A Child of the Orient — Key Ideas to Explore

nd out, as you grow older, that you need all three to balance things up.”

From him I heard not only the names of the great Greek writers, but he read to me by the hour from them. At first they were very hard to understand, since the Greek we speak is so much simpler than the Greek of Aristophanes and Sophocles; but since, after all, it is the same language, I learned to recite it pretty well before even I knew how to read and write.

It was from my brother, too, that I learned to know the Greek Revolution as our great modern poets sang of it; and before the year was over I could recite the “Chani of Gravia” and other celebrated poems, as American children recite “Mother Goose.”

One day there came into our garden, where my brother and I sat, a handsome young man, saying: “They told me you were in the garden, so I came to find you.” He sat down by us and plunged into a conversation about a certain game they were getting up, and of which my brother was the captain. We escorted him to the gate, when he left us, and after he was out of ear-shot I asked my brother who he was, as he had forgotten to introduce us.

“It is Arif Bey,” he replied rather curtly.

“You don’t mean a real Turk?” I cried.

“But you seemed so friendly with him!”

“Why not? I like him first rate.”

“How can you be friends with a Turk?”

“He’s an awfully good fellow.”

“But ought we to like them, and treat them as if they were our equals?”

“Well, what can we do, sister? They are the masters here, and we belong to the Turkish officialdom. We have got to be friendly with them.”

“But we ought to hate them just the same, since we must kill them. Wouldn’t you kill him, if you could?”

“I don’t think I hate Arif Bey--and as for killing him, I hope I shall never have to.”

“But if we are not to kill them, how are we going to be free again, and how can the Greek flag fly over the Galata Tower?”

“Look here, baby, what you need is to play more and not think so much. Now come, and I’ll teach you to climb trees, and for every tree you climb yourself I’ll tell you a tale about the time when I lived on Mount Olympus.”

I was agile by nature, in spite of being frail, and in no time I learned to climb even the tallest trees on our place, an occupation which delighted me as much as anything I had ever done.

Arif Bey I saw again and again, for I became the constant companion of either my father or my brother, and I could not find it in my heart to hate him. A few years older than my brother, he was taller and his shoulders were broader, and he carried himself with a dash worthy of the old demi-gods of Greece. As for his eyes they were as kind and good to look into as those of my brother. What is more I was never afraid in his presence, and one day he spoke so tenderly of his sick mother that I pretty much changed my mind about the delight of seeing him killed. It was then that I talked very eulogistically about him to my brother; but one never can tell what grown-ups will do--they are the most inconsistent of human beings.

“Look here, baby”--he interrupted my praises of Arif Bey--“Arif is handsome and a nice chap, and I can trust him up to a certain point; but don’t get to thinking he is as good as we are. A Turk never is. They have enough Greek blood in them to look decent, but they have enough Turkish left to be Asiatics, and don’t forget that. An Asiatic is something inferior at best. Look at Arif Bey himself, for example. He is about the best of them, and yet, barely twenty-seven, he has two wives already. There is Asia for you!”