The following lines are copied from the diary of a boarding school student still in a French household.
Oh, what ugly things… How wretched this life is, this human society, these people, especially these women, how common they are. How soulless?… Was I finally to hear even this; was I to be the target of this terrible, wounding, killing insult too?… While I showed her such respect; despite all her commonness, her old age, her ugliness, while displaying courtesies that couldn’t even be shown to the most graceful, most exceptional, most worship-worthy young girls; believing with a conviction, a spiritual need that still refused to be deceived that there was at least a beautiful, artistic soul in her; while trying to find a meaningful memory of youth in her tired face beginning to wrinkle with light, yellow, thin lines—what ugly thoughts she was chasing after, what disgusting memories she was wandering among that made one shiver, tremble, and cry out…
Ah, these women!… This evening, I don’t know how it happened, how it started?… Among her strange, endless gossip characteristic of those who speak just to have spoken, a few wretched little words explaining a hateful incident had slipped from her mouth.
“He was here. My husband had gone out with his friends; he was sleeping with small, long breaths, probably drifting off seeing his poor brother, this kindred soul he could only see once a year. We passed by your house. How suitable that place is for gossiping, isn’t it?… Etc…”
Ah, these wretched words, these ugly sentences… So while we were at the Kristal, at that common, unpleasant “Cafe Concert,” at the edge of the cold marble tables that were wretched dwellings for noise and commotion, pitying the miseries of a few poor little girls belly dancing with bare arms and legs, of a few German prostitutes earning their living at the cost of their honor—he—ah, I cannot say his name—that common man, that crude fellow deprived of all feeling, that vile scoundrel was here, in my room, in the middle of my honorable chamber where not even a slight scent of debauchery, not even a light air of commonness flew, alone, just the two of them… Just the two of them were here!… Among all these objects that were silent witnesses to my purest, most virginal, most beloved ambitions, to my most sincere, most emotional sorrows, to my most delicate wishes and to my heart just beginning to taste the primary happiness of infinite treasures of love… Ah, I cannot bear this; my feelings don’t want to accept this, this unchaste, this ugly story.
And so tonight, when getting into my poor bed that was trampled and crushed yesterday by two wretched bodies, I didn’t want to see the picture hanging right at my bedside, her picture, that shameless woman’s picture. I turned its face completely toward the wall. And crying out “Oh, you will remain condemned to always hide like this, common woman!…” I threw this poor, this frail existence of mine, beginning to tremble from weakness, into my bed that now presented a contemptible sight with its sullied chastity.
My eyes were slowly closing and above my head a great world of debauchery mixed with colorful dresses and glitters was spinning, surrounding me.
Ömer Seyfettin
