IT was very easy to assist my friends in the investigation they wanted to conduct for their own private information on Turkish schools and the educational system of Turkey. My father had been twice Minister of Public Education and he was in a position to give all the information desired. My first step was, therefore, to take our friends to him and have him explain the present educational system in our country.

Contrary to what is generally believed in foreign countries education is obligatory in Turkey and there are fewer illiterates among the Turks than, for instance, among Russians and other Near Eastern people. This is principally due to the fact that all Muslims have considered it their duty ever since the time of the Prophet Mahomed to learn how to read the Koran. Unfortunately, however, this religious principle was taken too literally by the average Muslim who, for centuries was satisfied to learn just the alphabet, as he imagined that as long as he could read the Holy Book he was accomplishing his religious duty. In the course of time, therefore, when other nations besides the Arabs embraced the Muslim faith, the people who did not know Arabic were also perfectly contented to be able to read the Koran even if they did not understand its meaning. All Muslim countries having adopted the Arabic alphabet this very elementary education placed even the greatest majority of non-Arab Muslims in a position to read their own language. But it was only a very restricted higher class which took the trouble of studying its grammar. Thus for centuries only a limited number of Turks—as was the case with the Muslims of other nations—were learned enough to read and write fluently their own languages, although the greatest majority knew enough of the alphabet to be able to read the Koran and to sign their names.

Of course this restricted knowledge of reading cannot count as education, but when it is considered that the science of reading was so neglected among the nations of the West that practically up to the period of Louis XIV very few of the Western nobles knew even how to sign their names or to decipher the simplest document, it will be admitted that anyhow the rudimentary knowledge of the East was preferable to the almost total ignorance of the West.

However, as in everything else, Turkey made very little progress in this matter of education during the nineteenth century with the result that while the percentage of people who had acquired a high school education had increased in a very large proportion in the West, the past generation in Turkey had still only the same proportion of educated people as it had a century ago. The number of people who knew the elementary principals of the alphabet was as considerable as before, and was proportionately much larger than the number of people who had this elementary knowledge in Western countries. But the percentage of really educated people was proportionately much smaller in Turkey than in the progressive Western countries. In other words, although complete illiteracy was almost nonexistent in Turkey, education was the property of a comparatively small number of people. The educational level of the people at large was, and still is, much lower than the educational level of the people of Western European nations.

This explains the reason why one can see even to-day in the streets of Constantinople, generally in the courtyard of the mosques, public secretaries taking letters from old men and women of the lower classes, poor people who do not know grammar enough to write their own letters but who nevertheless are able to spell their names or to laboriously decipher a printed document and it is no wonder that foreigners are generally sceptical when told that the number of total illiterates is very small in Turkey.

Much has been done, however, during the last generation to spread education in Turkey and a new system of schools has been grafted upon the old system which consisted almost exclusively in small public schools—“Mahalle Mektebi” or District Schools as they are called—where small children are taught the rudimentary principles of the alphabet.

These District Schools exist by the millions all over Turkey, in cities as well as in the country. Each mosque—and there are millions of them—has its own private District School where the imam or clergyman teaches the children of his district, boys and girls, how to read the Koran. The classes, if they might be called by that name, are mostly held in summer in the courtyard of the mosques and in winter in a room which, for lack of a better name, we will describe as the vestry. It is obligatory for every family living in the district and it has been obligatory for centuries, to send their children to these schools if they cannot afford to give them a private education. Needless to say that these schools are absolutely gratis.

The District Schools of Turkey are a sort of primitive community Kindergarten from which games and plays are strictly banned. Their purpose is to teach children how to read the Koran, and reading the Koran is a very serious matter. So, for two hours every day except Fridays little boys and little girls from five to about eight years old go to the mosque of their district where the classes are held. Sitting on the ground in summer and in winter on straw mats, they form a circle around their teacher, the imam of the district, who teaches them in a monotonous chant the secrets of the alphabet They squat on their knees, these little boys and girls, and repeat the chant of their teacher, keeping time with their little bodies which they swing slowly backwards and forwards and beware of a mistake! The little pupil who makes one, who indulges in a childish prank or who does not behave according to the severe discipline which must be respected by everyone who is learning how to read the Koran or who is in the exhalted presence of an imam, is reminded of his misdeed by the swift application of a long, willowy stick on his hands or on some other part of his anatomy. The teacher keeps this stick right next to him, right under his hand, and is very quick to use it.

The alphabet is first memorized, each letter being accurately described. Of course the Turkish alphabet is different from the Latin alphabet, but the system could be applied to the Latin alphabet more or less as follows: “A is a triangle with a bar in the middle”—“B is a vertical bar with two circles on the right”—“C is a crescent facing to the right.” Thus the whole alphabet is described in a monotonous chant for days and months until the pupils can visualize it thoroughly. Then the sounds of syllables are memorized according to the same system and it is only after this has been done thoroughly that the children are permitted to apply the knowledge they have thus acquired by memory. They are each furnished with a Koran and they are taught to read it aloud. Of course, as the understanding of the text of the Koran requires a thorough knowledge of Arabic, they do not understand what they read and those who desire to acquire this knowledge have to go to the MedressÉ or theological schools, of which we will talk later. The purpose of the district schools is exclusively to teach them how to read, and when this is done the course of the district school is finished.

In the old days obligatory education only extended as far as the district school. This is not so any more. During the past twenty-five or thirty years the Government has created high schools in the principal cities and towns of the country where modern education is imparted as well as the restricted means of the impoverished nation allows. The courses of these high schools are also free and their program is meant to prepare the pupils for college studies. They are obligatory only for boys. The system is good enough, but for lack of funds and for lack of peace the Government has not been able to apply it thoroughly and to extend it as much as it was originally expected. The study of foreign languages is only optional and very theoretic in these schools where only the elements of arithmetic, grammar, literature and history are taught.

The next grade is the college which corresponds to the French LycÉe and which is an absolute adaptation to Turkey of the French program. The first college of this kind in Turkey was Galata Serai which was organized nearly half a century ago and has ever since kept pace with the French LycÉes. As its diploma is recognized by the French Government as equivalent to that of any Governmental French College this institution is a sort of joint Turco-French enterprise and is used as pattern by the other Turkish Colleges. Upon the invitation of the Turkish Government the French Ministry of Public Education organized Galata Serai and the French cooperation in this non-sectarian and exclusively educational institution has continued ever since its formation, regardless of wars or political entanglements. The French language is of course obligatory and the study of another foreign language is encouraged. The principal courses are given during the first three years in Turkish and during the last two years before graduation in French. An institution of this kind, but with the cooperation of America and where American teachers and principals should take the place of French teachers and principals, would do more for the spreading of modern education on practical lines, for the advancement of civilization by bringing up future Turkish generations capable of rationally adapting to the Near East the principles of democracy as conceived by the Americans than many missionary schools.

The other Turkish Colleges are modelled after Galata Serai, with the difference that while French or one other foreign language is obligatory all courses are given in Turkish, and their teachers and principals are Turks. Although these institutions are not free the tuition fees are so nominal that the Government is obliged to subzidize them. At present the fees for the yearly courses are equivalent to about a hundred and fifty dollars, including lodging and food, and for the purpose of making it easier to the very much impoverished population the Government consents to a substantial discount on these fees to the children and relatives of Government employees.

Here also lack of funds has greatly hampered the organization of these colleges throughout Turkey. While it was the original program to open one such college in every city, the Government has been able to organize and maintain only about five of them throughout the country, and as only three are for boys and two for girls it can readily be seen that they do not suffice for the requirements of Turkey.

In addition to these schools and colleges there are in Turkey many academies and universities where college graduates are able to specialize in the different branches they have selected. Most of these academies and universities are in Constantinople, and while the greatest majority are supported by the Government some of them owe their existence to private endowments.

In late years, that is up to the Armistice, the Government had given special attention principally to two institutions: the Naval Academy and the Medical Academy. The signing of the Armistice with the consequent dismantling of the Turkish navy brought, of course, a great setback to the Naval Academy which is now fighting for its life against tremendous odds. Naturally the navy of Turkey being reduced to practically nothing very few families desire to send their children to the Academy. In addition the foreigners who control Constantinople do not look with a very favourable eye upon the maintenance of this Academy for fear of its keeping alive a militaristic spirit. They do their utmost to encourage its closing. This is the more regrettable that in the last fifteen years the Academy had been reorganized so thoroughly that it was in all points comparable to any of the best high-grade educational institutions of the world. As its manager told me once, the purpose of the Academy was to form real men so that the cadets who had graduated would be in a position to enter into any branch of modern activity in case they decided, after their graduation, to quit the navy. The best proof that the Academy has most efficiently lived up to this principle is that after the Armistice and when the fleet was dismantled all the naval officers who were obliged to leave the navy succeeded in making a living, and many of them have been most successful in their new activities as business men. It would be a shame if an institution which had so markedly succeeded in forming a generation of real men was obliged to close its doors. An institution for forming generations of real men should not be allowed to die just because of the dismantlement of the fleet.

The Medical Academy is another institution which has done a most efficient work of civilization in Modern Turkey. It can be said that the Turkish “intelligentsia” consists mostly of doctors and medical students. The generation of Turkish physicians which the Medical Academy has formed has taken a lead among European medical circles and many are the Turkish doctors whose knowledge, activities and discoveries in medical science have earned them professorships in France and Germany. The Medical Academy, which is situated in a large modern building near the station of Haidar Pasha, the headline of the Bagdad Railroad, is completely equipped with all the requirements of modern science. It also maintains special courses for nurses, which are now very popular among Turkish women.

It would be tedious to talk at length of all the industrial schools that have been organized in the past ten or fifteen years in Turkey. Suffice it to say that quite a number of them are in existence. But a special mention should be made of the two universities of Constantinople as they are up to date in every respect. One of these universities is exclusively for women, the other is open to both sexes, and any one who has seen a mixed course where young Turkish women, in their becoming tcharshaf, sit on the same benches and study side by side with men students can only wonder how the legend of the seclusion of Turkish women can still receive credence in foreign countries.

In concluding His rapid outline of Turkish schools and the Turkish educational system, my father mentioned the different art schools which are now prospering in Turkey as well as the medressÉs or theological schools where the Muslim religion is taught. I could see that our American friends were especially interested in these two subjects and as we were leaving my father's house I was not surprised to have my impression confirmed. They wanted to know more about Turkish art and they wanted to learn something about the Muslim religion. Of course I cannot say that this surprised me.

Whenever the word “art” is pronounced in connection with Turkey, it awakens in the mind of the westerners, especially the Americans, only carpets, embroideries and laces, and dark-skinned, thick-eyebrowed Armenian merchants trying to sell at exorbitant prices these dainty art works of the Orient—purchased by them for a song generally from some poor women who have used their eyes, their health and their time for the ultimate purpose of bringing some soothing touch of colour into the modern homes of Europe and America, and many many dollars, pound sterlings, or napoleons, as the case may be, into the bank accounts of the dark-skinned, thick-eyebrowed merchants. Even to an American or a westerner who has been in Turkey as a tourist the word “Turkish art” does not convey much more. In addition to carpets, embroideries and laces he may visualize some musty copper brazero, some delicate handwritings with painted arabesques of flowers, some richly painted porcelains or embossed leather bindings. All things which spell old age. In modern art he would only visualize some Oriental jewels—made in Germany! Few are the foreigners who think of Turkish art in the light of regular paintings, architecture or music and when they hear of art schools their curiosity is excited.

As far as the Muslim religion is concerned westerners are, as a rule, even more ignorant on this subject than on that of art. They think of the Muslims as unbelievers, as pagans who deny God and the Christ, as fatalists who calmly await the fulfilment of the prophecies without having enough sense to get out of the rain even when it pours. The only activities they give the Muslims credit for are massacres and atrocities. They believe that theirs alone is a religion of love and mercy while that of the Muslim is one of fire and blood. I remember that an American from Pittsburg, upon hearing that I was a Muslim, asked me what god I adored, and absolutely refused to believe that I adored the One Almighty God. He had heard that we prayed to Allah. Say what I would I could not at first explain to him that “Allah” in Arabic means God in English, and he was only half convinced when I told him that at that rate the French were also unbelievers as they prayed to “Dieu.”

But the request of our American friends was not one that could be immediately satisfied as I had to make the necessary arrangements to visit the art schools and medressÉs and I had to await an opportunity to put them in contact with people who could tell them more of Turkish art and of the Muslim religion than I could. It was therefore only a few days later that I could arrange to take them to the Academy of Art of Constantinople, the principal school of its kind in the Near East, where no other city—not even Athens, which is still considered as the cradle of art—can boast of as complete and progressive an art academy.

The academy is located in the Park of the Old Seraglio, right next to the Imperial Museum. They are both under the same management, and as we arrived on the large plaza, shaded by old trees, we were received by the secretary of the manager, a cousin of mine, whom I had asked to show us through the place so as to give all available information to our friends.

He took us through the building where different classes for drawing, painting and modelling were being held in different rooms. The class-rooms are large, all whitewashed and lighted by skylights and big windows. The whole place is kept immaculately clean. The students are quite numerous and our American friends were surprised to see that there were as many Turkish girls studying art as men. “We always thought of Turkish women as hot-house flowers,” they said, “and we were very much surprised to see when we arrived here how many of them take an active part in business and in the every-day life of the community. We imagined that those who were thus active were doing it out of necessity because they had to earn a living. We could not conceive that Turkish women would work of their own choice, and especially would spend time in studying art which, after all, is a luxury.”

Kadry Bey, the secretary of the manager, smiled and said: “Woman is the materialization of art: is it surprising that, now that Turkish women have acquired their entire emancipation, they should desire to study a science the knowledge of which gives a better appreciation of their own attribute, beauty? As soon as these classes were opened to Turkish women only a few years ago, they flocked in great number to take full advantage of the opportunity and you can judge for yourself how hard they are working. Some of them have already acquired a certain renown, and one of them, a former pupil of this academy, Moukbile Hanoum, has just written us from Switzerland where she is visiting, that one of her pictures had been awarded a medal at an international exhibition in Berne.”

As our guests wanted to know if there were no galleries or exhibitions where the work of Turkish artists could be seen, Kadry Bey told them of the bi-yearly exhibitions which are regularly held in Galata Serai under the auspices of the Turkish Crown Prince. “His Highness Prince Abdul Medjid Effendi, heir to the throne of the Sultans and future Calif of the Muslims, is an accomplished artist himself,” said Kadry. “He is one of our most active leaders and enjoys a reputation as a painter even in France. His pictures have been often exhibited at the Paris Salon and there also a Turkish artist has received the highest recognition for his work. Only a, short time after the armistice one of the pictures of our Crown Prince received the gold medal. This is unquestionably a palpable proof of the artistic value of His Highness's work as the Committee of the Paris Salon is composed of the greatest living artists in the world. It is also a splendid illustration of the saying that art has no country as French artists did not hesitate to recognize publicly the value of this painting by our Crown Prince so shortly after the war. If you are in town when the next exhibition is held at Galata Serai I strongly advise you to visit it. You would see there pictures by our most prominent artists, as O. Hikmet, M. Refet, Tchalizade Ibrahim and others, whose works are as good as any of the modern artists. Most of them follow the classical school and very few indeed are the Turkish artists who practise post-impressionism and other extreme styles. You probably would have an opportunity of seeing at the exhibition the Crown Prince himself as His Highness goes there practically every day and you would surely be interested in seeing the democratic way in which he talks and jokes with the other artists." Our friends wanted to know something more about the Crown Prince. So my wife and I told them of the time we had the privilege of hearing a few of his compositions played by the orchestra of the Imperial Palace. It was at a charity concert given for the benefit of the Turkish refugees of Anatolia. Prince Abdul Medjid Effendi was there personally and although his compositions were not included in the program, the audience asked and insisted on having them, much to His Highness's embarrassment. As a true artist the Prince hates publicity and his activities as a painter or as a composer are not at all meant for public consumption—as were those of the Kaiser—but simply for his own satisfaction and for the pleasure of a few privileged friends.

Thus talking, we were visiting the different class-rooms of the academy. Kadry Bey introduced us to some of the teachers and to one or two of the most advanced pupils and as we finished our visit he asked us into the reception room of the manager who, being absent for the day, had asked him to have us to tea in his place.

As we had to cross the Museum we stopped on our way to admire once more the famous sarcophagus of Alexander, which is said to have contained the remains of Alexander the Great of Macedonia and which is the pride not only of the Museum but also of all Turks. Hamdi Bey, the founder of the Museum, unearthed it himself in the plains of Anatolia, not far from Smyrna, and I remember his telling me personally that he was so excited and exhilarated when he discovered this peerless jewel of antique art that for two days and one night he and his assistants worked consecutively without sleep, without food. Finally the second night arrived and as the delicate work was not yet finished Hamdi Bey fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, but lying close to the sarcophagus, in the earth that had hidden it for so many centuries, so that he could at least feel his priceless find during his sleep.

The present manager of the Imperial Museum is Hamdi Bey's brother and succeeded him after his death. I had an occasion of meeting him only a few days ago and the sight of the Sarcophagus of Alexander brings back to me the recollection of this meeting. I was coming out of the Sublime Porte with Izzet Pasha, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, when we met the manager of the Museum, Halil Bey. Izzet Pasha stopped and addressed him: “I have bad news to give you,” said he, “a powerful foreign group has approached me to-day and has informed me that it was willing to pay any price the Government wanted for the Sarcophagus of Alexander.” Halil Bey was dumbfounded. The prospect of losing the most cherished possession of his Museum, discovered by his own brother, was too momentous, too enormous a blow. But his fears were put at rest by Izzet Pasha when the Minister added with a smile. “I have answered them that the loss of the Sarcophagus would be considered by the Imperial Government as great a loss as that of the wealthiest province of the Empire, Mesopotamia, the historic City of Bagdad and its rich oil fields not excepted, and that therefore it could never entertain even the possibility of selling the sarcophagus. No matter how poor we might be the price to be paid for the possession of the sarcophagus will always have to be reckoned in corpses on battlefields and not in money on a counter"! This little incident gives a graphic idea of the degree of appreciation in which the Turks hold their art treasures.

As we were having tea in the reception room of Halil Bey we talked of his family and of how much the art renaissance in Turkey owed to them all. Besides Hamdi Bey, who has left an undying name in the annals of Turkish history both as the founder of the Imperial Museum and as the creator of the Art Academy, besides the fact that his brother, Halil Bey, has followed in his path and is continuing the work undertaken by him, it is worth mentioning that Hamdi Bey's son is a distinguished architect to whom is due the beautiful buildings of the Museum and of the Academy. This distinguished family has unquestionably done more for the revival of art in Turkey than any one family has done for art in any other country and it was almost a pleasure that Halil Bey was not present as we could more freely talk of his services and of those of his family within the very walls which had been erected by them and filled by them with treasures discovered through their own initiative and work.

Our American friends admitted that this visit had thrown a different light on their conception of art in Turkey and its appreciation by the Turks, but as they were not satisfied until they had seen some other art school I took them next day to the Darul-Elhan, the Turkish School of Music for Girls and we had the good fortune to assist in a most interesting concert. This school was founded and is being managed by Senator Zia Pasha, who was Turkish Ambassador in Washington a few years before the war. It is located in an old palace in the very heart of Stamboul. Our American friends were quite impressed by the knowledge that they were to hear and see, in the proper setting where their ancestors had been recluses, free and emancipated Turkish girls playing and singing for the benefit of strangers.

To the accompaniment of violins, lutes and longstemmed “tambours” these Turkish girls with the full knowledge possessed only by accomplished artists and with the soft, velvety voices so typical of the Orient, sang and played a selection of the most complicated, classical music as well as charming little folksongs. Zia Pasha was there himself and as I introduced him to our friends he expressed the wish that more foreigners would make it a point, when in Constantinople, to assist at such concerts: “Perhaps,” said he, “if foreigners studied our music better its reputation for weirdness and monotony would give place to one of softness and melody. Perhaps foreigners would even be able to detect in our music all the accords and measures they relish so much in modern Russian music such as that of Rimsky Korsakoff, which after all is nothing more or less than the orchestration of our Oriental music.”