November 27, I0i5- 
LAND AND WATER. 
THE TURKISH JESTER. 
By Desmond MacCarthy. 
ENTiLISH pooplo know next to nothing about the 
Turks ; I know very little, yet I will venture 
to write about them. Though 1 have been in 
Turkey, 1 will not bounce you with that. This 
article might for that matter be far better if 1 had read 
more about the Turks and never seen one. For what 
used the tourist in Constantinople to see of the life there ? 
Nothing. He probably stayed at the Pcra Palace Hotel 
(now the headquarters of the German Staff) ; hired a 
{^;uidc (always Greek or Armenian) and went the round of 
sights : St. 'Sophia, the Dancing Dervishes, the Howling 
Dervishes, the Sultan's Friday Drive to Mosque. " The 
Sweet Waters of Asia," the cemetery at Scutari, the 
ancient ramparts of the city, and perhaps the old Seraglio 
and the Islands of the Princes. He wandered about the 
bazaars, trving to sec through tlic veils of shopping 
women ; and between his gesticulating interpreter and the 
placidly contemptuous merchant, squatting among his 
wares, he found himself nicely done there over bargains. 
Perhaps I had somewhat better opportunities. 
Rose-Leaf Jam. 
I dined once with an ex-grand Vizier at his villa (very 
like dining at Wimbledon) and listened to some stories. 
I ate, one morning at ten o'clock, a pot of rose-leaf jam 
with the Patriarch in his ramshackle palace. For some 
days I was waited on by a Turkish servant, whose name, 
Haraloumbo, it was a pleasure to send rolling sonorously 
through the empty, bell-less rooms of a house on the 
Bosphorus. He was devoted to his own master ; so 
much so, that when he heard that the noise of traffic 
tormented him at home in London, he offered to go back 
with him : " Then 1 will stand with a whip at the corner 
of the street to drive the carts and people away, and you 
will be annoyed no more." I used to spend hours, too. 
in the barbers' shops at Stamboul, drinking coffee out of 
cups the size of half an egg-shcU, and making myself a 
little giddy by smoking narghiles in the sun. It was hot 
weather tlicn ; and the Turkish customers would sit a long 
time with their heads held under brass \esscls, from the 
bottoms of which streamed steadily down a thread of 
cold water ; a form of luxuriously-prolonged shampoo 
which we might introduce into Europe. During week- 
ends in the dog days, it would be a pleasant substitute for 
conversation. 
But such recollections do not qualify one to write 
about the Turks. The ojily comprehensive impression 
of value that any tourist was likely to take away from 
Constantinople was that the Turks are a people who 
despise fuss, hurry and noise, keep thcmiielvcs to them- 
selves. The contrast, after sun-down, between the 
Turkish quarter of the city and the Greek and Armenian 
quarters is striking ; the former is still and dark, the latter 
are full of hubbub, quarrcUing and cries. This instinct 
for keeping himself to himself, and this contempt for 
fuss and exuberance, makes the old-fashioned Turk, on 
the surface, decidedly sympathetic to the Englishman. In 
normal times, wisely or unwisely, the question, why can't 
you let it alone ? recommends itself readily to both as 
sensible. However useful the Turks may lind the Gentians 
now we may be certain they think them detestable. 
Letters and stories from the Dardanelles assure us 
that the Turk fights "like a gentleman." which means, I 
suppose, that he is brave, and that his sense of what is 
expected of him in the way of manslaughter is tempered 
for the moment by boredom and magnanimity. But they 
have often in the jiast shown themselves inithlessly brutal, 
indeed they are proving it now in Asia Minor, towards 
those absolutely in their power, and history proves 
that they only behave well towards those who can hold 
their own. It is not about their soldierly qualities, how- 
ever, nor about this ugly streak of fanatic ferocityin them, 
I wish to write ; but a side of them not yet commented 
on, their humour. Among their national heroes, they 
have a famous jester ; he is more beloved than any. When 
he lived I do not knoiV. All 1 know is that he was certainly 
a little crazv, which to the oriental mind soems no disad- 
vantage, and that he lived long ago. His name was 
Nasr Eddin, and in the stories told of him he is referred to 
as Cogia Nasr Eddin Efendi, or simply as " the Cogia." 
The Cogia. 
"The Cogia, now with God," says the chronicler, "was 
master of all learning, and perfect in every art. If some 
people should now say, we were in hope of receiving in- 
struction from his sayings, but have read nothing but the 
ravings of madness ; and if they should require some other 
book of his utterances, wc must tell them that he uttered 
nothing beyond what is noted here. Some people say 
that, whilst uttering what seemed madness, he was, in 
realit}-, divinely inspired, and that it was not madness, but 
wisdom, that he uttered. The mercy of God be upon him, 
mercy without bounds." Space will not permit me to 
exhibit the many sidedness of the Cogia's wit, or anything 
of his wisdom and madness but here are a few of the stories 
about him over which the Turks still laugh ; and to know 
what men laugh at is to get insight into their character. 
One day a man asked the Cogia to lend him his ass. 
" He is not at home," replied the Cogia. But the words 
were hardly spoken when the ass began to bray in the 
stable. "O, Cogia Efendi," said the man, " you say your 
ass is not at home, but I can hear him braying." " What 
a strange fellow you are ! " said the Cogia. " You believe 
the ass, but you will not believe a grey-bearded man." 
A man coming from the country once brought the Cogia 
a hare. The Cogia with much civility, offered him some 
broth to eat. At the end of a week he came again. The 
Cogia at first pretended not to recognise him ; but when 
the man said, " Don't you remember I am the person who 
brought you the hare," the Cogia invited him to dine. 
Some days later a number of men came round and wanted 
to be entertained. " Who may you be ? " said the Cogia. 
" Wc are the neighbours of the man who brought you the 
hare," they said ; and after some hesitation he 
entertained them also. A week afterwards, quite a crowd 
appeared at his door, saying, " Wc are the neighbours 
of the neighbours of the man who brough t you the hare." 
" Well, you are very welcome," said the Cogia, " Come 
in." 'When they had all settled round the table, the 
Cogia sat down before them a large jar of pure water. 
" What's this ! " they cried. " The water of the water 
of the hare. That's what it is," said the Cogia. 
Story of a Cauldron. 
On returning a cauldron which he had borrowed 
from a brazier, the Cogia inadvertently left in it a small 
iron pot for making coffee. "Whatisthis ? " said the owner 
of the cauldron taking out the pot. " It looks," said the 
Cogia, " as though the cauldron must have had a child." 
" O, in that case, then," chuckled the man, " the littlo 
pot belongs to me." And he kept it. The Cogia said 
nothing and went home. A few days later he borrowed 
the cauldron again, and since he did not return it, the 
brazier himself went round to get it. "I want my 
cauldron," he said, as soon as the Cogia opened the door. 
" O, Brazier," replied the Cogia, "yoiu- cauldron is dead." 
" What ! " exclaimed the brazier, " How can a cauldron 
be dead ? " " If you believed it could bear a child, you 
can also believe it can die," said the Cogia, and he shut 
the door. 
Taste in humour differs ; I like these stories, and the 
following one of the best ; it seems tcj touch depths. The 
Cogia once caught a stork, and having done so, he pro- 
ceeded to cut off its beak and legs ; then setting it on a 
high place, he exclaimed : " Now you look like a bird." 
Some other time may be told how he excused himself 
to the Emperor Timour for having eaten, by the way. 
the leg of a goose he was bringing him as a present, how 
he reproved a snob who thought him ill-dressed, and how 
he converted three wise men to the faith of Mahomed : 
but enough has been told, at any rate, to show the kind 
of things which make Turks laugh. 
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