Petraki Han – A memoir by Francis Xavier Calleja (1892-1970).

Petraki Han – A memoir by Francis Xavier Calleja (1892-1970).

Frank Calleja, c.1968

This is the charming memoir of a childhood spent in No.4 Petraki Han, Constantinople. It was written by my grandfather’s first cousin, Frank, (Francis Xavier Calleja) in the 1960s when he was by then living in a little flat in West Kensington, London.

The place he describes, Petraki Han, is a 19th century apartment block directly facing one of Istanbul’s most famous landmarks, the Galata Tower.  Frank was born in 1892 to Maltese parents and lived in Petraki Han for nearly 40 years until the early 1930s.

 

Petraki Han: A memoir by Francis Xavier Calleja (1892-1970).

Translated from the French manuscript by Judith Mulcahy and Esmé Clutterbuck. Transcribed and edited by Angela Fry with explanatory notes and comments in […].

These two words, one Greek, the other Turkish, would make no sense to those who do not belong to this region where races and languages eternally dance their ludicrous saraband, these words, which are indifferent to those who read them, yet so soft upon my ear, so full of charm for me and so rich with memories, these are the names of the house where we lived for more than forty years. We, who are we? We! were my maternal grandparents, my parents, four aunts, my three dear sisters and myself. A matriarchal family one would say.

The occupants of No. 4 Petraki Han c. 1905. L-R back row standing: Emily, Josephine, Hortense Callus, Frank Calleja. L-R middle sitting: Therése Callus, Elise, Marie and Joseph Calleja. Front L-R: Irma, Lydia and Elvira Calleja. The second grandmother, Marie Ann Callus, is not present.

Nowadays families so closely linked by a reciprocal affection, by the same fear of God, by a respect for traditions and by a feeling of duty towards family, are few, and the description of such will perhaps make the youth of today laugh.

But it is in this old fashioned and charming setting that the principal events of my childhood, adolescence and a good part of my youth took place. It is this dear chapter of my memoir which I will try to describe.

“Petraki Han” witnessed my first steps, my first words, my first tears. Petraki Han! Magic words to the memories, which you see, awakened in my soul, are magic words to the gentle ghosts of the past and which inhabit my solitude. Be blessed!

Those who are no longer, and whose names are written on my heart in letters of fire; those who are living still, but whom life has thrown to the four corners of the earth, those, the living and the dead will understand me. The others, strangers who read these lines, these indifferent lines, these stringless guitars as I call them from whom no sound echoes, they will smile perhaps and certainly treat me as a romantic.

Aerial view of Galata. Source: SALT online.

The Petraki Han was situated next to the old Genoese tower of Galata, which formed the Northern limit of the ancient province of the Genoese Republic. There stood the old walls, of which a few vestiges remain still today, starting from the tower and descending on one side towards the Golden Horn and on the other side towards the Bosphorus which encircled the ancient quarters of Galata. These quarters had previously formed, before Byzantium, this part of the small, wealthy republic, which used to face the commercial and less wealthy Venetian Province [Province Vénitienne], which was to be found on the other side of the waters of the Golden Horn.

Galata Tower and remaining Genoese walls 1880

Our house was a great square building on five floors, without any adjoining building. Its large terraced roof, like those popular in the orient, was famed in our close circle for the fresh air and the marvelous spectacle of the view.

Petraki Han apartment building opposite the Galata Tower, 2012.

View to the east to Asian shore and Bosphoros.

 

To the east one could see the Bosphorus, with the Asiatic Coast and the beautiful Haidar Pasha station with its turrets reflected in the Sea of Marmara, further off the Moda holiday resort, and in the distance, fading in the mist one can make out the almost green isle of Fanaraki by its great lighthouse.

View south of the British Seaman’s Hospital, Galata bridge and old Stamboul with the Sea of Marmara  beyond.

 

 

To the south and in the foreground is the English hospital, an architecturally imposing building a bit like a Scottish medieval chateau, behind which tranquilly flows the Golden Horn with its two bridges, those of Galata and Azap Kapisi which in the Caucasian language we used to call “the old bridge”. In the background there was Istanbul with its high hills on top of which are the famous mosques silhouetted against the blue sky with their elegant minarets in white marble. Sometimes in the evening in the moonlight you can pick out behind Istanbul a strip of silver, the Sea of Marmara.

To the west of our house, we have the tower of Galata which hides a lot from us but which at least protects us from the winds from the west, the Tarsanali. Further away the populous working districts of Pera spread out in terraces offering us a view of a jumble of disparate houses, irregular roofs and chimney-stacks.

Galata Tower with Petraki Han on the left c.1918.

This Petraki Han despite fleeting memories, all the same had nothing attractive about it. It was one of these large houses made into flats in a very modest area inhabited only by the lower bourgeoisie without any great wealth, whereas at the beginning and when my family first lived there, the flat was new. I was only 2 then and all my sisters were born there. [Ed. Petraki Han was built around 1895 following a major fire which destroyed most of the buildings in the area]. Thanks to a landlord who was only really interested in the rent, the upkeep of this flat like many others of the same sort, was left to tenants to look after. In the summer we were literally suffocated by a very strong smell which used to penetrate the building caused by a colony of feral cats who lived in the cellars and left the remnants of their food there. The staircases were so dark we used to go up them on all fours because we had an inexplicable fear of going past the large doors that went over the road [Ed. I am not clear what this refers to as the staircases went up the centre of the building, see floor plan below. They were adjacent to a lightwell]. In the evening a smoking gas lamp lit every landing. In winter most of the time, a strong wind whistled and blew through the slightly ajar back door putting out the lamps.  That, for us children made the stairwell all the more sinister and mysterious.

Armenian porter by Edmondo de Amicis, 1883

The old porter, Simon, an Armenian, did not give us cause [for concern?]. He used to wear blue billowing culottes and a Brandebouga gilet, had tufts of hennaed hair sprouting either side of the “Chechia” planted on his head [Ed. a type of Islamic hat] and was nearly always in his little place near the entrance crouched down on an old divan, a trail of smoke coming from his nargile [Turkish water pipe] watching all the comings and goings from the house.

Old ugly incorrigible darling that he was, old Simon was however a really good man. He would ceremoniously accompany the proprietor when he came to collect the rent and always enquired after the tenants’ needs, which despite his promises he always managed to forget. “Something wrong with the kitchen, well how can that possibly be?” “The windows won’t shut you say? But of course we will do everything necessary”. And in a voice that did not admit of a reply, the proprietor gave orders to the faithful Simon who cried out to the Guardian, repeating without ceasing “Pek eyi Efendius! Pek eyi efendius!” [Ed. – sic – Turkish pek iyi Efendi “very good Master”], but naturally he never did anything. These two characters were something of a comedy act.

In spite of the odour from the cats, the dark stairwell and old Simon, the flat where we lived on the second floor was for us sanctuary, where surrounded by the affection of our family we lived happily and carefree. There were cares obviously, certainly there were and many of them, but at this time, they were only ones which our parents took notice of and they did everything possible to protect us from them. The family was large and although the cost of living wasn’t very high we never had anything spare. We couldn’t afford any extras without it having an impact.

Original floor plan of Petraki Han. Source: MA Thesis by
Dilsad Gözübüyük Melek, 2004.

Entering into our house at no. 4 you found yourself in a little rectangular hallway which was quite dark in high summer but practically black in winter. The little light that there was came from two tiny windows one from the living room on the left and one from the dining room opposite, one being completely covered in the winter by heavy door hangings made from wool from Smyrna which father had a penchant for; he had them in all the bedrooms. In summer we took them all down because of the heat and fear of mites. All curtains and rugs were put in a large trunk with naptholine. At the end of October and the beginning of November we began to decorate the apartment again. Everything needed to be ready by the 19th this being a big name day for our good mother. [Ed: The name day is a tradition in some catholic and Eastern orthodox countries. It is similar to a birthday but celebrates the feast day of the named saint, in this case St Elizabeth of Hungary].  Curtains, carpets, trinkets and all other fripperies had to be put back in place for the little ones, and I believe for the big ones as well, an event we always looked forward to! When everything was ready we used to come into the living room on tip toes, proud of our carpet from Brussels, of our beautiful piano, of our large “Glace de St Gobain” [type of mirror], which nearly took up all the height of the room, our Louis XIV furniture which came from our grandfather, and an assortment of goblets and liqueur glasses which at this time were the joy of the whole family. In fact this living room had the air of a museum within which you couldn’t circulate very easily, nothing like this these days.

Cartoon of a Western style 19th century interior. Source: Dilsad Gözübüyük Melek, 2004.

I loved our living room, I took refuge in it but took great pleasure in it when I was bigger and started to learn the piano and with my sisters we received many friends. When we were still little and there were lots of people in it, we were only ever allowed to stay long enough to say hello to the ladies and then sent politely away. This was still the time when children weren’t allowed to hear conversations.

Elvira at the piano with sisters and friends c. 1918.

On Sunday evenings in the winter, our father used to play the violin accompanied at the piano by one of the aunts. The modern cacophony called music hadn’t yet made an appearance. This was Viennese waltzes, ballades and nocturnes which charmed the ears of us children. It’s true that this music sometimes made me cry. I sometimes went and hid behind the curtain in my mother’s bedroom, which adjoined the living room. Here no one ever thought to look for me, I could listen while sobbing to the “Song of love”, “After the ball”, “Always and never” or “The military silence” and why was I crying? I wasn’t unhappy, if it’s ever possible at that age, it was a manifestation of the mind, in this day of isms it was something like sentimentalism if it was ever that simple, but what drove me to these sudden melancholic crises, these reminiscences of the mind, in a life that was neither happy nor unhappy? Was it a premonition of what my life was to be later; the agonising passing of time? Could I already have enlisted that that very instant of our lives, once it’s gone is irremediably lost forever? In summary this little living room, which was all orderly, discrete and intimate, will always remain vivid in my memory.

House party Aug 1918.

So it was a wrench when later, when our father died, we had to separate. When we had to sell off all our family heirlooms it was a catastrophe not because of the material value but for sentimental reasons; we lost all these things and the memories attached to them.

Frank’s father, Joseph Calleja

So in order to continue the description of our flat, next to the living room and adjoining was my parents’ bedroom. I can still see when I think about it, the large bed back against the centre of the wall of the room, surmounted by a large canopy with curtains on either side of lace, white like snow; this bed which assisted most of our entrances to this world and was later the witness to the partings of him that I loved. He suffered atrociously and finally left for another world, supposedly a better world, in the pursuit of modest but unrealised dreams. The bed was taken apart and sold to an old antiques dealer as soon as my father left. [Ed. Joseph Calleja died 16 Sept 1930 and is buried in Ferikoy Latin Cemetery].

On the side a little further away in a corner, there was a little bed. This was mine until the age of eight. I was its first occupant and it then became the bed of all my young sisters until the age of eight. One of the sides came down but as I was a bit of a sleepwalker and could not stay still, and was restless even when sleeping, my parents always kept it shut. The ultra religious education at school as well as at home made me a bit of a mystic. I always dreamed of Jesus and the Madonna, the angels with their wings and halos of gold and standing upright in my bed draped in my long white night shirt and although in a deep sleep would whisper unintelligible prayers to the Lady of the Rosary who was at my bedside. My good mother, still awake, used to approach trying not to frighten me and would very carefully calm me down, arrange my blankets and kiss me. I remember this as clearly as if it was yesterday. Such a long time has passed since and this guardian angel who was my mum is no more and has been at rest for a long time now in the little cemetery at Ferikeuy, still very raw in my emotions.

Parnasse studio front

Frank’s sister, Irma with her parents and Aunt Josephine, probably first communion. Date c. 1905.

Later on and when it was my younger sisters’ turn to share my mother’s room, they prepared me a little corner in another room which [?] overlooked a large light well [clair voie – a partition that lets light in]. This room was divided in two. Father constructed a large cupboard with two shelves, which took up a good quarter of the room. All the clutter that all houses collect were gathered there.

A little dressing table and chair were the other bits of furniture in it. In the winter it was so dark we had to have a lamp on all the time even in the middle of the day. Despite this, it was in this little room that I spent my best years, first my school years and then my college years, which meant I spent long hours studying there in the evenings often until eleven o’clock. My little sister used to come in and being a bit of a tease, would come in on tip toe, tickle my ears and then scream to frighten me. This invariably came to a bad end and my sister used to leave crying. Later on, after the college years and the start of my life, my small and modest room continued to represent for me the saint of saints where I still sought refuge with delight.

Frank as young man. Source: J Neave.

The rest of the flat was occupied by my aunts and my young sisters. One large room in the corner looked out on the northwest side, this was my sisters’ room. In the winter it was a real ice box. When we had a lot of snow the wind whistled and sometimes the snow came through the cracks in the windows, which like the rest of the building, never shut properly. At the beginning of the winter we always tried to seal up the windows but the wind always got through to the great despair of my young sisters and the aunts who felt the cold. This room however, although very exposed to the intemperate climate, was to us children the loveliest room which after big snowfalls we got up to admire the blanket of snow and marvelous ice arabesques.

Terliks or handmade Turkish slippers. Source: Etsy.

For the adults and for the children, the harsh winters of Constantinople constituted an important event; Mum and the aunts plunged themselves into their crafts and looked for bits of woollen material, and under lamplight proceeded to make the “terlicks” [Ed. sic. Turkish word is terlik], little slippers to wear outside […] so as not to slip on the ice. The streets, particularly in the little passageways where we lived, were all downhill and treacherous in the winter.

Life at this time was relatively easy. People mostly stayed at home in bad weather and when the snows came, schools were shut and offices too because of the lack of transport. So in nearly every house families gathered together around a brazier to roast chestnuts in a big pan with roast potatoes in the ashes, eating them all smoking.

Winter streets of Istanbul

Our dining room was in the centre of the flat and adjoined directly every bedroom. I can see it now thinking about it, this central room with its old furniture and tapestries of flowers, where in the evening after a laborious day we all gathered around the large table. How could I ever express what I feel about these intimate evenings. On Saturday night in particular, because the next day was a feast day and we didn’t have to get up early, we extended our evenings to the early hours.

I would read or write, my sisters would be occupied with making embroidery or tapestry while our lovely mum used to sing airs from the opera in a very flute like voice but which still resounds in my ears.

The memory of the night before Christmas those lovely memories of another time are still vivid; when we all used to go to midnight mass at the little church of St. Peter, our parish church [Ed. St Peter and Paul RC Church in Galata].

After the evening meal, always particularly light on that day, we amused ourselves playing dominoes or tombola while waiting for the time when we had to leave for church nearby. Old Aunt Emilie, always the first to signal the time, appeared at eleven thirty, at the door of her bedroom, all ready to go.

Aunt Emily, 1922

It was then when the laughter and teasing began, “Oh Aunt Emilie, you are ready? there’s a good half hour to midnight and the church is only 2 minutes away” but Aunt Emilie didn’t bite, she maintained her composure in all circumstances and said that we shouldn’t run to go and see God but should take our time. And that’s how it was in all things for her until the end of her life, energetic, methodical, and not allowing herself to be impressed or discouraged by anything. She never succumbed to any obstacles.  Her strong character helped her to get through all the vicissitudes of life with courage and there were many of them. She remained always for us a model of a strong and energetic woman, an example to us all.

But coming back to our Christmas Eve, the celebration above all, maintained its particular charm for me, so much so it makes it hard for me to express. When it was time to go to mass, we dressed ourselves warmly and went off with a light step, but carefully because of the snowfall so as not to fall. The road down to the church was steep but that didn’t matter, one fall more or less was of no consequence.

The distance wasn’t great but with the weather dog cold as it always was, we were frozen to our bones, so it was with great relief we went into the little church where there was a large number of the faithful gathered. [There we find] the old organ playing familiar hymns, the large candles on the main alter and the numerous candles on the candelabras making all the precious chalices and sacred vessels twinkle, as well as the tassels on the end of the tapestries that ran around the walls and which were put there to celebrate the great feast day.

Interior of S.S. Peter and Paul RC Church, Galata.

Entering the church on the left, all down the side there was an enormous straw crib, a masterpiece of old vintage in front of which all the faithful were ecstatic. The donkey and the cow were perhaps disproportionate compared to the other figures who peopled this little corner of Galilee made of glue and papier-mâché. The little houses put there were a bit too like Swiss chalets and had nothing of the local colour. Also in among the papier-mâché were a few beautiful dolls all done out in velvet and lace.  It didn’t matter, no one was looking at the details. The impact of the religious manifestation was above all and just blew away any critical thoughts. We were all in agreement it was a really lovely thing.

Once mass finished, or rather the three masses, because we weren’t able to go home alone and our elders wanted to be part of all three, even though we were falling asleep, we found ourselves back in the street where everything was covered in a blanket of snow. The cold woke us up immediately but the idea of a lovely traditional supper waiting for us was enough to help us forget our tiredness.

Kaimak – Turkish delicacy like a clotted cream. source: Wikimedia.

As soon as we got back we all kissed each other and wished each other Happy Christmas and then sat down to table. Oh the lovely smell of foaming hot chocolate and the exquisite cake made by my mum and the famous Turkish kaimak which always appeared on the table on Christmas Eve after mass. It was so simple but so wonderful.

Once the meal was finished, we exchanged good wishes again and then finally, happy and contented, we went to bed not forgetting to place our slippers somewhere obvious so that Jesus could put some nice things and sweets in them that we had earned during the year. Many times I remained disappointed on finding in the morning when I got up, a piece of coal or onion, indisputable proof because it came from Jesus himself, that I had not been good enough which led to floods of tears, but all swept away when mother suggested that if I made amends, and promised to be good then little Jesus might change his mind – which was always the case!

“Oh, our early days! what would we have become without them?” as Alfred de Musset said in his famous elegy. [Ed. Possibly this refers to the quote “A lively retrospect summons back to us once more our youth, with vivid reflections of its early joys and unstained pleasures.”] I confess it without any embarrassment, I believed in this little legend of Jesus for a long time and in Father Christmas bringing presents to little children who were good and when the time came when I couldn’t believe it any more, it was if there was a real tear (wrench?) inside me, I felt a bit of poetry disappear out of my life and a bit of resentment at having been misled for so long.

In the summer on holidays we assembled on our large terrace with all the people who lived in the block. The adults formed little groups, some chatting, talking politics or fashion [fanfreluches]. The children played ball or flew kites. Sometimes we played “Four corners” [a children’s game] or we danced and sang the old song about le pont d’Avignon. Normally I didn’t join in much with the others; I preferred to shrink into a corner or perch on a wall, my nose in a book. I had a real liking for pink headed books from the library like Le Gribouille or Le General Dourakine or Le Petite Comtesse that I read or reread many times. [These were childrens books written by la Comtesse de Segur born Rostopchine, daughter of the governor of Moskow. She wrote them for her grand children and they were published in a special collection with a red-pink color cover]. These stories from my childhood engrossed me to such an extent that the world around didn’t exist for me anymore. It also meant that I was really annoyed when from a very nearby place I could hear my father or mother’s voice calling me down for a meal.

We gathered together our bits and pieces and went down making a lot of noise on the iron staircase which led from the last floor onto the terrace. Later on this terrace at Petraki was witness to a little love affair without any [good] end it’s true, but which I always remember with much emotion.

Left and Centre – on the roof terrace, with Galata tower just visible. Right – Lydia with puppy (is this Mapi? see below), c. 1920s.

One evening by moonlight I took my little white terrier, “Mapi”, a dog who was afraid of everything and everyone, even his own shadow made him tremble and he would not be comforted. Probably to hide his inferiority complex he made an infernal noise barking at everything everywhere. Some new tenants came to occupy number 7, a German family who were very distinguished, composed of a father, mother, and two young girls, and a young man who was, it seemed at that time, the darling of all the women and young girls of Perote society which meant we never saw him. As always we were very curious to see the new arrivals and that evening my wish was granted thanks to my little dog. The terrace was deserted except for the two young German girls who were alone and admiring the beautiful panorama of the Golden Horn and the minarets bathed in moonlight.

View from the terrace. Image c/o https://www.istanbulplace.com/

Etiquette didn’t permit me to approach them, when my dog, approached by a fly ran towards them furiously barking. I shut him up and went up to them to apologise, which allowed me to present myself and make acquaintances of these two charming sisters. I was immediately attracted to the diaphanous beauty of the older one. She was blonde, very slender, with big grey eyes and a Madonna like look that I would never forget. I don’t know why blondes have always held so much attraction for me because they’ve never brought me much happiness.

Briefly that evening, the great sentimentalist I’ve always been, felt his heart beat a little bit faster and a little more softly. Following that, our respective families got to know each other and met up quite often. Sometimes when we were alone my blonde friend played me waltzes and Chopin nocturnes, which she knew how to embellish.

Both of us had dreams that were never to be realised. The war of 1914-18 arrived to put a stop to our idyll. Forced to leave the country I took refuge in my uncle’s place in Bucharest. [Ed. as Turkey sided with Germany in WW1, the family being British subjects were considered “enemy aliens” and the men risked internment. It was decided they would leave for Romania to stay with Joseph’s brother Octavius Calleja until it was safe to return]. During the first months of my exile I received touching letters but later on our correspondences became rarer and then ceased completely. I heard nothing more about her until my return to Constantinople after the war where I learned that she had married a Swiss German who had lived in our place. This is how the little love affair born on a Petraki rooftop terrace by moonlight ended.

Another memory amongst all the others, is that of the 1st September, the feast day of S.M. Abdul Hamid, given the name The Red Sultan.

Fireworks from the Bosphorus bridge in Istanbul. © Photo by Nightstallion03

This day was celebrated every year with great aplomb and significance. [Sept 1st is start of a 4 day public national holiday in Turkey. Called the Sacrifice Feast it commemorates the story of Abraham displaying his obedience to God by offering to sacrifice his son]. The whole of Constantinople was on its feet with parades, military music, and great pomp. In the evening all the public buildings, the palaces, the bridges, the mosques were resplendent with light. Hundreds of lanterns were lit with large candles because even though SM [the Sultan] had electricity within his palace at Yildiz, he refused to allow it for the people in the capital. In the daytime of the 1 September we climbed onto our roof to watch the “karakaula” or guardian of the [Galata] tower set up his decorations with flags and lanterns.

Galata Tower lit up. Image © Ilkin Karacun.

In the upper part of this colossal edifice, a red light was perched. From where we were it gave the impression of little devils up to some sort of mysterious work and our hearts trembled to see it.

In the evening our terrace became the rendezvous for the whole apartment block, from where we would watch everyone circulating all along the Corniche.

Before going up to meet our friends, our father brought down from the old cupboard little packets all wrapped up in paper, where they had been stowed away for several days. We all knew what they contained. We were really proud of possessing Bengal fires, roman candles and firecrackers. Equipped with all these things, we hastily climbed the three floors and let off the firecrackers. Indeed we had great fun at that time and age had nothing to do with it, because the adults had as much fun as the youngsters.

Panorama of Istanbul looking South from the Galata Tower, c. 1877.

I have tried basing things uniquely on my memory, to give you as accurate description as possible of our life in no 4 Petraki Han.  I have simply decided to mention certain events which I remember very clearly and which made an indelible impression on me. I’ve never intended to put a whitewash on all our daily lives. For forty years a large amount of work and an absence of notes has made this impossible to write and it wouldn’t have interested anyone.

Callus/Calleja family group 1922. Back standing-Hortense-Therese-Frank-Lydia-Harry-Emily-Josephine. Front sitting-Elise-Irma-Elivra-Joseph

In conclusion I would say after 60 years I have only to close my eyes to see it all again. The day when we left the place which saw us all born, where we left this great apartment standing alone and empty – YES empty! But so many memories.

This has been a sort of pilgrimage across the rooms, the desolate empty rooms, a real Stations of the Cross. I’ve stopped at each one and alone with myself I have tried to condense everything that’s been in my spirit; all the events I’ve witnessed. Thus plunged into reminiscing about a happy past I found myself called by the porters who demanded the keys and wanted to lock the apartment. I’ve now left and must never go back there.

Petraki Han side entrance

Today a long way from this place (and there have been a large number of occupants who have gone through towards a better life), all I can do is put my thoughts about Petraki Han on paper and what has happened in front of my eyes is a magnificent vision, a kaleidoscope of marvelous forms which have crystallised in such a way that I’ve had difficulty in discriminating between the past and the present. What has unfurled in front of my eyes is so real that I refuse to believe that the past is really past.

All our acts, all our thoughts, our secrets, our desires, our emotions, all of these are manifestations of our spiritual being which is always there. We form a sort of backdrop in front of which inexorably we are all pushed by destiny and advance without respite and without hope.

The End

Acknowledgements

My thanks go to: Esmé Clutterbuck for sharing Frank’s manuscripts and many family photos, Jude Mulcahy for translating the document into English, Jeremy Neave and Moira McGrother for additional family photos.

Further Information

Daily Sabah, 2017, Magic Slippers: Tales of the Turkish “Terlik”: https://www.dailysabah.com/expat-corner/2017/08/11/magic-slippers-tales-of-the-turkish-terlik

Sultan Abdül Hamid – Hero or villain?

Gözübüyük Melek, Dilsad, (Dec. 2004), New Interpretations of Domestic Space and Life: the Emergence of Apartment Buildings in 19th Century Istanbul. MA Thesis submitted to the Graduate School of Social Science of Middle East Technical University.

In recent years Petraki Han has been fully renovated and a number of the apartments are now available for holiday lets. Modern and luxurious, many original features have also been retained and visitors have free access to the wonderful roof terrace. Go to Istanbul Place Apartments for more details.

 

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The Callus Family of Constantinople in the Mid to Late 19th Century

The Callus Family of Constantinople in the Mid to Late 19th Century

View of Galata from Stamboul. Source: Collection of Maggie Land Blank.

My Great Great Grandparents Andrea Callus and Marie Ann Griscti married in Constantinople in 1848. Both were born in Malta but arrived in the Ottoman Empire as part of a wave of Maltese migration in the first half of the 19th century. In my earlier post on the Maltese community in Constantinople/Istanbul, I described some of the social conditions of their life there. In this episode I will set out a bit more about their family life.

Karakoy Square. Source: Collection of MaggieLand Blank.

Andrea Callus

Andrea was born in 1811 in the town of Cittá Rohan or Żebbuġ in Malta. He migrated to Constantinople in 1829 when he was about 18. Parish records indicate he was a ship chandler but I have not been able to locate any further details in the trade directories of the period. Andrea was about 38 when he married Marie Ann, but it is said they had a model marriage which lasted nearly 50 years!

Marie Ann Griscti

Portrait thought to be Marie Ann Callus nee Griscti c. 1860s

Marie Ann (always Marie Ann in parish records but she may have been known just as Marie at home), was part of a large extended family from Malta who originally migrated to Smyrna (modern day Izmir) around the same time as Andrea. The family moved to Constantinople in 1843 when she was about 12. Her father Joseph was, like Andrea, a ship chandler and so also was her first cousin Antonio and her brother John, so it was probably the family business. Their establishment in 18681 was at 26, Rue Gueumruk (see map below), which is very near the quay by the Galata bridge. At this time her brother Emmanuel had a forge in Rue Chiché Hane but in 1896, he had a shop at no. 19 Rue Gueumruk specialising in rubber goods.

Click here to enlarge: Annotated map of Galata and Pera 1905 pdf (opens in new window).

In the 1860s Antonio and Emmanuel Griscti lived in Rue Chiché Hane, in different abodes with another Callos (sic) as a neighbour. It seems quite likely therefore that Andrea and Marie Ann also lived nearby, as families in these communities liked to stay together. They all attended the parish church of St Peter and St Paul which is on Rue Koule Dibi, near the Galata Tower.

The genealogy of Marie Ann’s Griscti family can be found on the Griscti and Diacono pages of this website.

Marriage and Family Life

Andrea and Marie Ann were married on 4 September 1848 at S.S. Peter and Paul RC Church in Galata. The witnesses were Marie Ann’s brother John Griscti and Andrea Maresia.

They went on to have fourteen children so Marie Ann must have spent the most part of her married life either pregnant or nursing! Tragically the first three children died in infancy, Joseph in his first year, Georgio at age 2 and Anna Maria within a few days. It must have been incredibly hard to bear. My Great Grandfather Henri was the first to survive to adulthood. She then had a stillbirth followed by more survivors. Later another two children died in infancy, so she lost six children in all. This was not uncommon for the period before the availability of childhood vaccinations or any kind of state supported health care. Istanbul was a crowded city with regular outbreaks of terrible diseases like cholera and typhus which also took its toll on families. All the children were baptised at S.S. Peter and Paul parish church.

The eight children who survived into adulthood were:

Henri Joseph born 28 March 1854.

Henri J. Callus c. 1900

Henri was the first child to survive into adulthood and was my Great Grandfather. He moved to London around 1870 to train as a marine engineer and lived for a while in Greenwich in London where it appears he worked for the Thames Iron and Shipbuilding Co. in Blackwall.

Later he moved to Cardiff and worked as chief engineer in the merchant navy on various tramp steamers traveling around the Mediterranean and to places like the Baltic.

However he maintained close contact with his family in Constantinople and visited whenever he could such as for important family occasions. He also met his sweetheart Christina Pouhalski (aka Puchalski) in Constantinople and somehow managed to continue his courtship from the UK, eventually returning to marry her in September 1884 at S.S. Peter and Paul RC church in Galata, Constantinople. They then settled in Cardiff and had 5 sons.

Emilia Vincentia (known as Emily) born 28 May 1857

Emily Callus c. 1878

Emily was the first daughter to survive into adulthood. She never married and lived all her life with her sisters. For over 30 years she lived in the apartment building known as Petraki Han, opposite the famous landmark the Galata Tower.

Emily and “the princess” c. 1915-20.

She worked as a teacher and governess. One of her charges was a little girl they called “the princess” but no one knows if this was just a pet name or her real status! She was also Godmother to her little brother Alexander known as “Alfred” who died at the age of 3 in 1874.

Around 1930 Emily left Constantinople to go and live in Malta with her nephew and two of her sisters. She died there on 6 January 1936 aged 78.

Edouard Emmanuel born 27 March 1859

Like Henri, Edouard moved to England as a young man to train as a marine engineer and then worked for the merchant navy. He lived in Gillingham in Kent and on 4 January 1886 married Ada Johnson at Chatham in Kent. Tragically on 3 April that same year he was admitted to  Angelton Hospital County Asylum in Bridgend, Mid Glamorgan (later known as Glan Rhyd Hospital) suffering from acute melancholia and “General Paralysis”(of the Insane)2.  At this time, the link with syphilis was unproven but suspected due to its prevalence in the military and in men in their 30s and 40s living in port towns and urban centres.

Edouard’s admission report described him as of medium height 5’4″, weighing 8 1/2 stone and with black hair and a sallow complexion. It indicates he had been exhibiting symptoms for 2 months. This means it must have become evident almost straight after his marriage!  It also states he had a brother as next of kin and had been staying in Cardiff, so Henri must have had him admitted.

This Asylum had a good reputation as a progressive institution with a non-restraint policy3, but sadly for Edouard, his was a terminal illness with little in the way of effective treatment available. He died there in June 1887 aged just 27 and was interred in an unmarked grave in the hospital grounds. It is assumed he died without issue and we do not know what happened to his poor wife. Let’s hope he did not transmit the disease to her! No photo of Edouard has been found. Although his family would have had no knowledge of the cause of his mental illness, in Victorian times there was a pathological fear of “lunacy” and it was deeply stigmatised. As a result he was probably quietly forgotten and never spoken of again.

Therése Angela born 30 January 1861

Therése Callus c.1878

Like Emily, Therése grew up in Constantinople and worked as a teacher or governess. There were many good quality Levantine schools in Pera where she may have taught although it is thought that all the sisters mainly tutored privately for families.

She never married and lived all her life with her sisters. She moved to Malta with Emily and Josephine around 1930 and died 30 May 1948 aged 87.

 

Ernesto Joseph born 28 December 1862

Little is known about Ernesto, except that he was single. We do not even know what he did for a living. Around the 1880s he went to live in Malta, where he returned to the home town of his father in Żebbuġ. What prompted this move we do not know. He may have fallen out with the family or he may have wanted to return to “the homeland” where perhaps there were relatives who could help him find work.

However on 9 September 1890 the British Consul in Constantinople arranged for him to be admitted to a mental health hospital following the manifestation of  symptoms of mania (an old term for bi-polar disorder). Why this required the intervention of the Consul is a bit of a mystery! He remained there for the rest of his life, eventually dying of TB in 1914 aged 52. No photo of him has been found, possibly due to the same reason as Edouard.

Elisabeth Josephina (known as Elise) born 1 December 1864

Elise Callus c.1886

Elise was the only daughter to marry. Her husband, Joseph John Calleja, was the son of another Maltese Levantine family from Constantinople. Joseph’s father was an architect and importer of Maltese and Italian marble. His mother was the daughter of a Sicilian tailor. It is thought that Joseph worked as an administrator for the British government in Constantinople.

L-R: Lydia, Elise, Irma, Frank, Joseph and Elvira Calleja c. 1920.

Elise and Joseph had six children, two of whom died in infancy; Francis Xavier, Elvira (died in her first year), another Elvira, Irma, Edouard (died aged 1) and Lydia.

After Joseph died in 1930 the family had to move out of their apartment at which point, Francis Xavier took three of his aunts to live in Malta. Elise stayed on in Constantinople living with just her younger sister Hortense. She died in 1941 during the 2nd World War and is buried with Joseph in the Ferikoy Latin cemetery in Istanbul.

Joséphine Maria born 2 May 1869

Joséphine Callus c.1905

Joséphine was the third unmarried daughter who worked as a teacher or governess in Constantinople and returned to Malta with her sisters. Little else is known about her although a few photos survive. She died 6 June 1942.

 

 

 

Rosalia Ortentia (known as Hortense) born 10 November 1875

Hortense Callus c. 1895

Hortense was the last child of Andrea and Marie Ann. Her godfather was her brother Henri who was more than 20 years her elder. A number of letters between her and Henri and his son Arthur survive suggesting she was the one who maintained strongest contact with Henri’s Cardiff family. During WW1, Turkey and the UK were on opposing sides and the two families were cut off from any news of each other. Two very brief and poignant telegrams between them trying to find out if everyone was alright, now rest in The National Archives in Kew, London4, because these had to pass through the British Government’s War Office.

Hortense c. 1920

Hortense was also a teacher and never married. She stayed in Constantinople for most of her life, eventually moving to Portsmouth in England to be near her niece Lydia, after the death of her older sister Elise in 1941. Exactly when she moved is not known. She may have had to wait until the end of WW2. She died in 1950 and is buried in Portsmouth.

Andrea and Marie Ann – End Days

As for their parents, in the dying days of the 19th century, they moved with their four spinster daughters, their married daughter Elise and her family and mother in law, into a rather smart apartment block facing the Galata Tower called Petraki Han. The lease was taken by Andrea’s son-in-law Joseph Calleja. My earlier assumption was that the family had done rather well to be able to afford this place. Certainly members of Marie Ann’s family had become very wealthy but the likelihood is that actually the Callus family were somewhat poorer. They were more likely to have been what Theresa May would describe as ‘Just about managing!’  Recently a family memoir of life in this apartment has come to light which I plan to publish in due course.

Andrea died at Petraki Han in Constantinople at the grand old age of 87 in 1898 and Marie Ann died in 1908, aged about 78. Their funeral notices are shown below. They were both buried in temporary graves in Ferikoy Latin RC cemetery which are now lost.

Andrea Callus’s funeral card 1898 c/o Moira McGrother.

 

Marie Ann Callus’s funeral card 1908 c/o Moira McGrother.

 

Acknowledgements

My thanks to Francis and Irina Osborn for their initial searches in S.S. Peter & Paul parish records, Moira McGrother and Esmé Clutterbuck for family documents and photos,  Marie Ann Marandet for multiple parish record searches.

Sources

1 L’Indicateur Oriental Annuaire du Commerce (various eds. 1868-95). SALT Galata, Research at http://saltresearch.org/primo_library/libweb/action/search.do?vid=salt&dscnt=0&dstmp=1521833686969&backFromPreferences=true

2 Glamorgan County Records Office, Cardiff. Website: https://glamarchives.gov.uk/

3 An account of the grounds and care regime at the Bridgend County Asylum (Angelton/Glan Rhyd) https://hchroniclesblog.wordpress.com/2013/09/09/bridgend-asylums-south-wales/

4 The National Archives – Foreign Office (1917), Turkey: Prisoners of War and Aliens Dept: General Correspondence from 1906, Ref. FO 383/344.

 

Polish Exiles in Istanbul: Living with the Levantines

Polish Exiles in Istanbul: Living with the Levantines

In this third chapter on my Great Great Grandfather Theodore Puchalski’s revolutionary adventures, I focus on his final exile to Istanbul in the Ottoman Empire. Theodore arrived in Istanbul around 1850 and spent the rest of his life there. Although very little documentary evidence about him survives, his life can to some extent be re-imagined through the evidence of other Polish exiles and the events that took place which he would have been a part of.

Arrival in Istanbul

Many of the Poles exiled in France from the 1830-31 revolt took up arms again in 1848 when a tide of Revolts swept across Europe, fighting in campaigns in Italy, Austria and Hungary. We do not know for certain which Theodore joined, except that the vast majority of refugees who ended up in Turkey, were participants of the Hungarian Revolution.

Michał Czajkowski aka Sadyk Pasha. Public domain.

Although initially a refuge, for many Turkey became a permanent home due to its proximity to their main enemy, Russia, and potential further opportunities to make incursions to restore the state of Poland in the future. The Polish government in exile, Hotel Lambert in Paris, did nothing to discourage this and had in fact established the Agency of the Polish Eastern Mission (Agencja Główna Misji  Wschodniej) in Istanbul, headed up by Michał Czajkowski (aka Mehmed Sadik Pasha) to organise the Poles and liaise between Paris and the Sublime Porte (i.e. Ottoman government administration in Istanbul). Michał Czajkowski was the principle negotiator in the purchase of land for the establishment of the Polish colony of Polonezkoy in 1842 and he also established an Ottoman Cossack military unit which saw some action in the Balkans during the Crimean War.

 

Ottoman Cossacks at Shumla 1854 with Sadyk Pasha

In 1850, Czajkowski was a key figure in securing the transfer of Polish refugees to Istanbul from the camp at Shumla in Bulgaria. He and his wife used their house in Cihangir as a receiving centre for the new polish emigrés, acting as a go between for them and the Sublime Porte. Theodore is not listed in the census of Polish refugees in Istanbul which was sent to the Sublime Porte  in March 18501, so he probably arrived a little later.

Polish Life in Pera

Arriving in the European part of the city, Theodore would have found himself living in a real melting pot of different nationalities, religions and cultures. Paulina Dominik’s review of polish emigré experiences in Istanbul2  provides a detailed account of the Polish community that emerged.  Their arrival marked a massive influx on the local Levantine population which was dominated by French and Italian communities. The number of exiles was estimated to be as high as 7000 in the 1850s. However the Turks tended to see all Hungarians, Slavs, Dalmatians, Romanians and Poles etc as one homogeneous group so the actual number of Poles may have been much lower.

Many of them settled in the Pera district (now Beyoğlu) in an area that became known as leh mahallesi (Polish neighbourhood) which formed around the side street Leh Sokagi (Polish Street or Rue de Pologne, now called Nur-i-Ziya) which was just off the Grand Rue de Pera (now Istiklal Kaddesi). This street used to house the Polish legation to the Sublime Porte and later a recruiting office for Poles signing up for the Russo-Ottoman War in 1877. None of these buildings survive today but the street is still there.

Wooden houses typical of Istanbul. Stéphane Passet 1912.

The emigrés also settled in a number of other districts including Tatavla and Yeni Sehir (now Kurtulus) and the village of Bebek on the Bosphorus which was considered a little Polish colony. Here they built their wooden houses in the Polish style. A few also went to the already established Polish community of Polonezkoy about 15km outside the city.

The Polish community were real nationalists and liked to congregate in Polish bars and cafes such as the Bulbul cafe on Grande Rue de Pera and the family homes of compatriots. Here they would listen to poetry recitals, lectures on Polish literature or discuss politics.

Notre Dame de Lourdes (The Georgian church).

They were mostly Roman Catholic. The churches they frequented included St Antony of Padua on the Grande Rue de Pera, which was also popular with the Italian community, the St Esprit Cathedral, situated around Pangalti/Sisli (the composer Donizetti is buried there), and the Georgian church of Notre Dame de Lourdes, also in the Sisli district north of Taksim Square. The first record found for Theodore in 1853 comes from the church of St Mary Draperis, also on Grande Rue de Pera which suggests he lived in Leh Mahallesi neighbourhood. A few years later family records appear in the St Esprit Cathedral in Sisli/Pangalti.

Click on the icons in the map below for the location of some of these Polish haunts.

There was little social contact between the Poles and their Turkish hosts. The Poles were grateful for the support they received from the Turks and saw them as allies, but had no desire for assimilation. A small number of army officers from the Polish campaigns had converted to Islam in order to protect themselves from extradition and probable execution including Michał Czajkowski. The Sultan encouraged this further by offering them lucrative positions in the Ottoman army, the administration and the major industries but it was very unpopular with the rank and file Polish who regarded this as apostasy and a betrayal of their nationalist cause.

The Poles did however successfully integrate with their Levantine neighbours, through their shared Catholicism and political interests. For instance like Theodore, many of the Poles  had lived in exile in France or fought alongside Italians during the 1848 Revolts so were familiar with their languages and traditions too. Marriages between these communities was not uncommon as exemplified by Theodore’s own marriage around 1852-3.

A New Life and Family in Istanbul

Theodore married Angela Ainis (aka Ainisi) who came from Messina in Sicily. She was very young at around 15 years old while he was about 41. The marriage record has not been found but it is assumed from other records that it took place in Istanbul.

So what was Angela doing in Istanbul and how did she get there? The name Ainis turns out to be quite rare and is almost entirely confined to Sicily, specifically around Messina, apart from a few families in Northern Italy and the USA and a small concentration found also in Indonesia! There are civil records online for Messina3 which so far have turned up three birth records for Angela Ainis/Ainissi in Messina, that tally with dates and her age as recorded on her death register. These are:

  1. Angela born 18 February 1836 to Domenico Ainis and Nicoletta Allegra.
  2. Angela born 20 September 1837 to Giuseppe Ainis and Santa de Francesco, occupation trafficante (translates as dealer). At least one child from this family emigrated to the USA. It seems unlikely family members would migrate in opposite directions.
  3. Angela born 27 September 1837 to Rosario Ainis and Emilia Nascio, occupation proprietor (property or business owner).

So, one possibility is that she was the daughter of a family who migrated and became Levantine traders. There was a major industrialist in Messina called Gaetano Ainis, born 1840. According to the Italian National Biography4, he ran a very large textile business, established in the 1830s by his father, with trade links in the Middle East, but at this stage it is impossible to say if there is any connection to the families above.

Another possibility is that her parents joined the 1848 Revolts and also ended up as refugees in Turkey. One of the first of the 1848 Revolts took place in Sicily and particularly focused around Palermo and Messina. As was observed in my last post however, the Italian refugees were largely dispersed to Gallipoli.

I have commented before on the great age disparities seen in marriages of this period which often amounted to contractual arrangements between families.  By modern and particularly western standards, the very young age at which girls were married off would be considered completely inappropriate, but in those days women and children had the status of “chattels” or property and their own wishes and desires were completely subordinate to the patriarch of the family. Their options were very constrained and their financial security was precarious. The circumstances around Theodore and Angela’s marriage are a mystery. It seems unlikely that this was a marriage for love, but was it for status or protection? What perhaps it does tell us is that Theodore had managed to establish himself as a reasonable prospect by 1853. Many of the refugees had nothing more than the clothes they stood up in when they arrived in Istanbul. A man could not expect to find himself a wife unless he had a means of supporting her.

Theodore and Angela went on to have four children:-

St Mary Draperis in Pera where Christina and Leonard were baptised. Photo: Jude Mulcahy

Christina Josephine (my Great Grandmother) was born 9 December 1853. She was baptised on 22 January 1854 at the church of St Mary Draperis in Pera, Istanbul. Her Godparents were Jozef Ratynski and Regina Ozerski.

Sophia (known as Sophie) born 21 July 1857, baptised 9 August 1857  at St Esprit Cathedral. Her Godfather was Joannes (John) Lizorksi or Zicorski and Godmother Zofia Ratynski (nee Gorcynska, Jozef’s wife).

Maria (known as Marie) born 31 July 1860, baptised 11 November 1860 also at St Esprit Cathedral. Her Godparents were Charles and Maria Theobald.

Leonard Roman born 10 February 1867, baptised 24 February at St Mary Draperis. His Godfather was Placido Ainis (possibly a brother, uncle or cousin of Angela) and his Godmother was his eldest sister, Christina.

By all accounts, the family life of the Puchalskis was for many years quite comfortable. My grandma passed down  stories of hunting trips and picnics in the forest which she thought had taken place in Poland but must actually have been in the Belgrade Forest north of Istanbul or around the wooded farmlands of Polonezkoy.

The children appear to have been well educated with all three girls able to read, write and draw fluently, to sew and to play musical instruments. A photo survives somewhere of Christina with a violin while an old letter talks of Marie playing the harp. As was typical of the Levantine families in the eastern Mediterranean, Christina and her siblings spoke several languages. This was of course an absolute necessity when your mother is Italian, your father Polish, and your community French-speaking. It’s believed Christina also spoke Russian. The language she spoke least well was English!

The Ratynski Connection

Jozef and Zofia Ratynski, Godparents to Christina and Sophia Puchalski. Photo c/o G. Buldrini.

The presence of Jozef and Zofia Ratynski as godparents to two of the children is significant and very interesting. Jozef was another Polish refugee from the Hungarian Revolt who became a prominent and very wealthy entrepreneur and member of the Polish establishment in Istanbul, sufficient to warrant an entry in the 47 volume Polish National Biography5. A key question is whether he was chosen to be a godparent as a family friend or as a patron. Often families would ask a parish priest, doctor or a community leader to be a godparent as a sort of insurance policy for the child.

My feeling is that Jozef was a family friend because he and Theodore seem to have had a few more things in common than just their nationality. Jozef was born in Kamieniec Podolski (then part of Greater Poland, now Kamianets-Podilskyi, Ukraine).  According to one family member (Frank Calleja b.1892), the Puchalskis originally came from the Kiev area, also part of Ukraine on the border with Galicia. He and Theodore both started out in Istanbul as woodworkers, Jozef was a carpenter and Theodore was a cabinet maker. These were valuable skills when they arrived because Polish (and Ottoman) houses were always built in wood and the Polish community had to set to work to build their own communities.

As an example, in 1861, the Georgian church, Notre Dame de Lourdes, was built in the Feriköy/Sisli district of Istanbul. Jozef Ratynski is known to have designed and made the altar piece which includes an image of the Black Madonna of Częstochowa which was paid for by the Polish community (Dominik).

Carving of the Madonna of Czestochowa in the Georgian Catholic Church by Ratynski. Source. A Georgian Church in Istanbul

In an interesting blog about this church its author questioned what a Polish altar piece was doing in a Georgian church and this provides the answer!

Henryk Groppler (1822-87).

Jozef Ratynski soon moved on from carpentry. He went into partnership with another Polish emigré called Henryk Groppler. Now Groppler had a house in Bebek that like Michał Czajkowski’s, also acted as a receiving house for new Polish arrivals. It was also renowned as one of the cultural meeting places for Polish recitals and debates. It seems likely therefore that if Theodore knew Ratynski, he must also have come into contact with Groppler, perhaps in the early days of settlement.  Groppler was a watchmaker and jeweller by trade but he and Ratynski branched out and became co-owners of a marble mine in Bandirma, exporting across the Mediterranean. They both became extremely rich to the extent that they were able to buy their own fleet of ships! When eventually the marble trade went into decline, they moved on to mining gypsum.

Polish Politics in Istanbul

Although we have no further documentary evidence on Theodore’s life in Istanbul, an enduring family legend has been that his involvement in the Polish revolts led to him leaving his children in an orphanage for safe keeping. As we can now be fairly sure that Theodore was involved in the two Revolts (1831 and 1848) that took place before any of his children were born, we can safely assume his interest in Polish politics did not disappear when he settled in Istanbul and it is indeed likely that he participated in some way in the later actions.

Crimean War

Adam Mickiewicz 1842. Public domain.

In 1853-56 during the Crimean war, the Polish national poet, political activist and all round national Polish hero Adam Mickiewicz arrived in Istanbul to meet with Michał Czajkowski. His mission was to recruit Poles in support of the Ottomans against Russia. The bigger picture was to remove Russia from Crimea and then move on to reclaim Poland. Consequently Mickiewicz visited and spoke at many of the Polish cultural haunts and would have been a massive draw for patriotic Poles. It seems highly likely Theodore would have attended one of these meetings and Ratynski and Groppler are certainly believed to have been involved. Did Theodore take up arms again, we don’t know? At that time, his wife was expecting their first child, my Great Grandmother Christina. Maybe on this occasion he provided support in some other capacity.

Unfortunately, on 26 November 1855, Mickiewicz succumbed to the latest cholera epidemic that had broken out in Istanbul and died. The Poles along with the wider Slav community in Istanbul were utterly devastated by the news. A letter from one of his friends describes the scene of his funeral procession down to the port for his transportation back to France6 :

“A pair of oxen pulled a plain casket through the muddy streets of Beyoğlu. I assumed there would be nobody but us Poles taking part in the procession, but it wasn’t long before we understood how wrong I was. A teeming mass of mourners wearing black filed in behind us, covering the street. People from all nations were present, Serbians, Dalmatians, Montenegrians, Albanians, Italians, with Bulgarians in the majority. This was their way of showing respect for the genius of the Slavic poet.”

Temporary grave in Adam Mickiewicz house in Istanbul. Source: Darwinek

Years later Mickiewicz’s wooden house burned down. Groppler suggested building a memorial to the poet on the site but Ratynski was determined to go one better and built a stone replica of the original house. Some of Mickiewicz’s internal organs are buried in a tomb in the basement of the building. The house remained in the ownership of Ratynski’s descendants until very recently. In 1955 it was made into the Mickiewicz Museum and in the 1990s was bought by the Polish government7. Sadly, it has now permanently closed.

Mickiewicz’s house (1880) rebuilt in stone by Jozef Ratynski.

1863 January Rising

“The Battle” – Artur Grottger dedicated to the January Uprising. Public domain.

The January Uprising of 1863-4 was largely a guerilla campaign of Polish insurgents involving numerous small units of badly trained men from the artisan, lower gentry and intelligentsia.  It emerged in the lands of the former Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth as a reaction to greater Russification and suppression of Polish culture culminating in a law forcing conscription of all young men into the Russian army. The Uprising involved around 1200 battles and skirmishes against a standing Russian army of around 300,000.

The leaders found some diplomatic support from the other Western powers but nothing in the way of concrete financial or military help. However in Istanbul, many members of the Polish diaspora did try to help. It was this conflict that I think gave rise to the family legend that Theodore had his young children placed in an orphanage in order for him to return and fight for his country. His compatriot Ratynski was involved in securing munitions and helped to organise a unit to return to Poland. This contingent left Istanbul in 1863 and got as far as Moldova before being beaten back. We just do not know if Theodore was actually part of this action but it is interesting to note that Christina and Sophie would have been 10 and 6 years old respectively while Marie was just a toddler. The story has come down Christina’s line but not Marie’s but she would have been just too young to have any memory of this. As it happens there are no records for any of the children being placed in an orphanage at this time so it appears this story has been mixed up with other unrelated events that happened later on.

The revolt in Poland was completely defeated in 1864 and once again led to massive and very harsh reprisals against insurgents causing a fresh wave of refugees to flood into Istanbul.

Russo-Ottoman War

The last conflict involving the Poles was the Russo Ottoman War of 1877-78 in which the Ottomans were soundly beaten. It seems unlikely that Theodore took any role in this as he was by this time quite elderly. The failure of this campaign and waning support from the Ottoman regime however caused many Poles to give up all hope in further insurrections and become completely resigned to the terminal loss of their homeland.

Final Years

The loss of hope in the Polish national cause seems to have coincided with a decline in the Puchalski’s domestic fortunes, as the family sadly fell apart and into penury.

Angela died aged just 36 in Sept 1873, cause unknown. She was buried in a “temporary” grave in the Ferikoy Latin RC Cemetery, so the family clearly did not have any money to buy a plot and perhaps Theodore was unable to work or make enough to make ends meet.

Christina age 21 (1874)

At this time, Christina was working as a dress designer and living above the shop at Madame Demilleville’s, 303, Grande Rue de Pera. Her sister Sophie was 16 so may have worked there too but she was soon to marry (in February 1874 to a Frenchman, Jean-Baptiste Burguy).

This left their 61 year old father with Marie age 13, who had lifelong eyesight problems and was possibly blind, and 6 year old Leonard.  My Great Grandfather Henri Callus had been ‘courting’ Christina around this time, but years passed and by the age of 30 people must have long considered her “left on the shelf”. It is now clear that this was because she had a duty as the eldest child, to look after her father.

St Joseph’s Orphelinat entrance on Boğazkesen (Throat slitter Street)! Istanbul.

 

In July 1874, Marie was placed in the St Joseph’s orphanage on Boğazkesen Caddesi where she was to remain until March 1876. Her brother Leonard was known throughout his adult life as Leonard Brossart, which makes me suspect that he may have been fostered out or even adopted by another family.

 

St Joseph’s Orphelinat (now The Secret Garden). Photo: Jude Mulcahy

In the early 1880s scandal rocked the family.  Marie was given an eye operation by a very famous ophthalmologist of international repute and standing called Dr Edwin van Millingen. This took place at the St Joseph’s orphanage where perhaps she had gone back to, to work. In the old fashioned sense of the word, he seduced her and she became pregnant. Marie’s baby called Mary, was born in Graz in Austria in June 1880. As Edwin had done his medical training in Vienna he must have sent her there for her confinement as Marie would certainly not have had the means to do so on her own. Inevitably, when she returned with the baby the truth got out.

It must have been a huge scandal at the time, as for one, Edwin was already married and for two, he resolutely refused to give her up despite the class divide and the approbation of his family and society at large.  He must have set her up in another house because in 1882, they had a second child together, which they called Edwin. It seems (in what must have been quite a rare state of affairs), the seducer did not abandon his quarry because he was in fact madly in love with her. (Her grand daughter Cora told me she also happened to be incredibly beautiful)!

Meanwhile Sophie was abandoned by her husband who went to live in Marseille, presumably with another woman, leaving her with 2 young children to feed on her own and no income. So she found work in the Pera district as a seamstress and “modiste” (bonnet maker).

Both situations must have been very hard for Theodore to take and it seems likely led to estrangement from his youngest daughter. He died in 1882 aged 70 and was also interred in a temporary grave in Ferikoy cemetery.

In 1884 the law in France was changed to allow divorce and Sophie immediately instigated it. The same month her divorce came through, Christina was finally able to marry Henri at the church of St Peter and St Paul in Galata. Unusually the marriage is also registered with the church of St Anthony of Padua and when the couple moved to Cardiff in the UK the following year, they registered the marriage again with the British Registry Office. It seems they were determined to ensure that no impediment would be allowed to separate them again.  Finally in December 1884, Edwin’s Austrian wife Johanna died and just 10 days later, he married Marie (with their third child on the way)!

So what to make of my revolutionary forebear?  It is puzzling that his children did not provide a decent burial although of course it may be that it was genuinely beyond their means. Or it may be that they found their father hard to love – a romantic idealist forever looking back to an imagined golden age and wishing for a future that could never be realised? Such people can be hard to live with; uncompromising in their goals, inflexible and dogmatic in their values and beliefs. Maybe they felt as a family they had already sacrificed enough. Can it be a coincidence that all the children changed their surnames to a Frenchified version – Pouhalski/y apart from Leonard whose name changed to Brossart (also French)! Surely something that Theodore the patriot could not possibly have tolerated in his lifetime?!

Ultimately though I feel rather sad that Theodore and Angela ended up in pauper graves. Theodore was one of many exiles who took big risks, traveled enormous distances across Europe and made great sacrifices for the Polish cause yet died penniless and in obscurity, far from his beloved homeland.  I hope therefore that my retelling of this story will serve as a way of providing some recognition for his and his compatriots’ efforts.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the very long list of individuals who have helped me with this research including: Guido Buldrini, Marie Ann Marandet, Craig Encer, Andrew and Armina Callus, Judith Mulcahy, Archives of St Vincent de Paul & the Sisters of Chariteé in Paris, Paulina Dominik, Beata Page, Magda Glodek at the Bibliotheque Polonaise Paris, members of the Citi-data Forum.

Sources

1 List of Polish Refugees sent to the Sublime Porte, March 1850, Archives of the National Ossoliński Institute in Wroclaw, AZNiO 6514/I.

2Dominik, P. (2015), From the Polish Times of Pera: Late Ottoman Istanbul through the Lens of Polish Emigration. History Takes Place: Istanbul. Dynamics of Urban Change, (eds.) Anna Hofmann & Ayşe Öncü, Jovis Verlag, GmbH, 2015, 92-103.

3Civil Record Archives for Messina at: Antenati – Gli Archivi per la Ricerca Anagrafica

4Italian National Biography at: http://www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/gaetano-ainis_(Dizionario-Biografico)/

5Polski Slownik Biograficzny (volumes 30 and 34).

A Georgian Church in Istanbul at: https://georgiasomethingyouknowwhatever.wordpress.com/2015/05/06/a-georgian-catholic-church-in-istanbul/

Letter excerpt from T.T. Jez at https://humaozay.blogspot.co.uk/2012/02/adam-mickiewicz.html

7 http://poloniaottomanica.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/polish-seyfeddin-istanbul-tribune-des.html

More maps of Polish Istanbul at: http://polskistambul.blogspot.co.uk/ (English language version no longer available).

The Forty-eighters: Polish Exiles and the Spring of Nations

The Forty-eighters: Polish Exiles and the Spring of Nations

Welcome to the latest instalment of my family history exploring my Polish roots dating back to the late eighteenth century.  My last post started with my Great Great Great Grandfather Theodore Puchalski (born c. 1780s in Poland), in the Polish Partition and Napoleonic eras, then described what happened to his son, also called Theodore (b. about 1812) after the 1830-1 November Uprising and his exile to France. In this post I will explore Theodore II’s possible role in the 1848 Revolutions and how he ended up moving to Istanbul in the Ottoman Empire.

Background to the 1848 Revolts

In the year 1848, a number of revolutions known as the ‘Spring of Nations’ swept across Europe. The first was in Sicily, centred around Palermo and Messina, and made Sicily an independent state for 16 months until it was retaken by the royalists. France followed with demonstrations in Paris which resulted in the abdication of King Louis Phillippe in favour of the Second Republic (Gessner, 1998). These successes inspired nationalist uprisings seeking constitutional change further afield; in Italy, Germany (Prussia), the Austrian Empire which included Hungary and parts of what was formerly Greater Poland (Galicia, Belarus, Ruthenia, Ukraine). To a more limited extent, the revolutions spread to parts of Scandinavia, the Netherlands, the UK (in the form of Chartism) and even to parts of Latin America. The revolutionaries became a cause célèbre across Europe and participants became known as”Forty-eighters”.

Map 1848 Revolutions. Source: ThingLink

Map 1848 Revolutions. Source: ThingLink

Poland as a sovereign nation had ceased to exist by this time, having been absorbed between the 3 major powers of Russia, Prussia and the Habsberg Austrian Empire after the Congress of Vienna in 1815. After the failed Polish Revolt of 1830, thousands of Poles were living in exile, the majority in France (many also in the UK), where they continued to agitate for reinstatement of their homeland through their government in exile, directed from the Hôtel Lambert in Paris.

The Polish exiles were grateful for their refuge in France but typical of refugees’ experience the world over, they were treated with a degree of suspicion and distrust by the authorities and the communities they lived in. Some of the anxiety was, not unreasonably, because there was concern that their political activism might spread and precipitate a further revolution in France.  When revolts started spreading outside of France therefore, the French authorities strongly encouraged the exiles to join up.

In 1837 my Great Great Grandfather, Theodore Puchalski, was one of those Polish exiles living in France at Troyes, about 93 miles south east of Paris, but by 1853, he was living in Istanbul in Turkey, then part of the Ottoman Empire. It is clear therefore that he was one of those who responded to the call to arms. What his life had been like in the intervening years is not known. He was certainly not a professional soldier at the time of the 1830 Revolt, family legend claims he was from the Polish nobility but later documents reveal him to have been a cabinet maker. As he was about 18 years old at the time of the 1830 Revolt, he may have completed an apprenticeship by then or it may be that this was something he took up on his arrival in France in order to start afresh. In 1848, he would have been about 36 years old.

640px-troyes_rue_emile_zola_maisons_pans_de_bois

Houses in Troyes, Aube. Source: Photo: Myrabella / Wikimedia Commons / CC BY-SA 4.0

Which Action?

The exiles in France could have joined any number of different campaigns across Europe so trying to work out which one Theodore was involved in and also proving it, is quite a challenge.

The exiles took  their lead from Hôtel Lambert in Paris. For instance, in March 1848, a Polish legion of about 500 men was formed in Rome on the initiative of the Polish poet Adam Mickiewicz who also recruited volunteers in Paris. Its aim was the liberation of the Italian people from Austrian (Habsberg) rule (Ref: Wikipedia-Mickiewicz Legion). This detachment of Polish exiles was led by Mikolaj Kaminski.

Another campaign took place in Prussia, where the exiles from France joined the Greater Poland Uprising in Berlin with their leader, Prince Adam Czatoryski.

There was also  a revolt in Austria. The Polish General Jozef Bem was despatched to Vienna in Oct 1848 with a contingent of Polish volunteers from France and arrived just in time to take charge as insurgent forces took up arms against the city. They held out for just a few weeks before the Imperial army surrounded the city and forced their surrender (Gessner, 1998).

My research has revealed however that the vast majority of Poles who arrived in the Ottoman Empire in 1849/50, were those that took part in the Hungarian Revolution.  This is further suggested by church records in Istanbul that reveal Theodore was a close friend or associate of a fellow Polish exile, Jozef Ratynski, who is known to have been a participant in this campaign.

The Hungarian Revolution 1848-9

Lajos Kossuth, President Hungarian Republic. Public Domain.

Lajos Kossuth, President Hungarian Republic. Public Domain.

In 1848, the Kingdom of Hungary was part of the Austrian Empire but had its own parliament, the ‘Diet of Hungary’, and largely  managed its own administration. However liberal idealists drew attention to many of the inequalities in Hungarian society and called for democratic parliamentary representation, freedom of the press, freedom of assembly and association, religious freedom, equality in law and taxation, and the abolition of serfdom and other feudal land rights which privileged the nobility and exempted them from taxation. They also called for Transylvania to be reinstated as part of Hungary, an objective not supported by the majority of Romanians who wanted proportional representation and so sided with Austria.

The Revolution was led by Lajos Kossuth, who secured much support in Vienna where he gave a speech shortly after the Paris uprising.   Many of the Polish exiles were drawn to supporting the Hungarian Revolution due to the historical ties that existed between the two nations but also by the fact that the Revolution was directed at two of Poland’s historical adversaries, the Austrians and their supporters, the Russians.

The Polish Legions and the Transylvanian Campaign

Jozef Wysocki by Karoly Rusz. Public Domain.

Jozef Wysocki by Karoly Rusz. Public Domain.

In 1848 two Polish legions were established in Hungary under the command of Generals Jozef Wysocki and Jozef Bem. General Jozef Wysocki published a memoire of the Hungarian campaign in 1850, a copy of which is kept at the British Library and is a public domain publication. Although it seems to be only available in Polish, (which means sadly I cannot read it), it lists over 700 Polish officers, soldiers and civilians who made up his Legion. Theodore Puchalski and Jozef Ratynski are not listed which seems to reinforce the likelihood that these two fought under General Jozef Bem instead.

 

General Jozef Bem (aka Murad Paşa/Pasha.

General Jozef Bem (aka Murad Paşa/Pasha.

Jozef Bem was born 1794 in Galicia, Poland. He was rather a small man, but he was considered a very charismatic leader. He was educated at the Warsaw military school and joined the Polish division of the French forces.  A veteran of Napoleon’’s Grand Armée, he was awarded the Legion d’honneur in 1813 for his role in the defence of Danzig (Gdansk). He  took part in the 1830 Uprising and escaped to France where he was  a key player in the activities of the Hôtel Lambert. He was also was a mathematician, teacher and an engineer interested in research, and published works on history, technology and the military.

In 1848, after escaping from Vienna, Bem was put in charge of the Hungarian Székely forces in Transylvania. The reintegration of Transylvania as an autonomous region of Hungary was a key objective of the Hungarian Revolution and the Székely were an ethnic sub-group of Hungarians living in Romania who strongly supported this (Encyclopedia at Theodora.com).  This campaign in Transylvania was supplemented by Polish and Italian volunteers.

Although frequently heavily outnumbered, Bem’s forces had some notable victories and recovered Transylvania for Hungary in February 1849. After relieving Transylvania he successfully attacked the Austrian forces in the Southern Banat region around Orşova, but had to return to try to take back Transylvania when Russian reinforcements arrived there. Fierce fighting continued through the summer, but by the end of July his army was annihilated by overwhelming numbers in the Battle of Segesvár (near Segesvár, now Sighişoara, Romania), Bem escaping only by feigning death (Encyclopedia Britannica).

Battle of Segesvar, 1849.

Battle of Segesvár, 1849 by László Bellony. Public Domain.

The Revolution was failing elsewhere too. There was an attempt to consolidate all the Hungarian forces for a final push in August, which failed due to the incompetence of the commander in chief, General Dembinski, who was relieved of his command as a consequence (Szabó, 1999). He was replaced by Bem.

Battle of Temesvár 1849. Lithograph. Public Domain.

Battle of Temesvár 1849. Lithograph. Public Domain.

The last major engagement of the Revolution took part at the Battle of Temesvár (now Timişoara, Romania), on August 9.  When Bem was injured falling from his horse, there was no-one left to take overall command and they were defeated. At this point some soldiers deserted and decided to return home. The Hungarians formally surrendered on 13 August 1849 at Világos in Romania.

Surrender at Vilagos 1849.

Surrender at Világos 1849. Painter unknown. Public Domain.

According to János Szabó, defeat was followed by a large-scale and brutal put down of the Hungarian rebels by the Austrians, whose commander in chief von Haynau declared:

“I shall uproot the weed. I shall set an example to the whole of Europe of how rebels should be treated and how order, peace and tranquillity should be ensured for a century.”

The retribution started with the execution of Hungary’s former first prime minister, Batthyány, who died before a firing squad on October 6 and the hanging of 13 Hungarian Generals. On Haynau’s orders, more than 100 people were executed, 1,200 Imperial officers fighting on the Hungarian side were sentenced to imprisonment, and an additional 40,000 to 50,000 officers and soldiers were drafted into the Imperial army.

Execution of the Hungarian Generals (update titles)

Execution of the Martyrs of Arad by János Thorma. Public Domain.

The Fate of the Refugees

The majority of the defeated rebels fled south as a single unit, crossing the Danube to reach the border of the Ottoman Empire around the end of August. Among them was General Bem, who although seriously wounded,  managed to escape with his officers.  There, about 5000 of the remaining forces, which included Hungarians, Italians and around 1000 Polish volunteers, were offered asylum by the Turks. Lajos Kossuth, the Hungarian Revolution’s leader escaped on 17th August by a different route but was picked up and escorted to the same camp by the Turkish troops (Csorba, 2002).

On arriving at the border, the fleeing soldiers were met by Ottoman soldiers and officials who asked them to hand over their horses and weapons. A number of memoirs describe this as a traumatic experience even though the Turks promised that they would be returned. For many this added to the humiliation of surrendering to the enemy and also deprived them of their only possessions.  They were interned in a camp in Vidin in Bulgaria while it was decided what to do with them. A number of camp followers including the wives and children of soldiers also made it to the camp and others trickled over the border in the weeks that followed the surrender. They received preferential treatment in the allocation of tents and provisions (Toth, 2014).

However conditions in the camp were terrible. Many soldiers were destitute and for much of the time were cold and hungry. Cholera broke out and many died of this or other disease (Csorba estimates as many as 400-600). The camp was strictly guarded and only the higher ranked officers and civilians were allowed to enter the town of Vidin for any kind of respite. The rest had to spend their time kicking their heels or playing cards (Toth, 2014). About 50 Hungarians tried to escape but were recaptured and brought back. When threatened with court martial for desertion they replied:

“We left, as it were, because we preferred to be shot to death at home rather than die here of hunger, cold or the cholera.” (Veress, quoted in Toth, 2014).

Negotiations with the Austrians and Russians were tense and protracted but it was eventually agreed that the rank and file could return to Austria on condition that the men were conscripted into the Austrian army. On 21 October, about 3156 Hungarian, Polish and Italian soldiers returned home under the Austrian terms (Csorba, 2002).

Apostasy – the Islamic Conversions

An amnesty for General Bem and his officers was however definitely not on the cards. The Austrians demanded their extradition and if they had got their way, then these men would almost certainly have been tried and executed for treason. Instead under international rules, if they converted to Islam and assumed Turkish citizenship they could not be returned.  In all, around 250 refugees took this step including 216 Hungarians, 7 Polish and 15 Italian. They included Bem who took the name Murad Pasha and around 15 women who were camp followers (Csorba, 2002).

The Polish community was strictly Roman Catholic and the decision of some refugees to convert to Islam was not received favourably by their countrymen, at home or abroad, for whom such an action was beyond the pale. It was also seen as a denial of their Polish identity. Many of the converts were derided and ostracised thereafter. General Wysocki forbade any of his soldiers from converting saying it would stain Polish honour for generations to come (Dominik, 2015).

As it happened, the Sultan advised the converts that they would be free to convert back to Christianity in due course but in practice few did because in return, the Turks gave them lucrative positions in the Ottoman military and administration. Jozef Bem was made a Pasha and given the Governorship of Aleppo. He died there of malaria in 1850 but was eventually buried in his birthplace of Tarnow in Galicia.

Moving On: Exile and Settlement

In early November 1849 the remaining Polish and Hungarian refugees were moved from Vidin to Shumla (Shumen, in Bulgaria), while the Italians were transferred to Gallipoli.

Eventually, it was agreed to settle the Hungarians in the Turkish interior where they could not easily make their way back to the Russian and Austrian borders. They were sent to Kutahya and Konya. One of Kossuth’s key concerns was that the Hungarian refugees should not be dispersed. Their revolution, like the Poles, had been one of national identity and culture as much as constitutional change and dispersal would have encouraged assimilation. He wanted to establish a Hungarian colony near Izmir like the one the Poles had established near Istanbul as Polonezkoy but this never came to pass. Kossuth and 50 of his comrades left Shumla in February 1850, arriving in Kutahya in April. Shortly after the American Congress invited them to the USA and about half left including Kossuth. Many also moved to the UK (ibid).

Meanwhile the remaining Poles were directed to leave the Ottoman Empire altogether. The majority of refugees however stayed in Shumla with support from the Ottoman Empire but others made their way to Istanbul. Some of these went to the small Polish colony of Polonezkoy or Adampol which had been established by Michał Czajkowski in 1842 with land bought by Prince Adam Czartoryski from the French Lazarists community near Istanbul.

In 1853 my Great Great Grandfather Theodore Puchalski turns up in the records in Istanbul as a Polish exile along with Jozef Ratynski.  It seem probable that both would have been interned at Vidin and Shumla and come to Istanbul via that route, although some soldiers may well have escaped individually or in small groups and made their own way inland. There is no record of either having lived at Polonezkoy.

So why did he not return to his homeland after an amnesty was offered, or return to France, his original place of refuge? I think the answer must be that many of the Polish exiles still clung to the hope that they might yet get another chance to fight and also many of those who had rebelled back in 1830 did not believe they would be safe returning home. The Ottoman Empire had had many run-ins with Russia and was much closer geographically to the disputed territories for those hoping to fight on. As for France, presumably Theodore did not have any dependents or ties there.

Sources

Csorba, György, (2002), Hungarian Emigrants of 1848-9 in the Ottoman Empire, Ankara.

Dominik, P. (2015), From the Polish Times of Pera: Late Ottoman Istanbul through the Lens of Polish Emigration. History Takes Place: Istanbul. Dynamics of Urban Change, (eds.) Anna Hofmann & Ayşe Öncü, Jovis Verlag, GmbH, 2015, 92-103.

Encyclopedia Britannica at https://www.britannica.com/biography/Jozef-Zachariasz-Bem

Encyclopedia at http://www.theodora.com/encyclopedia/b/josef_bem.html

Gessner, P.K. (1998), General Josef Bem: Polish and Hungarian Leader (1795-1850). Website: http://info-poland.buffalo.edu/classroom/bem.html

Szabó, János B. (1999), Hungary’s War of Independence. Military History, August 1999. (reproduced at History.net).

Letter: A E Callus to Frank Callus dated 11 June 1965, pp 1-6, c/o Mr A. Callus.

Tóth, Heléna (2014), An Exiled Generation: German and Hungarian Refugees of Revolution, 1848-1871, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 38-9.

Wysocki, J. (1850), Pamiętnik Jenerała W. dowodzcy Legionu Polskiego na Węgrzech z czasa Kampanii węgierskij w roku 1848 i 1849. British Library Historical Print Collections.

 

The Polish Partitions, Revolts and Great Migration – My ancestral odyssey

Flag of the Polish November Uprising. Source: Wikimedia Commons

This post is the first chapter in a series I plan to publish on my Polish ancestry. It is linked to my main Puchalski/Pouhalski page which provides an initial introduction and overview.

The true story of how my Polish ancestors ended up in Ottoman Constantinople in the mid 19th century, has long been an intriguing mystery. My family has always said that my Great Grandmother, Christina Callus nee Puchalski, (aka Pouhalski), was born in Poland but had to flee with her family to Constantinople (Istanbul), during the Polish Uprisings. It was also claimed that she and her two sisters and a brother, were placed in an orphanage so that her parents could return to continue the fight.  New information has recently come to light which finally places my family’s story within the historical context of Poland’s difficult and fiercely fought struggle for independence and its national identity. Once again, it seems that my family recollections are not without substance after all.

Our story begins with the Polish Partitions…

Background to the Partitions of Poland

“The Polish national movement had the longest pedigree, the best credentials. the greatest determination, the worst press, and the least success.”

(Norman Davies, 1996).

A weak constitution and a civil war in Poland in 1768 made the country vulnerable to attack by its neighbours, the powerful states of Russia, Prussia and the Habsburg Empire. In 1772, each moved into Poland to take over some of its territory in an act that became known as the First Partition.

Territorial Changes of Poland 1772 by Esemono - Own work, Public Domain, Link

Territorial Changes of Poland 1772 by Esemono – Own work, Public Domain, Link

Despite efforts in Poland to strengthen their constitution and defend the nation against further incursions, two further Partitions were made in the 1790s which completely absorbed Poland into its neighbour’s territories and extinguished Poland as a sovereign state, a position it was not able to reverse until the end of World War 1 (Online Encyclopedia Britannica).

territorial_changes_of_poland_1793

Territorial Changes of Poland 1795 by Esemono - Own work, Public Domain, Link

Territorial Changes of Poland 1795 by Esemono – Own work, Public Domain, Link

In 1807, part of Poland briefly re-emerged when Napoleon Bonaparte created the Duchy of Warsaw as an independent Polish state out of the Prussian part of Poland. This became the focal point for nationalist efforts to restore Poland’s former boundaries.

Polish lancers of Napoleon by J. Chelminski. Source: Pinterest.

Napoleon’s Polish lancers by J. Chelminski. Source: Pinterest.

The Code Napoleon was adopted in Poland and the French model imposed for its constitution. The Poles started to pin their hopes on Napoleon for the restoration of their homeland. Many were fervent admirers and Polish troops some of his most loyal legions. In fact, the Poles are the only people in the world to sing about Bonaparte in their national anthem (Nieuwazny, A, 1998)!

There is a story in our family that one of our Puchalski ancestors was a Count who fought and died for Napoleon in one his Polish cavalry legions at the Battle of Waterloo! The most likely candidate would be Theodore Puchalski senior, the father of my Great Great Grandfather, Theodore Puchalski, born about 1812.

There was indeed a Polish officer at Waterloo called Puchalski but his first name was Joseph and he was the Inspector of Military Hospitals (The Army of Grand Duchy of Warsaw)!

Polish lancers bearing a captured standard

Polish lancers bearing a captured standard

However there is another potential candidate referred to just as “Capitaine Puchalski”, who in the 1807 Dirschau campaign (on the west bank of the Vistula) was awarded the Legion d’honneur (D. Chlapowski, 1908). This Puchalski was a member of the Polish legion under Dombrowski, who fought with Napoleon in his earliest campaigns in Italy. Dombrowski was one of Poland’s most famous generals and a cavalry expert.  It would be fantastic if it could be confirmed the Capitaine was Theodore but it needs further research!

Unfortunately for the Poles, when Napoleon’s campaign in Russia failed, their own fate was sealed. After Napoleon’s defeat, 8 of the major powers met at the Congress of Vienna in 1815 to decide how Napoleon’s conquests would be divided among them. (These were Russia, Prussia, Austria, Great Britain, France, Sweden, Spain and Portugal). It was eventually decided that the Russian and Prussian areas of Poland would be given up to create the Congress Kingdom of Poland which was to be a nominally autonomous kingdom under Tsar Alexander I of Russia. The Duchy of Warsaw was made a separate kingdom under the sovereignty of the Tsar.

The First Polish Revolt 1830-1

In July 1830, a popular Revolt broke out in Paris. Despite Napoleon’s downfall, Poles still regarded the French as their allies so when Tsar Nicholas I sought to help suppress the Revolt by using his Polish troops, a secret society of cadets in Warsaw staged an uprising and attempted to assassinate the Tsar’s brother, Grand Duke Constantine, who was their Commander in Chief. This was the beginning of the Polish revolt know as the November Uprising of 1830.

The cadets had only partial success but their actions inspired others and the rebellion extended across the former Congress Kingdom of Poland as far as Belarus and Ukraine. Unfortunately for them, although the much smaller contingent of about 40,000 Polish insurgents fought some brave battles (among them many civilians and even women), they did not manage to capitalise on their gains and eventually the superior might of Russia crushed the Revolt, culminating in an attack on Warsaw in September 1831 which caused the insurgents to retreat to Prussia and finally to surrender (Encyclopedia Britannica).

The Great Migration

Meeting of Polish exiles in Belgium c. 1830 xylograph. Public Domain.

Meeting of Polish exiles in Belgium c. 1830 Xylograph. Public Domain.

Thus began what is known in Poland as ‘The Great Migration’ which lasted between 1831-70.  Many exiles fled to the UK. As an interesting aside, Len Goodman, the celebrity judge on ‘Strictly Come Dancing’, appeared on BBC1’s ‘Who Do You Think You Are’ genealogy programme in 2011 and found out that his Great Great Grandfather, Wincenty Sosnowski, was one of the anti-Tsarist Poles who took part in the 1830-1 uprising and ended up in the UK in 1834 after a year in a Prussian prison!  The vast majority of emigres however, made their way to France. In total, it has been estimated that 6000 Poles became political emigres between 1830-70 (Zubrzycki, J. Wikipedia).

Among these exiles was my Great Great Grandfather, Theodore Puchalski. The evidence for this is contained in an almanac published in Paris in 1837 by the Comte de Tabasz-Krosnowski. The Count produced this important document to bear witness to all the Poles forced into exile.  In his introduction he says:

“Several thousand Poles vegetate in exile.  One day history and posterity will send their names. Today even our compatriots left on the native soil want to know the names of those exiles who did not shrink from this sacrifice. To snatch, to forget these martyrs of the most holy cause, to offer their names to the esteem of the nations and to the hope of the country, is the goal which I proposed to myself by publishing this historic Almanach or Souvenir of Polish emigration which contains the list of Polanais spread abroad.  And, above all, in France, in that noble France, which, in the midst of our disasters, remembered its old friendship, and extended to us protective arms. The warriors of the empire will here find brothers in arms emulated by their glory. Twenty five years have triumphed for the same cause on the same battlefield. We also owe a deep gratitude to the other nations, all rivaled with zeal for goodwill in welcoming the Poles. The difficulties which I have had to overcome in the execution of this and the lack of official documents, it was necessary to have recourse to the Poles themselves, but several of them for personal reasons did not wish to appear on this list….”

Paris 3 May 1837. (Translation excerpt c/o Google Translate).

The almanac is arranged by name, place of birth (where known), rank, unit and the town exiled to. There are many individuals with no rank cited suggesting they were civilians, including Theodore. He was exiled to Troyes in the Aube/Champagne region of France along with 30-40 others.

How can I be certain this Theodore was my Theodore? In truth I cannot be categorical but the circumstantial evidence fits with the stories we have inherited. Previous researches I have commissioned from the Russian State Archives have found no other person of this name during this period, suggesting that while the surname may be common, the combined first name and surname are not.

A Government in Exile – Hôtel Lambert, Paris

Prince Adam Jerzy Czartoryski c. 1830. Public domain.

Prince Adam Jerzy Czartoryski c. 1830. Public domain.

The Polish government in exile was based in the Hôtel Lambert in Paris and was established by Prince Adam Jerzy Czartoryski, its leader, with embassies in London and Istanbul. The Hôtel Lambert was a grand mansion townhouse, on the Quai Anjou on the eastern tip of the Île Saint-Louis, in 4th arrondissement of Paris, bought by Czartoryski in 1843. The Hôtel Lambert’s political agenda was in support of the liberal democratic principles of the 3 May 1791 Polish-Lithuanian Constitution and keeping the plight of the Polish cause on the international stage. It also became a safe house for emigres and dissidents. 

Hôtel Lambert, Paris, by Tangopaso (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Hôtel Lambert, Paris, by Tangopaso (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

The Hôtel Lambert also created a centre for the preservation and promotion of Polish culture. Key figures among the emigres were Frédéric Chopin, Zygmunt Krasiński, Alphonse de Lamartine, George Sand, Honoré de Balzac, Hector Berlioz, Franz Liszt, Eugène Delacroix, and Adam Mickiewicz. In fact, Chopin’s “La Polonaise” was composed expressly for the Polish ball held there every year (Wikipedia-Hotel Lambert).

Ball at Hotel Lambert, Paris, with Chopin playing and Prince Czartoryski observing. Teofil Kwiatkowski [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Ball at Hotel Lambert, Paris, with Chopin playing and Prince Czartoryski observing. Teofil Kwiatkowski [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Another important institution created by the exiles was the Polish Library in Paris. It was founded in 1838 and still exists today on the Quai d’Orleans, a short walk from the site of Hôtel Lambert. It also accommodates, next door, 3 small museums to Chopin, Mickiewicz and the sculptor Biegas. It houses over 145,000 books and many thousands of other important historical artefacts relating to Polish history and culture.

Polish Library, 8, Quai d'Orleans, Paris. By Cancre (Own work) [GFDL or CC BY-SA 4.0-3.0-2.5-2.0-1.0], via Wikimedia Commons

Polish Library, 8, Quai d’Orleans, Paris.
By Cancre (Own work) [GFDL], via Wikimedia Commons

A Temporary Refuge

Many emigres such as Theodore did not stay in France. When in 1848, a series of revolutions swept across Western Europe, he and many of his compatriots, once again joined the cause in the hope that in the process, Russia, Prussia and Austria would be pushed back out of Poland and Polish national identity and culture restored. This will be the subject of my next post.

Further Information and References

Davies, N. (1997), Europe: a History, (New ed. 1997), Pimlico: London.

Nieuwazny, A. (1998), Napoleon and Polish Identity, in History Today, Vol. 48, Issue 5, 5 May 1998.

For an extensive and very good overview of Polish military history, this website is hard to beat: http://napolun.com/mirror/napoleonistyka.atspace.com/polish_army.html

https://www.britannica.com/event/November-Insurrection

Chlapowski, Desire,  Memoires sur les guerres de Napoleon 1806-1813. Traduits par M.M. Jan V. Chelminski et le Commandant A. Malibran. (3rd ed., 1908), Plons-Nourrit, Paris (N.B. This is a big file to download as it is the entire book in pdf, patience is needed as it can be slow)!

Diacono Family Tree c.1600-1800

Ragusa, Sicily. © V.A. Leeming

Ragusa, Sicily. © V.A. Leeming

My maternal ancestry from Marie Ann Callus nee Griscti goes back to a Sicilian baron from Ragusa known as Vincenzo Lo Iacono (the deacon) or Diacono. He moved to Malta c. 1600.  It is this pedigree that possibly gave rise to the notion that my Griscti ancestors believed they were descended from the Maltese nobility as the Baron was unlikely to have married into an untitled family.

For more information please visit my new page for Diacono/Lo Iacono which includes the family pedigree from Marie-Ann back to this Sicilian baron.

As an aside, fans of ‘Inspector Montalbano’ will recognise Ragusa as one of the settings for the TV series!

Genealogy Brick Walls – A Callus Family Tree Correction

©Janet Kelly - 2015

© Janet Kelly – 2015

I am taking down my post ‘Callus Family Trees – Malta 1686 – 1811’ due to an error I’ve made attaching the oldest parentage on the family tree. Happily this new post will provide an updated tree which I am  confident is correct.

From time to time every keen family historian will come up against a brick wall. How to get around it can be time consuming and frustrating. Sometimes it just means no more can be done until new records or leads become available and that may mean some time hence or even never. While it is essential to keep thinking laterally to try and find new connections, it is also tempting to sometimes make speculative leaps. The danger is in allowing these to be presented as certainties when they are anything but!

In my post ‘Callus Family Trees – Malta 1656 – 1811’, I fell into precisely this trap.  The oldest record found was a manuscript image of the marriage for Gregorio Callus and Maruzza Faruggia in 1688 in the parish of Zurrieq in Southern Malta (Archdiocese Malta Archives). Unfortunately the state of the manuscript, the illegible handwriting of the priest and the late medieval Latin abbreviations defeated me. I just could not decipher the names of the parents for Gregorio and Maruzza. Without these names, the ability to go back further generations was nigh on impossible. This was my brick wall!

So how did I then come to decide that Gregorio’s parents were Francesco Callus and Margarita Gristi? Well my “work around” the problem was to scan the baptism records for the parish of Zurrieq to identify any Gregorio Calluses between about 1640 – 70. I found only the one so made the leap of deciding that this must therefore be my man. The same logic could not work for Maruzza Farrugia, his bride. Both her first name and surname were SO common in the district, it was impossible to say which baptism might be hers.

Why then, you may ask, do I now think this approach was wrong?  Well, I had to return to the original marriage manuscript to see if the name of Francesco could be discerned in the record and at the time, thought that it could. On a later viewing though I detected a reference to a Joseph of Casal Crendi, (a little village on the outskirts of Zurrieq), and also the name Callus, which sowed a seed of doubt.  I think now the name I took to be Francesco was actually Farrugia!

I eventually decided I would have to try and get to grips with paleography techniques and archaic Latin terms (oh joy)! The National Archives website provides some useful tips on the paleography of different periods with lots of examples (The National Archives Paleography Tutorial).  I also used a couple of books for working through the Latin (Durie, 2009, and Stuart, 1995). These helped me to pick out a couple of possible leads for the parentage; Maruzza’s father appeared to be abbreviated to Gio Domencio Farrugia but her mother’s name remained undecipherable. Gregorio’s father did indeed appear to be Josephi Callus quondam of Crendi (now Qrendi). The Latin term quondam means the late or deceased.

Marriage 1688 of Gregorio Callus and Maruzza Farrugia, Zurrieq, Malta. With permission J. Massa.

Marriage 18 Sept 1688 of Gregorio Callus and Maruzza Farrugia, Zurrieq, Malta. Source: Josyanne Massa with permission.

My next source of help was a call-out to a French Yahoo Group – La Généalogie à Malte run by Josyanne Massa, to ask if anyone had access to any registers for the parish of Qrendi. Josyanne looked up Gregorio’s marriage from her own records first (i.e. the image reproduced above, which is clearer than the one at AMA), and then located him and his family in the census for Qrendi dating 1681. This showed Gregorio age 17 living with his father, Joseph, 69 and mother, Marietta, 58 in Qrendi. She also found a Will for Gregorio’s mother, Marietta, dated 1691 naming her children as heirs which then enabled me to spot one of Gregorio’s married sisters living next door to him in the census (Francesca)! This is genealogy at its best, being able to triangulate different pieces of evidence. The further back in time you go, the less likely such evidence survives.

Family of Gregorio Callus (Parents, siblings and children) 1690s.

Family of Gregorio Callus (Parents, siblings and children) 1690s.

A certain number of assumptions have had to be made in producing the chart above and there remain some queries to be reconciled with the records. These are outlined below.

Caterinella

Caterinella was the first child to be married (in 1660 to Lorenzo Gristi). Girls were married very young and as her own parents married in 1642, I have therefore assumed she was the first child born c. 1643 which would have made her about 17 when she married. However it appears her father Giuseppe, had a previous marriage to Catherina Bugeja in 1640, so although Caterinella’s marriage record states her parents were Giuseppe and Marietta, there remains a possibility that Marietta may have been her step-mother.

Bartolomea and Maltese Slavery Practices

There are some slight anomalies associated with another daughter, Bartolomea. In the 1691 will of Marietta, she is described as the widow of Battista Grech. However by 1691 she had already remarried Pietro Paolo Vella (in 1689). It may be that the Will was written before she remarried and the record date is the date of probate, I’m not sure.

An interesting note about her first husband is that on their marriage record he is recorded as being a baptised slave. The marriage (dated 18 Jan 1671) also records his name as Gio Battista Verrela not Grech. We do not know what his original religion was, but the likelihood is that he was a muslim as the Maltese were known to enslave any muslims they took captive on the high seas or during raids on the North African (Barbary) coast. However Jews were also taken into slavery and of course if Christians were captured by the Turks or North Africans, they could expect the same treatment!

The vast majority of slaves on Malta were male and were recruited to man the galleys of the Knights of St John. In 1632 there were 1284 galley slaves and 649 privately owned. Some slaves were employed as artisans in the manufacture of sail cloth, others to work as agricultural labourers. A survey commissioned by the Knights in 1645 found only 100 female slaves and these were mainly used for domestic service (P.Cassar, 1968).  The Knights were cautious to prevent insurrections so most slaves were locked up at night in one of a number of slave prisons. Private individuals were only allowed to keep one slave at home and these were not allowed out after sunset (G. Cini, 2002).

Slaves could expect brutal punishments for transgressions but might get slightly better treatment if they converted to Christianity, which many of them did. ‘Battista’ of course means ‘baptised’ (Jean Baptiste  and Gio Battista being popular christian names after John the Baptist).  If they were freed (a process called manumission), then they were also allowed to marry. Many would then take the name of their former owner or their Godfather, adding the prefix ‘de’ or ‘di’ which their descendants then tended to drop (S. Vassalo, Malta Genealogy). The name Verrela may have been his slave owner’s surname. In the records, freed slaves are often referred to as manumesso (m) or manumessa (f) but this is not the case for Battista which begs the question of whether he was actually free at this point. Slaves required special permission to marry and it would have been quite unusual to have married a free person and potentially very stigmatising to be married to a slave. Another possibility is that Battista was the son of a slave, which might have given him some expectation of being released. The appearance of a different name seems to suggest this, the choice of Grech, meaning Greek, being a very common Maltese surname, akin to Smith or Jones in the UK.  However just to complicate things even further, on Bartolomea’s second marriage, she is recorded as the widow of Carlo Battandi. This is rather curious. Was she remarried and widowed again between Battista’s death and her marriage to Pietro Vella? I cannot find another marriage record. What is known from the first marriage record is that Battista’s father was called Carlo, so it is possible this may also have been his own original first name and Battandi his original surname.  All of this is, of course, speculation and must therefore be treated with caution.

Francesca

Now some observations concerning Francesca. She was aged 25 on the 1681 census for Qrendi, while her husband was 32 and her children, Aloisa aged 3 and Joseph, a few months. Yet she married Antonio Tabone only in October 1681! It seems unlikely that she would have had two children by him out of wedlock, so once again, it is possible that there had been a previous marriage with Antonio’s first wife dying in childbirth (but no record found). In those circumstances, widowers were often quite keen to remarry quickly to provide a step-mother for their children. While this might seem quite a surprising and perhaps an unappealing prospect to young women today, to be unmarried at the grand old age of 25 in 1681 was to be considered ‘left on the shelf’. Marriage was essential for any woman without independent means because it provided financial security for her future and gave her status in the community. In such a tiny place as Qrendi, Francesca probably already knew her husband very well and was only too happy to be asked.  However, Francesca left a will in 1692 naming her cousins on her mother’s side as her main heirs. This suggests that the children on the census may have predeceased her and she may have had no further children of her own.

Facade of Hagar Qim by Hamelin de Guettelet

Facade of Hagar Qim by Hamelin de Guettelet (Own work)

The Parish of Qrendi or Crendi

Finally, a note about Qrendi. It was originally part of the parish of Zurrieq but was made a separate parish in 1618. It is a tiny village, very close to the ancient neolithic temples of Hager Qim, which date back to around 3000 BC, and the Blue Grotto, a famous beauty spot in Malta. It is also noted for having a number of defensive towers built to provide some protection against barbary pirate attacks which were not infrequent.

 

Revised Callus Family Tree c.1600

With the corrections made above, I can now provide a new family tree chart for the Callus descendants of Gregorio’s parents Giuseppe and Marietta born c. 1612. This particular chart starts from Giuseppe born c.1612 and shows all his (known) descendants up to Andrea born 1811.

maltese-callus-family-tree-c-1600-1800-all-relations

Maltese Callus Family Tree c. 1600-1800 (All relatives) Click on image to enlarge (opens in new window). Click again to zoom in.

For more information on the descendants of Gregorio, please visit my previous post:

From the Blue Sea I Took my Name’

How far back can the family be traced now?

Incredibly, I have now been able to trace back the Callus family tree to the time parish records began in Malta – the mid 1500s! This does represent quite a breakthrough as it is a rare thing for non-nobles to be able to go back so far.  I will not share the details just now but will make them the subject of a future post.

Unfortunately I was not so lucky with Marruzza Farrugia. Her father’s name has yet to be located in the records and her mother’s name remains a mystery. Without this and with such a common surname it will be very hard to be absolutely certain as to her parentage. If anyone reading this can make out the names from the image above, do please get in touch.

I would like to acknowledge my sincere gratitude to Josyanne Massa for all her help with this research.

Further information

Yahoo Groups – Malte Genealogie

The National Archives – Guide to Paleography

Cini, G. (2002), Horrible Torture in the Streets of Valletta, Times of Malta 10-06-2002

Cassar, P. (1968), A Medical Service for Slaves in Malta During the Rule of the Order of St John of Jerusalem. Med. Hist. 1968 July; 12 (3): 270-277.

Durie, B. (2009), Scottish Genealogy, The History Press, Stroud. (A useful general guide to genealogy not just Scottish).

Stuart, D. (1995), Latin for Local and Family Historians: a Beginner’s Guide, Phillimore, Chichester.

Malta Genealogy – Released Slaves in Malta and their Spouses, (6 Sept 2016).