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In 1718, a woman called Mary Wortley Montagu travelled to Turkey with her husband, who had just been appointed British Ambassador there. Whilst he was off doing whatever it is that ambassadors do (not very successfully, it seems, as they appear to have been recalled rather swiftly), his wife was exploring her new home, meeting the locals, and being chatted up by beautiful princesses.
She tells her tale in Life On The Golden Horn, a collected series of letters written to friends and relations back in England; and it's a tale well worth reading. A typical "innocent abroad" sort of affair, all wide-open eyes, and eagerness to see new things; to meet new people, and explore new ideas. Given the time that she was from, Mary Montagu was a very open-minded person. Actually, for that matter, she'd shine as pretty damned open-minded now, let alone back then. There's the occasional turn of phrase that shows when she's from; that shows she has that old attitude of "British and Christian is somehow better than Eastern and Islamic", but in 1718 that's hardly surprising. She's so willing to experience it all, though - to travel about amongst the people, and to point out the lies and mistakes made by the Westerners who have been there before her, and written books about their experiences. Her amusement and frustration at the open-faced lies told by these often famous people shows her in a very good light. She stands up for this foreign culture that had had so much bad press over the years - that still gets a bad press now - and cries foul. And good on her for that, and for trying to get to the truth, even if her views, from a position of some privilege, weren't necessarily quite what they could be. She does acknowledge that, to her credit, pointing out that it's mostly the educated classes that she mingles with, and that she can't entirely speak for the rougher types.
She has an empathy with her subject that stands out in the book, and makes it in turn stand out from the other books that I've read so far this series. Even the clearly open-minded William Dampier lacks any sense of trying to get under the skin of the people he meets. He bares them no ill-will, and shows them no prejudice, sure - but he doesn't try to see life through their eyes. Mary Montagu does. She wanders about amongst the Turkish populace, dressed like one of them. She lives in a house done in the Turkish style, learns their language, reads their books, and adheres to a good many of their customs. There's plenty of British travellers nowadays who wouldn't manage that little lot. Her attitude towards their dress code is remarkable too. She's hugely enamoured of the veil, and loves the idea of wandering about town covered entirely from head to foot. Sounds odd to a modern reader, doesn't it. But look back, though, to her earlier letters, when she describes the fashions of the European countries that she passes through on her way to Turkey - when she describes the way that she was expected to dress up in England. Hours spent dressing, and struggling into mad garments, and corsets, and bustles; hours spent putting up hair into huge styles bundled on top of the head. Little wonder, then, that she's so overjoyed by the idea of just throwing on a long, covering garment, and wandering around town with no fuss. Nowadays people in the West tend to be shocked by such veils and coverings, but it's easy to see just why an Englishwoman frustrated by fashion would find it so liberating. She speaks, too, of women being left more or less to their own devices, and allowed to wander around town, with no man daring to touch them. She came from a world of chaperones, of course, where it wasn't considered proper for a woman to do most things alone, or in any place where there might be men nearby. When you're the sort of woman who obviously wants to get about and meet people, all that sort of thing must be hugely annoying. Having to get dressed up before you go out. Not being able to go here, or there, or speak to this or that person. What we tend now to see as repressive was, to her, a fabulous liberty. Interesting.
It's an astounding world that she describes, too. The riches of the people she moves amongst, who wear jewellery like flowers, and have precious stones scattered about their homes and clothing like confetti. Exquisite mosques decorated with marble and mosaics. Some such buildings have lasted through the centuries, certainly, but a lot have gone now. It seems incredible that there was so much wealth in the country - or in a privileged bit of it, anyway. How incredible must it have been to have seen the world in those days, when there was that sort of architecture on display, and when the ruins we know today were still standing? When royals and nobles wandered around with gigantic jewels sprouting every which way? Vulgar, probably; and unjust in the face of the surrounding poverty, most certainly. Still an incredible sight, though. Sounds quite alien. At any rate, I'm glad to have somebody like Mary Montagu to pick a path through it all, and point out some interesting sights, and interesting people; and to speak of it all with such wide-open eyes and such a wide-open mind.
Now all I need is a time machine, so I can go back and see it for myself. :)
She tells her tale in Life On The Golden Horn, a collected series of letters written to friends and relations back in England; and it's a tale well worth reading. A typical "innocent abroad" sort of affair, all wide-open eyes, and eagerness to see new things; to meet new people, and explore new ideas. Given the time that she was from, Mary Montagu was a very open-minded person. Actually, for that matter, she'd shine as pretty damned open-minded now, let alone back then. There's the occasional turn of phrase that shows when she's from; that shows she has that old attitude of "British and Christian is somehow better than Eastern and Islamic", but in 1718 that's hardly surprising. She's so willing to experience it all, though - to travel about amongst the people, and to point out the lies and mistakes made by the Westerners who have been there before her, and written books about their experiences. Her amusement and frustration at the open-faced lies told by these often famous people shows her in a very good light. She stands up for this foreign culture that had had so much bad press over the years - that still gets a bad press now - and cries foul. And good on her for that, and for trying to get to the truth, even if her views, from a position of some privilege, weren't necessarily quite what they could be. She does acknowledge that, to her credit, pointing out that it's mostly the educated classes that she mingles with, and that she can't entirely speak for the rougher types.
She has an empathy with her subject that stands out in the book, and makes it in turn stand out from the other books that I've read so far this series. Even the clearly open-minded William Dampier lacks any sense of trying to get under the skin of the people he meets. He bares them no ill-will, and shows them no prejudice, sure - but he doesn't try to see life through their eyes. Mary Montagu does. She wanders about amongst the Turkish populace, dressed like one of them. She lives in a house done in the Turkish style, learns their language, reads their books, and adheres to a good many of their customs. There's plenty of British travellers nowadays who wouldn't manage that little lot. Her attitude towards their dress code is remarkable too. She's hugely enamoured of the veil, and loves the idea of wandering about town covered entirely from head to foot. Sounds odd to a modern reader, doesn't it. But look back, though, to her earlier letters, when she describes the fashions of the European countries that she passes through on her way to Turkey - when she describes the way that she was expected to dress up in England. Hours spent dressing, and struggling into mad garments, and corsets, and bustles; hours spent putting up hair into huge styles bundled on top of the head. Little wonder, then, that she's so overjoyed by the idea of just throwing on a long, covering garment, and wandering around town with no fuss. Nowadays people in the West tend to be shocked by such veils and coverings, but it's easy to see just why an Englishwoman frustrated by fashion would find it so liberating. She speaks, too, of women being left more or less to their own devices, and allowed to wander around town, with no man daring to touch them. She came from a world of chaperones, of course, where it wasn't considered proper for a woman to do most things alone, or in any place where there might be men nearby. When you're the sort of woman who obviously wants to get about and meet people, all that sort of thing must be hugely annoying. Having to get dressed up before you go out. Not being able to go here, or there, or speak to this or that person. What we tend now to see as repressive was, to her, a fabulous liberty. Interesting.
It's an astounding world that she describes, too. The riches of the people she moves amongst, who wear jewellery like flowers, and have precious stones scattered about their homes and clothing like confetti. Exquisite mosques decorated with marble and mosaics. Some such buildings have lasted through the centuries, certainly, but a lot have gone now. It seems incredible that there was so much wealth in the country - or in a privileged bit of it, anyway. How incredible must it have been to have seen the world in those days, when there was that sort of architecture on display, and when the ruins we know today were still standing? When royals and nobles wandered around with gigantic jewels sprouting every which way? Vulgar, probably; and unjust in the face of the surrounding poverty, most certainly. Still an incredible sight, though. Sounds quite alien. At any rate, I'm glad to have somebody like Mary Montagu to pick a path through it all, and point out some interesting sights, and interesting people; and to speak of it all with such wide-open eyes and such a wide-open mind.
Now all I need is a time machine, so I can go back and see it for myself. :)
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