him come 
 to Sultan Selim. They found themselves together 
 once more in the humble little dwelling, gloomy, 
 hidden, and unchanging; the last meeting but one 
 in all their lives, and they were both black and 
 invisible under equally thick veils which they did 
 not once raise. 
 
 They talked of nothing but of her who was 
 gone, who was ' free ' as they expressed it ; and from 
 them Andre learned all the details of her death. 
 It seemed to him that they were tearless under 
 their black gauze masks ; their voices were steady; 
 they were grave and calm. So far as Zeyneb was 
 concerned there was nothing strange in this de- 
 tachment, for she herself was now hardly of this 
 world. But he was surprised to find Djenan so 
 composed. At one moment, thinking to please 
 her, he said with deep, gentle affection : * I was 
 introduced to Hamdi Bey last Friday at Yildiz; 
 he is very gentlemanly, elegant, and good- 
 looking ' 
 
 But she cut him short with her first show of 
 excitement. 'If you please, Andre, we will not 
 speak of that man.' He then heard from Zeyneb 
 that the family, quite overwhelmed by Melek's 
 
 347
 
 348 DISENCHANTED XLIX 
 
 death, had ceased for the moment to entertain the 
 idea of this marriage. 
 
 He had indeed met Hamdi Bey, and had 
 thought well of him. Since then he had tried to 
 say to himself: 'I am very happy to think the 
 husband of my little friend so satisfactory!' But 
 it did not ring true; on the contrary, he suffered 
 all the more acutely from having seen him and 
 recognised his charm, and yet more his youth. 
 
 After leaving them for the long walk he had so 
 often taken before, from this house to his own, 
 Stamboul impressed him more than ever as a city of 
 decay, sadly becoming Western, and sinking into 
 the commonplace of hurry and ugliness. Beyond 
 the still undisturbed streets round Sultan Selim, 
 and as soon as he reached the lower region near 
 the bridge, his gorge rose at the swarming turmoil 
 of the crowd, which, down there, never ceases ; in 
 the mud, in the darkness of the narrow alleys, in 
 the cold evening fog, these hustling folks, selling 
 and buying a myriad squalid things and horrible 
 food, were no longer Turks, but a medley of all 
 the races of the Levant. Excepting the red fez 
 which they still cling to, half of them no longer 
 wore the dignified national costume; they were 
 tricked out in European second-hand garments, 
 outcast from our great cities, which the trading 
 ships bring out in quantities. Never had he been 
 so keenly aware of the factories sending up their 
 smoke in various spots, nor of the tall stupid 
 houses, plaster imitations of our suburban villas. 
 *I am absurd in persisting to see Stamboul as it is 
 no more,' said he to himself. 'It is crumbling
 
 XLIX DISENCHANTED 349 
 
 away, dying out. Now one must constantly and 
 carefully select the things to look at, the nooks to 
 be frequented; up on the heights the mosques 
 survive, but all the lower town is undermined by 
 "progress," which is advancing by long strides 
 with all its squalor, its alcohol, its hopelessness, and 
 its bombs. The evil breath of the West has 
 passed over the city of the Khalifs; it is 
 "disenchanted" now, just in the same way as ere 
 long all the women of its harems will be.' 
 
 And then even more sadly he went on to 
 reflect: 'After all, what can it matter to me? I 
 no longer belong to the place; at a fixed date, 
 which will soon be here, the 3Oth of November, I 
 shall be gone no doubt for ever. But for the 
 humble gravestones over Nedjibeh out there, 
 about which I shall still be uneasy, what is there 
 here that concerns me ? I myself, indeed, in five 
 years, or say in ten what shall I be but a wreck ? 
 Life has no duration, mine is already behind me 
 on the road; the things of this world will soon 
 matter to me no more. Time may still run at its 
 dizzy pace and sweep away the old East that I 
 loved, all the Circassian beauties, with their large 
 eyes of deep-sea green, and may demolish every 
 human race and the world itself, the vast Cosmos 
 - what will it matter to me, since I shall not see 
 it ? I, who am almost at an end myself, and to- 
 morrow may have lost all consciousness of being.' 
 
 And then, at certain moments, it seemed to him 
 that the 3Oth of November never could come, so 
 completely was he at home in Constantinople, nay, 
 anchored in his rooms where nothing had as yet been
 
 350 DISENCHANTED XLIX 
 
 disturoed for his departure. And as he walked on 
 amid the throng, while lanterns innumerable were 
 lighted up, through all the cries from the stalls, 
 the bargaining in every language of the Levant, 
 he felt himself floating rudderless, driven by 
 conflicting impressions.
 
 NOVEMBER was drawing to a close; they had met 
 for the last supreme interview. The same sun- 
 beam on the opposite wall again threw its reflected 
 and artificial gleam on them for a few minutes 
 before twilight in this modest little harem in the 
 heart of Stamboul. Pale Zeyneb, unveiled, and 
 Djenan, buried in her black shroud, were con- 
 versing with their friend Andre as calmly as in 
 their former meetings ; it might have been sup- 
 posed that this day would have its morrow, that 
 the last of November, the date that must end 
 everything, was still far off, or would not come 
 at all. Really there was nothing to suggest that 
 never, never again after this once would they hear 
 each other's voices in this world. 
 
 Zeyneb, without any visible emotion, was 
 arranging plans for correspondence when he should 
 be in France. ' Poste-restante is now too closely 
 watched; in these times of terror no one may 
 enter the post-office without giving his name. But 
 our letters will be quite safe by the way I have 
 planned, only it will be a little long; do not be 
 surprised if we do not answer you within a fortnight 
 sometimes.' 
 
 Djenan, with much composure, was plotting at
 
 352 DISENCHANTED L 
 
 least to see her friend once more on the afternoon 
 of that last November day. 'At four o'clock by 
 the clock at Tophaneh, which is the hour when 
 the steamships weigh anchor, we will both of 
 us drive along the quay, in the commonest hired 
 vehicle, you understand. We will pass as near 
 the edge of the quay as possible, and you, from 
 the poop, watch all the hired carriages closely, so 
 as not to miss us. There is always a crowd there, 
 you know, and as Turkish women are never 
 allowed to stop, our greeting will last but an 
 instant.' 
 
 The reflected sunbeam was to mark the hour of 
 their parting. When it vanished above the roof, 
 Andre was to rise and leave; this had been agreed 
 on from the first; this was to be the utmost limit; 
 after that, all was over. 
 
 Andre, who had been prepared to find them 
 painfully agitated at this supreme interview, was 
 astounded by their composure. Also, he had 
 counted on looking once more into Djenan's eyes 
 this last time; but no; the minutes went on, and 
 nothing changed in the arrangement of the severe 
 tcharchaf or the folds of the veil, as immovable, 
 no doubt, as though it were of bronze over the 
 face of a statue. 
 
 At about half-past three, while, for the sake of 
 talking, they were discussing the Book, an almost 
 sudden gloom invaded the little room, and all 
 three were abruptly silent. 'We must go,' said 
 Zeyneb, simply, in her sweet husky voice, and she 
 pointed to the latticed windows no longer illumi- 
 nated by the reflection from the house opposite -
 
 L DISENCHANTED 353 
 
 the sunbeam had disappeared above the old roofs. 
 The hour was come; Andre rose. During the 
 
 7 O 
 
 very last minute, as they were standing in front of 
 each other, he had time to reflect. 'This was the 
 only time, absolutely the only time, when I might 
 have seen her once more before her eyes and mine 
 return to dust/ 
 
 To be so sure of never again meeting her, and 
 to leave her thus without seeing her again no, 
 this he had not expected; but he endured the 
 anguish of his disappointment and grief without a 
 word. He bowed ceremoniously over the little 
 hand she gave him, and kissed it lightly, and that 
 was all. 
 
 And now, back through the deserted old streets, 
 the dead streets alone. 
 
 'It is well ended/ said he to himself. 'Poor 
 little captive, it could have no better end ! And 
 I had fatuously imagined it would be dramatic/ 
 
 It had, indeed, ended too well; for he went 
 away with a deep sense of emptiness and loneli- 
 ness. He was even tempted to retrace his steps 
 to the door with the old brass knocker, while they 
 might still be there. And he would have said to 
 Djenan: 'We cannot part like this, dear little 
 friend; you, who are so sweet and kind, do not 
 make me so unhappy. Let me look once more 
 into your eyes, and clasp my hand more closely; 
 I should go away less miserable/ 
 
 Of course, he did nothing of the kind, but went 
 on his way. But at that moment he loved Stam- 
 boul distressfully; its myriad lights of evening were
 
 354 DISENCHANTED L 
 
 reflected in the waters; something made him cling 
 to it desperately, what, he could not precisely 
 define something in the air which hung over the 
 immense and various city, an emanation from the 
 souls of its women, no doubt for that is really 
 almost always what attaches us to places and 
 objects the souls of the women he had loved, 
 and which mingled in his memory. Was it 
 Nedjibeh's or Djenan's, or both together ? he 
 could not tell.
 
 LI 
 
 NEXT day two letters came: 
 
 ZEYNEB TO ANDRE 
 
 'Truly, I did not understand that we met 
 yesterday for the last time, or I should have fallen, 
 a hapless wretch, at your feet, and implored you 
 not to leave us thus. Oh ! you are abandoning us 
 sunk in darkness of heart and mind. You you 
 are going into light and life, and we must vegetate 
 through the lamentable days, all alike, in the torpor 
 of the harem. 
 
 'When you had gone we sobbed bitterly. 
 Zerichteh, Djenan's kind nurse, came down; 
 she scolded us, and took us in her arms; but she 
 too, poor soul, wept at seeing us weep. 
 
 * ZEYNEB/ 
 
 'I have sent you this morning some trifling 
 Turkish souvenirs. The embroidery is sent by 
 Djenan; it is the "Ayet," the text from the Koran 
 which has watched over her bed ever since she was 
 a child. Accept the scarves from me. That 
 worked with roses is a Circassian veil given to me 
 by my grandmother; that embroidered in silver I 
 
 355
 
 356 DISENCHANTED LI 
 
 found in an old chest in our yali. You can throw 
 them over a sofa in your home in France. Z.' 
 
 DJENAN TO ANDRE 
 
 'I wish I could read your thoughts when the 
 ship goes out round Seraglio point, when at every 
 turn of the screw, the cypresses in the cemeteries, 
 the minarets, the cupolas, will be a little further 
 away. You will watch them till they vanish, I 
 know. And then, far off in the sea of Marmora, 
 your eyes will seek, under the Byzantine walls, the 
 graveyard where we prayed one day. And at last 
 all will be lost in mist before your eyes, the cy- 
 presses of Stamboul, all the minarets and the 
 domes, and before long, in your heart, every mem- 
 ory of them too. 
 
 'Well, be it so; let mist and confusion envelop 
 them all; the little house at Eyoub, where you 
 lived and loved, and the other humble house in the 
 heart of Stamboul, near a mosque, and the vast 
 melancholy mansion where once you got in by 
 stealth. And all the persons of the past, let con- 
 fusion blur them too her whom you loved long 
 ago, who crept by your side in her grey feridjeh, 
 under the wall among the January daisies I have 
 trodden the path and called up her shade and 
 the other three later, who yearned to be your 
 friends. Let them mingle all together, but keep 
 them all in your heart your remembrance is not 
 enough. These, too, these later friends, have 
 loved you, more perhaps than you supposed. I 
 know that there will be tears in your eyes when
 
 LI DISENCHANTED 357 
 
 the last cypress is lost to view and I also ask for 
 a tear. 
 
 'And over there, when you are at home, how 
 will you remember your friends ? The spell once 
 broken, what aspect will they assume in your 
 mind ? It is horrible to think that, perhaps, they 
 will have ceased to exist for you, that you may 
 shrug your shoulders and smile as you think of 
 them. 
 
 'I am in such a hurry, and yet afraid, to read 
 the book in which you will write about Turkish 
 women about us ! Shall I find in it that which 
 I have vainly tried to discuss, ever since we have 
 known each other, the depths of your soul, the 
 inmost truth of your feelings ; all that your short 
 letters never reveal, nor your few words. I have 
 felt emotion in you now and again, yes; but so 
 quickly suppressed, so transient. There have 
 been moments when I longed to tear open your 
 heart and head to find out at last what lay behind 
 your cold, keen eyes. 
 
 'Oh! Andre, do not say that I am crazy. I 
 am miserable and alone unhappy and struggling 
 in darkness. Farewell. Pity me. Love me a 
 little if you can. DJENAN.' 
 
 Andre replied: 
 
 'There is not much left to be discovered, I 
 assure you, behind my "cold, keen eyes"; much 
 less do I know what there is behind yours, dear 
 little enigma. You are always complaining of my 
 silence and reserve. You see I have seen too much
 
 358 DISENCHANTED LI 
 
 of life; when you have lived as long you will 
 understand better. 
 
 'And if you fancy that you yourself were 
 not icy you too, yesterday, at the moment of 
 parting ! 
 
 'Then to-morrow, at four o'clock, on the 
 dismal quay of Galata. In the wild medley of 
 departure I will keep a sharp lookout; I shall 
 have nothing else to care for, I assure you, but just 
 not to miss the passing of your beloved black 
 form, since that is all you allow me ever to see 
 again. ANDRE.'
 
 LII 
 
 THURSDAY, the 3oth of November, dawned with 
 ruthless punctuality, as every decisive and fateful 
 day arrives in needless haste. Not only, to each 
 of us, the day of death, but, after us, the days 
 which will see the last of our generation, the end 
 of Islam, the disappearance of our declining races, 
 and then those which will mark the end of all time, 
 the annihilation and wreck of the revolving suns, 
 swallowed up in engulfing darkness. 
 
 Fast, fast, came the 3Oth of November, such a 
 day as any other to the majority of very various 
 beings which Constantinople sees mingling in the 
 crowd ; but to Djenan and to Andre a date mark- 
 ing one of the fateful turnings in life. 
 
 The cold, grey dawn woke them both at about 
 the same time; both under the same sky, and in 
 the same town for a few hours yet, parted only by 
 a ravine full of human dwellings, and a cypress- 
 wood full of dead but, in fact, so very far apart, 
 divided by invisible barriers. He, as soon as he 
 opened his eyes, was gripped by the sense of im- 
 pending departure, for he had left his house and 
 was camming in the hotel; he had taken a room 
 as high up as possible to avoid the chaotic noise 
 downstairs, the cloth caps of the globe-trotters 
 
 359
 
 360 DISENCHANTED LII 
 
 from America, and the fantastic elegance of Syrian 
 sharpers; but especially to command a view of 
 Stamboul, with Eyoub in the distance. 
 
 And both Djenan and Andre looked first at 
 the horizon, the heavy rack of clouds, the direction 
 of the autumn wind; he from his wide-open 
 window, and she through the penitential, inevitable 
 wooden lattice that imprisons a harem. 
 
 They had hoped for a day of bright sunshine, 
 and the haunting glory of the belated sun which 
 sometimes sheds the warmth of a hothouse over 
 Stamboul. He, that he might carry away with 
 him, in his eyes greedy and crazy for colour, a last 
 splendid vision of the city of minarets and cupolas. 
 She, that she might be sure of succeeding in seeing 
 him once more from the quay of Galata, as she 
 drove past the departing ship; for otherwise 
 nothing filled her with deeper melancholy than the 
 pale rose-tinted lights of a fine November afternoon, 
 and she had long since told herself that if, after he 
 was gone for ever, she had to come back and bury 
 herself at home under one of those languid gold- 
 coloured sunsets, it would be more unendurable 
 than in the gloomy fall of a rainy evening. But 
 then in wet weather everything would be doubtful 
 and complicated; what pretext could she invent 
 for going out, and how escape from the increased 
 watchfulness of all the eunuchs and slaves ? 
 
 And it was going to rain, very evidently all day. 
 A black sky, with clouds whirling and breaking 
 under the Siberian wind; heavy masses sweeping 
 low, almost touching the earth, darkening the dis- 
 tance and drowning everything. Cold and wet.
 
 LII DISENCHANTED 361 
 
 Zeyneb also, at the open window, was looking 
 at the sky, careless of her own health, and breathing 
 in the icy damp air of the Constantinople winter, 
 which last year had developed in her lungs the seeds 
 of death. Then it suddenly struck her that she 
 was wasting precious minutes. Andre was not to 
 leave till four o'clock in the afternoon; but she 
 went, nevertheless, to see Djenan as she had pro- 
 mised her yesterday; they wanted to reconsider 
 their plans, and contrive more infallible arrange- 
 ments, so as to drive, exactly at the right moment, 
 past the place of embarkation. He would be here 
 for nearly the whole day; the excitement of his 
 presence, of danger and emotion, still kept them 
 up ; but afterwards oh ! afterwards would come 
 the sudden plunge back into stagnant calm, with 
 nothing more in life. 
 
 To Andre, on the contrary, the day began in 
 rather placid melancholy. The supreme fatigue of 
 having lived and loved so much, of having said 
 farewell so many times, undoubtedly lulled his soul 
 at the hour of this parting, which he had imagined 
 beforehand as more cruelly painful. It was with 
 surprise, almost with remorse, that he detected in 
 himself a sort of detachment, even before he had 
 started. 'It had to be cut short,' said he to him- 
 self. 'When I am gone, everything will be better 
 for her; everything will be forgotten, alas ! in 
 Hamdi's caresses.' 
 
 But what a disastrous sky for his last day ! 
 He had intended to go across to Stamboul, to 
 wander sadly round in the mild November sun- 
 shine. But it was impossible in this wintry
 
 362 DISENCHANTED LII 
 
 weather, it would leave a too painful last im- 
 pression. He would not cross the bridge never 
 again but stay in uninteresting, muddy Pera, 
 frittering away the day till the hour of departure. 
 
 Two o'clock, time to leave the hotel and go 
 down towards the sea. Before starting, however, 
 he had the crowning distress of looking once 
 more out of window towards Eyoub and the great 
 fields of the dead, which he could not possibly see 
 from below, neither from Galata, nor from any 
 other spot; far, far away in the haze, beyond 
 Stamboul, something like a stiff black crest 
 showed against the horizon, a crest of hundreds of 
 cypresses which, in spite of the distance, could be 
 seen to stir, so wrung were they by the wind. 
 
 When he had looked out, he went away down 
 to the low quarter of Galata, always crowded by a 
 horrible Levantine mob, the part of Constantinople 
 which is most infected by the perpetual arrival of 
 steamships, and the travellers they bring, and the 
 modern pedlars' rubbish that they unceasingly 
 pour out on the ancient city of the Khalifs. A 
 black sky, alleys padded with sticky mire, filthy 
 wine-shops reeking of tobacco smoke and the 
 anise-flavoured alcohol of the Greeks, a jostling 
 mass of porters in rags, and hordes of mangy dogs. 
 Of all this the magician Sun sometimes makes a 
 thing of beauty; but to-day, what a mockery 
 under the winter rain ! 
 
 Four o'clock now; the November day is closing 
 in, darkening behind the heavy rack of clouds.
 
 LII DISENCHANTED 363 
 
 It is the hour fixed for departure the hour, too, 
 when Djenan is to drive slowly past for the last 
 farewell. Andre, having chosen his cabin, and 
 seen his luggage on board, took a place on the 
 upper deck at the stern, surrounded by friendly 
 members of the various Embassies who had come 
 to see the last of him, sometimes absorbed and 
 inattentive in his watch for the carriage, and 
 sometimes forgetting those who were to be in 
 it, while he laughingly chatted with the friends 
 about him. 
 
 The quay was as usual packed with people. 
 It no longer rained. The air was full of the 
 noise of engines, of steam-cranes, of cries and calls 
 from the porters and the sailors, in every lan- 
 guage of the Levant. This wet crowd, hustling 
 and shouting, was a motley of Turkish costumes 
 and European rags, but the fez, worn by almost 
 every one, gave an oriental aspect to the whole 
 scene. The cafes all along the street, behind 
 this crowd, were full of Levantines ; faces crowned 
 with red caps were to be seen at every window of 
 the wooden houses, which are perpetually full of 
 oriental strumming and the smoke of narghilehs. 
 And all of them were watching as they always 
 watch the departing steamships. But beyond 
 this intrusive quarter, this confusion of costumes 
 and this noise beyond, and divided from it by 
 the waters of the gulf bearing a forest of ships, 
 Stamboul the great lifted its mosques above the 
 fog; its sovereign mass crushing all nearer ugli- 
 ness, its silence reigning above the squalid 
 turmoil.
 
 364 DISENCHANTED LII 
 
 Will they come ? Poor little things ! For a 
 moment Andre almost forgets them in the inevit- 
 able excitement of leave-taking, bewildered as he 
 is by shaking hands, by answering remarks of 
 careless fun. And, in fact, he is no longer quite 
 sure that it is he who is leaving; he has so often 
 found himself on board one of these vessels, in 
 front of these quays and this same crowd, to 
 welcome or to speed a friend, as is customary in 
 Constantinople. And besides, the city of Stamboul 
 up against the sky has been much his own, almost 
 his home more than a quarter of a century since; 
 is it possible that he is really going away? No; 
 it seems to him now that he will go back there 
 to-morrow as usual, back to the old familiar spots 
 and the well-known faces. 
 
 But the second warning bell has rung, the 
 friends who came to see him off go on shore; the 
 stern deck is deserted, only those who are really 
 leaving stand there, looking at each other. There 
 is no disputing it; that second bell, the last, had 
 a funereal tone and then Andre pulls himself 
 together. 
 
 Ah ! that carriage over there must be the very 
 one. A hired coupe shabby enough, but then 
 she had told him so moving forward even more 
 slowly than the crowd necessitates. It is coming 
 quite close, the window is down, and there are 
 certainly two women in it veiled in black. And 
 one of them suddenly raises her veil : Djenan ! 
 Djenan, who would be seen ! Djenan, who for a 
 second looks straight at him, with such a face of 
 anguish as he never can forget.
 
 LII DISENCHANTED 365 
 
 Her eyes flash through her tears; but they are 
 gone! The veil has fallen; and this time Andre 
 understands the finality of this veiling, an end for 
 all eternity, as when we hide a beloved face under 
 the lid of the coffin. She did not lean out of the 
 window, she did not wave her hand, she gave no 
 sign; nothing but just that look, which indeed 
 was enough to involve a Turkish woman in 
 serious danger. And the hired coupe went slowly 
 on its way, vanishing through the crowd. 
 
 That look had struck Andre to the heart more 
 than any words or all her letters. The groups on 
 the quay, who were waving adieux with hands and 
 hats, had ceased to exist for him. There was 
 nothing in the world but that carriage in the 
 distance, slowly returning to a harem. His eyes, 
 though he would fain have watched it, were 
 suddenly dim; he saw everything in a quivering 
 mist. 
 
 What now ? Can he be dreaming ? The 
 carriage, still going quite slowly, is fast disappear- 
 ing, and not in the direction in which the horses 
 are moving. It is going ofF sideways like a 
 dissolving view, and with it the people, the 
 swarms of figures, the houses, the city ! The 
 ship is off: without a sound or a jerk or a throb 
 of the screw. Absorbed in thought, he had not 
 observed. The huge steamship, towed by tugs, 
 was stealing away from land without any sensible 
 motion; it was as if the quay were moving, 
 slipping very quickly away with all its ugliness 
 and its crowds, while high Stamboul, further 
 away, had not yet stirred. The uproar of voices
 
 366 DISENCHANTED LII 
 
 died away, the waving hands were no longer in 
 sight nor the black shape of that carriage among 
 the myriad red specks that were Turkish fezzes. 
 
 Still without any sense of motion on board, 
 in sudden and unexpected silence, Stamboul now 
 began to be lost to sight in the fog and dusk. 
 All Turkey was disappearing, with a sort of 
 funereal dignity, fading into the distance and 
 into the past. 
 
 Andre did not cease from looking as long as 
 a dim vision of Stamboul could be discerned, a 
 darker grey in the grey of evening. To him on 
 that side of the horizon a charm still dwelt of 
 women's souls and figures those who but now 
 went away in that carriage, and those others 
 already sleeping in death. 
 
 Nightfall on the sea of Marmora. Andre 
 was thinking : ' By this time they are at home 
 again.' And he pictured to himself their drive 
 back, their arrival at the house under inquisitive 
 eyes, and then their imprisonment, their loneliness 
 this evening. 
 
 The ship was not yet far away; that lighthouse 
 just blazing out at a short distance was on 
 Seraglio point. But Andre had already a sense 
 of infinite remoteness; his departure had cut, as 
 with the stroke of an axe, the threads which had 
 bound the life of Turkey with the living hour; 
 and then that time, really so recent, but now held 
 by no tie, dropped away, falling, falling rapidly 
 into the void where things absolutely past sink 
 into nothingness.
 
 LIII 
 
 ON reaching France he received this note from 
 D jen an : 
 
 'When you were in our country, Andre, when 
 we breathed the same air, it still seemed as though 
 you belonged to us a little. But now you are lost 
 to us; what concerns you, what surrounds you, is 
 all unknown to us and your heart, your diverted 
 thoughts escape us more and more. You evade 
 us nay, rather it is we who are fading, soon to 
 vanish completely. It is so frightfully sad ! 
 
 * For a little while yet your book will keep us in 
 your mind. But after that ? I have a favour to 
 ask you. You will send me as soon as possible 
 the first pages in manuscript, will you not ? I 
 shall never part from them; wherever I go, even 
 underground, they will be with me. How sad a 
 thing is the real romance of that romance ! It is 
 
 O 
 
 now the only ground on which I feel sure of 
 meeting you; to-morrow it will be all that is left 
 of a time now past for ever. DJENAN.' 
 
 Andre immediately sent her the sheets she had 
 asked for. But he had no answer, not a line for 
 
 367
 
 368 DISENCHANTED LIU 
 
 five weeks, when he received this letter from 
 Zeyneb : 
 
 KASSIM PACHA, lyb of Zilkada 1323. 
 
 'Andre, to-morrow morning our dear Djenan 
 is to be taken to Stamboul to the house of Hamdi 
 Bey for the second time, with all the ceremonial of 
 a wedding. All has been settled strangely, quickly, 
 every difficulty smoothed away. Both families 
 combined to take steps for petitioning His Im- 
 perial Majesty to annul the iradeh of separation; 
 no one defended her. 
 
 'Hamdi Bey has sent her to-day the most 
 magnificent sheaves of roses from Nice; but 
 they have not yet met, for she requested Emireh 
 Hanum to beg him, as the only favour, to wait till 
 after to-morrow's ceremony. She has been loaded 
 with flowers ; if you could see her room which 
 you did see once where she has had them all ar- 
 ranged, you would think it an enchanted garden. 
 
 'I found her this evening quite amazingly 
 calm, but it is, I feel, only weariness and resigna- 
 tion. This morning, when it was wonderfully 
 fine, she went out, I know, accompanied only by 
 Kondje Gul, to visit the graves of Melek and of 
 your Nedjibeh, and went up the hill at Eyoub to 
 that spot in the cemetery where my poor little 
 sister photographed you side by side, do you 
 remember ? I wished to spend this last evening 
 with her, as we did Melek and I on the eve of 
 her former marriage; but I understood that she 
 
 O w 
 
 would rather be alone, so I left before nightfall, 
 my heart aching with distress.
 
 LIII DISENCHANTED 369 
 
 'So here I am at home, indescribably forlorn; 
 I feel she is more utterly lost than she was the 
 first time, because Hamdi mistrusts my influence. 
 I shall be kept away, I shall see her no more. 
 I never believed, Andre, that such suffering was 
 possible; if you could ever pray, I should say pray 
 for me. But I will implore your pity, your great 
 pity, for your poor friends, the two who remain. 
 
 *ZEYNEB.' 
 
 'Do not be afraid that she forgets you. On 
 the 27th of Ramazan, the day of the dead, she 
 settled that we should go together to the tomb 
 of Nedjibeh to take her some flowers and our 
 prayers, all that is left to us of our lost faith. 
 Though you have not had a letter from her for 
 many days it is that she has been ill and wretched ; 
 but I know she intends to write you a long letter 
 this evening before going to sleep. She told me 
 so when I left her. Z.' 
 
 2 B
 
 LIV 
 
 BUT the next day but one Andre received this 
 written communication, 1 in which, as he tore open 
 the envelope, he fancied he recognised the hand 
 of Djavideh Hanum: 
 
 'Allah! 
 'Ferideh Azadeh Djenan, 
 
 'Daughter of Tewfik Pasha Darihan Zadeh, and 
 of Ismet Hanum Kerissen, died to-day, the I4th 
 of Zilkada 1323. 
 
 'She was born on the 22nd of Redjeb 1297, at 
 Karadjemir. 
 
 'By her desire she is buried in the turbeh of 
 the venerable Sivassi of Eyoub, there to sleep her 
 last. 
 
 'But her eyes, which were pure and beautiful, 
 have already been opened, and God, who loved 
 her, has directed their gaze towards the gardens of 
 Paradise, where Mahomet, our Prophet, awaits the 
 faithful. 
 
 1 No printed announcement of death is sent out in Turkey. It is made 
 known to friends at a distance by a notice in a newspaper or a written letter, 
 always worded approximately as above. 
 
 37
 
 LIV DISENCHANTED 371 
 
 'All we who must die send up our prayers to 
 you, O Djenan Ferideh Azadeh, and beseech you 
 not to forget us in your appeal. And we, your 
 humble friends, will follow in the path of light you 
 have shown us. 
 
 'O Djenan Ferideh Azadeh, 
 ' May the rabmet of Allah descend on you. 
 
 'KASSIM PACHA, lyh Zilkada 1323.' 
 
 He read it in haste and bewilderment; the 
 oriental form of the communication was unfamiliar, 
 and then all Djenan's various names, which he did 
 not know, at first misled him. Some few minutes 
 passed before he finally and completely understood 
 that it was she who was dead.
 
 LV 
 
 A LONG letter from Zeyneb arrived three days 
 later, enclosing a sealed envelope on which his 
 name 'Andre' was in Djenan's writing still. 
 
 ZEYNEB'S LETTER 
 
 'Andre, all my sufferings, all my misery, were 
 mere gladness so long as her smile shed its light 
 on them; my blackest days were made bright by 
 her: now I know it, now that she is no more. 
 
 'It is almost a week now since she was laid in 
 the earth. Nevermore shall I see those deep grave 
 eyes which her soul shone through, never again 
 hear her voice, nor her child-like laugh ; all will be 
 dreary for me till the end. Djenan lies in the 
 grave. I do not believe it yet, Andre, and yet I 
 touched her little cold hands, I saw her rigid smile, 
 
 O 
 
 her teeth of pearl between the marble lips. I was 
 the first to go to her, and took the last letter 
 she wrote, her letter to you, all twisted and 
 crumpled in her fingers. I do not yet believe 
 it, and yet I saw her pale and stiff, I held her 
 dead hands in mine. I do not believe it ! But 
 it is true. I saw her, and I saw her coffin 
 wrapped in a Valideh shawl with a green Mecca 
 
 372
 
 LV DISENCHANTED 373 
 
 veil, and I heard the Imam say the prayer for 
 the dead for her. 
 
 'On Thursday, the very day when we were to 
 escort her back to Hamdi Bey, I received a note 
 at daybreak with the key of her room the key 
 she was so delighted to have obtained, do you 
 remember ? It was Kondje Gul who brought it, 
 and why so early ? I was terrified even as I 
 opened the envelope. And I read: "Come; you 
 will find me dead. Come into my room first, and 
 alone. Close to me look for a letter; hide it in 
 your dress, and then send it to my friend." 
 
 'I flew there, I went alone into her room. 
 Oh! Andre, the horror of it; the horror of the 
 first glance. Where would she be ? In what 
 shape ? Fallen on the floor ? In bed ? There, in 
 her armchair, in front of her writing-table, her 
 head fallen back, perfectly white, looking as if she 
 saw the rising sun. And I was not to call, to cry 
 out. No; the letter I must find the letter. I 
 saw five or six letters lying sealed on the table in 
 front of her letters of farewell, no doubt. But 
 there were also some scattered sheets, and this 
 envelope addressed to you. And the last sheet, 
 which you will find all crumpled, I took out of her 
 left hand, which clasped it tightly. I hid them all, 
 and when I had done her bidding, I screamed as 
 loud as I could, and they came in. 
 
 ' Djenan, my only friend, my sister ! There is 
 nothing in the world now without her, after her; 
 neither joy, nor affection, nor light of day ! It is 
 all gone with her into her grave, where before long 
 a green slab will mark the place over there
 
 374 DISENCHANTED LV 
 
 you know at Eyoub which you both loved so 
 well. 
 
 'And she would be alive now if only she had 
 still been the little barbarian, the little princess of 
 the Asiatic plains. She would have known nothing 
 of the emptiness of things. It was thinking too 
 much, knowing too much, which poisoned her 
 drop by drop, day by day. It is the West that 
 has killed her, Andre. If she had been left 
 ignorant, primitive, only lovely, I should see her 
 by me now, and hear her voice. And my eyes 
 would not have wept as they will still weep for 
 her for many days and nights yet. I should not 
 now be in despair, Andre, if she had remained the 
 little princess of the Asiatic plains ! ZEYNEB.' 
 
 Andre had a pious awe of opening Djenan's 
 letter. 
 
 This was not like the formal announcement 
 which he had opened unsuspectingly. He knew 
 now; he had worn mourning for her for some 
 days; the grief of having lost her had taken 
 possession of him, slowly and deeply sinking into 
 his soul; and he had had time, too, to reflect 
 on his share of responsibility for this desperate 
 blow. 
 
 Before opening her letter he shut himself into 
 a room alone, not to be disturbed by anything in 
 this last tete-a-tete with her. 
 
 There were several sheets; and the last, the 
 bottom one, was, as his fingers felt it, crumpled 
 and crushed. 
 
 He saw at once that the writing was the same
 
 LV DISENCHANTED 375 
 
 as in all her letters, the same neat, clear hand. She 
 was mistress of herself in the face of death. And 
 she began with the balanced sentences which it 
 was her manner to compose; phrases so calm that 
 Andre could almost have doubted their finality, 
 since he had not seen her stiff and white, had not 
 held her dead hand. 
 
 THE LETTER 
 
 'My friend, the hour of our parting has struck. 
 The iradeh by which I believed myself protected 
 has been annulled, as Zeyneb no doubt has told 
 you. My grandmother and my uncles have made 
 every arrangement for my marriage, and to-morrow 
 I am to be handed over once more to the man 
 you know. 
 
 'It is midnight, and in the silence of the 
 sleeping house there is not a sound but that of 
 my pen ; nothing is awake except my misery. To 
 me the world is blotted out; I have already taken 
 leave of all I ever loved ; I have written my last in- 
 structions and my farewell letters. I have divested 
 my soul of all that is not of its very essence, I 
 have driven away every image so that nothing 
 may come between you and me, so that I may 
 give to you alone the last hours of my life, and 
 that you alone may feel the last dying throb of 
 my heart. 
 
 'Because, my friend, I mean to die. A quite 
 peaceful death, like a deeper sleep, that will not 
 disfigure my prettiness. Peace and forgetting are 
 here, in a phial under my hand. It is an Arabian
 
 3 ;6 DISENCHANTED LV 
 
 poison, very gentle and sure, which gives to death, 
 they say, the semblance of love. 
 
 'Andre, before departing from life, I have 
 made a pilgrimage to the little tomb that is so 
 dear to you. I went to pray there, and beseech 
 her whom you loved to support me in the hour of 
 death and also to allow some memory of me to 
 mingle with hers in your heart. And I have been 
 to Eyoub too, alone with my old Kondje Gul, to 
 entreat my dead to welcome me. I wandered 
 among the tombs, choosing where I would lie; 
 then I rested, all alone, on the spot where we 
 have sat together. The winter's day was as mild 
 as that April when in that same place I surrendered 
 my soul. Over the Golden Horn, as I came 
 home the sky was shedding roses. Ah ! my be- 
 loved city, so lovely in the evening glow I shut 
 my eyes to carry the vision with me into the 
 next world. 
 
 'Zeyneb advised me to escape when the news 
 came that the iradeh was annulled. But I could 
 not make up my mind to it. Perhaps if I had 
 been sure of finding under another sky some love 
 to shelter me. But I had no right to hope for 
 anything but tender pity. I prefer death. I am 
 very tired. 
 
 'A strange calm possesses me. I have had all 
 the flowers sent to me for to-morrow's fete brought 
 into my room my room as a girl which you once 
 were in. I have arranged them round my bed, 
 and on the table at which I am writing, and, my 
 friend, I think of you. I can see you before me. 
 You are my companion to-night. I shut my eyes
 
 LV IJlb^JNUriAlNllLU 377 
 
 and I see you, cold, motionless ; but those eyes of 
 yours the eyes of which I shall never sound the 
 mysteries pierce my closed eyelids and scorch 
 my heart. And when I open mine you are still 
 there, your portrait looks at me from among the 
 flowers. 
 
 ' But your book our book excepting the 
 pages you have given me, and which will go with 
 me to-morrow I am going away without having 
 read it ! I shall never have known exactly what 
 you think even. Have you really understood the 
 sadness of life to us ? Have you felt what a 
 crime it is to rouse sleeping souls, and then crush 
 them if they try to soar; what a shame it is to 
 reduce women to the passiveness of mere chattels ? 
 Tell them, Andre, that our lives are smothered 
 in sand, are one long death. Oh, tell them this ! 
 Let my death at any rate be of use to my Moslem 
 sisters. I would so gladly have been of use to 
 them living. Once upon a time I cherished a 
 dream of trying to arouse them all but no ! 
 Sleep, sleep on, poor souls. Never discover that you 
 have wings. But the others who have already 
 taken flight, who have had a glimpse of a wider 
 sphere than the harem, these, Andre, I confide to 
 you; speak of them, and speak for them. Be their 
 advocate in the world where men and women 
 think; and may their tears, may my anguish at 
 this hour, touch the blinded tyrants who love us 
 though they crush us.' 
 
 Here suddenly the writing changed, grew 
 feebler, almost tremulous.
 
 378 DISENCHANTED LV 
 
 'It is now three in the morning, and I must 
 finish my letter. I have wept so much that I can 
 hardly see. Oh ! Andre, Andre, is it possible to 
 be young and loving and yet be driven to die ? 
 Something clutches my throat, is strangling me. 
 I had every right to live and be happy. A dream 
 of life and light still hovers before me. But 
 to-morrow, to-day's sun even, is to fling me into 
 the embracing arms of the master who is forced 
 upon me, and where where are the arms I could 
 have loved ? ' 
 
 Here there was a break indicating an interval 
 of time. The last hesitation, no doubt, and then 
 the doing of the irrevocable. For a few more 
 lines the letter was in the old tranquil strain; but it 
 was a tranquillity that made him shudder. 
 
 'It is done; it only needed a little courage; 
 the phial of forgetting is empty. I am already a 
 thing of the past. In an instant I had stepped out 
 of life; I have only a bitter taste of flowers left on 
 my lips. The world seems far away; everything 
 is confused and vanishing everything except the 
 friend whom I loved, whom I am calling, who 
 must stay with me till the end.' 
 
 And now the writing sloped across like that of 
 a child ; then, at the bottom of the next page, the 
 lines crossed in every direction. The poor little 
 hand was no longer firm and steady; the letters 
 were too tiny or suddenly much too large, fright- 
 fully large. This was the last sheet, which had
 
 LV DISENCHANTED 379 
 
 been crushed and twisted in the last throes of 
 death, and the crumpling of the paper made it 
 more terrible to read. 
 
 'The friend I am calling, who must stay with 
 me till the end. My beloved, come quickly. I 
 want to tell you Did you not know that I loved 
 you with every fibre of my being ? When one is 
 dead one can confess all. The rules of the world 
 are then no more. Why, now I am going, shall I 
 not tell you that I have loved you ? 
 
 'Andre, that day when you sat here, in front of 
 the table where I am writing to you in farewell, 
 by chance, as I leaned forward, I touched you; I 
 shut my eyes, and behind the closed lids what 
 lovely visions flashed across. Your arms held me 
 to your heart, and my hands, filled with love, 
 gently touched your eyes and drove out all sadness. 
 Ah ! Death might have come then ; and it would 
 have come at the first moment when weariness 
 came to you, but how sweet it would have seemed, 
 what a joyful and grateful soul it would have carried 
 away ! Now, all is swimming ; all is growing 
 dim. ... I was told I should sleep, but I am not 
 yet sleepy, but everything is shifting; I see every- 
 thing double; it is all in a whirl; my candles look 
 like suns the flowers are grown larger larger; 
 I am in a forest of gigantic flowers. 
 
 'Come, Andre, come near me. What are you 
 doing among the roses ? Come close to me while 
 I write. I want your arms round me, and your 
 dear eyes near my lips. So, my love, that is how 
 I want to sleep, close to you, telling you that I
 
 380 DISENCHANTED LV 
 
 love you. Let me see your eyes close to me, for 
 in this other life, where I am, souls can be read 
 
 through the eyes. I am dead, Andre Is that 
 
 a tear for me in your deep eyes that I could not 
 understand ? I do not hear your answer because 
 
 I am dead That is why I am writing; you 
 
 could not hear my voice; it is too far away. 
 
 ' I love you do you at least hear that ? I love 
 you ' 
 
 Oh, to feel this dying anguish in his very hand ! 
 To be the one to whom she persisted in speaking 
 even at the last, at the moment of crowning 
 mystery when the soul is released ! To possess the 
 last trace of her tender thought, coming already 
 from the realm of death ! 
 
 'I am going, floating away, Andre; hold 
 
 me ! Will any one ever love you with such 
 
 devoted love ? This is sleep the pen is so 
 
 heavy In your arms dear love, dear 
 
 love ' 
 
 The last words were hardly visible. But, in- 
 deed, the reader could see no more, neither that 
 nor anything else. On the page, all crumpled by 
 the poor little hand which could no more, he 
 piously and passionately pressed his lips and 
 this was their first and only kiss.
 
 LVI 
 
 O DJENAN FERIDEH AZADEH, may the rahmet 1 of 
 Allah rest upon thee ! Peace to thy lofty white 
 soul ! And may thy sisters in Turkey at my call 
 for some years yet, before all is forgotten, repeat 
 thy dear name in their evening prayers. 
 
 1 Rahmet: the crowning mercy of Allah, the forgiveness which wipes out 
 all sin. In speaking of the dead the Turks say \ ' Allah grant him rahmet,' 
 as we were wont to say: God rest his soul.' 
 
 381
 
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