At the turn of the 20th century Constantinople (which had not yet become Istanbul) was a multicultural metropolis with a large Christian population drawn from the Ottoman Empire’s conquered minorities. Here is the account of Isabelle Bliss Trowbridge, a young woman working for an American missionary society.
We read so much these days about Constantinople as the seat of Turkish misrule and the scene of great tragedies during the past year that it may be hard to think of it under its own beautiful name of “Dère-e-Saadet” or the “Gate of Felicity,” and to realize that there, too, Christmas is celebrated by thousands of people every year.
We speak of Christmas time in Turkey rather than of Christmas Day, for three different dates are kept by the various churches. Christmas extends from the twenty fifth of December to the twenty first of January. The Protestants and Catholics, including, of course, most of the foreign residents, celebrate the twenty fifth of December. The followers of the Greek Church, that is to say, Greeks, Russians, and Bulgarians, cling to the Old Style calendar, so that according to their reckoning Christmas falls on our sixth of January. The Armenians hold to the reckoning of the Gregorian Church and keep the sixth of January, Old Style, or our nineteenth. Between these dates fall both the new and old New Years’ days. As almost every great festival is observed for three consecutive days by the eastern churches it follows that for about a month there is scarcely a day without some special celebration.
American College faculties may consider the question of the length of the Thanksgiving vacation, but they find it an easy problem in comparison with that which confronts principals of schools in Constantinople, who try in vain to arrange the holidays so as to satisfy all nationalities. The first Christmas is observed much as it is in this country. The American and English boys tramp through the woods in the valley of the “Sweet Waters” searching for the mistletoe. The children hang up their stockings and the mothers make plum puddings.
In a native home it is quite different. Let us go to an Armenian house near by and see what we can of the celebrations. It is late Christmas eve. We knock at the street gate, which is mysteriously opened by an invisible cord. We cross the marble court, crusted to-night with a thin layer of snow, and enter the house door. The room is a high one, with bare walls and long windows. Several handsome rugs cover the floor. A long divan across one end of the room, and two or three stiffly upholstered chairs make up the furniture. The family is seated on the floor around an open brazier of red hot coals. We are given the seat of honor on the divan and treated to many courses of sweets, nuts, and black coffee. Our conversation is continually interrupted by strange noises in the street. We lean from the overhanging window to watch the troops of masqueraders who parade the streets with colored lanterns and drums, and make night horrible with their drunken shouts, refusing to go away without some reward for the entertainment they have afforded.
These noises continue during a greater part of the night. About four o’clock in the morning the church bells begin to ring, not merry Christmas chimes but harsh clanging sounds like the bell on a locomotive. We peer again from the window. A few early risers are groping their way along the dark street toward the church where service has already begun. We all soon follow them into the cold, dimly lighted church. Many worshippers are there before us, kneeling on the marble pavement in front of the gaudy pictures of the Virgin; a purple-capped, black-robed priest is monotonously mumbling the prayers in an ancient tongue and, at the same time, the chorus boys are chanting in unnatural tones to the accompaniment of clashing cymbals. We leave whenever we like and return to the feasting at the house. The day, as also the two following it, is spent in visiting and banqueting, varied by attendance at church in all the gaudy attire which can be procured.
Foreign influence has of late years introduced many new customs in regard to the celebration of Christmas. The children of the mission schools are taught to sing carols and are often afforded the delight of a Christmas tree loaded with good things. The exchange of presents is becoming more general, and among the classes who try to imitate the French, the custom frequently prevails of giving balls and soirées on Christmas night.
