This article was automatically translated from the original Turkish version.
Şemseddin Sami is a name that immediately evokes in most of our minds the silhouette of an esteemed intellectual. He is remembered for his contributions to the Turkish language, through his dictionaries and linguistic studies, and is nearly enshrined in the canonical narrative under the heading of "Turkism." Yet literary texts, especially those written during the late Ottoman period, rarely content themselves with merely what they narrate; their true artistry lies in the second layer, where meaning is conveyed not directly but implicitly. This is precisely the case with Şemseddin Sami’s Besâ Yahud Ahde Vefâ.
Besâ Yahud Ahde Vefâ is a theatrical work published in 1874. In its preface, the author states that he composed the text to depict certain moral customs of the Albanian people and, believing a dramatic form would be more effective than a mere narrative, structured it as a "theatrical treatise." Besâ means "to keep one’s oath or promise" in Albanian. We already know what Ahde Vefa means: "to fulfill a given promise."
The plot revolves around the love between Meruşe and Recep, the children of an uncle. Meruşe’s father, Zübeyr, arranges their engagement. However, the conflict escalates when Selfo, an agent of Demir Bey, desires Meruşe, leading to Zübeyr’s murder and Meruşe’s abduction. Zübeyr’s wife, Vahide, sets out on a quest for revenge and to rescue her daughter. Fettah Ağa, bound by the “besâ” (ahde vefa) he had given, kills Selfo—despite learning that Selfo is his own biological son—and then commits suicide.
The “ahde vefa” visible on stage is Fettah Ağa’s unwavering commitment to his oath, no matter the cost. But when we read the text through the “second layer,” as proposed by Associate Professor Nuri Sağlam, the question shifts slightly. Here, loyalty is not directed solely toward an individual or a personal vow; it turns toward a “we”—more precisely, toward the land, the code of conduct, and the sense of belonging that sustain that “we.” Sağlam argues that the play’s subtext constructs a national consciousness directed at the Albanians, woven through the oppositions of “us/them” and “mountain-dweller/city-dweller.”
The most visible symbol of this “we” is the mountain. The play’s song, which begins with “We are not urbanites / Our place is the mountains,” is deliberately constructed around the dichotomies of “mountain-dweller/city-dweller” and “us/them (Albanian/Ottoman).” According to Sağlam, the linking of the words “mountain,” “blood,” and “life” goes beyond mere landscape description. The repeated invocation of “mountain” evokes the idea of homeland as a political space, and this association constructs an Albanian sense of belonging as natural and self-evident.
The same motif is reinforced in a more everyday tone through the dialogue between Meruşe and Zübeyr: when Meruşe says, “I cannot leave these mountains!,” Zübeyr replies, “I greatly appreciate your love for your homeland.” Sağlam notes that here, “homeland” is linked to the concept of Albanian identity implied by the repeatedly used word “mountain”; the emphasis on shepherding is also treated as an integral part of this geographical and cultural identity.
So what does “ahde vefa” become in this framework? In Sağlam’s reading, “besâ” ceases to be merely an individual code of honor; it becomes the vehicle of a collective language of loyalty centered on “homeland” and “honor.” The line in the text, “We have our club… and our honor,” establishes the idea that while property may be violated, honor must never be touched—as if it were a boundary principle. This transforms the play’s ethical tension into an identity-forming tension.
Associate Professor Nuri Sağlam does not reposition Şemseddin Sami as someone who served the Turkish language and is therefore canonically regarded as a Turkish nationalist. Instead, he repositions him as a strategic writer who laid the groundwork for the national claims of his own community—the Albanians.
Sağlam argues that while “Ottoman unity” ideologies like “ittihâd-ı Osmanî” circulated in the 19th century, from the 1870s onward, many non-Turkish writers produced strategic works that sanctified the concept of “Turk” and cultivated what he calls a “strange Turkism consciousness.” He explains that the primary aim of these writers was to legitimize the national aspirations of their own communities.
In this context, Şemseddin Sami is not an exception but an example fully embedded in the intellectual climate of his time. Indeed, in Sami’s other writings, a strong emphasis is placed on Albanian “origin and antiquity.” It is asserted that Albanians are among the most ancient peoples of Europe and have surpassed other European nations in many respects.
Thus, writing in Turkish does not equate to loyalty to the Turks. Sometimes, the imperial common literary language can serve as a vehicle for another national imagination.
Sağlam’s most concrete comparison comes through Namık Kemal. He reminds us that in the 1870s, Ottoman intellectuals sought to instill the idea of “ittihâd-ı Osmanî” among the public, and that Namık Kemal wrote Vatan Yahud Silistre in this context. When the play was staged, it provoked demonstrations with cries of “Long live the homeland!”
Then comes the critical connection: Besâ Yahud Ahde Vefâ, staged in the Ottoman Theater exactly one year later, shares fictional similarities with Namık Kemal’s play. But, according to Sağlam, the differing political attitudes toward the concept of “homeland” in the two authors reveal that Şemseddin Sami intended his play to develop a specific Albanian national consciousness in opposition to Kemal’s “universal homeland” concept. Moreover, this aim was achieved through a conventionally Albanian code—the concept of “besâ.”
The term “besâ” also appears in Vatan Yahud Silistre. When the character İslam Bey asks, “Do you swear by God?” the volunteers respond, “Besâ.” Namık Kemal chose Albanian characters to foster an Ottoman consciousness within the broader Muslim populace.
But Şemseddin Sami’s project is different. In Besâ Yahud Ahde Vefâ, the concept of “homeland” remains central—but it is not the Albanian lands under Ottoman rule; it is the homeland that declared independence in 1912 and now truly belongs to the Albanians.
What makes Şemseddin Sami intriguing here is not what he says but how he says it. There is no overt political manifesto, no loud national appeal. Instead, through the common and legitimate literary language of the era—Turkish—he skillfully embeds within the text a sense of Albanian identity and belonging. Besâ Yahud Ahde Vefâ is precisely such a text: one that speaks without shouting, yet carefully chooses its words.
Here, Şemseddin Sami uses Turkish not as the language of an identity declaration, but as the language of a carrier of meaning. Language is not a mask concealing a target; rather, it becomes a means of expanding the target into a broader discourse. In this sense, Sami’s text exemplifies how literature can engage with politics not through direct slogans, but by repositioning concepts.
Besâ Yahud Ahde Vefâ draws attention not because it is written in Turkish, but because within Turkish, another identity is silently constructed. Şemseddin Sami’s mastery lies precisely here: he succeeds in making visible within the language a sense of belonging that is not its own, without denying the language’s own possibilities. And perhaps for this reason, to understand Sami, we must first examine what he opened up to.
Besâ Yahud Ahde Vefâ
Which Ahde Vefa?
A Strange Turkism
Namık Kemal’s and Şemseddin Sami’s “Homeland”