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I stood near the tent flap just after dawn in eastern Turkey, tensed nervously for there were increasing sounds of men outside. The morning prayers are over and I am dressed, my slave is just behind me but I am afraid of what will happen soon. Whatever it is, I know it will happen soon.
There are more calls among the men outside and I reach to hold my slave's hand. Perhaps I shouldn't call her my slave for is it possible for a slave to have a slave? I touched the gold necklace at my throat. It is not a small, wispy chain, but has links as large as a strong man's thumb. The Turkish Pasha who kidnapped me was able to bend closed with his hands, fastening it forever to my neck as a sign of my enslavement. Although I know gold is soft this chain is thick and he did it surely and without trembling.
But I am trembling for I do not know how many men there are outside or what they want of me. It is my birthday and it shouldn't be like this.
A year ago I was a happy girl celebrating my fourteenth year with my family. There was to be a surprise present that day but it was nothing like this. My family is one of England's fine old family's, of noble descent but not noble for my noble ancestors were a woman and although she could inherit a title her descendents could not. My family is well off and respected but nowhere nearly as well off as many of my relatives. It is among some of the young, titled relatives that my mother seeks a husband for me and at my age I saw no reason not to as long as I loved the boy. In two years it would be the start of the Twentieth Century and it may be that if it is money my mother is after there are many better men for me and it will be my choice. Therefore I decided to wait my sixteenth birthday then seek out the man for me.
The surprise that day was a letter from my Aunt, a widow with both a country and a London home. In it she invited me to London to discuss my being her companion for a proposed tour of the Continent of Europe that would be a two-year undertaking. She mentioned that I had always appeared sensible and responsible considering my age and she expected the interview to be concluded successfully.
I was met at the Station by a carriage and taken to her home where she awaited me. I had my sketchpad with me as I sketch scenes when I travel. It is for pleasure and as a remembrance of places I have visited. I could not sketch in the carriage for it shook too much to do so successfully. Also, I was very nervous about the interview and of traveling alone.
It was my father's idea to travel by myself. He thought I was old enough for a trip to London as long as I was met by someone there as I was. He also thought it would show my Aunt how mature I was. It did make me feel more grown up than my years so perhaps it aided in my downfall.
My Aunt was sterner and stricter than my mother although once she began to talk she softened a little. Before, my Aunt had only stopped at our home for short visits and she had seemed more kindly. I was always polite then for I was only allowed short visits with her.
Now I was with her all the waking hours and although polite I made mistakes for which she chastised me. I helped her as much as I could, including helping her dress. The worst thing was putting on her shoes. I began to see it was her pain made her harsher.
After a week we were warm and good friends and she found me a ready listener. Our days were spent with me reading to her twice a day plus preparing to go out and eating.
It was my art that impressed her for she had not known I was trying to learn to paint. She was much impressed with my sketchbooks and my idea of it being a pictorial diary of events in my life.
She bought me better brushes to paint with and began a program of education with trips to museums and, more special yet, to private houses to view collections not available to the public. Once each day she allotted time for me to paint some scene or sometimes some masterpiece while she dozed in the shade.
Once a week she was open to visitors at tea; an opportunity for her friends to look me over and give their opinion. Several of her friends were disappointed because they had children or nieces they were proposing.
At the end of the four weeks it was settled; I would attend her on the trip. She would buy books necessary for me to continue my education, pay for all expenses and give me a small allowance for personal things. We spent three days getting fitted for dresses for us both that we would wear traveling,
Our Departure seemed to me to be too soon for me to visit all my friends and too long away for I wanted so to see Paris. It did come and me whole family attended me to London then on to Dover by train. At the dock my Aunt and I waved to that dear little cluster standing on the dock and I missed them before they were even out of sight.
Our arrival in Paris was breathtaking. The rail stations were works of art and the carriage ride to our hotel went past magnificent buildings and down wide boulevards. Our rooms were adequate in decor and large for just us two.
My Aunt wanted to see the museums, theater, opera and other sights as much as I did and sometimes she was more excited. Mutual friends yielded invitations for us to attend teas, dinners and wonderful balls. I met so many interesting men, mostly English and some Americans but also a few French and Germans.
It was the Gay Nineties and Paris was the cultural capital of the world. There was too much to do and too much to paint but my Aunt set aside two hours a day for me to paint; inside a museum if it was raining or outside in the wonderful Paris light if it was dry.
Although fourteen years old only I attracted the attention of three men, two English brothers, one of whom was in College and soon had to return to school, and one man from Boston who had graduated from Harvard! My Aunt disapproved of him as did I but he was childlike so he made me laugh and very happy when I danced with him.
The two men followed us to the South of France. We stayed in a wonderful hotel in Nice where from the front patio I could paint the ocean or the people. My Aunt would not allow me to go swimming but the boys did; one would visit me at lunch on one day and the other the next day. My Aunt was not happy with my interest in them in the beach outfits when they were wet.
As we traveled she noticed I had improved my sketches of people. "You started with just impressions of people to give life to a scene; only daubs of paint that hinted at vague shapes and color. Now you show more originality and detail; maybe a beard, a waist different than a bosom and lively hair." She encouraged me to paint faces and I started with hers.
We were well along on our trip when we packed for Italy. I was sad to leave France but looking forward to seeing a more ancient culture. My French was so much better than Italian but I looked forward to improving my Italian. My two beaus did not follow but returned to Paris after seeing us off at the train. While in Nice we had met several nice young college men and we were to see some of them as we traveled to different Italian cities. At the same time we seemed to meet many new and young men.
Florence, like Paris, was disarming on first sight but unlike Paris the streets and the people were narrower. The architecture was magnificent and the city wore its masterpiece of architecture and art as casually as a wealthy woman over dresses in her jewels.
Our hotel was much smaller and had a view of the city with mountains in the background. There we had most of our meals and from there each morning we left with a guide to see the monuments and museums. As before I set up to sketch or paint everywhere.
Everywhere in Florence young Italians who, my Aunt said, were after my money, met us. "But I have no money, Aunt."
She sniffed. "For Italians you have money!"
Some of these young Italians were titled and a few were rich but common. Most were common though and my Aunt suspected they all overstated their position.
It was the same with the young English, French, German and American men. These we were properly introduced to but still they seemed too eager for a very young girl.
There was one exception. It was a man from America named Hooker. My Aunt was told he owned by inheritance considerable real estate in someplace called Chicago and expected further inheritance from his father. He was traveling before entering college and therefore was closer to my age and knew he exceeded both my Aunt and me in wealth.
His honest concern for me, his shyness and his funny way of discussing things attracted me to him in a friendly way. In a way, I may have been four years his junior but I was his equal in maturity although he behaved impeccably. It was the things he said in private that disturbed me.
"La-di-da," as one American girl said, I had time to decide on marriage and anyway we were leaving soon for Roma.
We traveled to Rome slowly, stopping at some small towns along the way. In Rome we stayed at a large hotel on the Via Veneto on whose wide sidewalks inn front we would sip tea and watch the world go by.
We also visited the Antigua, ancient Roman Rome, and the only Vecchio, old Rome. We saw and I sketched or painted the great monuments, many fallen into ruins. For some reason I favored the Roman Forum and spent days sketching it all.
I was taken to the Opera by the son of an Italian Duke, sting in a box and on view to all who frankly stared at me. I was wearing a blue dress made for me in Paris and it shyly outlined my figure while my Aunt leant me a necklace of great value whose sapphires sparkled an accompaniment to my dress. During the intermissions many English ladies approached me with young men to meet.
I was more impressed with two young men, one American and the other German, who attracted my attention on their own and approached me after I smiled. I regretted the smile at once for it did not intend their approach but would have regretted more had my Aunt have succeeded in turning them away for both were young musicians studying their art in Rome. Even my Aunt softened a little and we saw them often as they took us to musical lectures and performances, introducing us to some of the great Italian composers and musicians.
From Rome my Aunt shipped back to my parents my completed sketchbooks and paintings, reducing our luggage considerably.
We traveled less encumbered and slowly to Venice, the ancient, flooded city that was the gateway to the Orient.
Venice was a never-ending series of surprises. Drifting along a canal beyond a bridge you might see a wonderful sight or view. Of course Venice both surrounds and is surrounded by the canals and riding gondolas is both a pleasure and a necessity. I was much entertained by the songs of the gondoliers and one, despite my Aunt's dire warnings, was paid to sit for me to paint him. I did his painting standing on land by the prow of his great boat and painted another sculling his boat and singing.
Mostly it was the variety of people; Arabs in white robes, their women in black and veiled, Berbers in blue, turbaned Turks in outrageous clothing. They wore vests with sleeves ending near the floor, Balloon pants, bright scarves and sashes and pointy shoes. There were Algerian sailors in striped pants and giant red hats, American men in black suits, English women in colorful dresses.
There was so much to see, to sketch and to paint. Again there were great museums to visit and many monuments to sketch for now I painted few monuments and painted only life. There was so much art. Much of it was in private collections. It surprised me that Countesses and Dukes invited us to visit primarily to view and sketch their masterpieces. My Aunt correctly guessed this was self-serving, but not to match their sons for few had any. The purpose was to validate the quality of their art by, "That pretty and talented English girl."
I sought out scenes of decay in which bright floral displays thrived in the marvelous sunlight. It was a guide who suggested this theme and he took me for three days running to a place that had a ruin, a small garden and a fountain, all with a bridge over a canal in the background. My Aunt said this seemed to have the heart of Venice so I said she could have it.
One day our guide did not arrive at the hotel and my Aunt sent someone to find him. They couldn't but suggested another, this time a younger man. He took me to paint a garden. It was very small and hidden at the top of some steps above the canal. It was beautiful, divided into four little areas, each surrounded by flowers. I decided to paint a crumbling wall damaged by flowered vines and with the canal in the background. My Aunt went to sit in another area to keep out of my way. When the time was nearly up the guide suggested we return at dawn tomorrow to get the softer light.
I knew my Aunt would not get up that early but he suggested we meet in front of the hotel and I agreed. We had a suite of rooms that allowed me to rise silently and gather my things.
I felt a little guilty when I got up and left a note saying I would be in the park. I had left my easel and paint with the concierge and gathered these before leaving to find my guide. The hotel would not allow him into the hotel to meet me, as he was not one of theirs. He was right outside and we left quickly. Surprisingly he paid for the gondola and soon we were climbing to the little park.
It was the most glorious day of our visit; a perfect sky of deep blue with puffs of clouds set occasionally to highlight that blue. There was a strong breeze that in this instance carried the flower's scent to me, guiding me and inspiring me to capture their life, romance and loveliness.
I was set up and painting with Alberto saying he would sit nearby but out of my way. I was nervous of being alone with a strange man.
A slight noise behind me disturbed me and I almost protested thinning it was Alberto. Suddenly everything went dark. I tried to scream but a strong hand grabbing my mouth and twisting me head painfully choked it off and then I was picked up and carried. Soon I was dropped roughly into a gondola for we were not far from the canal and quickly was traveling somewhere.
Soon the sounds of docks told me we were near or in the harbour. The increasing swells of the boat confirmed me that I was no longer in a placid canal. The sounds of Italian from above and the feel of being hoisted told me I was on a ship and before I was unwrapped the ship was underway.
When I was freed I began to shout and was rewarded by a cloth being tied around my mouth. Looking around made it certain that I was going somewhere by ship. I was bound hand and foot to a hook that required me to sit as I looked around. Out of my sack I knew my dress and probably my hair was a mess. I had no other clothes. All I had was my sketchbook and my last painting of the garden and my paints, both of which I saw being carried below.