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Women in the Ottoman Balkans: Gender, Culture and History

Page 4

by Amila Buturovic


  as ancient. Their customs and manners are entirely different.”23 Racine was one

  of the first writers to equate space, mainly cultural space, with time, and on this

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  Women in the ottoman Balkans

  basis to bring the Orient closer to antiquity, thus enveloping both in the aura of the

  exotic Other. Racine would have agreed with Segalen’s remark that “exoticism is

  not only given in space, but is equally a function of time.”24

  The harem woman in Antoine Galland’s Les Mille et une nuits [The Thousand

  and One Nights] (1704–17) and the genre of oriental tales it spawned was

  different from Racine’s heroine.25 She was a beguiling and enticing woman who

  used her charms to gain and keep her master’s favors. Unlike Roxane whose

  predatory love precluded any erotic fantasies, the woman of the oriental tales

  and romances “is figured in the seductive veils of the ‘oriental’ harem that at

  once hide and exhibit her.”26 Her face and figure were all the more enticing

  because they were invisible. As we have seen, she was not identified with a

  particular nationality, social class, or religion, but with the space that confined

  and consumed her life. It was a place laden with contradictions: though a fiercely

  private institution, it allowed for no privacy; though identified with the feminine

  sex, it was ruled by eunuchs who had no sexual identity; though a terra incognita

  for all outsiders, its textual and pictorial representations filled the imagination and

  excited the fantasies of generations of European men and women; though a place

  dedicated to love, not all of its women tasted its pleasures, and even fewer, if any,

  its affective bonds. Even the master of the harem—which existed only for his

  jouissance, as Grosrichard called it—indulged in loveless lovemaking, because

  “a Muslim in his harem perhaps has never known love and its resources. … Only

  the lascivious tableaux that drive chaste love away can light the sparks of the eyes

  of debauchery.”27 It was also deemed to be a place of loneliness: “Put behind you

  all the ideas of the sérail,” the French diplomat advised Théophé, “that is, those

  of solitude and perpetual constraint.”28

  The “perpetual constraint” of which the diplomat spoke was enforced by the

  black eunuchs, whose asexuality freed them from desire and therefore qualified

  them to guard the boundaries of harem women’s desires. Women’s every

  movement was scrutinized by the Argus eyes of their keepers, who

  punish severely their least infractions. It is with great difficulty that their

  severe guardians allow them to take a walk in the gardens. These ruthless

  jailers accompany them incessantly; at their signal, the Gardeners line up

  along the walls holding long sticks with cloth panels attached to their tips,

  which form a wall between them and the girls. So great is the jealousy of

  the Eunuchs, that if they catch a Gardener looking at the women through the

  openings of the panels, they cut off his head on the spot.29

  Fear-inspiring though they were, these overseers shared some of the experiences

  of harem women. They too came from all parts of the empire, and had been

  taken from their homes between the ages of eight and sixteen. They too had been

  severed from their families and origin, a fate that relegated them to an existence of

  immediacy to better render their undivided allegiance. Since individual and ethnic

  identities were inconsequential, physical traits became important not as racial

  markers but as task qualifiers. For the black eunuchs, the more pronounced their

  augustinos, eastern ConCuBines, Western mistresses

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  blackness, the more effective they would be as deterrents against transgressions of

  the boundaries of female desire.30 “Those Eunuchs whose face is less malformed,

  are intended to guard the first door of the enclosure; but those who guard the

  entrance to the women’s quarters, and who ordinarily converse with them, in

  addition to being black, they have considerably more deformities, which make

  them hideous.”31 Their “hideousness” contrasted with the names they were given,

  typically chosen after the most beautiful flowers, such as Narcissus, Hyacinth,

  and Rose. This practice was a way to separate the name from its bearer and thus

  to further neutralize his presence. The names were more akin to the qualities

  attributed to the women than to the eunuchs themselves, because “serving the

  women, and being always near about them, their names may be answerable to

  their virginity sweet and undefiled.”32 They were the protective shield of those

  qualities that kept “the harem women’s mouth unsullied and pure” when they

  addressed their keepers.33

  Female purity, then, was just as much prized in the East as it was in the West.

  However, from the western point of view this quality was inscribed differently

  in the two codes of conduct. In the East, purity touched only the body and was

  safeguarded for the master’s enjoyment alone; once the body was no longer

  pure, then its value was commensurate with the pleasure it gave. In the western

  context, on the other hand, purity enveloped a woman’s body and soul and

  remained inviolable in a relation of monogamous fidelity and reciprocity, the

  twin trademarks of her virtue. Prévost’s hero prided himself for trying to recast

  Théophé into the latter mold while still indulging in images of the former.

  The coexistence of purity and impurity in the harem setting was given a spacial

  configuration in western accounts. Silent and secluded like a nunnery, it was

  imagined as the setting of wanton scenes. Its monastic appearance was belied by

  its moral disorder. The traveler Aubry de La Motraye, whom Prévost knew and

  whose work he admired, claimed to have entered the women’s quarters when

  the Sultan and his harem were away. From outside their rooms appeared to him

  “similar to the cells of Monks and Nuns.” A eunuch opened the door to one of

  them and La Motraye imagined much more than he saw, inviting his readers to do

  the same: “Its window panes were painted in different colors similar to those of

  several Christian Churches. In comparing the rooms of the women of the Grand

  Seigneur to the cells of a Nunnery, one must exclude the rich furnishings as well

  as the usage of these rooms, whose difference one may well imagine without

  the need of an explanation.”34 Just as the purity of the eastern woman intimated

  images of her erotic destiny, the ascetic exterior of her room conjured scenes of

  sensual luxuriance.

  The more concealed she was, the more vividly did the image of the oriental

  woman scintillate in European eyes. Through her eyes she entered the western

  imagination. The eye had many dimensions in harem literature, but they all made

  it a locus of desire. It was the channel through which desire was both emitted and

  attracted. “We saw you,” wrote Zachi to Usbek in Montesquieu’s Lettres persanes

  [Persian Letters] (1720), “wander from enchantment to enchantment … you fixed

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  Women in the ottoman Balkans

  your envious gaze in the most secret of places; you made us move in an instant in

  a thousand different position
s.”35 Looking at the oriental woman was her master’s

  exclusive privilege, “a kind of visual mastery over her.”36 The western outsider,

  however, had another means of penetrating the forbidden kingdom: the visible

  representations of invisible fantasies. Conjuring Théophé’s “stained” past, her

  liberator let his imagination wander through her harem experiences and in his

  anticipation of a charmed future when Théophé’s body would have been cleansed

  and therefore become more delectable. “The caresses of her two lovers, had they

  not imprinted on her a stain..? A stigma of this sort, could it not be erased by the

  respite … of a few days, particularly at an age when nature renews itself … by its

  own means?” Images of past sensuality and future purification were the ultimate

  attraction: “I stood for sometime looking at her with an appetite, or rather an

  avidity, I had never felt before.”37

  In the harem, there was one eye that saw everything but felt no desire. The

  eunuch’s look, like that of his master, surveyed the female body, but his was the

  scrutinizing look of the examiner, not the participant. When a new woman was

  brought to the harem, he inspected her thoroughly, looking for imperfections.

  His sexual mutilation gave the eye unconditional freedom, because it engaged

  no other senses. “Being a minister of innocence,” wrote the Chief Black Eunuch

  to Usbek, “I use the freest of actions and chaste looks which cannot but inspire

  innocence.”38

  A woman’s eye, the only part of her anatomy uncovered in public, was deemed

  the seat of forbidden desire. As with all things forbidden, the oriental female glance

  peering from behind the veil—dark and mysterious, soft as velvet and burning

  like coal embers, daring and cautious—mystified the western traveler. “Their

  eyes,” remarked the eighteenth-century traveler Aaron Hill, “are of a Piercing

  Black, almost Transparently Bright and Striking, and the larger they are, the more

  esteemed. … Their Motions carry a Peculiar Grace … the Native Charms of an

  Amorous Softness appear unfeignedly in every look.” In his eyes, their suggestive

  “motions” revealed their “incontinent” sexuality, a result of their ignorance of

  the rules of “morality” and the segregation of the sexes.39 Alexander Kinglake,

  writing in the nineteenth century, found no offense in the oriental woman’s gaze,

  only allurement:

  And perhaps as you make your difficult way through a steep and narrow

  alley … you meet one of these coffin-shaped bundles of white linen that

  implies an Ottoman lady. … Of her very self you see nothing except the

  dark, luminous eyes that stare against your face. … She turns and turns

  again, and carefully glances around her on all sides, to see that she is safe

  from the eyes of Musulmans, and then suddenly withdrawing the yashmak

  [veil], she shines upon your heart and soul with all the pomp and might of

  her beauty. … There is fire though, too-high courage, and fire enough in

  the untamed mind … that drives the breath of pride through those scarcely

  parted lips.40

  augustinos, eastern ConCuBines, Western mistresses

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  The eye behind the veil, however, enjoyed a liberty unknown to western

  women: the liberty of anonymity, to see and not to be seen. Not surprisingly, it

  was a woman traveler, Lady Montagu, who first noted this freedom: “Their heads

  and faces as well as their shapes are … wholly covered by … a ferigee [ ferâce, i.e.

  overcoat]... [which] disguises her so that … ’tis impossible for the most jealous

  husband to know his wife when he meets her. This perpetual masquerade gives

  them entire liberty of following their inclinations.”41 Grasset de Saint-Sauveur,

  echoing Lady Montagu, was more explicit in his conjectures: “Under such

  Domino … one can judge how such costume favors gallant intrigues and gives

  freedom to women.”42 Both authors concluded that freedom under the veil was

  but a sexual escapade.

  Although she did not have direct contact with the sultan’s harem, Lady

  Montagu visited the private apartments of two upper-class Ottoman ladies, one of

  whom was a former haseki sultan [imperial favorite], and gave an inside glimpse

  of their private lives. The living space she revealed “was not merely picturesque

  and exotically exciting.”43 She demystified the harem and its associations and

  described a real feminine space with its own rituals, etiquette, and pleasures. She

  made the two visits on the same day and was accompanied on both occasions

  by a Greek lady who served as her interpreter. She was exceedingly proud to

  be the first Christian woman to have received such invitations and donned the

  appropriate apparel.

  I … therefore dressed my self in the court habit of Vienna, which is much

  more magnificent than ours. … I was met at the door by the black eunuch,

  who … conducted me though several rooms, where her she slaves, finely

  dressed, were ranged on each side. In the innermost I found the lady sitting

  on a sofa in a sable vest.44

  Her second hostess was a noble lady of extraordinary beauty. Following a similar

  ceremonial reception, she entertained her guest by having her “fair maids”—

  twenty of them—dance:

  She made them a sign to play and dance. Four of them immediately began

  to play some soft airs with instruments … which they accompanied with

  their voice, while the others danced by turns. Nothing could be more artful,

  or more proper to raise certain ideas. The tunes, so soft!—the motions so

  languishing!—accompanied with poses and dying eyes! half-falling back,

  and then recovering themselves in so artful a manner that I am very positive

  the most rigid prude … could not have looked without thinking of something

  not to be spoken of.45

  For a moment Lady Montagu looked at this scene through the eyes of a “prude,”

  simultaneously satirizing his puritanism and sharing his pruriency. Though she

  insisted that in her reporting she relied on personal experience and not external

  authorities—particularly male authorities—this dance activated in her images of

  sensuousness and seductiveness so copious in harem literature. What the Turkish

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  Women in the ottoman Balkans

  lady undoubtedly intended to be an aesthetically pleasing entertainment, the

  European lady saw as the enactment of the harem of the mind, which allowed for

  only one interpretation of the dance and its musical accompaniment, the erotic.

  Demystifying the harem was not an easy task even when undertaken by women,

  because they too “are capable of seeing as men do.”46

  One of the most erotically charged scenes depicting a Turkish officer and his

  concubine was composed by a nineteenth-century writer using the pseudonym

  “Me D…” The scene takes place in 1821 on the besieged Acropolis, where its

  disdar [governor] revels in carnal delights amid violence and destruction.

  A Turk of a mature age, possessing a martial face and tall stature, dressed

  in a magnificent costume, was lying nonchalantly on silk cushions, next to

  a marble table laden with liqueurs; facing him was an odalisque of about
/>
  twenty years of age with a face more pretty than beautiful. … Her bosom

  was almost uncovered and her mousseline dress trimmed with gold fringes

  was so light that she was almost nude. She had set aside a lute that she

  had just finished playing; the Turk, his eyes inflamed, held her hand while

  pulling her closer to his cushion while passing his arm around her waist.

  …

  The apartment was furnished with all the Asiatic luxury; white marble

  pilasters with gold decorations were placed between voluptuous paintings

  and formed the enclosure …; the ceiling, made entirely of mirrors, repeated

  scenes even more voluptuous than those of the paintings, which, if one

  raised one’s head, one would believe oneself to have caught a glimpse of

  the pleasures of the Houris.47

  Like the mirror on the ceiling, the author’s vivid tableau encapsulated western

  images of oriental love: opulence, enervating languor, excitement and indulgence

  of the senses, music as a sensual stimulant, violence and pleasure cohabiting in

  the oriental male, cultivated seductiveness emanating from the female.

  The harem in Prévost’s novel has almost none of this graphic sensuality. “The

  Bacha’s women,” observes the French diplomat, “numbered twenty-two and they

  were all together in a ‘salon.’ … Among a large number of servants of both sexes,

  I remarked that mine were eunuchs. They all stood at the corner ready to execute

  every order. … They [the women] had their instruments brought in; some began to

  play while others danced with sufficient grace and elegance.”49 Chériber’s harem

  is almost desexualized here, because it is the place where the two codes of female

  conduct, the eastern and the western, met and began to compete for ascendancy in

  Théophé’s conflicted identity. It was only later, after Théophé had left it, that her

  mentor began to fantasize—not about what he had witnessed, but about what he

  imagined. Fantasy was more potent than the eye.

  augustinos, eastern ConCuBines, Western mistresses

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  Greek Women in the Harem

  Why did Prévost choose a Greek woman, une Grecque moderne, as his heroine?

  Perhaps because her “noble origins” and oriental present made her a potential

  candidate for reform. In her double heritage, the boundaries between East and

 

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