his wife's birthplace, and this not only brought him a visit from mamma when he could ill afford it, but his wife exercised her privilege under the marriage laws of Turkey, by making a return journey. Mothers-in-law need not legally be brought into the house, in Turkey, but whether they can practically be kept out by an ordinary husband it is hard to say. Nourri Effendi's relative had kindly gone as far as Stambool to visit him and his wife. As for the visits of wives to their mothers, that is a totally different matter. A refusal to allow such expression of affection might be attended by a summons to the nearest police magistrate, and a warrant to levy on the goods of the culprit such sum for travelling charges, outfit, dresses, presents, &c., as the lady might demand, and competent assessors—possibly female—declare to be consistent with the wife's pretensions in society.
From Nourri Effendi I learned the opinions of Turkish wives on the important subject of followers. "Madame," said he, "has kept me at home again, asking me to buy her a pair of black slaves, which she says we absolutely require for our respectability; but that I do not see." I had long known that in Turkey everything must be perfect, and therefore in pairs. As a boy I had seen the braces of pistols and the pairs of knives and watches, and this prepared me for seeing the male and female population paired off, to avoid the imperfection of the odd state and the consequent perils of the evil eye. A pair of slaves was a new idea. The pair of slaves did not mean two boys or two girls, but a pair, a boy and a girl.
"I have told her several times we do not want them, and cannot afford them; but she persists, as women will, and says 'they will be a great economy besides.' I do not like blacks in the house, because they are only fresh-caught barbarians, and, besides, we cannot want two. 'Why not,' said I, 'get some decent orphan girl from the country, whom we can take care of;' but madame answers she does not want girls, as in a short time they are sure to have brothers and cousins, who will see them; but a black from Africa has no cousins."
From the lady with servants, the transition to the lady without them is not great.
Osman Aga, the son of a good family in a large provincial city, was, when I knew him, a retired captain of cavalry on half-pay or pension, married to a lady whose patrimony was some small bit of property near the former city of Assos. Osman had profited little at school; he could not write, and he did not like reading—that art, indeed, he now left to his wife. In those good old times he could be a captain without them. As every one, instead of signing his name, affixes his signet, Osman was sufficiently qualified when he contented himself with the figures which would fill up a return of his troop, or make out the quantities in an account for barley or chopped straw—in case no learned private was at hand to officiate as clerk.
Besides his long period of service in every part of the empire, Osman Aga had been in the brilliant Bulgarian campaign against the Russians, and wore the medal. He was never tired of extolling the gallantry and conduct of the handful of English heroes who had served with the Ottoman army; though a thorough patriot, he often wished that the Turkish soldiery were led by such officers.
The captain had served so long as to earn his pension; a sum of twelve pounds a year, paid monthly—when not in arrear. On this sum, there are still parts of Turkey in which he could have kept his wife and daughter; but he could not do that in a western city, to which progress had brought European prices. He inherited a small house in a respectable quarter, but had no other patrimony. His sole remaining resources were the scanty olive and grape crops on the fields of Adileh Hanum, which furnished little coin for remittance.
Osman was anxious to eke out his narrow income by some small employment, and had lately lost a petty berth on the extraordinary staff at the customs, to which he was waiting to be restored. A Turkish friend of rank spoke very strongly to me of Osman Aga as a man of character and integrity, and begged me to use my influence to get him temporary occupation. Osman Aga became, therefore, an occasional caller at my house. He was a thin man, of middle height and of soldierly bearing, about fifty-five. His uniform frock-coat was carefully kept and brushed. Its smartness was of the past, and the medals were its only ornament. He was always neat, though in Turkey a button or two off, or any such divergence from symmetry, is no more thought of than in Munster.
In his walks to my house, he by-and-by brought a shy little baby girl, with large black eyes. Sometimes she was in full dress, going out on a holiday; her finger-nails and palms duly stained with henna, a pretty embroidered handkerchief on her head, with a jewel, a gold coin, or a flower adorning it; sometimes she was in her ordinary muslin walking dress; never gaudy. An elder boy had died of fever, and she was the only child. Little Fatmeh was soon familiar in my family. Her gentle well-behaved ways won regard for her, though she could seldom be prevailed on to accept anything. When she did so, the fruit, or whatever it might be, was always first shown to her father, and then taken home to her mother.
At last, I got a temporary berth for Osman Aga as kerserdar, or police inspector, at an unhealthy place in the country: to the great delight of himself and his family, and also of mine. The small income would at once place them at ease. Adileh Hanum called on my wife, with Fatmeh, to express her gratitude. She was a quiet ladylike woman of five-and-thirty; well and neatly, but not richly, dressed, with the Constantinople yashmak, and not the provincial veil.
This lady told my family of the strain the captain's loss of office had brought on their small income, and the benefit my intervention had conferred on them. They were thankful to
