By Ebru Aykut, Mimar Sinan Fine Arts University
Some of you may have seen the movie “Albert Nobbs” directed
by Rodrigo Garcia in 2011, based on a short story of the Irish author, George
Moore. The film is about a woman who disguises herself as man and works as a
butler and waiter in a hotel in 19th century Dublin. I will not go into detail in
case you may want to see it. Suffice it to say, Glenn Close starred as Albert Nobbs and her marvelous performance received an Academy Award nomination in the category of Best Actress. What I would like to do here instead is to
draw your attention to two accounts appeared in Ottoman periodicals, which have
reminded me of Albert Nobbs’ sad story.
On 18 January 1906, Servet-i
Fünun reported a tramway accident that had occurred not long before in Paris. According to the account, the tram hit a cart. As a result, the cart's driver fell off and his legs were crushed under the wheels of
his own cart. Though people came to his rescue immediately, he could not be
saved. When his body was examined following his death, however, the doctor surprisingly
found out that Paul, as “he” was called by “his” friends, was actually not a
man, but a woman. After conveying Paul’s tragic end to readers, Servet-i
Fünun proceeded with two further examples, presumably to underline that
this remarkable story was indeed not exceptional. A 50 year-old workman (amele) who had migrated to America from
France 30 years earlier had been revealed to be a woman at the hospital upon passing away. Additionally, the journal maintained, a driver just like Paul had had an accident almost a year before in Paris and, though presumed to be a man, was similarly discovered to be a woman at the hospital upon dying.
No doubt, each of these cases are intriguing on their own
and must have been so for the audience of Servet-i
Fünun as well. What seems more intriguing, however, is that Servet-i Fünun recounted these real life
stories with particular emphasis on the difficult living conditions that must
have compelled these women to masquerade as men and secure work in
jobs otherwise reserved for men. As the beginning of the account suggests, these women,
after all, did not opt for passing for men but were perforce obliged to live
and work like that. In other words, according to Servet-i Fünun, the method they resorted to was just a
tactic for survival. Especially with its comment on Paul, Servet-i Fünun also drew a moral lesson from this story for women.
Paul had worked day and night, yet never revealed her sex (kadınlığını belli etmemiş). In this way, the article not only exalted her
diligence but at the same time celebrated her in her performance
to disguise herself, referring obviously to her chastity. Notably, the
journal was not concerned at all with other possibilities, such as sexual
preferences, which could well explain these gender transgressions.
It would be interesting to know if any Ottoman woman had
ever attempted to masquerade as a man in order to make a living or for
other reasons. In fact, Adil Baktıaya explored two such cases concerning women
at the Ottoman archives and narrated their stories in an article published in Toplumsal Tarih. A certain Ayşe Hanım
from Aydın and Hanko Hanım from Pristina had cross-dressed in 1890s not for
working but for joining the army ranks. While the former served in the army for
two years, the latter successfully completed her military service in three and
a half years going undetected for a long time after which, Baktıaya notes, both
were commended by the Ottoman State for accomplishing a task that was not regarded
as proper for womankind.[1]
The above examples suggest that female-to-male
cross-dressing with the purpose of serving in the army or working in men’s jobs
for breadwinning was seen as appropriate
and even to a certain extent admissible. Not surprisingly, from the limited evidence we have, male
cross-dressers do not seem to have enjoyed the same
kind of sympathy or approval. Although köçek - men who posed as women for entertainment purposes - provide a counterexample from Ottoman history, blurring the boundaries between the masculine and
the feminine and challenging societal
expectations regarding normative gender was a serious matter. For the most part, a man attempting to pass as a woman for any
reason was deemed not only indecent and morally unacceptable, but at the same
time threatening to public security and order. An account from nearly fifty years before appeared in the daily
newspaper Ceride-i Havadis on 15 December
1858 providing the full text of a report (ilmühaber) issued by the İstanbul police (Bab-ı Zabtiye) demonstrates
how a cross-dressed working man was treated in İstanbul.
Referred to by the gender bending name Kız Halil Bey, the man, in his thirties and apparently single, lived with his mother and female slave (cariye) in the Sultan Selim neighborhood of Istanbul. He was arrested by the zabtiyes upon leaving the
Örücüler bathhouse (hamam) located near
the Grand Bazaar with a bundle (bohça)
in his arm. It is unclear why the police suspected Kız Halil Bey in the first place. He was dressed up head to toe in women’s clothes,
wearing a ferace (overmantle) and yaşmak (light colored veil worn over the
head) with çetik chaussures (a kind
of flat-heeled footwear) accompanied by star-shaped diamond earrings and a
scarf (yemeni) with needle lace. The report further described his smooth, beautiful face whitened with ceruse (düzgün), kohled
eyebrows, and hennaed fingers, not to mention his feminine comportment. In short, Kız
Halil Bey was exactly like a woman. The police even hesitated
for a moment when he was taken to the police station since his braids of hair stretched below his waist in a way that would arouse jealousy even among women.
It is impossible to know if Kız Halil Bey was subjected to a
physical examination at the police station. He himself at the very beginning might have stated that he was a man, thus rendering a close examination of his private parts
unnecessary. In any case, the police eventually came to a conclusion about his
sex and questioned him about this impropriety. His response was indeed quite simple.
He was earning a living as a bohçacı
(cloth peddler), an occupation specifically reserved for women, and the bundle of feminine wear that he carried when he was arrested was the clear evidence of his employment in this occupation. To confirm this point, the women working at the
Örücüler bathhouse were summoned and the police asked whether they were acquainted with the
detained person. At this point Kız Halil Bey must still have been in female attire as
they unhesitatingly said, “She is our customer Huriye Hanım. She frequents the
bathhouse, we wash her and braid her hair. We know her.” (Hamamımızın müşterisi Huriye Hanımdır gelir yıkarız ve saçlarını öreriz
çıkar gider bir hanımdır biliriz) After a while, however, when they saw Kız
Halil Bey in men’s clothes, they were surprised yet nevertheless remained convinced that the person in front of them was Huriye Hanım. Rather than think their female customer had actually been a man, they seemed to think their Huriye Hanım had suddenly become a man, saying “Oh! Did this lady become a man now?” (Vay şimdi bu hanım erkek mi oldu).
Apparently Kız Halil Bey, alias Huriye Hanım, was so
convincing in his appearance that even the female employees of the bathhouse had
failed to notice that the person they had washed was a man. Of course his undeniable
success in transvestism would be of no use to mitigate his offense and not save
him from being charged with corrupt practices. According to the police, the
motivation of a sharp man like him (kart
herif) to masquerade himself for a long time as a cloth-peddler in female attire and in this way deceive guileless women was obvious: to steal. Although this man had entered areas reserved for women, areas most off-access to the male gaze, it seems that the police were preoccupied neither with the moral nor with the sexual connotations of his transgression of gendered space. Perhaps it was because they found him quite effeminate or maybe they merely found it inconvenient to bring such a vexing issue to public attention. Whatever the case, they were obsessed with theft. And for this reason, after providing a brief description of
his appearance–a person of average height, slim and well-shaped (narin ve mevzun yapılı) with black eyes-
they invited any woman who knew him and who had recently lost anything to come to the Bab-ı Zabtiye to identify Kız Halil Bey
and testify before the interrogation council.
We do not know what finally happened to this unfortunate, beautiful man. We
can guess the amount of trouble he was in with the police as the report
announced that he would be interrogated again to bring out his real intention. Was
he indeed a thief as the police presumed? Did he manage to convince the police
that he was just a cross-dressed cloth-peddler? Were his family members and friends aware of what he was doing? The epithet of “kız”
(girl) is also worth thinking about since it is not clear whether he was already called this in his neighborhood or whether the police added this term at the police
station to characterize him. More importantly, what were his feelings about his
body and sexual identity? There is no way to provide answer to any of these
questions.
But these two cases do reveal some very interesting dynamics related to the performance of gender identities in the 19th and early 20th century Ottoman world. In both the stories from Servet-i Fünun and the case of Kız Halil Bey, labor played a crucial role in the performance and justification of certain gender identities. Servet-i Fünun evoked a tone of admiration while bringing news of hardworking cartdrivers thought to be men and revealed to be women to Ottoman readers, and Kız Halil Bey explained his clothing and long hair to police as a function of work. How else was he to sell his wares?
[1] Adil
Baktıaya, “İki Kadının Eksik Kalan Tuhaf Hikâyeleri: Asker Ayşe, Hanko Hanım ve
‘Toplumsal Erkekler’,” in Toplumsal Tarih,
no. 231 (March 2013): 20-27. Baktıaya also elaborates on the Balkan man-woman,
known also as “sworn virgins,” an ancient customary practice of female-to-male
gender change.
Sources: Servet-i Fünun, no. 769, cilt 30, 5 Kanunisani 1321 (18 January 1906)
Ceride-i Havadis, no. 914, 9 Ca 1275 (15 December 1858)
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