It is axiomatic that in dealing with the long histories of great empires and nations such as Russia, Britain, Germany and Spain we should come across events that arose both our admiration and censure, the latter especially in the context of past wars. Turks, with their own long historical background, and associated with the Ottoman Empire in many contemporary western texts, have also had numerous victories as well as defeats which have resulted in scores of casualties and losses throughout history.

However, while some peoples are usually remembered and praised for their heroic victories, others such as Turks are for some reason continuously portrayed as appalling stereotypes of cruelty and barbarism. As a consequence of such a negative attitude Turkey can still be found depicted in the last quarter of the twentieth century, albeit with some nuances, as inhabited by people who committed atrocities to others, especially with regard World War I, although Turkey was actually one of these countries who suffered immensely on the side of the defeated at the end of the war.

A number of twentieth century texts about Turkey reproduce previous historical, cultural and religious stereotypes and introduce new ones stemming from several twentieth-century events such as civil wars between the Turks and ethnic groups in Asia Minor, mainly Greeks and Armenians during the First World War. Contemporary accounts still contain pejorative reminiscences of Turkish brutality with reference to the Crusades and subsequent bloody clashes between Christian Europe and the Muslim Orient. These images are often juxtaposed with sensuality and over-indulgence, with a revival of nineteenth-century perceptions of exoticism and pornography in relation to the harem, and with an implicit or explicit comparison of Islam and Christianity in association with arts, culture, architecture and aesthetics as discussed in chapter one. The new dimensions of historical Turkish cruelty which appear in different forms vary from accounts of massacres or genocide to systematic torture by police and unbearable prison conditions, repulsive descriptions of Turkish people, even heroic figures, and emphasis on drug and antiques-smuggling and espionage.

As one of the common characteristics of twentieth century texts such as The Towers of Trebizond, In Xanadu: A Quest, The Eunuch of Stamboul, The Mask of Dimitrios and Journey To Kars, the historical image of Turks as brutal, violent and bloodthirsty, is introduced through fictitious characters or the travellers themselves. Macaulay presents this image through Aunt Dot and Father Chantry-Pigg:

Aunt Dot did just say that, when it came to bloodthirstiness, murder, torture, violence, and all that, it seemed a pretty near thing between Byzantines and Turks; often all, as she pointed out, both the Comneni and their conquerors were Asiatics, and deeply devoted to cruelty. Look, she said, at the way Mahomet II had massacred or enslaved the Christian Greeks of Trebizond(1).

Another negative attribution is made describing the eradication of both Byzantine antiquities: 'Father Chantry-Pigg said his piece about Turkish apathy and squalor having let this noble palace and citadel go to ruin, as all antiquities in Turkey went to ruin' (Towers, 74), and Byzantine addiction to magic, notorious wizardry and alchemy:

The arrival of the down-to-earth, matter-of-fact Ottomans, who were neither clever nor imaginative, and thought wizardry wrong, had driven it underground, to be practised privately and lucratively by the Greeks who remained in the city after the Turkish massacres (Towers, 139).

Through associating the idea of indifference and historical stagnation with the Ottoman Empire in Journey to Kars, Glazebrook moves into another stereotype, that of Turkish brutality and tyranny. He considers the Ottomans as invaders and destroyers in the first place:

The very buildings and ornaments which Pericles had set up at Athens to celebrate Europe's turning back of the invading tide of Persia at Plataea, in the fifth century before Christ, had tumbled into ruins under the sway of another Eastern invasion by the Ottomans(3).

At the time of chief interest in it, the whole of Yugoslavia and Bulgaria (as well as Albania and much of Romania) were provinces of European Turkey. Repression and massacre followed frequent rebellions. At Nis the Turk built a tower of human skulls, to overawe the Reyahs, or Christian subject-race (Journey to Kars, 17).

First the slaves lost their heads in face of the storm's fury and ran about in packs screaming with terror; next the guests began to hesitate miserably between fear of the elements and fear of the pasha, until one by one they had shuffled away into recesses of the rickety old building where lightning whitened tatters of curtain and the moaning of the wind was engulfed in long passages and empty halls (Journey to Kars, 198-9).

The battle was at its thickest and hottest, when three Turkish soldiers pushed a wounded Russian officer back from the parapet, and followed him over it to dispatch him with their bayonets. Major Teesdale, seeing this act of barbarity, vaulted over the breastwork, cut down the foremost Turk with his sword, and called on the Russian, in French, to surrender as a prisoner of war (Journey to Kars, 129).

Apart from establishing a range of negative images of the harem, Eric Newby reminds his readers of Turkish cruelty inflicted upon the Greeks by Ali Pasha during the Greek War of Independence(4). Introducing hair-raising examples of Ali Pasha’s brutality not only against his Christian subjects while he was the governor in Greece, but also to his family members and relatives as he himself murdered his brother, Newby seems to imply that Ali Pasha’s initial incentive is his mother:
 

Whether this is true or not, his mother, a remarkable woman, deliberately brought him  up to be both cruel and cunning and with a remarkable capacity for biding his time until the opportunity presented itself for taking what was usually a hideous revenge on those whom he considered to have wronged him or obstructed his designs. It is said that his mother murdered his half-brothers in order to have more to settle on him (On the Shores, 155)

The negative reflections of Istanbul in thrillers and travel books such as From Russia With Love (1955), Black Amber (1965), When I Grow Rich (1962), Journey Into Fear (1966), Diplomatic Death (1961), and On the Shores of Mediterranean  (1984) are created through particular references to different historical parts of the city, like the Bosphorus, the Palace and the Golden Horn, and there seems to be a close identification of these places with different stories ranging from exotic harem intrigues to suicide and brutal punishment as implied by Phyllis A. Whitney in Black Amber when she says that 'the Bosphorus has always been a receptacle for ugly secrets'6. In another part of the book she also adds:
 

There had been one such Sultan who had made a thoroughly fresh start by ordering a hundred concubines tied up in sacks that were well weighed with stones at the feet, and gathered and tied tightly below the chin so that no struggling would be possible when they were dropped into the Bosphorus (Black Amber, 114).

I've never come across a place like it. But it isn't because they live like animals. They put down poison for the dogs in the street. It is because Mohammad made cats sacred. Like the cows in India. They won't even drown the kittens. But they'll leave them to be run over or to starve to death (Diplomatic Death, 180).

That’s Saray point. Tradition says that is where the garrotted victims of the intrigues of the palace and the harem were thrown into the sea...The later sultans had the recognised right to strangle all their brothers on their accession in order to prevent possible rebellions. Mehmed III executed all his nineteen brothers in one day...So you can see that it is not a great problem to dispose of one body in Istanbul (Diplomatic Death, 220).

‘A fisherman pulled his body out of the Bosphorus last night. It is believed that he had been knifed and thrown overboard from a ship. Like the scum he was, he was floating’(8). In another part of the novel this image is ironically repeated in association with Dimitrios’s wickedness that ‘there are a few more like him who should float in the Bosphorus’ (The Mask of Dimitrios, 25).

The Ortakapi Gate is a good introduction to the ‘feel’ of the Seraglio. “It was here at this gate that the sultans used to stand to watch the weekly executions. The sultan stood just there, you see the block where the beheading was done. Now, see that little fountain built in the wall there? That was for the Executioner to wash the blood off himself when he had finished. He was also the Chief Gardener. By the way, this was known as the Gate of Salvation. Rather ironic, don’t you think? Of course, only high palace dignitaries who had offended the sultan were beheaded here. When princes of the Royal house were executed - for instance, when a new sultan had all his younger brothers killed off to prevent arguments about the succession - their blood could not be shed, so they were strangled with a silk cord. Women who had offended were treated in different way. They were tied up in weighted sacks and dropped into the Bosphorus. Shall we go inside now?” (The Light of the Day, 117)

Similarly, Joan Fleming reminds the reader of the prevalence of negative stereotypes through a Turkish character in When I Grow Rich (1962): ‘We Turks have made a habit throughout history of throwing anything which is of embarrassment to us either into the Golden Horn or into the Bosphorus’(10). In addition, she reminds the reader of the historical technique of brutality through Hadji as he finally kills Madame Miasme:
 

For years he had had a suitable large sack ready-made almost to measure, and for an equal number of years had marked the large pieces of basalt rock he would use for the operation. It had been a matter of five minutes to do what he had visualised doing, so often; her body had gone into the water, her head protruding from the tied neck of the sack in the old, old way. He had kicked her down the water steps and now she lay, a distance of not more than two feet from the bottom step, but a long way down; food for the Bosphorus (When I Grow Rich, 212).

Rathbone also uses the popular Bosphorus stereotype as an execution point in Diamonds Bid. When Jonathan comes across the dead body of his friend Thomas in his hotel room he panickingly asks himself: 'What could I do? Buy a trunk, put him in it and get a hamal to ditch it in the Bosphorus?'(12). In Istanbul, Glazebrook repeats similar barbaric connotations associated with the Bosphorus, suggesting that 'my feelings were like those of a Turkish woman in a bag about to be thrown into the Bosphorus (Journey to Kars, 202), or 'beyond the Pass lies the dread East, with its frisson of license and cruelty, where women in bags are thrown into the Bosphorus' (Journey to Kars, 202).

Besides the historical stereotypes of Turkish cruelty and brutality, twentieth-century travel accounts refer to incidents of genocide, massacre or ethnic cleansing which are supposed to have happened during the First World War and after. The image of Turks massacring Greeks, Armenians and Kurds during the early decades of the century is implicit or explicit in many travel accounts and thrillers in the twentieth century. For example, it is discussed in The Orient Express (1922), The Mask of Dimitrios (1939), Pascali's Island (1980), On the Shores of the Mediterranean (1984), and In Xanadu: A Quest (1989).

Some travellers such as John Dos Passos take a more neutral stand in reporting different stories about the nature and implementation of the massacres (Orient Express) whilst other travel writers such as Frederick Prokosch and William Dalrymple imply that only Greeks and Armenians were systematically murdered by the Turks. During his long journey from Istanbul to Damascus subsequent to the outbreak of the First World War, when most parts of the country were invaded by Western Allies, John Dos Passos met Armenians and Greeks who maintained that their parents and relatives had been slaughtered in different parts of Turkey; from Samsun and Trabzon in the North to Adana in the South; from Erzurum and Van in the East to Izmir in the West. But a similar accusation is made by Turks and even Iranians: ‘It was there the Sayyid found a Persian who kept a shop. He was a Musulman, and told how the Armenians had massacred and driven out the majority of the Mohammedan inhabitants of Erivan’(13).

When Ambler gives a brief history of Izmir at the beginning of The Mask of Dimitrios he refers to bloody clashes between the local inhabitants of the city, especially between the Turks and the Greeks, which are believed to have resulted in numerous examples of savagery on both sides during the period when the city was captured by the Turks (September 9, 1922). Initially, he points out briefly that the Greek atrocities started when they retreated from the city that had already fallen to the Turks:
 

In the early hours of an August morning in nineteen twenty-two the Turkish Nationalist Army under the command of Mustafa Kemal Pasha attacked the centre of the Greek army at Dumlu Pinar [Dumlupinar] on the plateau two hundred miles west of Smyrna. By the following morning, the Greek army had broken and was in a headlong retreat towards Smyrna and the sea. In the days that followed, the retreat became a rout. Unable to destroy the Turkish army, the Greeks turned with frantic savagery to the business of destroying the Turkish population in the path of their flight. From Alashehr [Alasehir] to Smyrna they burnt and slaughtered. Not a village was left standing. Amid the smouldering ruins the pursuing Turks found the bodies of the villagers (The Mask of Dimitrios, 30).

Assisted by the few half-crazed Anatolian peasants who had survived, they took their revenge on the Greeks they were able to overtake. To the bodies of the Turkish women and children were added the mutilated carcases of Greek stragglers. But the main Greek army had escaped by sea. Their lust for infidel blood still unsatisfied, the Turks swept on. On the ninth of September, they occupied Smyrna. For a fortnight, refugees from the oncoming Turks had been pouring into the city to swell the already large Greek and Armenian populations. They had thought that the Greek army would turn and defend Smyrna. But the Greek army had fled. Now they were caught in a trap. The holocaust began (The Mask of Dimitrios, 30).

The register of the Armenian Asia Minor Defence League had been seized by the occupying troops, and, on the night of the tenth, a party of regulars entered the Armenian quarters to find and kill those whose names appeared on the register. The Armenians resisted and the Turks ran amok. The massacre that followed acted like a signal. Encouraged by their officers, the Turkish troops descended next day upon the non-Turkish quarters of the city and began systematically to kill. Dragged from their houses and hiding-places, men, women and children were butchered in the streets which soon became littered with mutilated bodies. The wooden walls of the churches, packed with refugees, were drenched with benzine and fired. The occupants who were not burnt alive were bayoneted as they tried to escape. In many parts looted houses had also been set on fire and now the flames began to spread (The Mask of Dimitrios, 31).

The massacre continued with unabated ferocity. A cordon of troops was drawn round the city to keep the refugees within the burning area. The stream of panic-stricken fugitives were shot down pitilessly or driven back into the inferno. The narrow, gutted streets became so choked with corpses that, even had the would-be rescue parties been able to endure the sickening stench that arose, they could not have passed along them. Smyrna was changed from a city into a channel-house. Many refugees had tried to reach ships in the inner harbour. Shot, drowned, mangled by propellers, their bodies floated hideously in the blood-tinged water. But the quayside was still crowded with those trying frantically to escape from the blazing waterfront buildings toppling above them a few yards behind. It was said that the screams of these people were heard a mile out at sea. Giaur Izmir - infidel Smyrna - had atoned for its sins (The Mask of Dimitrios, 31).

The country was closed to foreign tourists while the Turks tried to put their house in order. Shocking reports were heard. The Greeks  who had lived in Asia Minor for centuries were massacred; and their remnants driven from the land; the Kurds were massacred; the Armenians were massacred(15).

The massacre at Trabzon was one of the few times in Turkish history that Turkish soldiers, who still have the reputation as the most disciplined troops in the world, refused to obey orders. There were so many that they were not shot, but were jailed(16).

Armenian independent mindedness clashed with its Arab overlords, and in the eighth century the Arab viceroy was reported to have ordered the killing of Armenian high nobility. But that was nothing to the genocide that came later(17).

While travel writer Jan Morris calls Kemal Ataturk one of the Turkish despots(18), Nancy Phelan declares that 'Ataturk was a bloodthirsty tyrant, a fiend, a monster' (Welcome to the Wayfarer, 2). The negative image of Kemal Ataturk propagated in the west also find its expression in popular fiction. For example, in several parts of The Eunuch of Stamboul (1935), Dennis Wheatley describes him with demeaning attributions:

He is said to be a licentious drunken brute, a  cynic and a liar, whom no decent man could respect or trust. He was feared and hated even by the men who, from patriotic motives, had stood by him in his long struggle(19).

When Mary Lee Settle described the ethnic clashes in Turkey during the First World War as the Turkish massacre of the Armenians in Turkish Reflections, she emphasised the late nineteenth century as the starting point with the key brutal image of the Ottoman sultan of the time:

In the late nineteenth-century, Abdul Hamid II, known along his coast as Abdul the Damned, sent the Turkish army to put down an Armenian revolt that existed mostly in his own paranoid mind. He was the last of the absolute monarchs. He sent his army to ferment murder and looting. It was cold-bloodedly done, with a bugle call to start the massacres, and one to end them in the evening. English sailors from a ship in Trebizond harbor told of Armenians being pursued as they tried to swim to safety and drowned by fanatical Turkish Muslims and soldiers (Turkish Reflections, 66).

All of this was the product of the half-insane mind of Abdul Hamid, and it was murder without excuse, unlike the civil wars during the First World War that came later, and from which a half-million Armenians and two million Turkish people are said to have died (Turkish Reflections, 66).

Those boys aren’t good. Enver’s bright enough and for sure he’s got sand. He’ll out a fight like a Vermont game-chicken, but he lacks the longer vision, sir. He doesn’t understand the intricacies of the job no more than a sucking child, so the Germans play with him, till his temper goes and he bucks like a mule. Talaat is a sulky dog who wants to batter mankind with a club. Both these boys would have made good cow-punchers in the old days, and they might have got a living out west as the punmen of a Labour union(20).

In a number of travel accounts examined in this thesis Turks are compared to minority groups such as Greeks or Armenians. In these comparisons, the minority groups are usually depicted as victims oppressed by the Turkish yoke, whilst the Turks are seen as the oppressors, mainly through anecdotes presented by characters from the minority groups such as Krikor of In Xanadu: A Quest. In the early pages of the book concerning Turkey a similar massacre episode is reflected through an Armenian character, Krikor, who is described with sympathy by the narrator on their first meeting in Syria:

Krikor Bekarian looked pleasured to see us. He was a Christian Armenian, he told us, whose family had fled from Erzurum in 1917 during the massacres, and had managed to get to Beirut where they had set up a shoe-making firm(22).

I had managed to establish that whatever was the case in Polo's time, there were no longer any Greeks or Armenians in Sivas. According to the old man they had all 'left' during the First World War (i.e. they had all been slaughtered during the 1917 massacres) and since then their churches had fallen into disrepair, and eventually had been swept away. The one near the citadel, probably the Armenian church of St. Blaise, had been used as an army store, and when the roof fell in 1953 it had been destroyed. The other, presumably the Greek church of St. George, was knocked down in 1978 and its stones had been used to build a mosque (In Xanadu, 92-3).

He was an Armenian and gloomy. I had always had a soft spot for Armenians, a race who have spent more time being massacred than any other people in the Mediterranean regions in the last eighty years or so, more than 600.000 in 1915-16 alone (On the Shores, 184).

Whispered to me, 'Ellenes, Ellenes! I said 'panu', nodding and smiling to show him how completely I accepted his view. He repeated it, however, saying, 'Ellenes. Ou Barbaros', and I echoed 'Ou Barbaros', with such conviction that he would realise how utterly I was with him in rejecting the barbarian ascription (Towers, 148).

Besides accounts of massacres which add a new dimension to the historical connotations of Turkish brutality, another reflection of atrocity comes in the form of accounts of harassment by the Turkish police and the military particularly during the coups, and accounts of the appalling conditions of prisons in the country. As he travelled to Turkey when the country was under curfew during the 1980 coup, Philip Glazebrook met many soldiers at different check-points on his way to the eastern part of Turkey, and infers from their physical appearance as well as from their aggressiveness a close identification with Germans and Mongols:

Many of the buses I had taken had been stopped at military roadblocks: in the west of the country, in sunlight, these had seemed not unfriendly checks on passengers’ papers. By night, in the eastern wilds, they altered their character. They became frequent, and hostile... Up the steps sprang a couple of soldiers under steel helmets, one running to the back of the bus, both covering the passengers with automatic weapons... The shaven skulls and Germanic helmets of the guards behind their weapons made them into another race from the passengers, Mongol overlords crushing rustics under armed heels (Journey to Kars, 116-7).

My cousin - my uncle's son - was arrested for his socialism and given electric shocks by the police...Still he talks about the prisons. The robbers, they beat the political prisoners and the guards they beat up everybody (In Xanadu, 78).

Frederick Prokosch relates how he was arrested in an eastern city in The Asiatics (1935):

The first three days we spent in a large room with twenty-eight other men. They were all political prisoners;..All of them needed a bath. One man had typhoid and another dysentery and a third one gonorrhoea. We were allowed to go to the latrine only twice a day. And as for the food, it was unspeakably wretched. One wouldn't have been surprised to discover that the meat was the flesh of hyenas and the vegetables came from out of the Pontic swamps. Many in this room, I learned later, had died, were dying, were going to die; either from sickness or in the executioner's yard(23).

There were three guards; one of them, a fat little man from Elizabetopol, grew quite friendly with me later. He would tell me tenderly obscene jokes and bring me uneatable sweets wrapped in blue lead foil. There were men with catalepsy, he told me with ery-sipelas, all sorts of worms, tuberculosis, syphilis, eye diseases of a tragic kind, and many saddening things that the exposure and the dirt and the malnutrition had slowly grafted upon them. In a neighbouring room were the narcotic patients. We would look at them by standing tiptoe on the bench and peering through an iron lattice-work rose between them and us. They were living behind a permanent veil. Once or twice some one called to them. But they didn’t answer. There was no use trying to get near them; they were far, far away... One of them was whispering incessantly. “He’ll die soon,” said my guard from Elizabetopol casually. “Next week maybe.” And that’s just what did happen, but it was an event so trivial and inconclusive that not a single person could possibly have noticed the difference. But still, that’s what strategy is, of course. The things no one else knows. And if I’d had the chance I might have wept a tear or two (The Asiatics, 57-8).

Another Turkish stereotype Timur Urganci, is a psychopathic murderer paid by Barish Uz: 'They were both shot by Timur Urganci. Both times in the pay of Barish Uz. Timur Urganci is probably psychopathic' (Trip Trap, 142). In order to emphasise his wickedness Rathbone remarks:

For Timur Izmir was a dream come true: It was Chicago; and his employers, mysterious people who kept him like a prince, had given him a black suit, a machine gun, a black car, a suitable laconic driver, and a target. Timur was in Heaven (Trip Trap, 82).

Finally they took away the old Armenian (Miskranian was his name)...That was the last we saw of the old Armenian, we strained our ears as we sat there, waiting to hear the pistol report. Finally we heard it. Click. Then a pause, then click again. That was all (The Asiatics, 71).

Do they hang people in Turkey?' Yes! he replied, 'they hang people in Turkey, for murder!...Yes! they hanged murderers in Turkey and Nur bey thought it necessity to tell her that they were public hangings (When I Grow Rich, 27).

NEXT

1-Rose Macaulay, The Towers of Trebizond (London: Fontana, 1990), p.75. Further reference to this work will be given after quotations in the texts, by mentioning its shortened title, 'Towers'.

2-J.V. Guerinot, “The Pleasures of Rose Macaulay” in Twentieth Century Literature, 33 (Spring 1989), (110-128), p.119. Guerinot makes this comment in particular reference to Macaulay’s Pleasures of Ruins. See: Rose Macaulay, Pleasures of Ruins (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1953), p. 169.

3-Philip Glazebrook, Journey to Kars (London: Penguin, 1985), pp. 223-4. Further reference to this work will be given after quotations in the text, by mentioning its title, 'Journey to Kars'.

4-Eric Newby, On the Shores of the Mediterranean (London: Picador, 1985), p.152. Further reference to this work will be given after quotations in the text, by mentioning its shortened title, 'On the Shores'.

5-Nick Carter, Istanbul (London: Universal Publishing and Distribution Corporation), p.20. Further reference to this work will be given after quotations in the text, by mentioning its title, 'Istanbul'. Also see: Turkish Bloodbath (New York: Ace-Charter, 1980).

6-A. Phyllis Whitney, Black Amber (London: Robert Hale, 1965), p.114. Further reference to this work will be given after quotations in the text, by mentioning its title, 'Black Amber'.

7-Charles Forsyte, Diplomatic Death, first pub. London: Cassell, 1961, (Leicester: F.A. Thorpe, 1988), p.180. Further reference to this work will be given after quotations in the text, by mentioning its title, 'Diplomatic Death'

8-Eric Ambler, The Mask of Dimitrios (First Pub. Hodder and Stoughton, 1939) (London:Fontana\Collins, 1966), p.21. Further reference to this work will be given after quotations in the text, by mentioning its title, 'The Mask of Dimitrios'.

9-Eric Ambler, The light of the Day, (London: Heineman, 1962), p.117. Further reference to this work will be given after quotations in the text, by mentioning its title, ‘The light of the Day’

10-Joan Fleming, When I Grow Rich, 1st pub. (London: Collins, 1962), p. 186. Further reference to this work will be given after quotations in the text, by mentioning its title, 'When I Grow Rich'.

11-Although it has been published recently, the story was composed in the mid 1950s while the author was working in the British Consulate-General. As the author remarks, 'behind the story of Diplomatic Death lies another story. It began in the mid 1950s in Istanbul, where I was working in the British Consulate-General. During this time my father-in-law in England suffered a severe stroke and my wife had to fly home to be with him. To while away the winter evenings on my own I read a number of detective stories, until the thought came to me that it would be more entertaining to write one myself. I devised a mystery plot set in the local scene - for although the characters and events were invented, the story is set in the Istanbul I knew'. See: Charles Forsyte, Diplomatic Death (Leicester: F.A. Thorpe, 1988), prologue.

12-Julian Rathbone, Diamonds Bid (London: Joseph, 1967), p.127. Further reference to this work will be given after quotations in the text, by mentioning its title, 'Diamonds Bid'.

13-John Dos Passos, Orient Express (New York: Jonathan Cape and Harrison Smith, 1922), p. 70. Further reference to this work will be given after quotations in the texts, by mentioning its title, 'Orient Express'.

14-Barry Unsworth, Pascali's Island (London: Penguin, 1980), p.42. Further reference to this work will be given after quotations in the text, by mentioning its title, 'Pascali's Island'.

15-Nancy Phelan, Welcome to the Wayfarer (London: Macmillan, 1965), p. 2. Further reference to this work will be given after quotations in the text, by mentioning its title, 'Welcome to the Wayfarer'.

16-Mary Lee Settle, Turkish Reflections (New York: Prentice Hall, 1991), p. 68. Further reference to this work will be given after quotations in the text, by mentioning its title, 'Turkish Reflections'.

17-Christina Dodwell, A Traveller on Horseback (London: Sceptre, 1988), p. 125-6.

18-Jan Morris, Among the Cities (London: Penguin, 1986), p.200. Further reference to this work will be given after quotations in the text, by mentioning its title, 'Among the Cities'.

19-The book was first published in 1935 by Hutchinson. Dennis Wheatley, The Eunuch of Stamboul (London: Arrow Books, 1960), p. 41. Further reference to this work will be given after quotations in the text, by mentioning its title, 'The Eunuch of Stamboul'.

20-John Buchan, Greenmantle (London: Thomas Nelson and Sons, 1916) Ist pub., p. 226. Further reference to this work will be given after quotations in the texts, by mentioning its title, 'Greenmantle'.

21-J.C. Hurewitz, Middle East Dilemmas: The Background of the United States Policy (New York: Russell and Russell, 1973), p.168. Further reference to this work will be given after quotations in the text, by mentioning its shortened title, 'Middle East Dilemmas'.

22-William Dalrymple, In Xanadu: A Quest (London: Flamingo, 1990), p. 6. Further reference to this work will be given after quotations in the texts, by mentioning its shortened title, 'In Xanadu'.

23-Frederic Prokosch, The Asiatics, 1st pub. 1935, (London: Robin Clark, 1991), p. 56-7. Further reference to this work will be given after quotations in the text, by mentioning its title, 'The Asiatics'.

24-Julian Rathbone, Trip Trap (London: Joseph, 1972). Further reference to this work will be given after quotations in the text, by mentioning its title, 'Trip Trap'.