(…) The explanation of this is easy to give. Every movement from the Old to the New calls out idealism, devotion, and self-sacrifice. Such a movement can only be brought to pass by those who are ready to suffer for it, to give their lives for it, if necessary. And who brought about the renovation of Turkey? (…) They are the George Washingtons, the Adamses, the Jeffersons of Turkey. Among these idealists, there is none of loftier devotion, of purer motives, of wider vision, than Tevfik Fikret Bey. Although he has never been in exile, his life is typical of true Turkish patriotism, and gives us a glimpse of the oppression under the old regime.
Fikret Bey was born and brought up in Stamboul, the Turkish quarter of Constantinople. When he was a young man, his father received one of those appointments which the Sultan so generously gave to all suspected radicals; in this case, it was the governorship of Acca, a penal town on the coast of Syria, of very unhealthful climate and unsanitary conditions. In this exile, his parents spent the rest of their lives, and his father died there without Fikret's being allowed to go see him. The reason for his exile was a peculiar one. He was a very generous man and used to give in large quantities to the poor, who frequented his house in considerable numbers. This gave his enemies ground for telling His Majesty that he was trying to make himself popular with the people and that he was a dangerous man. As the Sultan did not wish anyone to be popular in Constantinople except himself, he sent the man to Acca, where he could practice his charity without danger. In consequence of this experience, Fikret Bey, who is as generous as his father was, has been obliged to be very cautious and circumspect in his charities, never giving openly.
Meanwhile, Fikret had been sent to the Galata Serai for his education. This college, although a government institution, was founded and operated under French influence; and no doubt Fikret imbibed many liberal ideas there. The French language opened up to him the storehouse of Western knowledge and thought, and he read deeply along these lines. After graduating, he was appointed teacher there, a position in which he was very successful and popular with his students. He is a born teacher. While he was at the Galata Serai, one of the most interesting episodes of his life took place. A new Turkish weekly was started called the Serveti Fünun or "Treasures of Science," and he was appointed editor-in-chief. In this position, he had a splendid outlet for his abilities as a writer and a leader. The paper had some measure of freedom at first, and Fikret exercised an influence over the young men of his time in a direct and personal way even more than in what he wrote. This young man, possessed of a most charming personality, a writer and thinker, and of broader learning than most of his contemporaries, began to be the leader and idol of the youth of Constantinople; and the office of the Serveti Fünun became the rendezvous of a coterie of liberal young men who gathered there from week to week to discuss modern and radical subjects. Fikret Bey was one of those men—cheerful, sympathetic, intuitive—who know how to appreciate and draw out ability in others; and he inspired many young geniuses to think and to write. His influence at this time was great. But such a state of affairs could not go on for long. Any man who was popular and any home to which visitors gathered in too great numbers became objects of suspicion. It was inevitable that some envious person should report these meetings at the office of the Serveti Fünun to the Sultan, and take advantage of his despotic nature to arouse suspicion against this brilliant young editor who was so popular with the youths of Constantinople. The homes of the editors were searched, and all their books confiscated.
Several members of the staff, including Fikret Bey, were imprisoned and brought to trial at the palace. Nothing of serious nature could be proved against them, and after a few days they were set free. But, although liberated from the material prison, Fikret Bey walked forth an object of suspicion, a mental and moral prisoner for ten long years. For a year or more, he remained in close retirement, not daring to assume any duties of a public character. It was at the end of this period that he commenced his work as Professor of Turkish at Robert College, with which he was connected until the Revolution broke out, nine years in all. This was the darkest period of his life. Very few people came to see him. He was forced to exercise the greatest caution in regard to his actions, and none of his powers of leadership and thought could find expression. He was obliged to see his country, which he loved with such a passionate love, robbed and oppressed by the Padishah, and in no way could he serve it. His genius and his patriotism smouldered within him and turned to pessimism. He became melancholy, even sad; yet throughout it all, he maintained his kindness, his unselfishness, and his charm of personality, which nothing could subdue.
It is hard to realize in America what the oppression under the old regime was. It was not only that things could not be written in the papers or spoken in public, but it was hardly possible even for people to converse together on political or liberal subjects. Meetings were forbidden, and the mere dining together of suspected people would be dangerous. Spies were everywhere. The officials at the steamboat landings were obliged to make reports on the passengers, and sentinel-boxes were stationed at convenient places so that watch might be kept on suspected houses. At Therapia, along the quay in front of the different embassies, there were always men fishing; weather never interfered with their sport because they were paid by the Sultan to spy on the embassies and see who went in and out of them.
Such limitation was not only very irksome but tragic to a man like Fikret Bey. He saw himself powerless to help his country. He could have held office under the old regime, had he wished it—in fact, he had been appointed at an earlier date to a position in the Sublime Porte, in connection with the Foreign Office; but after a short service in that capacity, seeing how rotten were the conditions there, he resigned. His resignation was not accepted by the government, and for years his name was down on the books for that position, and he could have drawn a salary all that time without doing a stroke of work. This experience showed him that even to hold a public office would not give him the slightest opportunity for real service. The system was too strong.
During his long period of helplessness, he turned to various things for amusement and for an outlet to his energies. One thing which absorbed his attention for some time was the designing and superintending of his new residence near the college grounds, on a hill overlooking the Bosphorus. He was the sole architect of this house, which is unique in its way, full of delightful angles and viewpoints. On the top is a cupola commanding a magnificent view of the Bosphorus, in which he spent much of his time. A model which he had made in cardboard he used to show with childlike pleasure to his visitors: it was made with great neatness and skill, an exact replica of the house and grounds with the paths winding in and out among tiny bushes of green tissue paper. He took much delight in working in the garden himself, planting trees, weeding the flowers, forgetting his troubles in communion with Nature.
Another thing which served in some way as a means of expression for his artistic nature was painting, of which he was very fond, and in which he had attained a great deal of skill and feeling in an amateur way, for he was self-taught. He rigged up a studio for himself in his study, and decorated the walls of his home with the productions of his own brush.
While professor at Robert College, he of course came into relation with Europeans and Americans, and had some social life in common with them; but not much, because for his own sake, foreigners did not dare to call upon him too often. His beautiful wife has been a true helpmate and consolation to him. She is, of course, also liberal in her ideas, and on several occasions went to social functions given by the Americans and mingled freely with them without a veil; but as her husband was threatened with imprisonment if he continued to permit this, she had to remain veiled, as far as Americans and other foreigners were concerned. She is a woman who would be an attraction in any social gathering. At the time when I first met Fikret Bey, he was under this cloud, sad and without hope for himself or for his country. How could he know that so soon the clouds were to pass, the bonds were to be broken, and he was to be free to dedicate his genius to the service of Turkey!
It was in June that I saw him thus depressed. On the 24th of July, the Revolution burst out like lightning from a clear sky, and from that day on, Fikret Bey was in the full exercise of his powers, and overdriven with work. As soon as the Constitution was declared and the restrictions were removed from public speech and from the press, many Turkish newspapers and journals came into existence. Of one such paper, The Tanin, Fikret was urged by his friends to become editor-in-chief, and under his management, it made an excellent reputation. Thorough and conscientious in everything that he undertakes, he devoted himself with great earnestness to the going over very carefully everything published in the paper, even the advertisements, revising articles which were faulty or poor in style, and often almost rewriting certain parts. Here again, as when editor of the Servet-i Fünun, he did his best to encourage rising genius. It was very hard for him to refuse articles. "Let us give a chance," he would say, "to these young men who have never yet had an opportunity to write for the public."
While connected with The Tanine, Fikret Bey received two offers which he declined: one was to be Minister of Education, and the other was to be President of Galata Serai. His friends could not make out why he refused these opportunities for service, the first of which was especially desirable and suited to his acquirements and learning. The reason he gave was that he wished to found a school of his own when the time came and that he could not be satisfied with either of these positions. He was also offered a professorship of Turkish Literature in the Turkish University at Constantinople, but he refused that, saying that he was not capable of filling it. Several different men had to be engaged to take the place, which he alone could easily have filled.
Meanwhile, his work on the paper was becoming very arduous and confining. On account of his high ideal of what a newspaper ought to be, he gave so much time to revision that he had no opportunity of writing anything himself or of doing any other original work. He was constantly urged to give up a position which allowed so little opportunity for an expression of his real genius; and in the winter, an illness brought on from overwork inclined him to listen to this advice. At about this time, many of the alumni of the Galata Serai who had been students of his when he was a professor there persuaded him to accept the presidency of the College, assuring him that it would go to ruin if he did not. So he became President of the Galata Serai.
During his administration there, he made many changes. The school was really in a bad condition when he began his work—disorganized, badly disciplined, and more or less corrupt in its management. He improved it wherever possible. It was unfortunately under certain limitations of a political character which rendered it impossible to make a clean sweep. Again, he was hampered by politics and was forced to resign from the Galata Serai. He was immediately welcomed back to Robert College as the head of the Turkish Department, where he has since remained.
(…)
Fikret Bey is the second greatest, if not the greatest, poet of the Ottoman Empire. The laureateship of Turkey, if such a thing existed, he would have to share with Abdul Hak Hamid, the poet and dramatist, for Fikret is a purely lyric poet and his work is limited in quantity. In the year 1899-1900, at about the time he came to Robert College, he brought out a small edition of his poetry with the consent of the Minister of Public Instruction. The edition was quickly exhausted and has never been republished. Since then, he has written a few poems of a patriotic nature, one of which became immediately famous all over Constantinople, although it was never printed but had to be passed on orally on account of the strictness of censorship under the old regime. It is known as The Mists and is a lamentation over Constantinople, the Queen of the East, mistress of so many peoples, gradually sinking into obscurity. The poem is in part as follows:
(…) Poem The Mist (...)
His poetry marks an advance in spontaneity and freedom of form over that which has heretofore represented Turkey, for Turkish poetry in the past has been of very rigid meter, with much rhyme and little flexibility. He used new forms of meter, more European in character, and his lyrics are full of feeling and music. Many of them are written in praise of nature and contain that beautiful imagery which is peculiarly the gift of the Oriental.
The character of Tewfik Fikret Bey is lofty, as his personality is charming. The best people among the Turks seem to possess a "New England conscience," if one may use that term—a conscience and an ideal which put them at once above all temptation of power, influence, or luxury. One cannot imagine Fikret Bey committing the slightest act of selfishness, greed, or narrow partisanship. It was with difficulty that he could be persuaded to accept money for private lessons which he gave while connected with Robert College. The poor he has always had in mind, and his charity toward them, exercised in numerous hidden ways, was all the more praiseworthy because under the old regime such things were difficult and likely to arouse suspicion. His kindness and generosity are so great as to attach all his friends to him with an ardent devotion. At the same time, he possesses a natural dignity and a passionate nature which make him the last man in the world to trifle with. It is this combination of qualities that made him such an excellent teacher and administrator. His personal courage is great. During the late reaction, his name was on the list of those who were to be killed. He was urged to go into hiding, but he replied: "If it is my destiny to be killed, I shall be killed; if it is not, I shall live," and he absolutely refused to hide. It was evidently his destiny to live, for Constantinople was rescued before any harm could come to him. His country needed such a man, whose ideals are of the purest and loftiest kind, whose patriotism is as far-seeing as it is ardent, and whose character is unimpeachable. It is because Turkey can produce such men as this that her future looks hopeful.
The Real Turk by Stanwood Cobb, Pilgrim Press, 1914 – p. 105 – 127