Anda di halaman 1dari 16

Pino Blasone

Orientalism and Turkish Coffee

1 – Jean-Baptiste Haussard after Jean-Baptiste van Mour,

Turkish Girl Having Coffee on the Sofa and Street Coffee Seller

Birth of an “Iconema”

The pictorial Orientalism is a so wide and various configuration, that with all the
more reason an iconologist needs visual common denominators, in order to identify
iconographic typologies and possible stereotypes. With a neologism coined after the Greek
term eikōn, we might call them “iconemas”. They could even be minor details, susceptible
to focus on themselves a recurring representation. For instance, a cup of Turkish coffee or
an Arabian coffee-house. In fact over Near East and North-Africa the private fashion of this
beverage, and subsequently that of the public coffee-houses, spread before than in Occident.
Actually, we can meet with such an “iconema” at the dawn or in the immediate antecedent
of the Orientalism. That iconographic season usually assumes the French definition of

Turquerie, due to some fashionable influences from the Ottoman Empire. Just then, this
began to be the destination of European learned travellers as diplomats, writers or artists.
In the first decade of the 18th century, the Flemish-French painter Jean-Baptiste van
Mour was invited to go to Istanbul – where he lived for 37 years – and commissioned to do
several portraits of local people and customs, by the French ambassador Charles de Ferriol.
A few years later De Ferriol edited an album of engravings etched by Jean-Baptiste
Haussard after those drawings and paintings, Recueil de cent estampes représentant
différentes nations du Levant (Paris: Le Hay, 1714). There, we can find two relevant images:
Fille turque prenant le caffé sur le sopha and Vendeur de caffé par les rues, respectively
“Turkish Girl Having Coffee on the Sofa” and “Street Coffee Seller”. More than once the
former was imitated by other French painters of the same epoch, as we can see in Women in
the Seraglio Having Coffee by Étienne Jeaurat (1697-1789), and in a more autonomous and
fine painting by an unknown author at the Pera Museum of Istanbul. At least, those artists
seem to be pleased in representing the same subject, with some variants.
Among one hundred images, as many as Van Mour had pictured and Hassaurd had
engraved – there are also coloured editions of the same album – circa only one had emerged
as a prototype. Let us wonder why. The title itself of Jeauratʼs picture suggests an answer. In
Italian, “seraglio” – better, serraglio, from the Turkish sarāyi – means “palace”, more
specifically “harem”. The depiction of a coffee scene worked as a good pretext for
penetrating into the intimacy of that forbidden representation and feminine dimension of
Oriental life, in a more discreet way than that chosen by another Rococo French painter,
François Boucher, who was the first to imagine and depict erotic and nude odalisques. The
Turkish coffee scene was a different aspect of harem life, represented for idle ladies rather
than for voyeuristic gentlemen. In this genre, an original masterpiece is Sultana or Portrait
of de Pompadour as Sultana Taking Coffee, by the French Charles-André van Loo
(ca. 1747-54; we have two versions of it, at the Musée des Arts Décoratifs in Paris and at the
Hermitage Museum, Saint Petersburg). Notoriously, Madame de Pompadour was a member
of the French court. Above all, she was the chief royal mistress of King Louis XV.
Such a “Second Lady” is portrayed in profile, while sitting on a sofa and wearing an
elegant Turkish costume, inside a shady Oriental-like interior. A Nubian dark-skinned maid
is offering her a cup of black coffee. The small cup on its plate figures as a bridge point

between the hands of the women, who are familiarly gazing at each other. Likely, the quite
complex composition is so studied, not only as to communicate a comfortable atmosphere
of intimacy, but also in order to credit the unofficial princess as an open-minded “sultana”.
That looks an homage to her alleged democratic influence, on the French monarch and his
paradoxical Enlightened Absolutism. In later portraits of Madame du Barry the coffee-
servant is a supposed Bengali slave boy, set free by the courtesan countess, who presented
him as an African to her friends. Anyhow, the presence of black servants or slaves, both

female or male, will recur in the Orientalistic production, still in the 19 th century. Reliably it
reflected a local reality, such as reported by the Italian traveller Cristina di Belgiojoso in her
description of the harems, in Asie Mineure et Syrie, souvenirs de voyage (Paris, 1858).
Van Looʼs artwork is a synthesis between different typologies as the Turkish coffee
scene and the portrayal in Oriental dress, even older as in some male or self-portraits by the

Dutch Rembrandt van Rijn, Jan Victors and Johannes van Swinderen, in the 17 th century. In

the 18th century, a specialist in this field was the Swiss Jean-Étienne Liotard, who lived in
Turkey for a period. And the most portrayed in Oriental attire was the British traveller and
writer Mary Wortley Montagu, whose Turkish Embassy Letters are a foundation of the
literary Orientalism. Yet let us return to a documentarian painter as Van Mour. The Turkish
Girl Having Coffee on the Sofa and the Street Coffee Seller were not his sole works
pertaining to our theme. Armenian women drinking coffee in an interior, A Turkish interior
with a maid serving coffee in zarfs... (which are ornamental holders for cups), and A Turkish
interior with servants offering coffee and fruit to a sultan surrounded by dignitaries: they
are all long titled paintings by him, recently sold in Londonʼs auction houses. In the Turkish
manner of Van Mour, that drink also worked as an elitarian means of socialization.

2 – Charles-André van Loo, Sultana; Musée des Arts Décoratifs,

The Coffee Bearers

In the Turkish Girl Having Coffee on the Sofa by the painter Jean-Baptiste van Mour,
and by the engraver Jean-Baptiste Haussard, of course we can see the Turkish girl seated on
the sofa, portrayed in frontal position while going to soak a small biscuit into her beverage.
But we cannot see the face of the servant, standing and awaiting with a coffee-pot in one
hand and a tray in the other. In fact she is turned toward her somewhat fat mistress, so that
her slender, long haired figure is seen from behind. In the analogous painting by unknown
author at the Pera Museum of Istanbul, we can see frontally mistress and maid alike, even
though the face of the latter is emerging from the shade in the background. In the Sultana by
Charles-André van Loo, either the “sultana” and her maid are visible in equal measure.
As an international language made of images, a creative iconography possesses its
own logic structure and objective development paths. They wait for being interpreted and
explained, despite a possible approximation or subjectivism in the criticism, which are part
of a cultural dialectic anyway. Not seldom in the history of art, the details grew subjects as
well as the subjects became details, within the same kind of representation. In our particular

case, we have a little revolution. Slowly, the artistic attention so much focused on the
servant characters, that at last their mistresses or masters were excluded from the view. In

the 19th century, some Orientalistic painters began to depict isolated “coffee bearers”, both
female or male, what is a sort of aesthetic emancipation of them. No longer they appear in a
dark background, but they advance into a lighted foreground and fill the whole picture.
The best known is The Coffee Bearer by the English John Frederick Lewis (around
1857; City of Manchester Art Gallery), who lived in Cairo from 1841 to 1850. Indeed, this
Oriental beauty is so elegantly robed, as to look a young hostess better than a servant or a
waitress. Probably, what she wears is a long dress for ceremonies, as a wedding or other
merrymaking. She is holding a coffee-tray with both hands, and walking from an open air
country space to a courtyard, along a short passage covered by a Moorish vault. Thus, two
thirds of her figure are in the shade, the lower part is in the sun. Yet her smile is so radiant,
as to brighten all shade. Doubtless, the artistʼs skill plays a great role in this painting. And
the Romantic quality of the image makes it something akin to a mysterious allegory. What
makes us think of the possible model of so many Magdalenes as “myrrh-bearers” in the
sacred art, with the obvious difference that Mary Magdalenʼs expression is usually sad.
Other fine portraits of the same type and approximately epoch are by French painters:
Odalisque, by Louis Galliac (undated; sold at Sothebyʼs, London, in 2006); Young Woman
Bringing Coffee, by Édouard Louis Dubufe (1872; sold at Sothebyʼs, Paris, in 2008), and
Arab Girl Serving Coffee, by Charles É. H. Vernet-Lecomte (1873; Mathaf Gallery,
London). Whereas the “coffee-bearer” depicted by Dubufe looks as elegant as that depicted
by Lewis, the very young and nice girl chosen as a model by Vernet-Lecomte is more
simply dressed, albeit adorned with pretty jewels. She does not smile any longer though.
Her quite pensive attitude likely reflects certain feelings of the artist himself, who was not
merely a sensitive portraitist of Oriental anonymous women. With special reference to the
Near and Middle East and after another aspect of the Romantic lesson – let us remember the
Orientalistic production of Eugène Delacroix –, he was also interested in topical questions
and dramatic events of his times, as evidenced by his works concerning the war of Crimea
in 1853-55 or the slaughters of Syrian Maronites in the Ottoman Empire, in 1860-61.
The main charges against the Orientalistic exoticism have been that often it was an
arbitrary representation, and that it worked as justificatory and complementary with the

European colonialism. Partial apologies might be that it occurred to fill a local lack of
representation, due to a religious interdiction of the figurative arts, and that what idealized
in the Oriental culture was nostalgically referred to something missing in the modern
Occidental civilization. On the other hand, sometimes what negative represented in that
civilization could have alluded to something then still present and dissimulated or
inadmissible in ours. That is the case of slavery, or of an inferior and discriminated
condition of the “coloured” people, even there where the differences of skin colour should
result a bit less evident. In the Sultana by Charles-André van Loo, we have seen the
character of a black maid. Nor are dark-skinned “coffee-bearers” lacking later, as Kadija,
the Tunisian Girl Bringing Coffe by the German Hermann Katsch (1883?; sold at Sothebyʼs,
Paris, in 2008) and The Nubian Coffee Boy by the British Frederick Goodall (1863; sold at
Christieʼs, London, in 2008: there are two versions of it, very similar to each other).

3 – John F. Lewis, Life in the Harem, Cairo, detail

(1858; London: Victoria & Albert Museum); and The
Coffee Bearer: City of Manchester Art Gallery. In the
history of painting, this was not the first time that a

detail grew the subject, or the background became
the foreground, or else vice versa...

Interiors and Terraces

Rather than servants in a private context, The Tunisian Girl Bringing Coffe and The
Nubian Coffee Boy might have well been waiters respectively in a Tunisian and in an
Egyptian coffee-house, since Frederick Goodall travelled to Egypt in 1858-59 and 1870-71.
Yet this does not implies that their condition would have been free or a better one. Goodallʼs
painting The Song of the Nubian Slave dates from the same year of The Nubian Coffee Boy,
what tells us that the problems of slavery and poverty were not absent from his mind. In A
New Light in the Harem, again we can see a black maid. She seems to be a nurse, as she is
playing with a new born baby, while his mother is watching over and reclining on a sofa
(1884; Sudley Art Gallery, Liverpool). For a while at least, that recent birth has made that
life of seclusion less idle and boring. And the setting looks luxurious. But it is also true,
hardly the painter could have visited it, because the access to the harems was forbidden to
male visitors. Mostly, this and other harem scenes were the fruit of an artistic imagination.
However, the Arabic-Turkish coffee insists to be a frequent element in the
conventional pictures of interiors, along with a sofa and several times with a smoking device
as a water or a long stemmed pipe. For example, the three details are found altogether in
prints and paintings as An upper-class lady of Aleppo, relaxing with her pipe as she awaits a
cup of coffee (in Alexander and Richard Russell, The Natural History of Aleppo; London,
1794), Phanariote Greek Ladies attributed to the British Daniel Valentine Rivière (ca. 1840;
Pera Museum, Istanbul), or The Siesta by the North-American Frederick Arthur Bridgman,
where an odalisque is lying down and resting on her sofa (1878; Spanierman Gallery, New
York). Other times, the third element can be a musical instrument, embroidery materials or a
simple fan in one hand of a lady. Particularly in the fabulous harems, much more than
sexual excesses or other vicious activities, a problem for odalisques or favourites seems to
have been the search for adequate pastimes, as if a timeless time was their worst tyrant.
A tray with coffee cups, a sofa and a water-pipe – or hookah –, appear also in a
postcard with a coloured illustration printed in Paris, in about 1915, which is titled Coffee
and Hookah. Most probably, it was drawn from a lost or unknown painting by the Italian

Fabio Fabbi, who visited Egypt before 1886. In the scene, one woman is sitting on the floor
and drinking coffee, while a standing dark-skinned maid pours a cup for another lady, seated
on the sofa. A novelty is that the related setting is not an interior, but the open air of a
terrace, with the skyline of an Oriental town – Cairo? – just discernible beyond. For the
artists, the subject of a female coffee-party on a terrace was the occasion for a lively
representation and for a glance at the landscapes in the distance. In Coffee on the Terrace by
the Belgian Émile Deckers, that landscape is an Algerian seascape (1934; sold at the Digard
Auction House, Paris, in 2009). In a modern miniature by the Algerian Mohammed Racim
(1896-1975), Terrace of the Casbah, the view extends as far as the old port of Algiers.
Also of Coffee on the Terrace there are two versions almost identical, both of them in
private collections. We refer to that one, where the intensity of colours better renders the
brightness of its Mediterranean setting. In both pictures indeed, more important is the coral
composition, where the coffee meeting and drinking is the ideal focus. The gestures and
postures accompanying it determine the divergent lines of a virtual perspective, along which
each of the four silent girls of the group acquires her own individuality, as a visual character.
No doubt, the precedent considered by the painter is Algerian Women in their Apartment, by
Eugène Delacroix. Yet here the internal dimension is so converted into an external one, as to
somewhat change even the existential horizon. Unlike the young ladies depicted by
Delacroix, these girls look popular and modest. The most impressive is the sole standing
one, who just drank her coffee and is now gazing upon the blue wide. At the same time,
slowly and pensively she turns back toward her mates, as if foreseeing her next detachment
from them or suddenly got aware of certain limits of their common condition.
In other paintings by Fabio Fabbi, the Oriental terrace works as an intermediate
“iconema” between a closed dimension like that of the harems and the freer one which
could be represented by external life, in a society where the dominant tendency was to
assign the tasks of reproduction and of production separately to its different gendered
components. Yet let us scan a few indoors scenes more. In The Coffee, Arab Interior at
Tlemcen by the French Gaston Casimir Saint-Pierre (1833-1916), sold at the Artcurial
Auction House, Paris, in 2009, two women are sitting or reclining on a carpet with a coffee-
set by them. The former is playing a small stringed instrument, the latter is listening to her.
In The Cup of Coffee by the French Marie Antoinette Izart, an Oriental dressed girl is

portrayed alone, while having her coffee on a sofa and smiling in an advertising way (1901;
private collection). Also a Turkish paintress, Mihri Müşfik, portrayed herself with a cup of
coffee in her hands. In Ramadan, after the Breaking – that is, of the Islamic ritual fast –, and
The Coffee Hearth were painted by the Turk Osman Hamdi in 1879. In both pictures, today
in private collections, we can see a male character, with his customary turban on the head.
Seated on a sofa, he is smoking his long pipe, whereas a maid or wife is serving him coffee.
In the background, it is visible a typical fireplace for the preparation of Turkish coffee.

4 – Hermann Katsch, Kadija, the Tunisian Girl Bringing Coffe;

and Frederick Goodall, The Nubian Coffee Boy: Private

The Coffee-Houses

Did exist interior but public spaces, where an Oriental woman could play some a
role? And, which sort of women? Such a kind of them was called ‘ālmeh or, better, ‘ālimah.
Literally, in Arabic it means “learned woman”. Her type of learning was very peculiar
though, as dealing with Oriental dance, singing and sometimes music. Exceptionally, it
could have been associated with prostitution, so that our corresponding concept and word
might be “courtesan”. Incidentally, it is quite a paradox that the masculine form of the same
noun, ‘ālim, designates a legal scholar in religious studies. Amid this Muslim clergy in a
broad sense, the ‘ulamā, there were and are several adversaries of the ‘awālim, and of their

traditional learning – by the way, ‘awālim is the plural of ‘ālimah, as well as ‘ulamā is the
plural of ‘ālim. Reliably, theirs is a somewhat integralistic point of view, even if there are
those who deem it as a reaction of a culture of spirituality against one of mere physicism.
Not a few ‘awālim were used to frequent and to perform in coffee-houses, where the
public was essentially made of male patrons. Thus, some ‘awālim happened to become the
subjects of Orientalistic paintings, as Almehs Playing Chess in a Café and Sabre Dance in a
Café by the French Jean-Léon Gérôme, who visited Turkey and Egypt and was also a
master-painter of Osman Hamdi (respectively, 1870 and 1875; private collection and
Herbert F. Johnson Museum, Cornell University, Ithaca, New York). Actually Gérôme was
so charmed by the theme of the Eastern dancer, that An Almeh is titled his best female
portrayal (1882; private collection). Nevertheless, the Oriental coffee-houses were not only
pastime places where it was possible to drink coffee, to smoke water-pipes, to play chess or
to watch dancing ‘awālim accompanied by folkloric musicians. In some of them and
sometimes, men could listen to storytellers and even discuss politics or literature. From
means of socialization, the Turkish coffee ran a risk to grow a political and cultural factor.
Already during the 17th century, the worries of the ‘ulamā about public morality had
converged with those of the rulers concerning public order. In Ottoman Turkey, the coffee-
houses had been closed for a period. In 1834 the ghawāzī, a lower class of ‘awālim or street
and coffee-house dancers, were banned from Cairo and exiled to Upper Egypt. No wonder, a
lot of Orientalist artists – and writers – paid their attention to such a picturesque and
spectacular, but also doubly alternative Orient: that is with respect to Occident, and not
seldom to itself. Surely, the morbid Orientalism of harems and that centred on coffee-houses
went hand in hand. Not necessarily they coincided, since harems and coffee-houses
themselves could reflect and represent complementary, but even potential alternative aspects
of one society. In 1974, when the harems had got memories of the past, the Cairote Nagib
Mahfuz, Nobel Prize for Literature in 1988, will issue a short novel titled Karnak Café.
In the narration and setting of the story, Orientalistic clichés as the ‘ālmeh and the
coffee-house evolve into an autonomous, progressive synthesis. The author himself was an
assiduous customer of coffee-houses, nor is an influence of the relevant Orientalistic
production to exclude, upon him. Yet let us resume something of the far-sighted tale. When
younger, Qurunfula had been a famous, charming belly dancer. Now, she is the middle-aged

mistress of the Karnak Café in Cairo, but she remains a social outsider. Her coffee-house is
a meeting point for young Egyptian democrats, both male and female. All of a sudden, the
totalitarian regime of the country begins to repress and persecute them. More than once, the
victims are so lucky, that they can return to recount their suffered detentions and tortures. At
last one of them, Qurunfulaʼs lover, does not come back. Sadly, the regulars of the café
wonder and inquire about his destiny. What prevails is an impotent feeling of reciprocal
suspicion. The coffee-house will never be again that oasis of free relax which was before.
Mahfuzʼs novel is the metaphor of a wider society and age. Some integralists will
even attempt his life. If some might object that he was a modern Oriental, not an Orientalist,
they would be just right. Therefore, we like to conclude about the old pictorial Orientalism,
with a hint at the rare Oriental coffee-houses in Europe. As Thomas Allom, Théodore Frère
or Amadeo Preziosi, many depicted Turkish or Arabian coffee-houses. Others did not travel
so far. It is the case of the Austrian Franz Schams (1823-83), who painted The First Coffee
House in Vienna, 1684, owned by the Austrian Art Society. In this internal scene, the patrons
gather around a Turkish dressed proprietor. More showily Oriental are two guys having
coffee seated around a table, outside a café at Trieste. The drawing, by the Italian Francesco
Beda, is titled The Oriental Café of Trieste (ca. 1888; Civico Museo Orientale, Trieste). Not

less odd is a sculpture of the early 18th century, over the entrance of the Museum zum
Arabischen Coffe Baum in Leipzig, ascribed to the German Johann B. Thomae. In this high-
relief, a reclining Turk is given a cup of coffee by a child Cupid!

5 – Émile Deckers, Coffee on the Terrace; Private Collection

Coffee, Eros and Thánatos

An “iconema” is nothing but an iconic semantema. In the history of culture and in a

broad sense, often common beverages as wine, tea and coffee, worked as semantemas, easy
to be connected with human relations. Already in the Old Testament, in the Genesis account
of Noahʼs drunkenness, the wine becomes significant about a conflictual relationship
between patriarchs and sons. In the Genesis book again, the two daughters of Lot offer their
father wine to drink, in order to induce him into a drunken stupor and to have an incestuous
encounter with him. Coffee is a more modern and Oriental drink than wine, the usage of
which is not allowed by the Islamic religion. In Karnak Café by Nagib Mahfuz, clearly it
emerges the relationship between persecutors – or their possible forced informers – and their
victims. There was no better setting for such a story, than a coffee-house. Yet the coffee, we
have noticed above, may be also central in another problematic relationship, that between
servant and master. The harem, the terrace, the coffee-house, the coffee-bearer: they were all
“iconemas”, which could be easily associated with the coffee, in an Orientalistic art.

That is not less true for a pseudo-Orientalistic painting, such as the 18th century
Turquerie largely was. Do you remember the dark-skinned house-boy, serving coffee in a
portrait of Madame du Barry? We have more than one version of it. The best known, in the
Palace of Versailles, is entitled Madame du Barry à sa toilette, à laquelle Zamor présente
une tasse de café. This is a 1838 copy by Jean-Pierre Decreuse after an original by François-
Hubert Drouais or Jean-Baptiste-André Gautier dʼAgoty, dating from about 1770. There and
elsewhere, we get informed that Zamor was the name of the child page of Madame de
Pompadourʼs successor, as a favourite mistress of Louis XV. When grown up, he acquired
the name Louis Benedict or Benoit, continuing to be depicted by esteemed portraitists at
their times, no longer as a “coffee-bearer” but like a French gentleman. We can mention
Portrait of Zamor by Jacques-Antoine-Marie Lemoine (1785; sold at the Auction House
Ader, Picard and Tajan, Paris, in 1993), another Portrait of Zamor by Marie-Victoire
Lemoine (1785; Cummer Museum of Art & Gardens, Jacksonville, Florida), and Le nègre
Zamor attributed to Charles-Amédée-Philippe van Loo (undated; Musée Carnavalet, Paris).
He himself ran a risk of becoming an “iconema”, the civilized projection of a “noble
savage” theorized by the mind of the philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau. What did happen?
Let us read the Memoirs of the Comtesse du Barry, Chapter XIII, about him whom she
herself calls a “cup-bearer”: “I christened my little negro Zamor, to whom by degrees I
became attached with all the tenderness of a mother. You ask me why? Indeed that is more
than I can tell; perhaps at first I looked upon him as a sort of puppet or plaything, but,
imperceptibly to myself, I became passionately fond of my little page, nor was the young
urchin slow in perceiving the ascendancy he had gained over me, and, in the end, to abuse
his influence, and attained, as I have before said, an almost incredible degree of insolence
and effrontery”. Yet let us listen to an indirect reply, of Louis Benedict too: “If the beautiful
countess brought me up, it was in order to reduce myself to a plaything. She allowed that I
was humbled in her own mansion, as an abused subject of mockeries and insolences”.
It was during the French Revolution, that the life of the Christianized Zamor turned
from a dim Enlightened fable into a dark bitter drama. Converted into an extremist Jacobin,
his obsessed revolt was mainly directed to the now middle-aged “beautiful countess”, born
Marie-Jeanne Bécu. He accused her of activity against the State, giving testimony before a
revolutionary court in Paris. At last, she was sentenced as a traitor and beheaded on 8

December 1793. With a gruesome play on words, it could be said that thus the career of
Louis Benedict had evolved from a coffee-bearer to a “death-bearer”. What can we
comment on, in his defence? He himself was imprisoned for six weeks or months, as
suspected of having been an accomplice of his former stepmother; soon after fled France.
If we read back Zamorʼs reported words, by comparing them with the passage from
the writing of du Barry, we will realize that the former are echoing the latter, as if
someone had suggested such an artful and tendentious mixing. What might let us guess that
the denouncer and accuser had been coerced, by realistic cowing and blackmailing, just like
some characters in the above fiction by Mahfuz. It is a fact that Louis Benedict – or Benoit,
with a variant name – returned to Paris in 1815, past the final defeat of Napoleon. In his last
years, he was a scarcely esteemed school-teacher. An anecdote has been invented, that once
he found a rusty guillotine blade, allusively put out of his house door. A few people at his
funeral, in 1820, were probably the only ones acquainted with his mystery. Even his old
name Zamor could sound like a mockery, for a man left with no amor at all, or – rather –
whose “love” was so troubled, as to eventually degenerate and be twisted into a lethal tool.

6 – Jean-Léon Gérôme, Almehs Playing Chess in a Café; Private

Copyright 2011

Other essays by the same author, in English, at the Websites below:

7 – Madame du Barry in her Dressing Room, Receiving a Cup of
Coffee from Zamor, engraving after a painting by François-
Hubert Drouais or Jean-Baptiste-André Gautier dʼAgoty