Oud Artiste

Hotel Bristol

Proprrs J. Djirah & G. Hadjaras

Constantinople

Chauffage Central, Ascenseur, Lumiere Electrique

Telephone 501

Constantinople, le April 1, 1914

Shang dear:

Here’s hoping that you may have many, many happy returns of this glorious day.  We shall think of you especially hard all day today and send lots of “mental telepathies” of love.

Sallie’s letter came yesterday and quite thrilled me as it took only two weeks to come, ten days to London and four here.  It is the nearest we’ve been for nearly two years!

I am more enthusiastic, or I should say reconciled, to this place than I was in my last letter, and am ashamed of myself for grumbling so but there’s no getting around it.  I always have hated a city, and am afraid I always shall.

Friday is certainly one of THE days to be here as it is then the
Sultan goes to church – a most complicated performance with elaborate
preparations. We had with us the consul’s “kavass” or body guard who
is a most impressive creature in voluminous blue broadcloth trousers
pushed up nearly to the knee with high gold embroidered leggings,
miles of gold lace on his coat and shoulder pieces flapping nearly to
the ground, red fez with our crest in gold, silver sword, pistol,
whips to clear the way. He feels the dignity of his position, always
walking a few steps in front of us, and the crowds are duly impressed
so whenever we have him I feel quite like the Queen of England. But
to go back to my story-

We stood inside the courtyard of the Mosque, where the troops were
lining up, private guards inside, then police, then infantry, cavalry
and the lancers in their gay uniforms and on their wonderful Arab
steeds at the rear – thousands of soldiers were lined up along the
street from the mosque to the palace as the sultan is terrified all
the time of being murdered as has been the fate of so many. Fresh
sand was spread over the road, then red carpets over which marched a
big band in bright uniforms banging out wierd Turkish music. After
them came high officials, royalties, etc. and finally Mohamed V
himself looking pale and dissipated in a gold bedecked carriage drawn
by the most beautiful prancing horses I’ve ever seen. Several of his
wives were at the side in other carriages waiting and after he walked
slowly up the steps they followed and then it was all over. This is
the only time he ever dares bridge out of his palace.

I don’t know whether you know much of Turkish history past or present. Anyhow I was grossly ignorant, and have been reading some very good books which give many interesting things.  Turkey’s whole existence has been a dreadful tangle full of more tragedies, crimes, romances and struggles than you ever dreamed of.  This morning we visited a mausoleum where is the tomb of a Sultan, and encircling it are the tombs of his twenty six sons and eighteen daughters, whom he murdered for fear they might kill him in order to gain the throne.

Have you ever heard of Robert College?  Started by an American for boys.  It is a fine place, half an hour up the Bosphorus.  Our consul lives near there, and on Sunday we went to church at the College an then to lunch with him.  There is a good sized colony of Americans living there, and they are all very much interested in their work and doing a great deal for the “new Turk”.  We had tea with some other friends, and then went to a concert in their auditorium, where we heard their beautiful new pipe organ, a recent present from a New York man, and whom should I see there but a Miss Anderson (now Mrs. Baker) who was teaching German my first year at Penn Hall.  Wasn’t that funny?  She knew me right away, and we had a nice little chat, and she is coming to see me some time soon.

There is such a charming American woman who has lived here thirty years, Mrs. Bowen, who has been lovely to me.  She knows many Turkish women and has some dear friends among them, so with her I have had opportunities that very few people have, and I could never have had otherwise.

Yesterday she took me to a harem where the hostess, who was the first and is
still the leading authoress of Turkey, was giving a musical. There
were about 20 Turkish women there, all beautifully dressed and the one
who played the “oud” (rather like a big mandolin) is one of the two
  “artistes” in the country on this instrument. She played and sang very
well.  They were all very interesting and quite informal – would talk during the music, and if particularly inspired would get up and dance a few steps- not a bit self conscious and enjoying the fun like children.

We of course had the inevitable little cup of Turkish coffee periodically and later quantities of candies, cakes and all kinds of sweets, which they simply stuffed and reveled in.  The custom here demands that one can’t leave until your hostess dismisses you, so we all sat by till she rose and said something to the effect that, “It was so sweet of you all to come” with which we bid adieu (they bow very low and touch their forehead with their hand, making a grand flourish) and departed.

Father hasn’t been feeling very well – a few evenings ago had a bad fainting spell, but is better now, although still a little shaky.  We felt we had plenty of time here, so were sight seeing very leisurely, and as is always the case when we slow down, he was the worst for it.  You know how when he comes home and has nothing to do he invariably is knocked out.  Then, too, the last week has been bitter cold (comparatively, since we are just from the tropics) and I think that makes him feel badly.  They usually have snow here this time of the year, but none since we’ve come, although it continually feels like it – rain and raw winds every day.

I believe I’ve declined five thousand invitations to tea lately, and shall be glad to get away where no one knows us.  The trouble is the Danube has washed away a bridge just before Belgrade, so the Orient Express can’t run for a couple of weeks, and I don’t know how we’re going to get out of the place.  We don’t want to go back by Athens to Brindisi, so may go up to the Black Sea, cross it – and it’s desperately rough this month – and then take a train from there to Budapest.

Saw in a paper not long ago that Jack London had been pronounced the best dancer in Washington.

It sounds good to hear you are ordering seeds and planning the garden.  Count me in on any kind of work, and you may beat me to keep me at it, for I’m longing to have to do something.

Oceans of love,

Alice