We were
a small and select party of light-hearted travellers. We had arrived
at Constantinople a week before from Greece, and had devoted fourteen
hours a day ever since to toiling up and down the steep heights of Pera,
visiting bazaars, climbing to the tops of minarets and fighting our way
through armies of hungry dogs, the traditional masters of the streets of
Stamboul. Nomadic life is infectious, they say, and no civilization is
strong enough to destroy the charm of unrestrained freedom when it has
once been tasted. The gipsy cannot be tempted from his tent, and even
the common tramp finds a fascination in his comfortless and precarious
existence, that prevents him taking to any fixed abode and occupation.
To guard my spaniel Ralph from falling a victim to this infection, and
joining the canine Bedouins that infested the streets, was my chief care
during our stay in Constantinople. He was a fine fellow, my constant
companion and cherished friend. Afraid of losing him, I kept a strict
watch over his movements; for the first three days, however, he behaved
like a tolerably well-educated quadruped, and remained faithfully at my
heels. At every impudent attack from his Mahomedan cousins, whether
intended as a hostile demonstration or an overture of friendship, his
only reply would be to draw in his tail between his legs, and with an
air of dignified modesty seek protection under the wing of one or other
of our party.
As he had thus from the first shown so decided an aversion to bad
company, I began to feel assured of his discretion, and by the end of
the third day I had considerably relaxed my vigilance. This
carelessness on in part, however, was soon punished, and I was made to
regret my misplaced confidence. In an unguarded moment he listened to
the voice of some four-footed syren,
and the last I saw of him was the end of his bushy tail,
vanishing round the corner of a dirty, winding little back street.
Greatly annoyed, I passed the remainder of the day in a vain
search after my dumb companion. I offered twenty, thirty, forty francs
reward for him. About as many vagabond Maltese began a regular chase and
towards evening we were invaded in our hotel by the whole troop, every
man of them with a more or less mangy cur in his arms, which he tried to
persuade me was my lost dog. The more I denied, the more solemnly they
insisted, one of them actually going down on his knees, snatching from
his bosom an old corroded metal image of the Virgin, and swearing a
solemn oath that the Queen of Heaven herself had kindly appeared to him
to point out the right animal. The tumult had increased to such an
extent that it looked as if Ralph’s disappearance was going to be the
cause of a small riot, and finally our landlord had to send for a couple
of Kavasses from the nearest police station, and have this regiment of
bipeds and quadrupeds expelled by main force. I began to be convinced
that I should never see my dog again, and I was the more despondent
since the porter of the hotel, a semi-respectable old brigand, who, to
judge by appearances, had not passed more than half-a-dozen years at the
galleys, gravely assured me that all my pains were useless, as
my spaniel was undoubtedly dead and devoured too by this time, the
Turkish dogs being very fond of their more toothsome English brothers.
All this discussion had taken place in the street at the door of
the hotel, and I was about to give up the search for that night at
least, and enter the hotel, when an old Greek lady, a Phanariote who had
been hearing the fracas from the steps of a door close by, approached
our disconsolate group and suggested to Miss H—, one of our party,
that we should enquire of the dervishes concerning the fate of Ralph.
“And what can the dervishes know about my dog?” said I, in no
mood to joke, ridiculous as the proposition appeared.
“The holy men know all, Kyrea (Madam),” said she, somewhat
mysteriously. “Last week I was robbed of my new satin pelisse, that my
son had just brought me from Broussa, and, as you all see, I have
recovered it and have it on my back now.”
“Indeed? Then the holy men have also managed to metamorphose
your new pelisse into an old one by all appearances,” said one of the
gentlemen who accompanied us, pointing as he spoke to a large rent in
the back, which had been clumsily repaired with pins.
“And that is just the most wonderful part of the whole
Story,” quietly answered the Phanariote, not in the least
disconcerted. “They showed me in the shining circle the quarter of the
town, the house, and even the room in which the Jew who had stolen my
pelisse was just about to rip it up and cut it into pieces. My son and I
had barely time to run over to the Kalindjikoulosek quarter, and to save
my property. We caught the thief in the very act, and we both recognized
him as the man shown to us by the dervishes in the magic moon. He
confessed the theft and is now in prison.”
Although none of us had the least comprehension of “what she
meant by the magic moon and the shining circle, and were all thoroughly
mystified by her account of the divining powers of the “holy men,”
we still felt somehow satisfied from her manner that the story was not
altogether a fabrication, and since she had at all events apparently
succeeded in recovering her property through being somehow assisted by
the dervishes, we determined to go the following morning and see for ourselves,
for what had helped her might help us likewise.
The monotonous cry of the Muezzins from the tops of the minarets
had just proclaimed the hour of noon as we, descending from the heights
of Pera to the port of Galata, with difficulty managed to elbow our way
through the unsavoury crowds of the commercial quarter of the town.
Before we reached the docks we had been half deafened by the shouts amid
incessant ear-piercing cries and the Babel-like confusion of tongues. In
this part of the city it is useless to expect to be guided by either
house numbers, or names of streets. The location of any desired place is
indicated by its proximity to some other more conspicuous building, such
as a mosque, bath or European shop; for the rest, one has to trust to
Allah and his prophet.
It was with the greatest difficulty, therefore, that we finally
discovered the British ship-chandler’s store, at the rear of which we
were to find the place of our destination. Our hotel guide was as
ignorant of the dervishes’ abode as we were ourselves; but at last a
small Greek, in the simplicity of primitive undress, consented for a
modest copper backsheesh to lead us to the dancers.
When we arrived we were shown into a vast and gloomy hall that
looked like a deserted stable. It was long and narrow, the floor was
thickly strewn with sand as in a riding school, and it was lighted only
by small windows placed at some height from the ground. The dervishes
had finished their morning performances, and were evidently resting from
their exhausting labours. They looked completely prostrated, some lying
about in corners, others sitting on their heels staring vacantly into
space, engaged, as we were informed, in meditation on their invisible
deity. They appeared to have lost all power of sight and hearing, for
none of them responded to
our questions until a great gaunt figure, wearing a tall cap that made
him look at least seven feet high, emerged
from an obscure corner. Informing us that he was their
chief, the giant gave us to understand that the saintly brethren,
being in the habit of receiving orders for additional ceremonies from
Allah himself, must on no account be disturbed. But when our interpreter
had explained to him the
object of our visit, which concerned himself alone, as he was the sole
custodian of the “divining rod,”’ his objections vanished and he
extended his hand for alms. Upon being gratified, he intimated that only
two of our party could be admitted at one
time into the confidence of the future, and led the way, followed by Miss H—and myself.
Plunging after him into what seemed to be a half subterranean
passage, we were led to the foot of a tall ladder
leading to a chamber under the roof. We scrambled up after our
guide, and at the top we found ourselves in a wretched garret of
moderate size, with bare walls and destitute of furniture. The floor was
carpeted with a thick layer of dust, and cobwebs festooned the walls in
neglected confusion. In the corner we saw something that I at first
mistook for a bundle of old rags; but the heap presently moved and got
on its legs, advanced to the middle of the room and stood before us, the
most extraordinary looking creature that I ever beheld. Its sex was
female, but whether she was a woman or child it was impossible to
decide. She was a hideous-looking dwarf; with an enormous head, the
shoulders of a grenadier, with a waist in proportion the whole
supported by two short, lean, spider-like legs that seemed unequal to
the task of bearing the weight of the monstrous body. She had a grinning
countenance like the face of a satyr,
and it was ornamented
with letters and signs from the Koran painted in bright yellow. On her
forehead was a blood-red crescent; her head was crowned with a dusty
tarbouche, or fez; her legs were arrayed in large Turkish trousers, and
some dirty white muslin wrapped round her body barely sufficed to
conceal its hideous deformities. This creature rather let herself drop
than sat down in the middle of the floor, and as her weight descended on
the rickety boards it sent up a cloud of dust that set us coughing and
sneezing. This was the famous Tatmos known as the Damascus oracle!
Without losing time in idle talk, the dervish produced a piece
of chalk, and traced around the girl a circle about six feet in
diameter. Fetching from behind the door twelve small copper lamps which
he filled with some dark liquid from a small bottle which he drew from
his bosom, he placed them symmetrically around the magic circle. He then
broke a chip of wood from a panel of the half ruined door, which bore
the marks of many a similar depredation, and, holding the between his
thumb and finger he began blowing on it at regular intervals,
alternating the blosingg with mutterings of some kind of weird
incantation, till suddenly, and without
any apparent cause for its ignition, there appeared a spark on
the chip and it blazed up like a dry match. The dervish then lit the
twelve lamps at this self-generated flame.
During this process, Tatmos, who had sat till then altogether
unconcerned and motionless, removed her yellow slippers from her naked
feet, and throwing them into a corner, disclosed as an additional
beauty, a sixth toe on each deformed foot. The dervish now reached over
into the circle and seizing the dwarf’s ankles gave a jerk, as if he
had been lifting a bag of corn, and raised her clear off the ground,
then, stepping back a pace, held her head downward. He shook her as one
might a sack to pack its contents, the motion being regular and easy. He
then swung her to and fro like a pendulum until the necessary momentum
was acquired, when letting go one foot, and seizing the other with both
hands, he made a powerful muscular effort and whirled her round in the
air as if she had been an Indian club.
My companion had shrunk back in alarm to the farthest corner.
Round and round the dervish swung his living burden, she remaining
perfectly passive. The motion increased in rapidity until the eye could
hardly follow the body in its circuit. This continued for perhaps two or
three minutes, until, gradually slackening the motion, he at length
stopped it altogether, and in an instant had landed the girl on her
knees in the middle of the lamp-lit circle. Such was the Eastern mode of
mesmerization as practised among the dervishes.
And now the dwarf seemed entirely oblivious of external objects
and in a deep trance.. Her head and jaw dropped on her chest, her eyes
were glazed and staring, and altogether her appearance was even more
hideous than before. The dervish then carefully closed the shutters of
the only window, and we should have been in total obscurity, but that
there was a hole bored in it, through which entered a bright ray of
sunlight that shot through the darkened room and shone upon the girl. He
arranged her drooping head so that the ray should fall upon the crown,
after which, motioning us to remain silent, he folded his anus upon his
bosom, and, fixing his gaze upon the bright spot, became as motionless
as a stone image. I, too, riveted my eyes on the same spot, wondering
what was to happen next, and how all this strange ceremony was to help
me to find Ralph.
By degrees, the bright patch, as if it had drawn through the
sunbeam a greater splendour from without and condensed it within its own
area, shaped itself into a brilliant star, sending out rays in every
direction as from a focus.
A curious optical effect then occurred: the room, which had been
previously partially lighted by the sunbeam, grew darker and darker as
the star increased in radiance, until we found ourselves in an Egyptian
gloom. The star twinkled, trembled and turned, at first with a slow
gyratory motion, then faster and faster, increasing its circumference at
every rotation until it formed a brilliant disk, and we no longer saw
the dwarf, who seemed absorbed into its light. Having gradually attained
an extremely rapid velocity, as the girl had done when whirled by the
dervish, the motion began to decrease and finally merged into a feeble
vibration, like the shimmer of moonbeams on rippling water. Then it
flickered for a moment longer, emitted a few last flashes, and assuming
the density and iridescence of an immense opal it remained motionless.
The disk now radiated a moon-like lustre, soft and silvery, nut instead
of illuminating the garret, it seemed only to intensify the darkness.
The edge of the circle was not penumbrous, but on the contrary sharply
defined like that of a silver shield.
All being now ready, the dervish without uttering a word, or
removing his gaze from the disk, stretched out a hand, and taking hold
of mine, he drew me to his side and pointed to the luminous shield.
Looking at the place indicated, we saw large patches appear like those
on the moon. These gradually formed themselves into figures that began
moving about in high relief in their natural colours. They neither
appeared like a photograph nor an engraving; still less like the
reflection of images on a mirror, but as if the disk were a cameo, and they
were raised above its surface and then endowed with life and motion. To
my astonishment and my friend’s consternation,
we recognized the bridge leading from Galata to Stamboul spanning the
Golden Horn from the new to
the old city. There were the people hurrying to and fro,
steamers and gay caiques gliding on the blue Bosphorus, the many
coloured buildings, villas and palaces reflected in the water; and the
whole picture illuminated by the noon-day sun. It passed like a
panorama, but so vivid was the impression that we could not tell whether
it or ourselves were in motion. All was bustle and life, but not a sound
broke the oppressive stillness. It was noiseless as a dream. It was a
phantom picture. Street after street and quarter after quarter succeeded
one another; there was the bazaar, with its narrow roofed passages, the
small shops on either side, the coffee houses with gravely smoking
Turks; and as either they glided past us or we past them, one of the
smokers upset the narghilé and coffee of another, and a
volley of soundless invectives caused us great amusement.
So we travelled with the picture until we came to a large
building that I recognized as the palace of the Minister of Finance. In
a ditch behind the house, and close to a mosque, lying in a pool of mud
with his silken coat all bedraggled, lay my poor Ralph! Panting and
crouching down as if exhausted, he seemed to be
in a dying condition and near him were gathered some
sorry-looking curs who lay blinking in the sun and snapping at the
flies!
I had seen all that I desired, although I had not breathed a word
about the dog to the dervish, and had come more out of curiosity than
with the idea of any success. I was impatient to leave at once and
recover Ralph, but as my companion besought me to remain a little while
longer, I reluctantly consented. The scene faded away and Miss
H—placed herself in turn by the side of the dervish.
“I will think of him,” she whispered in my ear with the eager tone that young
ladies generally assume when talking of the worshipped him.
There is a long stretch of sand and a blue sea with white
waves dancing in the sun, and a great steamer is ploughing her way along
past a desolate shore, leaving a
milky track behind her. The deck is full of life, the men are
busy forward, the cook with white cap and apron is coming out of the
galley, uniformed officers are moving about, passengers fill the
quarter-deck, loung, flirting or reading, and a young man we both recognize
comes forward and leans over the taffrail. It is—him.
Miss H gives a little gasp, blushes and smiles, and concentrates
her thoughts again. The picture of the steamer vanishes; the magic moon
remains for a a few moments blank. But new spots appear on its luminous
face, we see a library slowly emerging from its depths—a library with
green carpet and hangings, and book-shelves round the sides of the room.
Seated in an arm-chair at a table under a hanging lamp, is an old
gentleman writing. His gray hair is brushed back from his forehead, his
face is smooth-shaven and his countenance has an expression of
benignity.
The dervish made a hasty motion to enjoin silence; the light on
the disk quivers, but resumes its steady brilliance, and again its
surface is imageless for a second.
We are back in Constantinople now and out of the pearly depths of
the shield forms our own apartment in the hotel. There are our papers
and books on the bureau, my friend’s travelling hat in a corner, her
ribbons hanging on the glass, and lying on the bed the very dress she
had changed when starting out on our expedition. No detail was lacking
to make the identification complete; and as if to prove that we were not
seeing something conjured up in our own imagination, there lay
upon the dressing-table two unopened letters, the handwriting on which
was clearly recognized by my friend. They were from a very dear relative
of hers, from whom she had expected to hear when in Athens, but had been
disappointed. The scene faded away and we now saw her brother’s room
with himself lying upon the lounge, and a servant bathing his head,
whence, to our horror, blood was trickling. We had left the boy in
perfect health but an hour before; and upon seeing this picture my
companion uttered a cry of alarm, and seizing me by the hand dragged me
to the door. We rejoined our guide and friends in the long hall and
hurried back to the hotel.
Young H—had fallen
downstairs and cut his forehead rather badly; in our room, on the dressing-table were
the two letters which had arrived in our absence. They had been
forwarded from Athens. Ordering a carriage, I at once drove to the
Ministry of Finance, and alighting with the guide, hurriedly made for
the ditch I had seen for the first time in the shining disk! In the
middle of the pool, badly mangled, half-famished, but still alive, lay
my beautiful spaniel Ralph, and near him were the blinking curs,
unconcernedly snapping at the flies.
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From Your Dark Side
