Turkish Literature; Comprising Fables, Belles-lettres, and Sacred Traditions

Title: Turkish Literature; Comprising Fables, Belles-lettres, and Sacred Traditions

Translator: Epiphanius Wilson

Robert Arnot

Elias John Wilkinson Gibb

Freiherr von Joseph Hammer-Purgstall

Abel Pavet de Courteille

Release date: January 30, 2018 [eBook #56464] Most recently updated: January 24, 2021

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/56464

Credits: Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

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Editors

L I B R A R Y C O M M I T T E E JUSTIN McCARTHY, M.P. Historian and Journalist TIMOTHY DWIGHT, D.D., LL.D. Ex-President Yale University RICHARD HENRY STODDARD Author and Critic PAUL VAN DYKE, D.D. Princeton University ALBERT ELLERY BERGH Managing Editor A D V I S O R Y C O M M I T T E E JOHN T. MORGAN United States Senate FREDERIC R. COUDERT, LL.D. New York Bar EDWARD EVERETT HALE Author and Editor MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN, LL.D. Catholic University of America JULIAN HAWTHORNE Literary Editor

Sword Dance in a Café

Photogravure from the original painting by Jean Léon Gérôme, exhibited in the Paris Salon, 1888

THIS fine picture is a thoroughly characteristic specimen of the work of the most popular of modern French artists. Oriental subjects especially attracted him, as he had an eye for striking figures and brilliant colors. He died January 10, 1904.

TURKISH LITERATURE

COMPRISING FABLES, BELLES-LETTRES, AND SACRED TRADITIONS TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH FOR THE FIRST TIME WITH A SPECIAL INTRODUCTION BY EPIPHANIUS WILSON, A.M. REVISED EDITION NEW YORK P. F. COLLIER & SON

[ii]

[iii] Copyright, 1901 By THE COLONIAL PRESS

SPECIAL INTRODUCTION

THE national literature of Turkey is something with which the European and American mind is by no means familiar, and, indeed, it has only recently become a distinctive feature in the world’s intellectual activity. Turkey is really an oriental country transplanted into a European environment, and the truest affinities of Turkey are with the far East, with Arabia and Persia. There are at least twenty-five written languages used in the Ottoman Empire, and Turkish is sometimes written in Arabian, sometimes in Persian characters, yet in spite of the babel of tongues which is found at Constantinople, the strong individuality of the Turk has manifested itself in literature as it has in politics and government, and there exists a considerable amount of epic and lyric poetry, drama, romance and apologue which is neither Arabian nor Persian, but is racy of the soil, the soil being principally that of Constantinople, where the Sultans, up to the present time, have been eminent patrons of the literary craft; some of them, Sultan Mustapha,

for instance, in the sixteenth century, being writers of no mean accomplishments.

It is usual to divide the history of Turkish literature into three periods. The primitive literature of Turkey flourished between the years 1301 and 1520, during which time the Persian influence was paramount in the romantic and mystic productions of the Ottoman poets. The Shah-Nameh furnished many of the heroes to these Ottoman romances, and the forms of versification are all borrowed from Iran. “The Divan” and “History of the Forty Vezirs” belong to this period.

The middle period of Ottoman literature extends from 1520 to 1730. This is sometimes called the classic period, because in it the capabilities of the genuine Turkish language were tested, developed, and fixed. It opened with the reign of Suleyman I, whose splendid achievements, as a warrior by land and sea, won[iv] him the name of the Brilliant. The general history of literature teaches us that national triumph in war always gives a stimulus to national literature, and accordingly this era is adorned by the works of Fasli, and of a host of other poets, whose productions will be found represented in the translations contained in the present volume.

The third period of Ottoman literature shows the Turkish writers under the influence of European models, but ending at last in Drama, essentially the comedy of manners, and not of European, but of Turkish manners. The plays of Mirza Feth-Ali Akhoud-Zaidé, of one of which we publish a translation in this volume, reflect domestic, forensic, and official life at Constantinople during the last century as truly as those of Molière reflect the speech and manners of Parisian society as they existed in the reign of le grand monarque. The last development of literary activity at Constantinople is shown not only by the developments of the drama, but by the vigor displayed in the domain of journalism.

The Ottoman poems, of which we give the only English translation extant, that by E. J. W. Gibb, reveal the high rank taken by Turkish verse in the poesy of the East. The Turkish metres were many and varied, and the flexibility of the language lent itself to intricate forms of composition. In imagination and passion these Ottoman poems will hold their own in any company.

“The Rose and the Nightingale” of Fasli, which has been for the first time translated into English in the present volume, is the elaboration of an ancient Persian myth with regard to the loves of Gul and Bulbul. There are numberless allusions to this beautiful fable in such works as “The Divan” of Hafiz, as for instance where he says:

The author of this Turkish poem, Mohammed Fasli, “Black Fasli,” as he was called from his swarthy complexion, was the son of a saddler of Constantinople, and early became a pupil of the poet Sati. He soon attracted the attention of the Court, and was made secretary to the Divan by Prince Mustapha, who, as we have seen, was himself a poet. Fasli wrote several poems of[v] the same character as the present one, which is, however, his best and ripest production. He died in 1563.

“The Rose and the Nightingale” is a brilliant and gorgeous example of oriental poetry, whose charm is rather increased than diminished by the repetition and prolixity which characterize it. The poet gives it in his closing passages a profoundly mystical meaning, which has been so far developed by other writers that an Armenian Christian author says that the Springtime of Fasli means the Creation, the Rose is Christ, the Rose-garden the Church, the Brook is Baptism, the South Wind is the Inspiration of the Gospel, the Nightingale, the Soul full of ardent faith, and so on. This reminds one of Pico Mirandola reconciling Moses and Homer.

The drama, “The Magistrates,” which is here for the first time translated into English, is the work of Mirza Feth-Ali Akhoud-Zaidé. He is the most original native dramatist whose works have appeared in Constantinople. Up to a comparatively recent period the theatres of Turkey were dependent for their comedies on translations from French, sometimes even from German or English comedies and farces. The Turk is fond of witnessing the exertions, the excitements and perturbations of others, while he himself remains indolent and imperturbable; hence his passion for story-telling and for the representations of the stage. In the dramas of Feth-Ali he sees the life of Turkey vividly reproduced. Love rules the scene, Eastern cruelty comes in with the bastinado, Eastern duplicity and fraud are vividly portrayed in the law-court scene. The arrangement and development of the play are good, and the dénouement is natural and satisfactory.

This will appear from the following analysis of “The Magistrates.” In the first place, the modern playwright will be astonished by the long list of personages in the play. There are twenty-seven in a short drama, consisting of a series of scenes, brief, even to jerkiness.

At the opening of the play we learn that Hadji-Ghafour, a rich merchant, has lately died and left no will; his property is therefore claimed by Sekine-Khanoum, his only daughter, a girl of eighteen, who is engaged to marry Aziz-Bey. The sum of money in which the legacy consists has been placed in the hands of the President of the Council, but before he can pay it[vi] over to the legatee, claims have been set up in favor of an alleged child of the late Hadji-Ghafour, borne him by his mistress Zeneib. A conspiracy is formed, with the aid of certain soldiers who are suborned to say that they saw the child in Hadji-Ghafour’s arms, and that he acknowledged the paternity. The complications are increased by the fact that Zobeide, paternal aunt of Sekine-Khanoun, has promised the hand of her niece to a richer man than Aziz-Bey, namely, Aga-Hassan, a merchant. The young lady so enrages Hassan by the terms in which she repudiates him, that he joins the ranks of the conspirators, among whom the chief is Aga-Selman, who nevertheless has undertaken to be the

advocate of Sekine-Khanoun in the coming lawsuit. The suit at last is opened, the witnesses come ready primed to the bar, but, instead of telling their perjured tale, relate how they were induced to promise their support to a fabrication. The tortuous diplomacy of Aga-Selman, the corruption of the judges, the despair of Sekine and Aziz are depicted in the liveliest manner, and the revelations of the soldiers, who are called by the false advocate as witnesses for Sekine-Khanoun, but bribed to testify against her, form a double climax which is a skilful stroke of dramatic art. The play will be interesting to the Teutonic reader, and seems even capable of adaptation to the American or English stage.

“The History of the Forty Vezirs” is evidently a collection of very old stories. Its compilation is attributed to Sheik-Zada, who lived in the reign of Murad II, 1421-1451. To this Sultan the tales are dedicated. They are like all oriental tales, barely tinged with any ethical significance; they aim principally at amusing and distracting the mind by a series of quickly changing incidents; there is no attempt at character-drawing, and an amazing element of the improbable spices the whole series. They form, however, the most notable work in prose produced in that period which saw the dawn of a Turkish literature, and are only inferior to the tales of Pilpay and the Hitopadesa in their frivolity, exaggeration and evident lack of all those features which would indicate an earnest and conscientious study of real life. They are none the less entertaining, and their genuine Turkish characteristics render them valuable to the student of Ottoman literature as well as to the general reader who may take them up merely pour passer le temps.[vii]

The fables by unknown authors, which we include in this volume, and which have never before been translated into English, are much later productions of Turkish genius. In Europe the fable has always been, in its original form, one of the most effective and pungent vehicles of appeal to public opinion. Witness “The Belly and the Members” of Menenius Agrippa, so nobly rendered in Shakespeare’s “Coriolanus.” It well illustrates La Fontaine’s excuse for his own fables, namely, that under some circumstances a man must be silent or “strike from afar.” From the vantage ground of the fable Menenius could rebuke a raging mob, and Le Fontaine score the ingratitude of kings, as in more recent times Krilof has satirized the despotic abuses of the Russian government.

The Turkish fables also “hit from afar.” The tyranny of Turkish rulers is pointed out in “The Farmer and His Hounds.” The corruption that surrounds access to the great is vividly suggested in “The Sailors in Distress.” But the weaknesses of the Turkish character are also reflected in fables which contain but little wisdom; the apathy which puts up with everything is expressed in the moral of “The Candle”; the want of enterprise and energy which is characteristic of the Turk, in “The Shark” and “The Clown Turned First Soldier, then Merchant.”

In the teachings of all these apologues there may be seen the same features of languid and unresisting acquiescence in things as they are, with a skit here and there on the oppression and ingratitude of those in power. Yet they bear a reality about them which is lacking in the artificial productions of Gay and Lessing. They come from the heart and go to the heart of the people, and some of them are neat and pointed, if not beautiful, in structure and expression. A collection of examples from Turkish literature would be quite incomplete without these specimens of the Turkish apologues, which reflect so plainly the ethical standard and general opinions of those to whom they were addressed.

[viii]

[ix]

TURKISH FABLES

[Translated by Epiphanius Wilson, A.M.]

[3][2]

The Gardener and His Wife

A CERTAIN Gardener had a young and pretty woman for his Wife. One day, when, according to her habit, she had gone to wash her linen in the river, the Gardener, entering his house, said to himself:

“I do not know, really, whether my Wife loves me. I must put it to the test.”

On saying this, he stretched himself full length upon the ground, in the middle of the room, as if dead. Soon, his Wife returned, carrying her linen, and perceived her husband’s condition.

“Tired and hungry as I am,” she said to herself, “is it necessary that I should begin at once to mourn and lament? Would it not be better to begin by eating a morsel of something?”

She accordingly cut off a piece of pasterma (dried smoked meat), and set it to roast on the coals; then she hurriedly went upstairs to the garret, took a pot of milk, drank some of it, and put the rest on the fire. At this moment, an old woman, her neighbor, entered, with an earthen vessel in her hand, and asked for some burning coals.

“Keep your eye on this pot,” she said to the old woman, rising to her feet. Then she burst into sobs and lamentations.

“Alas!” she cried, “my poor husband is dead!”

The neighbors, who heard her voice, rushed in, and the deceitful hussy kept on repeating:

“Alas! What a wretched fate has my husband met with!” and tears flowed afresh.

At that instant the dead man opened his eyes.

“What are you doing?” he said to her. “Finish first the[4] roasting of the pasterma, quenching your throat in milk, and boiling the remainder of it; afterward you will find time to weep for me.”

First myself, and then those I love, says a proverb.

The Fly

A Fly who had carelessly fallen into a pot full of food was at the point of death.

“What does it matter?” she said, “so long as hereafter I shall feel no more hunger, and for the present have eaten and drunk my fill, and have received a good bath.”

Patiently to accept the misfortunes which can neither be hindered nor avoided is a proof of wisdom.

The Widow and Her Friend

A Widow, tired of single blessedness, was desirous of marrying again, but feared to draw down upon herself the remarks of the public.

A Friend of hers, to show her how the tongues of neighbors discussed everything, took in hand to paint the Widow’s ass green; then leading the beast, she traversed all the streets of the town.

At first not only the children, but also their elders, who had never seen anything like it before, came to see the sight, and followed behind the ass.

At the end of a few days, when the Widow’s ass went forth people simply remarked: “What a very singular animal!”

Soon, however, the people ceased to pay any more attention to the spectacle.

The Friend of the Widow who wished to marry again returned to her and said:

“You have seen what has just happened. It will be the same in your case. For some days you will be on the tongues of the people and have to endure the gossip and remarks; but at last they will leave off talking about you.”

There is nothing so extraordinary in the world as not to become familiar in time.[5]

The Two Young Men and the Cook

Two Young Men entered a cook-shop for the purpose of buying some meat.

While the Cook was engaged in serving one of them the other seized a huge piece of meat and popped it into his companion’s pocket.

The Cook began looking about for his meat, but in vain. Then he addressed the two friends.

“I have not seen it,” said one.

“As for me,” added the other, “I am sure I have not taken it.”

Then each one confirmed his statement with an oath.

“Really, gentlemen,” said the owner of the shop, who well understood their rascality, “although I do not know who has robbed me, the God by whom you have sworn does.”

Although a man may conceal things from men like himself, God is not deceived.

The Buffaloes and the Log

A pair of Buffaloes were harnessed to a heavy piece of elm wood, and were dragging it along.

“You are stupid,” said the Log, reproachfully, “for when you are hitched to a light burden like me, why do you not gallop?”

“Poor wretch!” they replied, “we should doubtlessly move more quickly if we were not fastened to you. But if we moved quickly now, another log would be placed on top of you, to make up the load, and we do not wish to see you broken down by exhaustion.”

This answer plunged the Log into profound thought.

The proverbial expression—“the Buffaloes’ answer”—a pretext for laziness—is founded on this fable.

The Old Man and His Son

A feeble Old Man had given his home to his Son; soon the hapless father found himself driven from his home and forced to take refuge in a hospital.[6]

Some time afterward, he saw his Son one day passing by, and called out to him.

“For the love of God, my Son,” he said in a supplicating tone, “send me out of all that I have gained with the sweat of my brow a simple pair of sheets.”

The Son promised his unfortunate father to do so.

“I will send them at once,” he answered him.

When he arrived at home he said to his own son: “Take this pair of sheets, and carry them to your grandfather at the hospital.”

The young man left one of the sheets at home and carried the other to his grandfather. Some time afterward his father happened to count his sheets.

“Why didn’t you do as I told you, and carry the two sheets to your grandfather?” he asked of his son.

“When my father becomes old and goes to the hospital, I said to myself, I shall need this sheet to send to him.”

Your child will behave toward you as you behaved toward your parents.

The Bird-catcher and the Blackbird

A Bird-catcher was setting his snares; a Blackbird, as he flew by, caught sight of him.

“For the love of God,” he said to him, “do tell me what you are building there?”

“I am founding a complete city.”

The Blackbird believed this deceitful answer, and alighted on the net. Scarcely had he touched it, before he found himself caught.

When the Bird-catcher came up the Blackbird said to him: “If this is the way you build your city, you won’t attract many inhabitants.”

All men shun tyrannical magistrates and oppressors, who, by their violence, scatter ruin around them.

The Hens and the Eagles

The Hens were at war with the Eagles.

When the day of battle came near, the Hens went and asked the foxes to help them.[7]

“We would willingly help you,” replied the foxes, “if we could forget what you are, and what Eagles are.”

He who enters upon a quarrel with one more powerful than himself runs a great risk, and is certain to meet with disaster.

The Pigeon and the Painting

A Pigeon in its simplicity took for real water the stream represented in a Painting.

He flew down toward it with a sudden swoop, fell to the ground, and was quickly caught.

How many stupid and ignorant people ignore the real condition of things, follow entirely their own silly notions, and at last find themselves in serious trouble!