As their exchange arrived at this point, Râkım couldn’t battle any of the dreams and thoughts that were attacking his brain, and he hugged the girl in defeat:
RKIM: I won’t sell you, my dear Janan, I won’t. You’re more valuable to me than anything else in the whole world. Let them keep their millions of gold coins. You are enough for me. However, I am upset that you didn’t accept the offer to be my sister.
JANAN (without abandoning her decorum and pride while she was in her master’s arms, and then slowly removing herself from them): I said I wouldn’t accept the offer to be your sister. I said I am content with the way I’ve lived until now. I feel even more content now that you have given me this assurance. For you, I’ll still be the Janan that I was an hour ago. It’s my greatest honor to carry out any orders that you give me. May you live long, Sir, may you live long so that I can continue to be satisfied with seeing your face while you’re asleep. Please excuse me now while I retire to my room.
After saying this and observing only silence on the part of her master, she slowly retired to her room and threw herself onto her bed.
Oh! How did Râkım get through the night?
Now, this deserves some thought. Over and over he’d jump out of his bed after half an hour of frantic pensiveness and say, “This is crazy! Who can prevent me? She doesn’t need to be my property. See, the girl didn’t accept the offer to be my sister and . . .” Saying this, his desires would return, yet he would dive into that deep state of contemplation again and go back to bed with a strange bitterness, thinking, “No! I need to be patient! There is no need to hurry! There, she’s sleeping in my house. Isn’t she mine any time? The regret that comes from haste is irreparable.” He made it through to morning in this anguished state.
Would you call this madness or foolishness?
We wouldn’t consider it either of these. The happiness of union with a beloved comes with the sorrow of separation. There are many people who know this but among those, far fewer who can truly appreciate this unique pleasure.
Have you ever had to constrain yourself and tasted the deprivation, the separation from a girl right beside you, a girl who has committed herself to you as your slave, and even your property? If so, you wouldn’t call Râkım a lunatic or a fool. If not, you’re free to call him either a lunatic or a fool.
Do you know this thing called passion? It’s filthy. Really filthy. When that imagined spirit of pure love is stained with filthy passion, its pleasure fades away. In fact, at such times, ambition and greed draw a curtain over the eye, obscuring the stain.
Esteemed readers! Those sweet dreams that come from the sorrow and deprivation of separation and union alike . . . oh, how long they endure! One must remember, however, that the veneration of passion is fleeting. It consists only of a trance and a stupor followed by something best described as a sickness that lasts only seconds. If one were to yearn for their beloved for forty years, the taste of that love would persist for forty years. That man would live those forty years lively and youthfully. However, if he were to live united with his beloved for forty years, the satiation would quench his ardor and age him.
Very well, but does this sophisticated reasoning apply to Râkım who was in Josephine’s arms, in her embrace, only four hours ago?
If not to Râkım, then who? You need to think carefully about those previous four hours. Did he have this sultan-of-love attitude at that time? Let’s see what happened the next day.
All right! So what happened the next day?
What would you expect? Râkım woke up early in the morning and proceeded directly to Josephine’s house in Beyoğlu. He found her asleep. Without offering any greeting, he said:
RKIM: Madame, what were you telling me last night?
JOSEPHINE: How can I remember? I told you a thousand things.
RKIM: Didn’t you say, “Don’t consider me your mistress, but instead regard me as a friend.”
JOSEPHINE: Yes, I did say that.
RKIM: If that’s the case, then rest assured, from now on I’ll regard you as a friend, a sister, a mother, or whatever you want.
JOSEPHINE (with a mixture of happiness and sadness): I’m afraid what I said would happen, happened.
RKIM: Last night Janan burned me furiously with her love . . .
Râkım started to tell her about the previous night but he sounded so scorched with emotion that even Josephine was anguished.
JOSEPHINE: I am very happy to hear this even though it goes against my own interests.
RKIM (throws himself at her feet): I swear that I shall never forget the taste of the time I spent with you till the last breath I take. My friendship will continue until the end of time. I beg you, please don’t deprive me of the pleasure I began to taste last night.
JOSEPHINE: You’re crazy, you’re a lunatic, you’re cruel and you’re a traitor!
RKIM: To what do I owe this scolding?
JOSEPHINE: To your inability to maintain both of your relationships at the same time.
RKIM: But Josephine! Please have mercy! This is more than I can tolerate.
JOSEPHINE: I won’t press you now. I see that you are burning with an intense and potent fire. You will end up in my arms again eventually. But I’d like to give you the good news: You resurrected poor Janan last night. Believe me, all the tears she shed flowed from her eyes with special delight. Ah Janan, poor little girl, even if you had taken my life away, I wouldn’t be sorry. You have the right to Râkım. You deserve him more than I do.
If we recount one more event, we’ll finish relating the incidents that took place before spring. Here is what happened:
It had been a week since somebody had offered to buy Janan when Râkım ran into Felâtun Bey in Taksim. Old acquaintances never disappear.
RKIM (innocently): Hello Sir, how have you been?
FELTUN: Don’t ask, my friend. I am grateful to be over with this deuil, I mean, mourning. As you know, the alafranga way of life requires that one mourn one’s father. I’ve been dressed in soot-black from head to toe.
RKIM: Yes! That practice is alafranga; however, we—I mean, the Turks—aren’t obliged to comply with this custom. Commemorating the dead on Fridays by reciting the thirty-sixth Quranic verse, Yasin-i Sherif . . .
FELTUN: That’s right, but they never leave me alone!
RKIM: Who’s meddling in your business?
FELTUN: Who, you ask? Oh, my friend! Don’t ask, I’m in big trouble.
RKIM: Oh, dear!
FELTUN: Trouble, but sweet trouble. My heart is occupied with the love of a sweet little actress.
RKIM: Is this sweet little actress the one making you mourn?
FELTUN: Yes! Poor little girl! She is mourning my father’s death more than I am.
RKIM: How strange!
FELTUN: Yes! She is a very strange girl. How she mourns! She even insisted on buying black dinner plates. She doesn’t wear anything but black in the theater. If she could, she’d cover the sun and the stars in the sky with black tulle fabric.
RKIM: That is really surprising.
FELTUN: Wouldn’t you like to meet her?
RKIM: If you don’t mind . . . But are you willing to introduce this girl that you love so dearly to a stranger?
FELTUN: Oh, come on! You are talking like a rough Turk! Do we act that way in the alafranga lifestyle?
RKIM: Somehow I can’t reconcile myself with the alafranga lifestyle . . .
While exchanging these words, they headed down to the crossroads to go to see the actress. It occurred to Râkım that this woman, who mourned so intensely for Felâtun’s father’s death, even going so far as to buy black mourning plates, must be a supremely skillful actress.
FELTUN: You are wandering again! You always go around lost in thought.
RKIM: It’s nothing, my friend. There is just some work that I need to do.
FELTUN (condescendingly): Work, work, work! What is it with you and work? When are you ever going to be done with it, eh? You’v
e earned enough money already! Live off what you have for a while.
RKIM: What can I do, my friend? I don’t have any vineyards, farms, or rent income. What do we eat if we don’t work?
FELTUN: You’re not going to be young forever, for God’s sake! After your beard turns grey, girls won’t be interested in you anymore, even if you have money. One should enjoy one’s youth! I guess you’ll turn out to be just like my father. The poor man earned and saved, but couldn’t even manage to eat in comfort. We should draw lessons from this, shouldn’t we?
RKIM: May he rest in peace!
Râkım didn’t comment on Felâtun Bey’s erudite ideas. They walked in silence for a while.
RKIM: Did you hear the news, my friend? Somebody told me the other day that Reyhan Efendi has been appointed as the district governor somewhere in Anatolia. I was truly pleased to hear this.
FELTUN: Well, I hadn’t heard the news! I haven’t been to the government office since my father died. Sir, this strange girl is taking up all my time. She doesn’t leave my side until the evening, and at night I absolutely have to accompagner her to the theater. So then what’s the problem? Well, I have to wait for her and take her home afterwards. And when we get all the way back to her house, I can’t just leave, you know . . . As a result I end up having to spend the night there. That’s the problem!
RKIM: Trouble, but sweet trouble, no?
FELTUN: Do you even need to ask? She has the voice of a nightingale! The way she plays the piano is unparalleled. Especially that éloquence! She speaks so sweetly. And when she starts reading a poem from the works of well-known poets such as Racine, Boileau, and Molière . . . she sweeps people off their feet. I have never seen anyone read that way before. Even if you’ve never studied French, you’d still understand it. She even performs a déclame with her body to accompany her readings. She is obviously an actress! The thing that affects me the most is that she is so moved by her own reading: She cries and cries, and hugs me, embraces me and drowns me in her tears. I’ve never seen such a sentimentale woman!
Râkım knew that actresses could cry whenever they wanted to. While walking along and exchanging these words, they arrived at their destination, Hotel J——. That hotel wasn’t for everyone but only for the purse-proud. After all, they charge five francs—in other words, twenty-five kuruş—for a coffee with milk. In fact, kuruş were not even used in that place! They walked into a private suite with a small living room and two bedrooms. The mademoiselle who Felâtun was crazy about came sashaying up to him with an attitude unique to sassy French women, gave him a hug, and kissed him.
FELTUN (introducing Pauline to Râkım): Je te présente mon . . . (Let me introduce my . . .)
PAULINE: Pas besoin, je ne suis pas une imbecile, on conçoit tout de suite que monsieur est un de tes amis. (No need, I am not an idiot, I can tell right away that this gentleman is a friend of yours.)
RKIM: J’ai l’honneur ma . . . (It’s my honor, my . . .)
Although Râkım wanted to say something like “I pride myself in having the honor to meet you,” in French, the woman didn’t give him the chance and interrupted him.
PAULINE (reciprocating Râkım’s greeting): Assez, Monsieur, assez. Ici, entre jeunes gens on ne fait pas ces bétises là. On y tutoit tout bonnement. (Enough, Monsieur, enough. Here, among young people we don’t engage in that sort of nonsense. We use the familiar tu with one another quite comfortably.)
FELTUN (to Râkım): You see, my friend, how independent she is. Can one ever be bored with such a person? Sir, those ceremonies and façons!
RKIM: You’re right, Sir, you’re right! She is very pleasant!
The conversation after this point was held entirely in French.
PAULINE: Hey! Look at me Felâtun! You brought a friend here, aren’t you going to offer him something?
FELTUN: Absolutely! Well spoken, Pauline. (Her name was Pauline.)
PAULINE: Perhaps some champagne?
RKIM: No, my friend! I am not a drinker. I’ll have coffee.
PAULINE: What? How crude!
This conversation might seem strange to some readers but those who have travelled to the alafranga world know that we never exaggerate our descriptions. This is how coquettish French hussies talk. Especially theater whores!
RKIM (responding to Pauline): You’re right, my friend. However, I don’t lead the life of a bon viveur. I live off my own work and endeavors. Now, when I leave here, I will return back to my work.
PAULINE: This means you are an ouvrier, a manual laborer.
FELTUN: Yes! He lives off the labors of his pen.
PAULINE: Bravo! Are you a journalist, Sir?
RKIM: I write all sorts of things! I am a laborer who writes some small novels, plays, and some pieces for newspapers.
PAULINE: How wonderful! This means you are one of us. I mean, an artist.
FELTUN: He is also a poet!
RKIM: Not at all!
PAULINE: Of course he is. Quite so, but Sir, a few glasses of champagne would inspire the likes of you. (To Felâtun): And for us, masters of love, it would enflame our love. Isn’t that so, monkey! Baboon! Rabbit!
FELTUN (impudently): My God, you’re so right.
5. Page 73 from the Ottoman publication of Felâtun Bey and Râkım Efendi. Published in 1875 by Mehmet Cevdet. Provided by the Atatürk Kitaplığı (Taksim, Istanbul).
RKIM: Can everyone state their opinion so freely?
PAULINE: Absolutely!
RKIM: In that case, I disagree. What use are poetic ideas roused by wine? What is the point of stimulating love and affection with wine?
PAULINE: O là là! Aha! So this gentleman is a philosopher! You should have been named Felâtun. (To Felâtun): Hey, you fat old cow! See, this gentleman isn’t like you. You were going on about how all you need in this world is wine, music and a woman, right?
FELTUN: Loving you made me this way.
PAULINE: Just look at that yellow woodlouse! He is still stuck in his chair. Here, your guest has come. Now get up and . . .
FELTUN: Oh, yes! Pardon. They haven’t fixed the rope of this servant bell, so now I have to go all the way to the apartment door and pull the big bell. (He leaves.)
PAULINE: Sir, I would like to tell you how happy I am to meet you. However, there is something not quite fitting. Writers are typically more independent. Yet, you seem even more bashful than I am.
RKIM: Isn’t it good to be moderate in all things?
PAULINE: Our lobster Felâtun is such a saucy man. He has neither a helm nor a compass. He has lost his way, drifting in this ocean of love. You understand me, eh? I shouldn’t care so much, but I love that rogue!
FELTUN (back after giving the order): I ordered a marvelous tea. I also asked for some rum, for those who want it.
PAULINE: You see now? This was probably the only time you’ve used your mind in your whole life. Those who want punch can drink punch, and those who want tea can drink tea.
They sat together and drank punch. While they chatted about this and that, Felâtun Bey prattled on about the incredible advantages of the alafranga lifestyle, and how such a lifestyle wouldn’t be possible in the alaturka world. For instance, he said:
FELTUN: What are Turkish women good for? There is nothing like their arrogance and pride. With a little smile, she makes her lover come alive; then she hides the smile and pulls a long face. It’s impossible to ingratiate yourself with a Turkish woman. Her coyness is unbearable, and her jokes are tasteless. You know it perfectly well, my friend, don’t you? Let’s say you purchased a female slave . . . What pleasure can liberal, independent, and free people like us get from a slave? Who knows whom she lost her heart to? As she’s your slave, she’s obliged to submit to you.
Râkım was taken aback when he heard Felâtun talk this way. Râkım wondered what wisdom there was in putting up with these French ladies when Ottoman ladies, despite their solemnity and pride, offered so many delights. If a man were to receive the kind of insults that Fel
âtun received from this lady, there was no question that he’d break that person’s head. Râkım couldn’t figure out why Felâtun put up with it. Especially when Felâtun brought up the subject of female slaves, Râkım almost burst into laughter. Yet again, he restrained himself and thought, “Silly you, doesn’t a slave have feelings? It’s a simple matter to buy a girl’s freedom for five or ten kuruş. Just wait until you earn her love, then you’ll see what a beloved she makes! Ah, my dear Janan! Poor little girl!” These thoughts ran through Râkım’s mind but he didn’t voice them out loud to Felâtun.
Finally, Râkım got up to go after spending more than an hour with this alafranga couple. He bid farewell to both, and Felâtun didn’t neglect to see him off. When they arrived at the hotel’s reception, Felâtun asked Râkım’s opinion:
FELTUN: So what do you think?
RKIM: Great! (smiling) At least she doesn’t spill mayonnaise sauce all over you!
FELTUN: Forget those English fools for God’s sake! I am surprised that you are putting up with them for only four liras a month.
RKIM: What can I do, my friend? I need to earn a living.
FELTUN: Oh, for God’s sake! This boy and his love for money . . . How about I give you four liras a month!
RKIM: Thank you, my friend. I’m content with what I have.
FELTUN: Don’t take it the wrong way. I am telling you the truth. You think I can’t afford to pay you four British liras a month?
RKIM: Not at all, my friend. Who said that? I’m just saying that I enjoy being with the Ziklas family.
FELTUN: What pleasure do you get from those carroty English girls? Man, you really don’t know how to live. I mean, you could if you wanted to. In fact, you have one foot in Beyoğlu. Would it be so bad if you found a nice apartment and took a little mistress?
RKIM (thinks of Josephine for a second, but doesn’t utter a word about her since it would violate their secret): That would be nice, but my friend, I can’t see the benefit of that kind of wastefulness, for either of us.
Felâtun Bey and Râkim Efendi Page 9