The Past Tense Of Youth: Another life in a painting

On November 22, 2013August 11, 2014 By Renee Lou Dallow ( Bourgeoise Bloomers )In Now and then, Romantic interludes, stories of mystery and romance

The Hydro Majestic had been a haven for our love. A palace in the wilderness where we could explore the wonders of nature much like he had done with Rana in the blue splendour of the Caucasus. It had been no coincidence that we two thirty years into the future would find ourselves leading parallel lives. Had he known of this other life when fate brought us together on that divine evening whilst dining on the terrace? There he was with his peers. Some very dignified looking gentlemen somewhat older than he. Yet he had seemed happy in their company. They conversed with animated expressions over their after dinner wine and appeared to be going over some plans drawn up on paper. Was he some sort of spy? He was no Englishman of that I was sure and he certainly wasn’t from Australia. I couldn’t help but stare as I found myself drawn into the vacuous social banter of other hotel guests who had joined my parents and me for supper. The mysterious young man at the next table had intrigued me. There was an air of mystery about him yet somehow I knew him. Suddenly he had caught my gaze and he smiled across at me with a smile so dazzling that it almost blinded me. One of the older men looked across at me and came over to our table and introduced himself .

Professor Humphries , it turned out was both an art curator and a professor of architecture and design. He had come with his colleagues via Turkey where they had been investigating the possibilities of consulting on the design of a new museum of art and sculpture for Istanbul. They had brought with them a young Turkish architectural student, whose parents the professor had stayed with while lecturing on modernism at Istanbul university. It turned out that the parents had asked the professor to take their son, who showed great promise and had just won an award for academic excellence, under his tutelage on his next project which was to be in Australia. The professor had been commissioned by Mark Foy, the owner of ‘The Hydro Majestic’, to consult on the rebuilding of the ‘Belgravia’ wing which had burnt down in 1922. The work had stalled and some important finishing touches needed to be added. The young Turk with whom I was enamoured had been chosen from hundreds of others around Europe, due to his award winning designs, to work on the wing supervised by the experts. There was also a painting that the professor wished to buy from Mr Foy which was in the hotels picture gallery known as ‘ The Long Hall’. My parents were fascinated by the professor but I heard only the name of the young Turk ‘Gurel’ repeating over and over in my head. All the while the professor was speaking he and I had remained fixed in each other’s gaze. After what had seemed an eternity he rose from his seat and came over to our table. Professor Humphries introduced him and I was at once transported into a world of exotic splendours.

” I am very pleased to meet you” he said in a cheery voice quite devoid of any accent. ” Just call me Gerald if you find my name difficult. It’s a very English name and probably much easier for you to remember”.

” Alright if you prefer but I assure you my memory for names that may sound a little foreign is completely in tact”

That he spoke English perfectly did not deter me one bit from my creative visualisations. It turned out that he was half English as his father, also an architect, had met and married his mother whilst on a field trip to Istanbul. He had returned to London only briefly with his lovely Turkish bride but soon tired of the normalities of English life and made the decision to live permanently in the country that had given him the great love of his life. Not long after setting up their home in this exotic land their son was born.

After that first evening wondering through the lush green valley and traversing crooked mountain paths not too far from the hotel we realised that for some reason the universe had meant for us to be together. We laughed and whispered of secret longings. I was of his world and he was of mine. There would be no need for explanations and no need to rush things.

The next morning at breakfast had not been stilted by the kind of long awkward silence young lovers feel when they don’t know if things will progress any further but was filled with the joy of true belonging. Afterwards we had visited ‘The Long Hall’ with the professor to view the painting he wished to purchase for his museum in Istanbul. And there it was. A masterpiece by English artist Frederick Leighton. A young man who looked remarkably like Gurel and I like his muse. The resemblance was unmistakable. There we were the two of us very much in love concentrating on what seemed to be an architects drawing. No wonder we had felt as one from the moment our eyes met. We had been so throughout the ages and it would not be long before I would come to understand the significance of our union.

© Renee Dallow ( Hybiscus Bloom ) 22/11/2014

The Past Tense Of Youth: Mountain Memoires

On October 30, 2013August 24, 2015 By Renee Lou Dallow ( Bourgeoise Bloomers )In Changing the world, stories of mystery and romance

Rana and I became confidantes following her conversion to Odalisque. She had meant for me to open her diary and had somehow known that I had an important part to play in her life. As she told me of her love for Gurel and his for her I knew that I would be the one to bring them back into each other’s arms. My life with Gurel was of another time and place and yet had also begun in the beauty of the mountains. Theirs had been a wild untamed love there in the blue haze of the Caucasus. She the daughter of Roma gypsies and he the son of a Georgian landlord . During the Russo/Turk wars in 1877 Gurel’s parents who had settled in Circassia near the black sea , had fled back to Turkey fearing an imminent Russian attack on their land holdings. They had left their five year old son with his Georgian grandfather vowing to return for him once they had settled. They never returned. The child’s skin was not the pale skin of the Georgians but was instead of an olive comlexion like that of his Turkish father. His hair was thick , dark and wavy even at birth and his eyes a sapphire blue like those of his Georgian mother. For most of his youth Georgia was at peace with the Russians ,who had made reparations, and Gurel was sent to school in St Petersburg. It was in the streets of St Petersburg at the age of fourteen that he had first laid eyes on a dark gypsy girl playing a tamborine. He had been so entranced by her that he had lost his way and seemed quite unable to move in any other direction except for the spot where he now stood. There were others dancing with her but he could see only her.

Rana’s parents had come to Georgia from Romania . They were part of a performing troupe and planned to dance for their money along with trading horses and breeding chickens. They made their camp in the Caucasus near the foot of Mt Elbrus and journeyed often to St Petersburg where they would perform for whoever had enough money to pay their worth. They danced for the villagers in their mountain haven and for the nobility in the cities sometimes even in the palaces. Their youngest daughter, Rana, was a true Circassian beauty with raven hair down to her waist and wild eyes the colour of an emerald green forest. By the age of fourteen she was aware of her powers over men and knew how to play them. That first day he had followed her back to the camp site where she lived with her family and had dined with them under the stars. He was in awe of the gypsy life and wanted to become one of them if only to be close to Rana. She taught him to dance while he taught her to read and write. It was a fair exchange and bound them ever closer. Gurel was a brilliant student who excelled in the arts of writing and poetry. He was also a skilled horseman and took his military training very seriously. Every spare moment he would spend with Rana in the mountains where he was as free as she was to breathe out and experience the wonders of nature all around them. A gentle world where there was harmony and balance in the order of things.

Theirs was a peaceful tranquil way of being far away from the needs and wants of others who would try to tame or to separate them. They made a troth there in the blue of the mountain mists to remain together as they were then in each other’s hearts for all time and entwined their bodies as one to seal their truth. Only the soft folds of evening grace and the strange whispers of the forest could disturb them from their embrace. A white horse waited patiently nearby for it’s young master to lead home over the mountain pass. Soon with his arms wrapped around his gypsy love and the reins gripped tight in his strong, capable hands he and Rana would return to their waiting families.

And so their love would continue until the day Gurel was sent to university in the year of 1904. His grandfather had previously tried to keep them apart but had been unsuccessful. This time he hoped Gurel would find comfort in being with others who were of the same status. Before long he became so involved in the politics of youth that he grew more and more distant from Rana with each new dawn. Gurel joined the social democrats and was determined to play an important part in the modernisation of his beloved Georgia. Little did he know that the land he returned to would be no longer his, that his grandfather would be slain and that Rana would become a slave of the Ottoman Empire. Dragged from her campsite and locked up in the harem she would no more be his alone.

On the day Gurel returned and all that had happened during his absence became clear to him he knew that he must find her. The villagers had told him of her parents dealings with Russian soldiers and of their intent to sell her. A circassian of such dark exotic beauty would fetch a high price. They had hoped to marry her off to the young Georgian landlord who would have looked after her family but he had abandoned them and gone off to Saint Petersberg. They had to survive and selling their beautiful daughter would be for the good of all.

Gurel had immediately departed for Constantinople joined by other young men from the village who thought they would fare better under Ottoman rule. They could join the guards or become janissaries. Gurel had heard of a group who called themselves ‘ The Young Turks’ who were trying to achieve the same ends as those of the social democrats of Russia . Maybe he could join them and in so doing commandeer their help in saving his beloved gypsy girl.

That day at the slave market when I had seen him ride toward her on his white horse with his eyes piercing a hole in my heart had been the first day of a life fulfilled. Or was it simply fate that had brought all three of us to the same place at the same time? For what end and for what purpose? I would soon grow to love them both more than I ever thought possible. Our lives would evolve and change over …. time … so …. much ….. time.

© Renee Dallow ( Hybiscus Bloom ) 30/!0/2013

The Past Tense Of Youth: Love’s destiny

On October 9, 2013August 11, 2014 By Renee Lou Dallow ( Bourgeoise Bloomers )In Changing the world, Now and then, stories of mystery and romance

That first evening dancing with Gurel under the stars at the beautiful Hydro Majestic in Australia’s Blue Mountains had been the most magical evening of my life but it had ended all too soon. The valley under the gaze of the moon had cast a spell on us both. I longed to repeat the wonder of it all again and again. He had kissed me on the hand after chaperoning me to the door of my room and I had lain awake all night dreaming of fairytale romances. The Hydro was a perfect example of the kind of architectural splendour popular with royalty. Set high on a cliff top overlooking the Megalong valley the hotel reminded me of the kind of palace a princess would inhabit. That princess was myself and Gurel my handsome prince.

We dined each night on that same terrace over looking the old staircase leading down to our beautiful green valley floating in the gentle mists. After dinner we would go for long walks under the stars with the sounds of the Australian bush all around us. We talked of dreams for the future as we gazed out into the distant mountain ranges surrounding us. He of architectural wonders of the world and I of great historical revolutions.

Together we would change the world. We were past and present searching for new tomorrows. The future was ours and our love would guide the way. There were lavish parties in the grand dining hall followed with dancing in the ballroom. As Gurel and I danced around the room so in tune with ourselves that we barely noticed what music was playing I imagined myself in a land of make believe. It was all so exciting, so glamorous, so perfect that I could hardly breathe for fear it would all disappear and I would wake to find that none of it had ever really happened.

My parents had kept a watchful eye on us and were no doubt more than a little concerned at our growing obsession with each other. Over Gurel’s shoulder on the dance floor I watched them so at ease in each other’s company and felt so honoured to be in their presence. They had loved this holiday almost as much as I and were reluctant to leave but father had embassy committments and of course mother and I would have to leave with him.

Once home at Greylin I found myself pining for the man I loved. Just as I had watched my mother do so often. I wondered through the gardens alone day after day lost in my world of memories. Oh there were invitations to social gatherings and balls with friends trying to soothe my broken heart by lining up handsome bachelors for me to choose from but it was of no use.

Then the day came exactly one month later as I was preparing to go into the village. I heard a knock at the front door and a voice on the other side of it calling my name. Barely able to contain myself I ran so fast down the stairs that I tripped and fell over the banister. The maid opened the door and there he was standing there with sunbeams highlighting his dark, wavy hair. I flew into his arms and at that moment was sublimely at peace with the whole universe for he was my truth, my essence, my everything.

Only two weeks later we would be married in the grounds of Greylin castle and I would be whisked off to Istanbul for a honeymoon. Yet another far off land filled with promises of new adventures, new discoveries, new beginnings. Together we were destined for something greater than anything that had come before. Something we both knew existed but was not yet within reach ….. something ….

The Past Tense Of Youth: Emine from concubine to favourite

On October 1, 2013August 11, 2014 By Renee Lou Dallow ( Bourgeoise Bloomers )In Now and then, stories of mystery and romance

So where did I fit into this picture? How had I become a favourite of the sultan and Rana’s unofficial hand maiden? I had never actually studied my ancestry but remembered talk of family connections in Albania . I learned from Rana’s diary that I had been chosen by the sultan after that day at the slave market to be her personal servant. I was no longer Emma. My name was Emine and I had been sent to the market that day to buy cloth for the dressmakers of the harem ,under guard of course, along with others of my status. What was my status? I had only recently been chosen as a favourite having been a mere concubine just days before. Memories came flooding back of the day I had been taken from my family.

I was all of ten years old at the time and had tried to flee with my mother but we were captured and thrown onto the horses of Ottoman soldiers. My mother had died before we reached Topkapi having tried to escape and been thrown from the horse in the attempt. I had seen her fall and knew that if I struggled the same fate could befall me. The pain I felt at losing my mother was immense but I resolved to do whatever I had to in order to survive. I had decided to endear myself to my captor if that were at all possible and use the skills taught me by my parents to do so. I had never actually been chosen to go with the sultan as he had regarded me more as a daughter than a potential conquest. I was energetic and fiesty with a grand imagination which the sultan found endearing. When he came to visit the harem he would bid me tell him one of my stories or mime the events of the day. The others were very protective of me and also a little afraid of the things I could reveal about them.

Being the daughter of Abdyl Frasheri the Albanian hero responsible for the league of Prizren in the year of 1878 which stipulated the need for an independent Albanian state had made me a fighter. I was born in 1887 one year after my father, who had been captured and imprisoned by the Ottomans, was at last released and reunited with my mother. Ten years later in the year of 1897 there was another uprising led by my father during which the Albanian Nationalist union was dispanded. This is when It was decided to punish the leaders who had fled by scattering their families and that is how I came to be a child of the harem. It was now 1908 and I had just turned 21. The sultan had begun to look at me through new eyes. I was no longer the amusing child he had found such a diversion. I was now a beauty and as such was to be primed for a private audience with the sultan in his chambers.

Before this could happen I had to be taken to the part of the harem reserved for the favourites to undergo the training necessary to make me everything and more in accordance with the sultan’s pleasures. I was taught to move with the sensuous stealth of a young tigress, to smother myself in sweet smelling oils and perfumes after bathing, to drape myself in silks and satins which would reveal the soft curves of my body and sit for hours while my hair was braided and coiled with flowers and diadems. It was part of my training too that I waited on the sultan and on his wives including his mother the dowager sultan. It was she, his mother who had sent me to the markets that day and for this I am eternally grateful. For from that day forward only Rana could fulfill the every desire of the sultan. I was chosen to be her handmaiden, confidante and friend and it was I who knew her for the catalyst she would become.

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