.dt Turkish Memories, by Sidney Whitman--A Project Gutenberg eBook
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Ghazi Osman Pacha
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[Illustration: Ghazi Osman Pacha]
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.h1
TURKISH MEMORIES
.nf c
BY

SIDNEY WHITMAN

AUTHOR OF
“GERMAN MEMORIES” etc.

<I>WITH FRONTISPIECE</I>

NEW YORK: CHAS. SCRIBNER’S SONS
LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
MCMXIV
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<I>Printed in England</I>
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<l>INSCRIBED
TO THE MEMORY OF</l>

<xl>AHMED MIDHAT EFFENDI</xl>

LATE VICE-PRESIDENT OF THE
IMPERIAL OTTOMAN BOARD
OF PUBLIC HEALTH IN
CONSTANTINOPLE
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.h2
PREFACE
.pm ch-hd-start
<s>Our aim should be neither to mock, to bewail, nor
to denounce men’s actions, but to understand them.</s>
.rj
<sc>Spinoza</sc>
.pm ch-hd-end
.sp 2
.ni
<sc>The</sc> following pages are the outcome of several
prolonged visits to Constantinople, Macedonia, and
Asiatic Turkey, covering a period of twelve years,
from 1896 to 1908. Several of these were made under
exceptional circumstances and embody experiences
such as do not often fall to the lot of a traveller, some
of which, I venture to think, are of lasting public
interest.
.pi
Anyone who has had personal relations with an
autocrat—in this case the spiritual head of a faith in
which in the course of centuries thousands of millions
of human beings have lived and died—ought to have
much to tell worth recounting. There were also the
surroundings of the Monarch to be observed. Many
a trait of deep human interest presented itself to him
who was a privileged visitor: for instance, the ups and
downs of fortune as they affected the all-powerful
favourite whose good offices—as in the time of a
Madame de Pompadour—powerful Sovereigns did
not think it beneath their dignity to strive and
compete for. Such a man I have seen in disgrace,
// 007.png
.pn +1
shunned by those who had hitherto prostrated themselves
before him. Finally, I have met him in the
streets of London, living under an assumed name in
fear of assassination.

At one time it has been my lot to sleep on couches
covered with the costliest products of the Turkish
loom; at another on the bare floor in a dirty wayside
han (camel shed), with camels and oxen as bedfellows,
typhus and small-pox hovering around us. Hospitality
has been extended to me in the underground mud-hut
of the fierce, though hospitable, Kurdish chieftain,
armed to the teeth, and next morning I have beheld the
snow-capped summit of Mount Ararat, peering seventeen
thousand feet high through the clouds. I have
seen the streets of Constantinople bathed in the sunshine
of summer, and a few hours later besmeared
with blood. The life of the people has presented itself
to me in the workshop of the artisan, with the boatman
on the Bosphorus, with the soldier on the march, and
I have felt at home in such company. To all this
may be added many opportunities of entering
into the spirit and thought of a people usually so
exclusive that Europeans may live for years in
Turkey without ever having an opportunity of gaining
the confidence of a single Mohammedan in any walk
of life.

Our quick-living age is so full of transient impressions
that “to-day” has become the avowed enemy of
“yesterday.” Men who but recently played a prominent
part in the world are forgotten; they are obliged
to die in order to reveal the fact that they were until
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.pn +1
just now still living. If the material of my book is
partly concerned with the things of yesterday, the
incidents and characters which it displays may at
least claim to illustrate a series of abiding human
truths.

If it is only now, after a lapse of years, that I have
decided to issue these fragments of my memories, the
delay is due to the fact that as long as the ex-Sultan
was on the throne my personal relations with him
and with those around him formed an obstacle which
seemed to check my pen. My narrative might perhaps
have been discounted under the suspicion that it was
influenced by undue partiality or tainted by motives
of self-interest. Now that things have so completely
changed there can be but little danger of such an
interpretation of my motives.

In describing certain traits of Turkish character I
have intentionally dwelt by preference on those which
are brightest, because prejudice and detraction have
created an impression which calls for a correction of
values. My book, therefore, does not lay claim to judicial
impartiality. My aim has been to show by a recital of
actual experiences that the Mohammedan Turk, whose
religion is that of sixty millions of British subjects, is
far better than his repute. I have written in frank
sympathy with his sterling human qualities, and with
a keen sense of the injustice he has long suffered
from Christian opinion in Europe.

The Governor of Constantinople one day in 1896
said to me: “England was for us once a garden full of
roses, a subject of pleasant thought, sight, and memory.
// 009.png
.pn +1
Now, alas! a serpent has entered and brought discord
between us.”

.tb

In the course of my work a trifling incident led me
into a correspondence with the late Professor Arminius
Vambéry, whose letters, full of insight into Turkish
affairs and goodwill towards England, will be found
reprinted in the #Appendix:app#. I am also indebted to my
friend Lieutenant-Colonel H. P. Picot, who was
H.B.M.’s Military Attaché in Teheran from 1893–1900,
for a short contribution which will likewise be found
in the Appendix, p. #294#.

From many mementoes in my possession I have
chosen the autographed portrait of Ghazi Osman
Pasha for reproduction as being that of the hero of a
people whose fine qualities no one who is acquainted
with them can fail to admire.
.rj
S. W.
.sp 2
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.h2
CONTENTS
.sp 2
.ta r:5 h:40 r:5
<xs>CHAPTER</xs>      | |    <xs>PAGE</xs>
 |<B>PART I</B> |

I. | INTRODUCTORY   | #1#
II. |THE ARMENIAN OUTBREAK IN CONSTANTINOPLE, 1896   | #10#
III. |THE GRÆCO-TURKISH WAR, 1897   | #36#
IV.  |JOURNEY THROUGH ASIATIC TURKEY: I | #57#
V. | JOURNEY THROUGH ASIATIC TURKEY: II | #82#
VI. | JOURNEY THROUGH ASIATIC TURKEY: III | #101#
VII. | JOURNEY THROUGH ASIATIC TURKEY: IV | #118#

 | <B>PART II</B>|

VIII.  |YILDIZ PALACE   | #137#
IX.  |SULTAN ABDUL HAMID   | #159#
X.  |A CITY OF DIPLOMATISTS   | #183#
XI.  |THE LEVANTINE  | #199#
XII.  |THE TURK AND HIS CREED | #210#
XIII.  |TURKISH TRAITS: I  | #233#
XIV.  |TURKISH TRAITS: II  | #245#
XV. | CONCLUSION  | #261#

 | APPENDIX  | #283#

 | INDEX  | #299#
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<xxl>PART I</xxl>
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.h2
CHAPTER I||INTRODUCTORY
.pm ch-hd-start
Not oft I’ve seen such sight nor heard such song,
As wooed the eye, and thrilled the Bosphorus along.
.rj
<sc>Byron</sc>, <i>Childe Harold</i>, Canto xi.
.pm ch-hd-end
.ni
<sc>In</sc> the spring of 1896, at a time when public attention
centred on the Armenian troubles, the Sultan of
Turkey sent a confidential emissary to London for
the purpose of sounding the Marquis of Salisbury on
the situation without the knowledge of the Turkish
Ambassador. He endeavoured to obtain an interview
with the Prime Minister, but without success. The
Turkish Ambassador was anything but pleased at this
Palace manœuvre, and did his best to prevent his
master’s agent being received. Costaki Pasha, with
whom I was on friendly terms, told me that it was
bad enough to be kept waiting for one’s salary, but it
was adding insult to injury to have your position
undermined by unauthorized missions.
.pi
The Sultan’s emissary informed me during his stay
that the Sultan was most anxious to ascertain Prince
Bismarck’s opinion on the Armenian question, and if
possible to learn what the Prince would advise him to
do in reference to the embarrassing situation in Crete,
and he begged me to assist him in this matter.

Shortly afterwards I paid a visit to Prince Bismarck
// 015.png
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at Friedrichsruh (June 26, 1896). After referring
to the action of the Greek Committees which were
fomenting trouble throughout the Levant, the Prince
expressed his disapproval of the fire-eating Greek
Press and the folly of its European backers, who, as he
asserted, were at the bottom of the whole disturbance.
It was on this occasion that the Prince, in answer to
a question, made the since oft-quoted sarcastic remark
that “he took less interest in the island of Crete than
in a molehill in his own garden.” Referring to the
Sultan and his troubles, Bismarck put his hands up
to his ears, extending the open palms outwards, so as
to imitate the attitude of a hare and to convey the
idea of the Sultan’s timidity in face of a situation which
called for exceptional nerve and strength of purpose.

On my return to London in the beginning of July,
I received a request from the proprietor of the <i>New
York Herald</i> to come to Paris. On my arrival
he asked me whether I would be willing to go to
Constantinople to represent his paper there for a
couple of months. Sixteen years previously I had
visited Turkey as a tourist, and I thought I should
like to see the country again. So I accepted the offer
on the spot.

We owe to a popular writer the assertion that there
is something fundamentally different in character
between the East and the West, which makes mutual
understanding difficult and assimilation impossible.
The English traveller who is inclined to accept this
axiom may begin to detect the Eastern flavour of
things as soon as he leaves the frontier of the German
// 016.png
.pn +1
Empire behind him and passes through the Austro-Hungarian
Monarchy on his way to Constantinople.
Monarchs and statesmen may come and go, laws may
be promulgated and the ballot-box may be adopted,
but the character of a people is not materially changed
even by such measures as compulsory education and
universal military service. The East has adopted
some of the machinery of Western life, but the
Eastern remains an Eastern still. Institutions unsuited
to a people’s traditions and character may only
jeopardize its fortunes:

.pm verse-start
A thousand years scarce serve to form a State,
An hour may lay it in the dust: and when
Can man its shattered splendour renovate,
Recall its virtues back, and vanquish Time and Fate?
.rj
<i>Childe Harold</i>, Canto xi, stanza lxxxiv.
.pm verse-end

Should you arrive at Vienna on a Saturday, you
will have to wait there twenty-four hours if you
intend to take the Orient Express to Constantinople,
for it leaves Vienna on Sunday evening, and even in
that short time you may feel a subtle change in the
atmosphere of life. You ask a sedate-looking official
in the bureau of your hotel up to what o’clock on
Sunday morning the shops in the town remain open,
as you want to purchase a few travelling necessaries.
“Till mid-day, sir,” is the decisive reply. Instinctively
warned by past experience, you turn to the hallporter,
who usually embodies the brain power of a
Viennese hotel, and in order to make sure you put
the same question to him. “The shops are not open
// 017.png
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at all, sir, on Sundays,” is his reply: and so indeed it
turns out to be.

You stroll towards the Leopoldstadt with the
intention of taking lunch at the old “Goldener
Lamm,” now called the Hotel National, long renowned
as the hostelry patronized by European crowned heads
as far back as the Vienna Congress in 1815. You
grip the brass handle of a glass door on which the
inviting word “Entrée” is affixed in large white
enamelled letters. You tug at it in vain and are
ultimately warned off by a man signalling frantically
from the inside that it is not a door at all, but only
the window of an apartment—and that the real
entrance to the Hôtel is a few yards to the left. You
now recollect that when you were there last—some
seven years previously—that blessed word “Entrée”
was already there, and that you—and doubtless many
others ever since—were warned off, the proprietor
not having deemed it worth while to do away with
the misleading letters.

It is still Sunday, and you wish to post a registered
letter. This can only be done at the Central Post
Office during certain hours of the afternoon. You
drive there, holding your letter in readiness, together
with a “krone” to pay the registration fee, and wait your
turn patiently. For without patience, that supposed
Christian virtue (which, by the way, I subsequently
acquired myself and discovered to be of Mohammedan
origin), it is of little use starting on a journey to the
East. At last your turn comes and you patiently
watch the registering clerk, after slowly copying the
// 018.png
.pn +1
address of your letter into a book, retire to the back of
his capacious office. You notice that he is engaged in
earnest consultation with a colleague. At last, he
comes forward with an air of embarrassment and explains
apologetically that he is in a “difficulty” as to
providing the change out of the small coin you have
handed him. Finally, he asks whether you would
mind accepting a postage stamp of the value of ten
heller (one penny) in part discharge of the sum due to
you.

All this happens within twenty-four hours! You
know now that you are well on your way to the East,
where a minimum value of time and an element of
fiction mixed up with every action or statement of
fact constitute two of the many differences between
the easy-going East and the matter-of-fact West.
But there are compensations in the altered aspect of
life, and one is the deep impression which Constantinople
produces on the stranger by its gorgeous variety
of colouring, its movement, and its polyglot chaos.

.tb

Constantinople with its five hundred gardens and
palaces, its six hundred and eighty mosques, minarets,
and towers rising above the sea in the form of a huge
amphitheatre, offers to the eye a truly fascinating
panorama. Byron extolled its position as incomparable
to anything he had ever seen. That great
traveller and student of nature, Alexander von Humboldt,
thought Salzburg, Naples, and Constantinople
the three most beautiful sites in the world. Such
// 019.png
.pn +1
is its mysterious charm that “a Sea of Impressions
stirs the soul—as a balmy breeze plays gently upon a
cornfield in bloom. An intoxicating aroma is wafted
towards us. All the wonders of the Eastern World
seem to float before our vision—fables and palaces of
the Arabian Nights.”

But if Constantinople must ever possess an attraction
for the traveller by virtue of its unique situation, a
deeper interest lies in its unrivalled historical associations,
covering two thousand five hundred years of
the world’s history. From the days of Darius, Alcibiades,
and Justinian—when the corn-laden galleys
from the Black Sea glided swiftly past the shore
opposite Seraglio Point—down to the present time,
Constantinople has always been the object of desire
of ambitious rulers of nations.

Seen on a summer morning from a window on the
upper floor of the Pera Palace Hotel, the city presents
a dazzling picture of kaleidoscopic beauty. We are
several hundred feet above the level of the sea. It is
early morn, and a thick grey fog conceals the waters
of the Golden Horn as well as the land. Gradually,
as if awakening from a dream, the sharp angles of
prominent buildings, the tips of tall minarets, the
curved outlines of stately mosques, emerge through
the mist between clusters of dark cypresses, dotted
in stray patches away to the horizon. The rays of the
rising sun strike a few windows here and there. These
glisten with a peculiar iridescence, as if lighted by
electricity—peeping through the impenetrable haze
still dimming the ground. Something ghost-like
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pervades the scene. Fancy conjures up the vain anger
of Polyphemus, the deriding jeers of Ulysses.

Rooks caw overhead as they circle through the air.
Chanticleer crows on a patch of green meadow-land.
Dogs bark with unwonted anger as three bears, led by
their keepers, thread their way through the crowd—well
accustomed to such sights. Resounding above
all, the trumpet call from the Cavalry Barracks
vibrates, mingling with the shouts of hawkers in the
street. Fog-horns and the siren’s moan from ships
at anchor swell the chorus, and between whiles the
tinkling of bells of passing mules and horses is distinctly
heard. Droves of black sheep, followed by
Thracian shepherds in picturesque garb, and numbers
of horses of Anatolian breed, ridden by barefooted
boys, pass by. Amid this pandemonium, bricklayers
are at work on the roof of a seven-storied building,
run up in such primitive fashion that you wonder the
whole structure does not collapse and bury them
among its wreckage. Yet cobblers and tailors are
unconcernedly plying their craft in the basement,
completing a picture which, if witnessed on the stage
or described in a story-book, would strike us as a
fanciful realization of a mythical world.

But lo! the sun! Mosques, minarets, and cypresses
float out of the grey mist as it lifts slowly off land and
water. Turkish ironclads become substantial things
as they lie at anchor in the Golden Horn alongside
the battered old wooden hulks of Navarino’s bloody
memory. At first the iron prows only are visible,
tipped with light. But as the sun grows more
// 021.png
.pn +1
powerful and plays on the water, streaks of silver
quiver serpent-like—a veritable Greek fire—round the
hulls, until finally the ironclads themselves appear
majestically before the vision like antediluvian monsters.

An old disused Turkish cemetery is spread out in
front of us with its mournful grove of cypresses. Not
so very long ago the whole space from the Hôtel down
to the water’s edge was one huge graveyard containing
the dead of centuries. Théophile Gautier tells us
that the Turk loves to be near his dead. To-day only
a stray gravestone is left here and there to mark the
resting-place of some pious personage hallowed for his
faith, his virtues, and on no account to be desecrated
by the removal of his bones. Farther away is the
suburb of Cassim Pasha, on its fringe the Marine
Ministry, and close by, on a hill, the Marine Hospital.
Adjoining this, still farther to the right, is the Ters
Hanè, the Turkish Government dry-dock on the banks
of the Golden Horn. And if the eye takes a wider
sweep to the right, the asylum of the poor, Fakir
Hanè, comes into view—a noble structure beautifully
situated, handsomely endowed by Sultan Abdul Hamid,
and, with true Turkish charity, devoted to the poor of
all creeds alike. Then there are the Cavalry Barracks,
the Greek High School, the so-called Phanar—another
instance of Abdul Hamid’s munificence. Finally, as
we survey the scene from left to right, the cupolas
and minarets of five different mosques, each erected
in honour of some noted Sultan—Bajezid, Suleiman,
Schah-Zadè, Mahmud, Selim—come into the picture
and crown the horizon.
// 022.png
.pn +1

This, in faint outline, is the panorama of life and
colour which, once witnessed, is stamped for all time
on the memory. Yet the imagination is, perhaps, even
more deeply stirred by the same scene deprived of its
cacophonic noise and its bright colouring in the
mysterious stillness of a summer night.[#] Thousands
of twinkling lights tell of the unchecked life of the
city. The starlit heavens speak a language of their
own. They whisper of the transitoriness, the vanity,
the futility of what the human heart clings to, and, as
if to emphasize the sadness of it all, the twang of a
harp and a guitar breaks the silence. The dulcet
accents of a woman’s voice—a Mignon of this
Eastern land—ring out to their accompaniment.
The musicians are gipsies—that mysterious race of
nomads, wanderers like ourselves towards a distant
bourne.

.pm fn-start // 1
On great occasions, such as the Sultan’s birthday, the contrast of
day and night is still further heightened by the illumination of the
warships in the Golden Horn and other craft in the Bosphorus.
.pm fn-end

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.h2
CHAPTER II||THE ARMENIAN OUTBREAK IN\
CONSTANTINOPLE (August 1896)
.pm ch-hd-start
There is no sure foundation set in blood;
No certain life achieved by other’s death.
.rj
<sc>Shakespeare</sc>, <i>King John</i>
.pm ch-hd-end
.ni
<sc>Much</sc> that I shall have to say in the course of the
next few chapters might be unintelligible, or at least
liable to be misunderstood, if I were not to explain
the circumstances under which I went to Constantinople
as Correspondent of the <i>New York Herald</i>. My visit
was, as indicated in the previous chapter, in direct
connexion with the so-called “Armenian Atrocities,”
and my mission was due to the shrewdness of one man,
a great newspaper proprietor.
.pi
For some time past the diplomatic and consular representatives
of the Powers at Constantinople had sent
alarming reports to their respective Governments, and
these, passing into the Press, and supplemented by
harrowing accounts from the foreign newspaper correspondents
in Constantinople, had fanned a flame of
resentment directed against the Turks as Mohammedans.
This was more particularly the case in
England and the United States of America.[#] The
// 024.png
.pn +1
proprietor of the <i>New York Herald</i>, almost alone
among newspaper magnates, had the discernment to
perceive that the Armenian question was in the main
a political one—in some respects similar to that of
Bulgaria a generation previously—and that whatever
might be the shortcomings of the Turkish Government
and its local Administration, there was little or no
reason for assuming that the disturbances had their
source in religious fanaticism directed against the
Christian as such; whilst evidence was accumulating
that a vast Armenian conspiracy, nurtured in Russia and
encouraged by the Nonconformist element in England,
obscured the real issue, to which there were two sides.
Mr. Gordon Bennett saw the chance of a journalistic
“score” in giving the Turks an opportunity of making
their own version of things known to the world—a
chance which had been denied to them by the great
English newspapers.

.pm fn-start // 1
See English Blue Books for the years 1895–1896.
.pm fn-end

This was my first experience as a Special Correspondent
abroad, and before starting, Mr. Gordon Bennett
had given me his ideas of the duties of such as follows:
“The Special Correspondent of a great newspaper
possesses for the time being something of the influence
of an Ambassador from one nation to another.
Now, according to an axiom of Machiavelli, an Ambassador
should endeavour to make himself <i>persona grata</i>
with those to whom he is accredited, if only thereby
to gain the best opportunities for obtaining every
possible information and to be able to report events
in a broad impartial spirit. The correspondent should
give his sources wherever possible, and allow the reader
// 025.png
.pn +1
to form his own opinion on the facts submitted. The
views of the paper itself should be found in the editorial
columns. The correspondent is to take no side, and
to express no opinions of his own. In many cases
it would appear that the matter sent to the papers
by their correspondents in Turkey is biased against the
Turks. This implies an injustice against which even a
criminal on trial is protected.”

Having stated this much, I may add that it would
be an error to suppose that it was expected of me to
palliate or gloss over the gravity of any excesses which
might have taken place, for such would only have frustrated
the object in view. As a matter of fact, no
foreign correspondent in Constantinople gave more
unvarnished accounts than those published by the
<i>New York Herald</i> of the terrible events which subsequently
took place in the Turkish capital.

One of the salient features of Constantinople is
the prevalence of idle gossip, and I had not been
there many days before I became aware that my
presence and its supposed purpose formed a topic of
interest to people whose very existence was unknown
to me. One day, entering the Club de Constantinople,
near the Pera Palace Hotel, I was addressed in English
by a fat, sallow-faced, beardless individual, who told
me with the blandest of smiles that he had heard I
had come to Constantinople to “write up the Turks,”
and that I was to be paid neither more nor less than
one million francs to do so. He asked me quite ingenuously
whether this was indeed the case.

With such an auspicious opening it could not be a
// 026.png
.pn +1
matter for surprise that before long the <i>Herald</i> correspondent
became an object of curiosity to the large
colony of “gobe-mouches” who supplied current
gossip in the guise of personal news to Embassies
and newspaper correspondents.

A conviction had gained ground in diplomatic
circles, intensified by the Press in general, that the
Turkish Government was, if not actually unwilling,
at all events unable to prevent the recurrence of
massacres. The agitation on the part of the Armenian
Committees in the different capitals of Europe had
been carried on to such purpose that there was hardly
an American or English newspaper which had a good
word left to say of the Turks, let alone of the Turkish
Government. A horde of adventurers of various
nationalities, déclassés of every sphere of life,
cashiered officers among the rest, who had left their
native country for its good, were eking out a precarious
livelihood by providing newspaper correspondents, if not
also Embassies, with backstair information. Others
were in the pay of the Sultan or his chamberlains, at
the same time acting as spies, watching and reporting
the doings of people of note in the capital in the
interests of the Palace.

Thus whenever a stray communication, signed with
some pseudonym, appeared in a newspaper, it was at
once assumed that it emanated from a tainted source.
For such was the prejudiced state of Anglo-Saxon
feeling against the Turks at this particular period—much
to the delight of England’s rivals on the
spot—that it was quite sufficient to be known as
// 027.png
.pn +1
a philo-Turk to be credited with some kind of
rascality.

My letters of introduction opened all doors to me,
so that, had there been any news to get hold of, I
was favourably placed to obtain it, more particularly
from official Turkish sources. I was, therefore, much
disappointed at the meagre information procurable,
either at the Sublime Porte or at the Palace itself,
since I had openly stated that my one desire was
to be put in a position to get hold of important
items of news, if possible earlier than my competitors,
and to give the Turkish side, or version, of events
as they took place. This was the only favour
asked, and I was extremely surprised at the helplessness
of the Turks to avail themselves of a
powerful organ of publicity ready to give them fair
play. Instead of meeting me in a sensible spirit, one
of the first things the Turkish authorities did was
to confiscate the <i>New York Herald</i>. Mr. Whittaker,
the <i>Times</i> correspondent, whom I informed of what
had taken place, said: “They are hopelessly dense.
Tell them that if they want the truth told they must
let a correspondent manage things in his own way.”
But this the authorities were either disinclined to do
or incapable of doing all the time I was in Constantinople.
Thus almost every bit of news I obtained
came to me independently of Turkish sources, and was
the result of my own individual efforts. Powerlessness
on the part of the official Turks to avail themselves of
an influential journal anxious to show them to the
world in their true colours (surrounded by enemies
// 028.png
.pn +1
and slanderers as they were on all sides, in the face
of a serious crisis) was confessed to me one day in
pathetic terms by Mehmet Izzet Bey, one of the
Sultan’s translators, in the words: “Mon cher, nous
sommes un peuple taciturne; nous ne savons pas nous
défendre.”

I had been some weeks in Constantinople, and there
was no sign of anything unusual being about to
happen; nothing which would have justified me in
continuing to idle away my time in that city. So I
wrote to Mr. Bennett asking him to allow me to
return home. But, as it soon became apparent, this
was only the lull before the storm. On the afternoon
of August 26, a Mr. Whittall, an English resident,
volunteered to accompany me on a shopping expedition
to the Bazaar in Stamboul. We took the funicular
tunnel railway from Pera down to Galata, but had no
sooner alighted at the latter station than we were
witnesses of an extraordinary scene.

Everybody was in a state of wildest excitement.
We were hustled out of the station, the iron gates of
which were immediately shut, turning us, as it were,
into the street, where on all sides the iron shutters of
the shops were being hastily put up with a deafening
din. Every door was closed against us, and we just
managed to find shelter on some steps leading down
into a cellar so as to survey the scene. All this
happened with incredible rapidity. Simultaneously, a
shrieking and gesticulating savage crowd, of the type
seen unloading ships in the harbour, came along from
the left, surging on towards the Galata Bridge. They
// 029.png
.pn +1
were armed with what, as far as I could make out, were
wooden laths, such as might have been split off from
cases, or legs wrenched off tables and chairs, and were
in hot pursuit of a couple of Armenians who, covered
with blood, were running immediately in front of them,
evidently flying for life. They passed so rapidly that
it was difficult to distinguish between the pursued and
the pursuers. The rattle of musketry was incessant;
it played an accompaniment to the dramatic scene,
and seemed to be coming from the vicinity of the
Ottoman Bank, into which, as we only heard later in
the day, a band of Armenian revolutionists had forced
an entry, overpowered the personnel in charge, barricaded
the doors, and begun throwing bombs and firing
revolver shots out of the windows on to the crowd in
the street.

Led by curiosity and the natural desire of a correspondent
to see what was going on, we crept along,
skirting the side of the houses in the direction of the
firing, until we reached the corner of a narrow street
leading up to the Ottoman Bank. From here we saw
some Turkish soldiers standing in front of the Bank
building and firing in the direction of the windows,
from which came shots in return. Half-way between
them and where we stood we could distinguish a
number of dead bodies on the ground.

On our way up the hill, back to the hotel, we passed
several more dead lying either in the road or in the
side streets. Nobody came near them, as would have
been the case in many European countries; no curiosity
was shown: they lay prone as if death had been the
// 030.png
.pn +1
result of some sudden cataclysm, or shock, which had
subsided as suddenly as it came.

The pavement as well as the middle of the streets
showed big patches of blood, proving that the
massacres, which apparently had started among the
harbour population of Galata and Stamboul, had
spread to the heights of Pera. I took a walk through
the Grande Rue de Pera and the adjoining thoroughfares,
in which every shop was closed, but did
not meet a soul. Had it not been for the dogs,
which struck me as being unusually depressed,
Constantinople might have been a deserted city,
and this state of things lasted for several days.
Such was the tension of nerves that when I
returned to the hotel I found the messenger boy
who had shown me the way to the telegraph
office near the British Embassy, and whom I had
subsequently lost sight of, in tears. He had
spread the report that I had been murdered. As a
matter of fact no Europeans ran any appreciable risk
of harm during those days, except, perhaps, through
the accident of an Armenian bomb exploding in the
street in their immediate vicinity. At night a table
was placed in the hall of the hotel, on which were
placed a number of revolvers, so that each guest
might take one up to his room, and have a weapon
with which to defend himself. But for the dull thud
of the bekdji’s (night watch) wooden staff striking the
pavement an uncanny stillness prevailed, as of a dead
city. During that night and the subsequent ones the
dead were taken in carts past our hotel and hastily
// 031.png
.pn +1
interred in the Armenian cemetery on the way to
Tschishly.

Early next morning I went out with the correspondent
of the <i>Times</i>. We visited the Ottoman Bank,
from whence the Armenian conspirators had, only a
few hours before, been taken away. Everything was
in the greatest disorder. Pools of blood on the first
floor and in the basement remained as evidence of
what had taken place during the previous twenty-four
hours. We were shown a heap of blood-stained coins.
On the second floor we saw a table still littered with
the remnants of the last meal of the Armenians. The
staff of the Bank had escaped through the roof when
the Armenians made their attack.

We thence wended our way to the Galata Bridge,
upon which dense crowds had congregated, the Turkish
guard being doubled at the head of the bridge, the
wooden planks of which were dotted with a spray of
blood spots. In the afternoon a friend took me to a
house near the Galata Tower. We climbed up to the
roof, from which we obtained a bird’s-eye view of the
harbour, and saw a crowd rushing from all directions
towards the quay—apparently on the alert to renew
the outbreak.

I went up to the Palace in the afternoon and found
everybody in a state of great excitement. There could
be no doubt of the helplessness of the authorities in the
face of the action of the mob; but great stress was
laid on the provocation given by the Armenian conspirators,
which nobody could have foreseen and which
the Armenian Patriarch Osmanian had publicly repudiated
// 032.png
.pn +1
and denounced. The Turkish officials were
indignant that it should be said the movement was
inspired by hatred of the Christians as such, and the
Sultan’s second secretary proceeded to draw up a list
for my information of the large number of Armenians
who occupied some of the best paid Ministerial posts
and were among the Sultan’s own staff of Court officials.
The list I was assured ran to about twenty per cent. of
the higher employees at Constantinople. The Keeper
of the Sultan’s Civil List—Ohannes Effendi—was an
Armenian, as was also the chief Censor of the Press.

Next morning I went by steamer to Buyukdere to
see the Russian Ambassador, M. de Nelidow, who,
through his chief dragoman, M. Maximow, had
negotiated the escape of the Armenian bank-breakers.
M. Maximow had gone up to the Palace, and by his
language, the like of which had never been heard in
the decorous precincts, frightened the Palace officials.
There was some talk at the time of the British Fleet
being ordered up to Constantinople, a rumour which
I mentioned to the Russian Ambassador. It did not
appear to please him, for he exclaimed rather excitedly:
“Oh, par exemple! Nous ne rendrons jamais la clef
de notre maison”—a remark the significance of which
has never been absent from my thoughts from that
day to this in connexion with Turkey and her future.

I then called on Abraham Pasha at his summer
residence, also at Buyukdere. I had made his
acquaintance a few weeks previously at the Sultan’s
Palace, and had been his guest at the Cercle d’Orient.
A great landowner and sportsman, as I could see
// 033.png
.pn +1
the trophies in the hall of his palatial konak, he
was reputed to be the wealthiest and most influential
Armenian notability in Turkey, and had always been
on the very best terms with Abdul Hamid. He had
even had the honour of entertaining his predecessor,
Abdul Aziz, at his country seat. I found him in
bed, guarded by a body of armed retainers, in a
state of great trepidation. “What is this? What
is it all coming to? It is really too bad!” he
ejaculated as I was ushered into his bedroom. As a
matter of fact Armenians had been killed at Buyukdere.
So great was the terror among the Armenians of position
that one of the wealthiest, the banker Azarian, to whom
I had brought a letter of introduction from the London
house of Rothschild, closed his place of business and fled
to the Prinkipo Islands. It was a novel sensation to
see millionaires, thus exposed to the slings and arrows
of outrageous fortune, being pursued like rats, and if
caught knocked on the head as little better than vermin.

The most extraordinary feature of this popular
rising against the Armenians, at least from an ethnological
point of view, was the discrimination exercised by
the mob in seeking their victims. Thus, to a stranger,
it would be often difficult enough to distinguish
between an Armenian and a Greek, an Italian, or a
Jew, at least by the cast of his features; and among
Armenians there are Protestants, Roman Catholics,
and Orthodox Greek Churchmen. Yet those who
belonged to the Orthodox Greek Church, and were
thus supposed to be implicated in the revolutionary
propaganda fomented in Russia, were sought out and
// 034.png
.pn +1
hounded to death. Hardly any Roman Catholic
Armenians were molested, for they were reported to
have refrained from revolutionary activity. How the
unlettered crowd of Kurds, Lazis, and other Turkish
tribes constituting the lower classes of Galata were
able to exercise such discrimination still remains a
mystery to me.

In the midst of the massacres going on in broad
daylight a Jewish money-changer in one of the streets
of Galata was assailed by a crowd and was on the
point of being felled to the ground. In his abject
terror the man called out: “For God’s sake, let me
go! I am not an Armenian; I am a Hebrew.”
The mob, though in a frenzy of passionate excitement,
desisted for a moment, and the man’s assertion proving
to be true, the crowd released him. The terror-stricken
wretch rushed away, leaving the contents of
his stall, a mass of gold and silver coins, strewn on the
pavement. Several Turks forming part of the murderous
crowd pursued him, crying out: “Come back
and pick up your money; we don’t want to rob you.”

It is only fair to state that the German colony
stood practically alone in not succumbing to the
prevailing panic. Even on the 26th of August,
when, in the first hours of consternation, public
offices of every other nationality were closed, the
German Post Office, which is situated close to the
Ottoman Bank—in the very centre of the disturbance—remained
open and sent off its post-bags as usual.
Bearing the German flag aloft, the officials took the
sacks of letters over the Galata Bridge to the railway
// 035.png
.pn +1
station in Stamboul, where the massacres were at their
height. I mention this fact, even after this lapse of
time, because the cool-headedness of the Germans on
this occasion was one of the contributory causes which,
from that time onwards, made them rise in the favour
of the Sultan and the officials at the Palace at
the expense of the influence of other nationalities,
who, for the time being, had apparently lost all sense
of proportion. This incident derives its significance
not so much from the presence of mind which the
Germans displayed as from the fact that it showed
that they alone, among the foreign element, were
conversant with the political nature of this outbreak,
and refused to believe and to be influenced by its
supposed religious origin. The Germans knew that
as Christians or foreigners they had nothing to fear,
whereas the agitation carried on in England by
Canon McColl and the Duke of Westminster, backed
by sundry fervent Nonconformists, had had the effect
of exhibiting the fanatical Turk as thirsting for
the blood of the Christian. Thus, when the crisis
came, those who had allowed their minds to be dominated
by these personages failed to show that calmness
and self-possession which are otherwise marked
characteristics of the English race when suddenly
assailed by peril.

Only a few English families, such as the Whittalls,
merchant princes who have lived in Smyrna and
Constantinople for generations, and whose name
is a household word among the Turks, did not lose
their heads. They even exercised their influence to
// 036.png
.pn +1
afford shelter to the Armenians whose lives were in
danger.

Through a mere chance, brought about, moreover,
by my ignorance of the conditions of the Press censorship
prevailing at the time at Constantinople, I was
enabled to secure a “score” for the <i>New York Herald</i>.
For twenty-four hours that paper was the only one in
the outside world which had the news of the Armenian
attack on the Ottoman Bank and the massacres in
Constantinople which were its immediate sequel.
This came about as follows: Foreign newspaper correspondents
in Constantinople, aware by experience of
the difficulties put in their way by the censorship
when forwarding news unfavourable to the authorities,
were in the habit of sending their contributions by
post to Philippopolis, the Bulgarian frontier town,
where each of them kept a running account at the
post office. From thence their communications were
forwarded by telegraph to their destination; a procedure
which, for newspaper purposes, involved a loss
of twenty-four hours. This I was unaware of, and
thus ingenuously sent my telegram direct from Constantinople
to Paris, where it arrived the same evening,
its contents appearing in Paris and New York the
next morning, before the same item of news had even
reached Philippopolis. It was afterwards stated that
this priority was due to favouritism granted me as
correspondent of the <i>New York Herald</i>; but this was
not the case. It was simply an oversight on the part
of the Press censor, probably due to the extraordinary
excitement prevailing generally in Constantinople at
// 037.png
.pn +1
the time. In proof of this, I may mention that the
telegram I sent off the next day was stopped; indeed,
it did not reach its destination at all, and the one I
sent on the day after arrived in Paris containing the
obviously exaggerated statement that twenty thousand
Armenians had been massacred. Any favouritism I
was credited with must in this last case have led to
the publication of a piece of news very damaging to
the Turks. Most of the other assertions made about
that time respecting my activity as representative of
the <i>New York Herald</i> had no better foundation in
fact. The story that the Press censor had been
discharged for stopping one of my telegrams was as
baseless as the rest. As a matter of fact he retained
his post until his death, and when I was last in
Constantinople, in 1908, his son, also an Armenian,
had been appointed his successor.

One day, immediately following upon the attack
on the Ottoman Bank, the police discovered a large
quantity of explosive bombs of different sizes in the
cellar of a house in Pera, which, it was said, had been
brought there with Russian connivance. Now, although
the correspondents of the different European papers
were invited to inspect the find, which was afterwards
publicly exhibited at the Arsenal (Tophanè), such was
the general disinclination to admit any fact which could
tell in favour of the great provocation the Turks had
received from the Armenian revolutionists that hardly
any publicity was given to this discovery of bombs.

One morning during the Armenian disturbances a
card was brought to me bearing the name of his
// 038.png
.pn +1
Excellency Ahmed Midhat Effendi, Vice-Président du
Bureau Impérial de Santé Publique (Sanitary Administration
of the Ottoman Empire).

A tall, broad-shouldered, black-bearded man, in the
prime of life, of imposing bearing and with flashing
dark eyes, wearing the fez and dressed in the conventional
black coat of high Turkish officials, termed
Stambolin, without any decoration, gold braid, or other
indication of his status, was shown in. He told me
that he had come on the part of his Imperial Majesty
the Sultan to place himself at my disposal, in case I
should require his services, either to give me introductions,
or to serve me as guide and interpreter, as he
possessed a perfect command of the French language.
He said the Sultan had read several of my communications
to the <i>New York Herald</i>, and was pleased that
there had come to Constantinople a correspondent who
was ready and able to make allowances for the great
provocation the Turkish authorities had received from
the Armenian revolutionaries, and to treat Turkish
affairs from an impartial standpoint.

As this gentleman will be mentioned several times
in the course of these pages—for to my subsequent
relations with him I am indebted for much of my
insight into the Turkish character—a few words concerning
him may not be out of place. The story of his
early life and of his subsequent relations with Sultan
Abdul Hamid is an interesting one, and calculated to
throw a sympathetic light on the character of the
Sovereign. Born of humble parents in the Island of
Rhodes, his father was either a dealer in cloth, or, like
// 039.png
.pn +1
President Andrew Johnson, a tailor; and he himself
was apprenticed to the calling. Being, however,
imbued with a taste for literature, Ahmed Midhat
went into journalism and subsequently politics. Here
he came into contact with the Young Turkish Movement
of Midhat Pasha, and became implicated in the
movement which led to the impeachment of that
statesman in 1877. One day the Sultan sent for
Ahmed Midhat, as he afterwards told me, and quite
charmed him by his gracious manner, turning him
from an opponent to a champion, convinced that his
master’s one aim was the good of his country, so that
he finally burst forth with the declaration that the
Sultan could reckon on him as one of his devoted
slaves. “I do not want you as a slave; I ask you
to be my friend,” the Sultan replied, finally captivating
the generous-minded, confiding man. Ahmed
Midhat thus became an ardent and sincerely convinced
adherent of the Hamidian régime, and from all
accounts he was one of the few who never turned their
influence to unworthy ends. His position as part
proprietor of the <i>Terdjumani Hakkikat</i>, a Turkish
newspaper, secured him independence. In his spare
time he turned to literature, and eventually became
known and honoured throughout the Turkish Empire as
a regenerator of the Turkish language. He had been to
Paris, where he made the acquaintance of Victor Hugo
and other literary notabilities, and several of his
novels—of an almost childlike simplicity of thought—were
translated into French and German. When I
made his acquaintance he was the virtual head of the
// 040.png
.pn +1
administration of public health, and one of the very
few Turks who were given a private seal, which
assured that whatever communication he might wish
to make to the Sultan would immediately reach His
Majesty. In spite of all these advantages Midhat was
hardly ever to be met at the Palace. His private life
was in harmony with his public conduct. He lived
with his family in his own konak at Beikos, on
the Bosphorus, not far from the Black Sea, under
plain but patriarchal conditions, and there I was his
guest on several occasions. He had two wives
and sixteen children, six of whom were Christians
he had taken into his family because they were poor
and destitute and had brought up as his own. I
asked him how he came to take such a course, and
why he had not preferred to adopt Mohammedans.
“They were my neighbours,” he said. “They were
poor and had nobody to look after them, and I do not
believe in proselytism. They are good and grateful;
that is sufficient.”

I paid repeated visits to different Turkish mosques
on the Mohammedan Sunday (our Friday). There
had been statements in English newspapers referring
to the Sultan’s unpopularity, and I discussed these
with Ahmed Midhat. He said the suggestion that the
Sultan had no following was not true, but I might easily
convince myself, as there was no surer indication of the
people’s feeling on this point than the popular attendance
at the mosques. During the last months of Abdul
Aziz’s reign the mosques had been quite deserted, for
the people were disgusted with a Sultan-fainéant—a
// 041.png
.pn +1
drone who only lived for self-indulgence; whereas the
present Sultan was venerated as a Sultan—“travailleur
qui travaillait jour et nuit pour le bonheur de son
peuple. In spite of the disastrous war of 1877, and
even of these latest disturbances, the Sultan was
beloved by his people.” In every case I found the
mighty Aja Sophia in Stamboul crowded with worshippers;
all classes mixed up promiscuously, the pasha
kneeling next the Hamal, the common soldier beside
the field-officer. An atmosphere of earnest devotional
fervour pervaded the scene. Its sincerity was emphasized
by children unconcernedly playing about the
recesses of the building, and sundry old men—to all
appearances beggars or cranks—moving along the
aisle in and out of the kneeling crowd, unmolested.
Looking up to the mosaic inlaid dome of the building,
the outline of the figure of Christ was distinctly
visible through the covering of whitewash, paint,
or gilt which had in all probability been laid
over it after the taking of Constantinople, when
the Christians made their last stand in this very
building.

In order to prove to me how baseless were the fables
regarding the Mohammedan desecration of Christian
churches, Ahmed Midhat drove me some days later
to the Kariè mosque, where the fresco figures of
the saints of the Byzantine church, though somewhat
dilapidated, were still plainly recognizable on the
walls.

Shortly after the news had spread to Europe of the
attack on the Ottoman Bank and the subsequent
// 042.png
.pn +1
massacre of Armenians, a number of artists of illustrated
newspapers arrived in Constantinople, commissioned
to supply the demand for atrocities of the
Million-headed Tyrant. Among these was the late Mr.
Melton Prior, the renowned war correspondent. He
was a man of a strenuous and determined temperament,
one not accustomed to be the sport of circumstances,
but to rise superior to them. Whether he
was called upon to take part in a forced march or to
face a mad Mullah, he invariably held his own and
came off victorious. But in this particular case, as he
confided to me, he was in an awkward predicament.
The public at home had heard of nameless atrocities,
and was anxious to receive pictorial representations
of these. The difficulty was how to supply them with
what they wanted, as the dead Armenians had been
buried and no women or children had suffered hurt, and
no Armenian church had been desecrated. As an old
admirer of the Turks and as an honest man, he declined
to invent what he had not witnessed. But others
were not equally scrupulous. I subsequently saw an
Italian illustrated paper containing harrowing pictures
of women and children being massacred in a church.

The weeks following the outbreak of the Armenian
conspiracy were of a somewhat trying nature. It
was long before things regained their normal character.
The clang of the closing of the iron shutters of the
shops reacted on the nervous system of the inhabitants
of Pera for years. Even after twelve years Turkish
soldiers, who were ordered to patrol the streets of
Pera after the massacres, were still to be seen in
// 043.png
.pn +1
the Grande Rue de Pera at night doing the same
drudgery.

In the course of my journalistic work I had occasion
to visit the Gumysch Soujou Hospital, situated near
the German Embassy. About forty Turkish soldiers
were lying there, wounded by Armenian bombs or
revolver shots during the street fighting. I wrote an
article dealing with this subject and a description of
the wounded, which must have been of a sympathetic
character, for it was subsequently translated and
reproduced in the Turkish newspapers. I was told that
it had attracted the notice of the Sultan and that
he would like to see me before I left Constantinople;
but weeks passed by and I heard no more of the matter.
It was the second week in October, and I was about
to return home.

I was on the point of leaving Constantinople when
a messenger from the Palace brought me word that
Izzet Bey, the Sultan’s second secretary, wanted
to see me at once. On arriving at the Palace
he came towards me, smiling, with the words: “Sa
Majesté vous offre un dîner and wishes to see you
before you leave Constantinople.” I returned to the
hotel in order to don evening dress for the occasion,
and on coming back to the Palace at about seven o’clock
in the evening, I was ushered into a room in the centre
of which stood a table already set for dinner, which
was served and cooked in French style in contradistinction
to the usual mode of the Palace. Wines
of various kinds, including champagne, were handed
round, presumably for my sole benefit, since the other
// 044.png
.pn +1
guests only drank water. This gave the entertainment
a somewhat incomplete character. After dinner
Izzet Bey took me aside, and again expatiated on the
great services I was supposed to have rendered to his
country. “Mon cher, un milliard ne pourrait pas vous
recompenser pour ce que vous avez fait pour nous,”
were his words. I was then, and am still, conscious
only of having acted in a fair and sympathetic spirit
where others had persistently given a one-sided
account of events. I replied to that effect, adding
that as correspondent of the <i>Herald</i> I could not
think of accepting any remuneration from anybody.
Izzet Bey continued that the Sultan wanted to
know something about my position in life, as he
took an interest in me and would like me to come
to Constantinople permanently and enter his service
in a suitable capacity. He then asked me to
follow him, as the Sultan would like to see me at
once. It was about nine o’clock in the evening
when we wended our way towards the one-storied
villa-like white stucco structure where the Sultan
habitually received visitors. We passed through
a glass door into a spacious hall, in which stood
groups of tall men clad in black frock-coats cut
close up to the neck in Turkish fashion, and wearing
fezes. These were apparently the Sultan’s body-servants.
What struck me more particularly was that
they wore no uniform or any insignia of office or distinctive
mark, or bore any arms. Indeed, there was
not a single armed or uniformed person about; a plain
civilian attire was evidently <i>de rigueur</i> in the immediate
// 045.png
.pn +1
vicinity of the Sovereign. There was something
distinctly impressive in this simplicity. It suggested
a striking contrast to the glittering pomp and circumstance
surrounding some other monarchs. I still recall
the deferential attitude of this little knot of Imperial
servants towards the humble mortal who for the
moment was lifted upon a pinnacle of earthly distinction
by the desire of the Padishah to shake hands
with him. My position reminded me of the French
Ambassador who told the Russian Emperor Paul that
an important personage in his empire took a great
interest in a certain matter, whereupon the autocrat
interrupted him sharply with the words: “There is
nobody of importance in my empire except the man
with whom I am now conversing, and only as long as I
speak to him is he important.”

But an autocrat must not be kept waiting beyond
the bare second which is required to leave one’s
goloshes outside the door. This done, we passed
through to the right into a brilliantly illuminated
apartment, the floor of which was covered with a
costly Turkish carpet; the chime of a beautiful grandfather
clock heralded our arrival. The Sultan came
towards me as I entered the room, shook hands, and
led the way to a sofa, in front of which stood a small
tabouret with coffee-cups and some cigarettes. Two
gilt chairs were placed opposite the sofa, apparently
for the occasion—to which he motioned us—whilst
he himself sat down on the sofa and handed me a
cigarette. He faced us resting both his hands on the
hilt of his sword—for he was clad in the uniform of a
// 046.png
.pn +1
Turkish General—with the Star of the Order of Imtiaz
in brilliants suspended from his neck. I noticed then,
as on subsequent occasions, that the Sultan wore a
single ring. It was a large emerald. So much has
been written in depreciation of this extraordinary man
that I cannot resist the temptation of reiterating the
impression of kindliness and sincerity which he made
on me. In saying this I make all allowance for our
common human weakness in crediting those of exalted
station who are kind to us with every virtue, whilst
viewing askance others who neglect us. But the fact
remains that Abdul Hamid, without any physical
advantage to speak of—rather the reverse, for the
features and figure might without much imagination
have been supposed to belong to a Galata money-changer—possessed
an exceptional charm of manner,
a simple dignity and grace of bearing, which were calculated
to, and indeed did, gain the sympathies of those
who were brought into contact with him. There was
something in his look and in the even-toned balance
of his sympathetic voice when addressing his secretary
which betrayed the habit of command, the exaction
of implicit, even slavish, obedience during a lifetime.
It interested me to note the attitude of extreme deference
of those surrounding him. Thus Izzet Bey only
sat on the extreme edge of his chair with his hands
crossed flat on his chest and his head bent low while
the Sultan told him in Turkish what he desired should
be communicated to me. The Sultan wished to thank
me for the sympathetic manner in which I had written
on Turkish subjects, and expressed his gratitude that
// 047.png
.pn +1
for once a journalist had come to Constantinople
apparently free from those prejudices against the
Turks which were a source of so much trouble and
annoyance to him.

Rightly or wrongly, the Sultan seemed to think that
he was under a personal obligation to me which he did
not deem sufficiently liquidated by the bestowal of
decorative distinctions. He suggested that I should
leave the <i>New York Herald</i>, come to Constantinople,
and enter his service. He wished me to remain
attached to his person in some capacity or other. I
replied that I could not see my way to enter his
service, as it seemed to me that he had already
too many people round him who drew big salaries
for doing little or nothing, and that at my time
of life I had no desire to come to Constantinople
and live there. I added that wherever I might
happen to be I should always take pleasure in
endeavouring to secure fair play for Turkey
and her ruler—a promise I have since faithfully
kept.

“Well then,” rejoined the Sultan, smiling good-humouredly,
“if you will not enter my service, come
and see me again as a friend and be my guest whenever
you return to Constantinople; I shall always be
glad to see you.”

Knowing that I was about to leave Constantinople
and that I was personally acquainted with Prince
Bismarck, His Majesty asked me to take a case of
china ornaments—a pair of vases and a painted
plaque—from the Imperial porcelain factory as a
// 048.png
.pn +1
present from him to the Prince. The Sultan desired
me to assure the Prince of his friendly regard and to
tell him that he hoped he would always exercise his
great influence in favour of Turkey, a country to
which Moltke, his illustrious countryman, had in days
gone by rendered valuable service. This commission I
subsequently carried out on my way home through
Germany.

When I left the Sultan and walked out into the
open air, into the balmy calm of a starlit autumn
evening, not a soul was to be seen. The splashing of
water from a fountain which issued from a wall on the
left was the only break of silence around, except the
sound of our feet as they pressed the loose gravel. Nor
did I meet a guard or soldier or any living soul as I
passed the porter’s lodge out of the Palace. As far as I
could tell there would have been nothing to prevent
a determined band of half a dozen armed men from
entering the Palace and kidnapping the Sultan there
and then, as others had entered the Ottoman Bank,
the porters of which, in their picturesque Albanian
costume, were armed to the teeth.

I left Constantinople the next day, the 12th of
October.
// 049.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER III||THE OUTBREAK OF THE GRÆCO-TURKISH WAR
.pm ch-hd-start
                    Beauteous Greece,
Torn from her joys, in vain with languid arm
Half raised her lusty shield.
.rj
<sc>Dyer</sc>
.pm ch-hd-end
.sp 2
.ni
<sc>In</sc> the winter of 1896–97 I had been acting as Special
Correspondent for the <i>New York Herald</i> in Vienna,
when, towards the end of February, things began to
wear a sinister aspect between Turkey and Greece.
Thus I left for Salonica on March 8, in order to
await there the development of events. On that day
Greece finally declined to accede to the demand of
the Great Powers to recall Colonel Vassos from Crete.
Thereupon Turkey began to mobilize her forces, and
to push them forward towards the southern frontier of
Thessaly. It was only subsequently, when Greece
had also concentrated nearly all her forces on her
northern frontier, and Greek volunteers, armed by
the Ethnike Hetairia,[#] together with Greek regular
troops, repeatedly made incursions into Macedonia,
that Turkey declared war. Even then, however,
// 050.png
.pn +1
there were hopes of peace left, for Turkey was still
inclined to listen to the urgent request of the Great
Powers not to assume the offensive.
.pi
.pm fn-start // 1
A secret Greek political organization with Pan-Hellenistic aims
to the activity of which the disturbances in Crete and the outbreak
of the Græco-Turkish war were partly due.
.pm fn-end

At Salonica I had a dull time, living in a state of
suspense, with nothing to do but read the newspapers
at the Club on the quay, or gaze at the snow-capped
crest of Mount Olympus across the bay. A few
warships appeared now and then in the offing. The
largest ironclad of the Italian navy, the <i>Duilio</i>,
anchored in front of the city, and it was a treat to
visit it and to note the spick-and-span efficiency of
the ship.

Rumours of the wildest kind from all manner of
unreliable sources—mostly of Greek origin—reached
us daily. They tended to show that whatever might
be the forces at the disposal of the Turks, Ananias
with his hosts was on the side of the Greeks. His
artillery was firing its missiles, and these travelled
with incredible velocity to the ends of the earth. We
learnt from more reliable sources, however, of raids
over the frontier undertaken by the Greek Ethnike
Hetairia, with whom were the Greek regulars, and
who were reported to have committed various acts of
pillage and murder, even in the neighbourhood of
Salonica, whose Greek population made no secret of its
sympathies with the Greek cause. It was not safe to
go about after dark, although one felt inclined to risk
much to partake of the decently cooked food and that
collective social and convivial life which the Germans—here,
as elsewhere in Turkey—maintained in the
Kegel Club at the Hôtel Colombo.
// 051.png
.pn +1

The Jewish element of Salonica accounts for nearly
half the total population, and affords interest to the
student of race and character. These Hebrews are in
strong contrast with their co-religionists elsewhere,
especially in Russia; not only as regards status, but
also in appearance. They are fine, strong, handsome
men and women. Jews are met with in almost every
sphere of life—more particularly among the artisans
and the working classes; nearly all the Salonica
boatmen are Jews. Some of the Salonica Jews rise
to high positions in different branches of the Turkish
Administration and invariably give satisfaction. They
are “très bien vus par les Turcs,” as a high Turkish
official told me; for the Turks, in spite of their
supposed fanaticism, have always treated the Jews
with kindness, and this at a period when Christian
Spain burned them at the stake. I was told that the
Jews of Salonica had only recently celebrated the
four-hundredth anniversary of their arrival in Turkey
from Spain, from which country they were banished in
1490. On this occasion they had sent an address to
the Sultan expressing their grateful attachment to
Turkey and her Sovereign. Prayers were offered up
in every synagogue of the Turkish Empire, and
£T50,000 was collected for benevolent purposes under
the auspices of a Committee presided over by the
Grand Rabbi.

It was at Salonica that I first came into contact
with that survival of the fierce spirit of proselytism
of former ages, the Anglo-Saxon missionary element.
Never do I remember to have met such implacable
// 052.png
.pn +1
hatred for the Mohammedans as that which seemed
to animate the wife of the Anglo-Saxon missionary,
bent on converting them, together with the Jews, to
the religion of Love. She set me thinking whether
she and her husband might not have been more
profitably engaged in the slums of the great cities at
home than among the industrious and sober population
of Salonica. An honest, hard-working Christian
missionary who is kind-hearted and humane in a
Mohammedan sense may still do good work in that
part of the world, let alone in Asiatic Turkey, as I
subsequently convinced myself, particularly in the
application of hygiene, since this and medical science
particularly are lamentably backward. But only harm
can come from the spirit of hatred which I now saw
manifested for the first time.

An English working-man of an ill-conditioned type
was staying at my hotel. I used to meet him in the
café sipping his tea, with an unsightly mongrel dog as
his companion. He told me he had come from Lancashire,
and was engaged as foreman at some textile
works situated on the quay. He had also been in the
United States. I asked him how he liked America.
He flared up and, pointing to his dog, replied: “You
see that ere little <i>dorg</i>! Well, I’d rather see ’im dead
than in America,” bringing his clenched fist down on
the marble table with savage emphasis. This was
significant, but not the only testimony since vouchsafed
to me of the antagonism between the British
trade-union spirit and the conditions of labour in the
United States.
// 053.png
.pn +1

There was an English public-house in Salonica, on
the quay, facing the harbour. It was kept by an
English widow, but only opened its shutters on the
rare occasions when the English squadrons put into
the bay, when it did a brisk business.

One continuous stream of Turkish troops from
Albania and Asia Minor passed through Salonica,
arriving by sea, and, for the most part, disembarking
in the dead of the night. I was often awakened by the
dull, plaintive chant of these wild children of Asia, or
of the untamed sons of the Albanian hills in their
white skull-caps, whose voices mingled with the
sounds of the waves beating against the stone quay,
along which they marched on their way to the railway
station.

I had been in Salonica about ten days when I
received a telegram from Mr. Bennett asking me to
proceed to the Turkish headquarters at Elassona, not
as War Correspondent, for which vocation at my time
of life I scarcely felt fitted, but to report on the real
state of affairs, concerning which so many rumours
were afloat.

I called on the Vali, who gave me the necessary
permit and deputed a Circassian officer named
Mehmet to be my escort. I engaged a Roumanian,
one Hermann Chary, who had formerly been in the
service of General Gordon in Egypt, and, I believe, in
India as well. He had since drifted to Salonica, and
was commissionaire at the Hôtel Impérial on the quay,
where I was staying. Even now I often call this man
to mind when I read in our newspapers of the extraordinary
// 054.png
.pn +1
linguistic accomplishments of some of our
leading statesmen who speak French with a Parisian
accent or are wonderful German “scholars.” Here
was a man who spoke some nine or ten languages
fluently, but had to be content to earn five francs
a day as interpreter in a third-rate hotel, and was
delighted with the chance I offered him of better
employment. He accompanied me later in the
same capacity on my journey through Armenia.

We left Salonica on March 20—a Saturday—and
our departure for Elassona was marked by the following
childlike flourish of trumpets in the <i>Journal de
Salonique</i> (March 22):

.pm letter-start
“Mr. Sidney Whitman, Correspondent of
the <i>New York Herald</i>, left our city last
Saturday for Elassona in order to follow the
operations of the troops. The local authorities
of Sorovitch have gracefully placed a
military escort at the disposal of the American
journalist, which will accompany him to
the frontier.

“Mr. Whitman is one of those rare
correspondents of foreign newspapers who
have appreciated without malevolence the
attitude of the Imperial Ottoman Government
in the various incidents which have
happened of recent years.

“We may be sure that again to-day he
will keep the innumerable readers of the
<i>New York Herald</i> correctly informed as
regards the imposing military forces of
Turkey, the admirable discipline of her
troops, their valour, their bravery, and their
// 055.png
.pn +1
irreproachable conduct. The American paper
has sent another correspondent to the Greek
Camp, and a third one to Constantinople. It
is always by telegraph that these gentlemen
communicate with their paper. One can thus
form an idea of the enormous expenditure
which the <i>New York Herald</i> incurs in order
to justify its reputation as the best and most
promptly informed journal.”
.pm letter-end

We proceeded by rail to Karaferia, which left us
about eighty miles to Elassona by road, and took the
road to Sorovitch, where we spent the night as guests
of a pasha and reached our destination in the evening
of the next day. As we came nearer to Elassona we
passed a large number of troops on the road, for they
were all converging towards that point, not merely
from Salonica, but also from the port of Katerina,
where 1200 horses and mules were disembarked daily
by army contractors. Many of the men we saw were
cavalry, clad in the most fantastic style. Some of
them rode mules, and, in addition to a belt full of
cartridges round their waist and shoulders, carried
a pickaxe, a knife, charcoal for lighting a fire, and a
supply of flour, sugar, rice, barley, and beans. Their
foot-covering was the so-called “Tcharik,” consisting
of a piece of untanned leather tied with string to the
ankle and leg. The villages we passed through
offered next to no accommodation; swallows built
their nests in the dilapidated tenements. In this truly
desolate and wholly uncultivated country it was difficult
to imagine it had ever formed part of the dominions
// 056.png
.pn +1
of Philip and Alexander of Macedonia. But what
its economic possibilities might become under reasonable
conditions was brought home to us when our
energetic interpreter provided a large glass bottle of
excellent red wine, holding a full gallon, which, bottle
and all, he had purchased in the village of Kossona for
thirteen pence in English money!

The <i>Herald</i> at that time was regarded by the Turks
as one of the few foreign newspapers ready to give
them fair play, and this ensured me a kindly welcome
from everybody—from the generalissimo of the
Turkish forces, Edhem Pasha, down to the humblest
subaltern.

Elassona is a town of about four thousand inhabitants,
situated on the banks of the River Xerias, on
the western slope of Mount Olympus, and is supposed
to be identical with the Oloosson mentioned
by Homer.

Quarters were assigned to me, my interpreter, and
the Circassian officer, Mehmet, in the house of the
mayor of the town, which had been vacated. All the
rooms were left empty but for a bare couch or two.
Nor did I see anybody in the house during my stay
except now and then a stray devout Mohammedan
kneeling on a carpet in one of the rooms, solitary and
silent, engaged in prayer.

Edhem Pasha, who received me shortly after my
arrival, was still in the prime of life, and looked what
he was, a fine representative of the high-bred Turk.
He was simple, courteous, benevolent, and endowed
with that innate dignity which Orientals seem capable
// 057.png
.pn +1
of uniting even with humble station. I must assume
that a favourable report had preceded us, for he welcomed
me at our first meeting in his konak, attended
by some officers of his staff, almost as a friend, playing
with his “tisbe” between his fingers while he
talked. Throughout my stay of eight days he continued
to show me every kindness in his power. He
even consented to be photographed at my request,
with one of his officers on either side of him. This
was the photograph which afterwards made the round
of the illustrated newspapers of the world; for I never
met with any other, the high-class Turk rarely posing
before the camera. But with all his amiability there
was a deal of punctilio about the Turkish Commander-in-Chief.
He could be inexorable at times. Later,
when war was declared and a host of correspondents
appeared on the scene, some of these gentlemen
arrayed themselves in military uniform. Edhem Pasha
promptly informed them that, although they might
possibly be entitled to wear such costume in their own
country, they were only accredited to him as newspaper
correspondents, and as such would not be
allowed to appear in uniform.

Fifty-five thousand Turkish soldiers were said to
be quartered in and around that primitive old town.
Not a single woman was to be seen; not a drop of
wine or spirits could be procured for love or money.
We were told that twenty years before, during the
Russo-Turkish war, twenty-four thousand Turkish
soldiers died here of typhus and dysentery.

Riding towards the camp, we met soldiers everywhere,
// 058.png
.pn +1
some of them leisurely sitting by the roadside
cooking their meals. As we rode past them an aide-de-camp
of the Sultan turned to me and, pointing to
the Albanian Redifs, said: “These fellows know no
greater delight than that of being called upon to fight,
and, if needs be, to die for the Sultan.”

One afternoon I rode out, accompanied by Mehmet
Tscherkess, a young Turkish major who had served in
the Prussian Guards, and who was, besides, an aide-de-camp
of the Sultan and my interpreter to the Meluna
Pass, which formed the frontier towards Greece at that
particular point. When the war broke out three weeks
later some fierce fighting took place here. A small
block-house on a summit marked the Turkish boundary-line,
and a couple of hundred yards away a similar
structure denoted the Greek border, where we could
discern a group of Greek soldiers. The Sultan’s aide-de-camp
suggested that I should walk over and have a
talk with the Greeks; which I did, accompanied by my
dragoman. We were met half way by a Greek cavalry
officer. He told us that he had been trained at the
French cavalry school of Saumur, and in manner and
conversation he certainly reminded us more of a Frenchman
than a Greek. To a casual remark of mine he
replied light-heartedly—even truculently—that war
was inevitable, as also was the defeat of the Turks!
Looking down into the valley, the far-famed vale of
Tempè lay before us, through which Pompey rode a
fugitive, flying from the fateful field of Pharsalia. We
could just perceive Larissa in the distance. The little
white tents of the Greek forces lay spread out at our
// 059.png
.pn +1
feet and were plainly visible amid a landscape more
advanced in the verdure of spring and bearing far
more signs of cultivation and closer habitation than
that we had passed through in Macedonia. We parted
on good terms. I rejoined the Turkish officers, and
rode leisurely back to Elassona.

On leaving Elassona the Turkish Commander-in-Chief
had prepared a little surprise for us. We
started on horseback at about five o’clock in the
morning, as it was reckoned that it would take all
day to do the forty miles to Katerina, on the coast.
After riding for about an hour, and turning a sharp
angle of the road, we beheld a squadron of Turkish
cavalry drawn up at the salute to bid the representatives
of the <i>New York Herald</i> a parting good-bye.
Even to-day I cannot think of this little incident
without the reflection how grateful the Turks were
for the smallest proof of fairness towards them, and
how rarely they got it. We rode on leisurely all day,
and so scorching was the sun, although we were only
in March, that when I rose next morning in the little
Greek inn at Katerina I found the skin had peeled off
my ears on to the pillow. From Katerina a Turkish
Government torpedo-boat brought us back to
Salonica.

War had not yet broken out, but every indication
of its inevitability was about us. The hotels were
crowded with war correspondents, who had arrived
from all parts and were feverishly active, getting
ready to proceed to join the Turkish forces, buying
horses, prancing about, testing their purchases in the
// 060.png
.pn +1
street in front of the hotel, engaging servants, and
laying in a stock of provisions. The English public-house
I have mentioned did a brisk trade. Among
the necessities of the situation was that of obtaining
permission from the authorities to be allowed to proceed
to Headquarters. Nor was this an easy matter
for the representatives of those papers which for
years past had relentlessly vilified the Hamidian
régime.

One day Mr. J. P. Blunt, the British Consul-General
at Salonica, a strong philo-Turk, said to me at the
Club: “I want to introduce you to the correspondent
of the <i>Times</i>.” “I am sorry,” I replied jokingly,
“but I have made it a rule never to allow myself to be
introduced to any countryman of mine on the Continent.”
Experience had taught me, as it must have
taught others, that—speaking of the type of Englishmen
one is likely to come across on the Continent—if
they are in what, according to their lights, is a superior
position to your own, they do not desire to make your
acquaintance. If, on the other hand, they want something
from you, or their status is inferior to yours, it
is for them to be introduced to you. Mr. Blunt smiled
good-humouredly and added that the <i>Times</i> correspondent,
who had just arrived from London, had heard
of my good relations with the Turkish authorities, and
would be very glad if I could afford him some assistance,
as he intended to proceed to Elassona the very next
morning.

This being the case, I declared my readiness to assist
him to the best of my ability. Mr. Blunt thereupon
// 061.png
.pn +1
brought Mr. Bigham to my hotel. He was a son of
the present Lord Mersey, and impressed me as possessing
an equipment which would carry him far under
modern conditions of getting on in the world—a view
which, I am glad to say, has since been borne out.
He wielded a ready journalistic pen, spoke and read
Turkish, drank tea and mineral waters, and was
evidently as hard as nails. He also wrote a book on
his experiences as a war correspondent in the campaign,
and very kindly sent me a copy of it after the
war was over. I gave him a letter of introduction to
Edhem Pasha, allowed my Roumanian interpreter to
accompany him, and finally prevailed upon the
Governor-General of Salonica to permit the Circassian
officer, Mehmet, who had been my companion, to serve
as his escort on his journey. The result was that Mr.
Bigham arrived at the Turkish Headquarters well in
advance of all the other correspondents at that
time in Salonica, including that redoubtable
but genial philo-Turk, the late Sir Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett.

The Græco-Turkish war afforded what will
probably be the last opportunity, at least in Europe,
for a fair heyday outing to those belonging to what
G. B. Shaw might well have described as, next to that
of royalty, “a decaying industry”—the profession of
war correspondent.

Among other arrivals at Salonica were several
German officers in the Turkish service, notably the
late Grumbkow Pasha, on their way from Constantinople
to the front. They appeared more eager for the
// 062.png
.pn +1
fray than the Turks themselves, like Sir Walter
Scott’s

.pm verse-start
Great Chatham with his sabre drawn
Stood waiting for Sir Richard Strachan;
Sir Richard, longing to be at ’em,
Stood waiting for the Earl of Chatham.
.pm verse-end

This eagerness for bloodshed on the part of men
whose country was at peace with the Greeks made a
disagreeable impression upon my mind. I was therefore
not sorry when a few days later I heard that
they had been summoned back to Constantinople,
the Russian Ambassador having protested against
foreigners in the Turkish service being allowed to
fight in the cause of the Infidel against the Orthodox
Greek Hellenes.

On April 17—it was a Sunday—war was formally
declared, and the Greek flag was hauled down from
the Greek Consulate. The streets were crowded
with people of every creed and nationality as they
would be on a holiday. The day is fixed on my
memory by the absence of every vestige of rowdyism,
such as might well have been anticipated from the
fact that Salonica contained a large Greek population
who had never made a secret of their sympathies with
their countrymen. I had repeatedly witnessed the
small Greek shopkeepers eagerly scanning the Greek
newspapers for the latest news, and this in the
presence of their Turkish customers without the latter
taking the slightest notice. When the flag was taken
down from the Greek Consulate it was as if an
immense load of uncertainty was lifted from the minds
// 063.png
.pn +1
of all. Now at least people knew where they were,
and both Greeks and Turks seemed to enjoy the end
of the long period of uncertainty.

I left Salonica for Constantinople on the steamer
<i>Policevera</i> on April 19 in the queerest company, for
the vessel carried sixteen hundred sheep and only
one passenger—myself. At times my travelling companions
tried to prevent me from getting on deck, for
they filled the whole of the deck and pressed against
the cabin door.

In Constantinople there was outwardly little evidence
of the country being at war. The only unusual
feature was the crowd of Greeks that blocked the
entry to the French Embassy, which had undertaken
their protection whilst the war lasted. I remained
nearly a month in the Turkish capital, during which
not a single instance of offence or personal violence to
the Greek population came to my knowledge, although
the modern Greeks are among the most demonstrative
of races, and are not accustomed to put a curb on their
feelings in Turkey.

One evening a dense crowd gathered at the railway
station and awaited for hours the departure of the
train which was to take Ghazi Osman Pasha to the
seat of war. His arrival from the Palace, where he
was said to be in close consultation with the Sultan,
was expected every minute. At last the carriage of
the national hero of Turkey drew up. There was no
cheering or shouting of any kind such as would have
been the case in some countries—a solemn, almost a
mournful silence prevailed. The waiting-room and
// 064.png
.pn +1
all the roads leading to the railway station were
crowded with Turks, but no “Hurrah!” or “Down
with the Greeks!” was heard. Many were engaged
in earnest prayer, which they read aloud from
little books. Children were lifted up for the venerable
warrior to kiss, and old white-bearded men shed tears
as Osman kissed their children. It was a touching
sight.

One day the Sultan sent me word that he would
like me to visit the hospital for the wounded—it was
temporarily fitted up in the grounds of the Palace.
Marshal Shefket Pasha, the commander of Yildiz,
together with two Turkish surgeons, one a pasha,
was deputed to accompany me. The wounded were
constantly arriving from the seat of war, and were
lodged in airy ground-floor sheds, and obviously had
every care. I could see by the elaborate surgical
appliances and the scrupulous cleanliness everywhere
that the operation-rooms, painted white, excluded
every particle of dust. They were treated according
to the latest scientific principles, and down to the
common soldier they had everything that money and
goodwill could provide. There was no complaining:
Turkish and European doctors vied with each other
in caring for the wounded. Several German surgeons
had come expressly for the purpose, and had given
their services gratuitously. How highly the Sultan
appreciated this spontaneous action of strangers
is, I think, shown by the fact that he bestowed the
Gold Imtiaz Medal, one of the highest Turkish distinctions,
which was only given by the Sultan for
// 065.png
.pn +1
special services rendered him personally, and which
many much-decorated pashas did not possess, on these
foreign surgeons.

The Sultan next expressed a wish that I might
inspect the “Bazar de Secours” started by him to
raise funds for the invalids and the families of the
victims of the war. It was a large one-storied building
which had been specially erected at his expense a
short distance from the Palace, and which was to be
opened in a few days to the public. We are sometimes
able to estimate the taste, and even the very
character, of the inmates of a house by the articles it
contains. So also on this occasion the collection of
heterogeneous objects exhibited for sale spoke a language
of its own. To begin with, almost every third
article, and these the most costly, was a gift from the
Sultan himself; many others were from members of his
household and the fine old Turkish families generally.
This war, in which the Christian Greek had hounded
the public opinion of Europe against the Mohammedan
Turk, deeply stirred the feelings of the Turkish
people; and when the news of repeated victories
came to hand, the Sultan may be said to have stood
on the pinnacle of his popularity. Also, the invitation
to contribute to the bazaar met with a ready
response from the Turkish upper classes. The ladies
of the harem, the wife of the Khedive of Egypt,
of the Sheikh ul Islam, and of nearly all the
pashas in the capital sent valuable presents. The
donations included beautiful old swords, daggers, and
yatagans inlaid with precious stones; gorgeous silver-gilt
// 066.png
.pn +1
saddle harness, horse trappings, gold boxes and
caskets inlaid with precious stones; Gobelins, priceless
old embroideries and shawls, gold-framed looking-glasses,
and trinkets came from the ladies of the harem.
Even a copy of the Koran, bound in leather and ornamented
with brilliants, in a gold box inlaid with pearls,
was among the collection of gifts. The Emperor of
Austria sent a Louis XV cabinet. The German
Emperor, the Sultan’s friend, sent some samples of the
Berlin china works; but more interesting than these
were about a dozen prints of Professor Knackfuss’s
well-known composition, inspired by His Majesty and
with an inscription in his own handwriting: “People
of Europe, protect your holiest possessions.” Each of
these costly works of art bore the autographed Imperial
signature R.I., and were to be offered for sale to the
public for the benefit of the wounded. Alas! no purchasers
were tempted; for when I came again to Constantinople
I was told that the Sultan himself had
bought and paid a fancy price for the lot—for the
benefit of the wounded.

Poor Abdul Hamid! Here in this bazaar were childlike
faith and genuine human nature to be seen in
close propinquity with cheap, hollow unreality: the
latter soon to be exposed to the world in its true
colours.

Among the many notabilities who were brought to
Constantinople by the events of the war was General
Nelson Miles, the Commander-in-Chief of the United
States Army, whose acquaintance I had the privilege
of making. I also met Sir Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett, on
// 067.png
.pn +1
his return from the seat of war, flushed with victory;
for, as already mentioned, he was an ardent pro-Turk.
He was most indignant at the action of the Ambassadors
of the Great Powers, who, headed by Sir Philip
Currie, had made a protest to the Porte against the
“atrocities” alleged to have been committed by the
Turkish soldiery in Thessaly. He related how the
English newspaper correspondents who were with the
Turks as well as he himself felt their sense of fair play
outraged by these false charges, and how they had
drawn up a report and sent it by telegram from
Thessaly to the British Ambassador at Constantinople.
He gave me a copy, of which I append a
translation; for even at this distance of time—in
the winter of Turkish sorrow and misfortune—it is of
interest, as affording strong testimony in favour of
the much maligned Turkish soldier.

.pm letter-start
.in +10
To His Excellency,
The Ambassador of Great Britain,
Constantinople.
.in -10

“We are able to give personal testimony to the
admirable conduct of the Ottoman soldier as well as the
constant and most successful efforts of the Turkish
officers to prevent pillage and to protect the Christian
inhabitants in every way. The Greeks, who are returning
to their homesteads in very great numbers,
declared themselves very satisfied with their treatment.
The Greek inhabitants of the surrounding
villages have sent deputations to solicit the protection
of the Turkish troops.

“After the departure of the Greek military authorities
// 068.png
.pn +1
from Larissa the Greek Governor liberated the
prisoners from the penitentiary and provided them
with rifles. These latter, together with other lawless
elements, did a deal of damage and pillage at Larissa
during the twenty-four hours which elapsed before the
arrival of the Turkish troops. The truth of this statement
is confirmed by the Greek inhabitants, as also by
the Greek priests.

“Only one Greek village, Deliler, has been partially
burnt, and this was due to the obstinate fight last
Friday in the place itself. Several houses have been
demolished here and there from whence shots had
been fired on the Turkish soldiery. But the discipline
and conduct of the Turkish Army have been admirable,
and can be most favourably compared with that of
the best troops of the world. All the Europeans with
the Army are of this opinion.
.ti +10
“<i>Signed by</i>:

E. Ashmead-Bartlett, M.P.; Clive Bigham, Correspondent
of the <i>Times</i>; Geo. R. Montgomery,
Correspondent of the <i>Standard</i>; W. Peel, Special
Correspondent of the <i>Daily Telegraph</i>; H. A. Gwynne,
Special Correspondent of <i>Reuter</i>’s Agency; G. W.
Steevens, Correspondent of the <i>Daily Mail</i>; Hamilton
Weldon, Special Correspondent of the <i>Morning Post</i>.”
.pm letter-end

Before leaving Constantinople I received an invitation
from Sir Philip and Lady Currie to a garden
party in the beautiful grounds of the British Embassy
overlooking the Golden Horn. On such occasions
// 069.png
.pn +1
politics were taboo. Everybody who was anybody was
present, and a more charming host and hostess it would
be difficult to imagine than the British Ambassador
and Lady Currie; both since, alas! gone from hence.
Among the guests was an old Englishman, once, as
I was told, the gardener of the British Embassy in
Lord Stratford de Redcliffe’s time, and whose son is
now one of the most prosperous English traders of
Constantinople.
// 070.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER IV||JOURNEY THROUGH ASIATIC TURKEY
.pm ch-hd-start
                  The Pontic Sea,
Whose icy current and compulsive course
Ne’er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on
To the Propontic and the Hellespont.
.rj
<sc>Shakespeare</sc>, <i>Othello</i>
.pm ch-hd-end
.sp 2
.ni
<sc>In</sc> the beginning of September 1897 I was taking a
“rest cure” at Marienbad when I received a telegram
from the proprietor of the <i>New York Herald</i> asking
me to join him on his yacht <i>Namouma</i> at Venice.
On my arrival he informed me that he had been to
Constantinople and had an interview with the Sultan.
In the course of it he had suggested to His Majesty
that he should send an expedition into Armenia to
verify the facts connected with the disturbances of
the last two years, and allow the <i>New York Herald</i>
to be represented on the occasion.
.pi
The Sultan was favourably disposed to the idea,
and proposed that I should be the person selected to
accompany the expedition. To this Mr. Bennett had,
as he told me, demurred; not that he had any reason
to doubt my reliability, but the fact remained that it
was already known in America that I had had
personal relations with the Sultan. This in itself
would make it desirable that somebody else should
// 071.png
.pn +1
report on this particular subject. It was finally agreed
with the Sultan that a member of the New York staff
of the paper, the late Dr. George H. Hepworth, should
be the correspondent, the Sultan making his final
consent dependent upon my accompanying the expedition
as well.

Mr. Bennett continued that he had long desired to
place his readers in a position to judge things for
themselves from information gathered on the spot, and
that this matter was one of exceptional interest to the
American public, owing to the fact that the Sultan
had hitherto declined to allow any newspaper correspondent
whatsoever to traverse Armenia, let alone
to offer facilities for so doing.

“You will render the <i>Herald</i> a great service in
accompanying the expedition,” he added, “for unless
you go it will not start.”

It is not often that any man has an opportunity of
visiting an unknown country and at one and the same
time of obliging an autocratic ruler and a great newspaper
proprietor. I therefore accepted Mr. Bennett’s
suggestion, it being distinctly understood that I
was to hold what in legal language is termed a
“watching brief” on behalf of the Turks, and that
I should not be called upon to write at all unless a
controversy arose. In such a case, Mr. Bennett said
that Dr. Hepworth and I could fight it out in the
columns of the <i>Herald</i>, which would act as impartial
bottle-holder. Fortunately the necessity did not arise
to submit to such an ordeal. The last words Mr.
Bennett said to me on leaving were: “In this matter
// 072.png
.pn +1
you can look upon yourself as the Sultan’s man.”
And here I may add that, being firmly convinced
injustice had been done to the Turks, at least as
regards the imputing to them of religious persecution,
I willingly undertook the task offered me of seeing
“fair play” given to them.

Some weeks elapsed before Dr. Hepworth came
from New York and reached Paris, from whence we
started together for Constantinople. On our way
we broke our journey at Vienna. In travelling on to
Belgrade we gave up our sleeping berths to the King
of Servia and his father, ex-King Milan, who both
travelled by our train, the Orient express. On our
arrival at the Servian capital early next morning we
witnessed their official reception at the station by the
authorities, who looked very much like a gathering of
peasants at a country fair. King Alexander did not
present a sympathetic appearance; but there was a
touch of human nature in the expression of poor
Milan which enlisted our sympathy.

We arrived in Constantinople about the middle of
October, and encountered at the outset the dilatory
tactics which marked the execution of every project
emanating directly from his temporizing Majesty.
This seemed to depress Dr. Hepworth very much;
but as I had known cases of Turkish Ambassadors
being kept dawdling about Constantinople for months
after they had been appointed to their post, the delay
did not surprise me. When, however, one week
succeeded another without any decisive step being
taken, or any date being appointed for our departure
// 073.png
.pn +1
from Constantinople, we were driven to the conclusion
that there must be some special cause for the delay.
This proved to be the case. Information had reached
the Sultan that Dr. Hepworth was really an American
clergyman with a strong bias in favour of the missionary
element, that he had contributed articles to
the <i>Herald</i> fiercely condemning the Turkish Government
for its treatment of the Armenians, and that he
had written editorial sermons for that paper regularly
every Sunday for many years past. Under these
circumstances the Sultan hesitated to place it within
his power to enter Armenia. Such was the information
vouchsafed to me by a secretary of the Sultan,
accompanied by a request that I should come up to
the Palace and have an interview with His Majesty.

Munir Pasha, the Grand Master of Ceremonies, was
present as interpreter on the occasion, and in the
course of the audience confirmed what I have just
stated. I could not deny that Dr. Hepworth, though
a journalist by profession, had in early years been a
clergyman, and that he still wrote short sermons in
the form of editorials in the Sunday number of the
<i>New York Herald</i>. For all this, I assured the Sultan
that, though Dr. Hepworth’s sympathies were undoubtedly
with the Armenians, this did not necessarily
imply unfairness of mind; whereas, if the
information to be obtained in Anatolia should turn
out to be of a nature to exculpate the Turkish
authorities from complicity in what had taken place,
Dr. Hepworth, as an honest man, would report accordingly.
The very fact of his known sympathy with
// 074.png
.pn +1
the Armenians would then double the weight of his
testimony. I succeeded in convincing the Sultan;
he even agreed that our route should take any
direction Dr. Hepworth might decide upon. Nothing
was to be hidden or disguised from us, and in case of
any difficulty arising I was always to be at liberty
to telegraph directly to His Majesty without let or
hindrance on the part of the officials accompanying
the expedition. The Sultan concluded: “You have
already given me substantial proof of your impartiality.
Render me this service, and I will grant you any
favour you like to ask of me.”

To this I impulsively replied, somewhat quixotically
as it strikes me to-day, that he might rely on me
doing my best in the interests of truth and justice
without any consideration of reward entering into the
matter on my part. As a matter of fact, I neither
solicited nor subsequently received the slightest
remuneration from the Sultan or anybody else for a
task the arduous and perilous nature of which I was
far from realizing at the time, and the outcome of
which was a journalistic triumph for the <i>New York
Herald</i>.

The impression I gained from this interview was that
the Sultan was sincere in his wish to get to know the
true state of affairs. He believed that the revolutionary
activity of the Armenians, connived at by
Russia, had been the primary cause of the massacres
in Asia Minor as in Constantinople, and that the
governors of the different provinces had done their
best to protect the innocent and punish the guilty.
// 075.png
.pn +1
Abdul Hamid is not the only autocrat who has found
it an impossible task to get at the truth, the whole
truth, and nothing but the truth. For it goes without
saying that His Majesty’s estimate of what had
taken place was based on partial and incomplete information.
On the other hand, our journey furnished
us with abundant evidence that the Sultan’s views were
not without some justification, and that, as a rule, the
governors of the different provinces we traversed were
men of tried capacity and integrity. Viewed from this
distance of time, there can be no doubt that the policy
of the Sultan in excluding foreign journalists from
Armenia was a mistaken one. It resulted in a one-sided
version of the events becoming generally accepted—the
lie with twenty-four hours’ start, according to
Napoleon, is immortal—and it gave opportunities for
“writing up” atrocities without any of the extenuating
features which provoked them obtaining publicity.

It is not my purpose to render an exact account of
our journey, for such would fill a volume. This was
done at the time by the late Dr. Hepworth,[#] who did
not very long survive the fatigues of the journey,
which at his time of life, he being then over sixty
years of age, was a most arduous undertaking. My
aim will be to give some incidents of our journey,
the impressions which have remained in my mind
as illustrative of the aspect of the country we passed
through as we saw it, and the conversations we had
with the people we came in contact with.

.pm fn-start // 1
“Through Armenia on Horseback.” By the Rev. George H.
Hepworth. London and New York, 1898.
.pm fn-end

// 076.png
.pn +1

The ostensible object of the expedition was to report
upon the schools in the different provinces to be
traversed, but behind this was obviously the intention
of obtaining information outside the usual official
channels with regard to the disturbances which had
taken place in the year 1895 in that mysterious
country which Europeans are in the habit of calling
Armenia, although the number of Armenians distributed
over an area about as large as France and
Germany combined, making every allowance for the
unreliability of statistics, can scarcely exceed a million
and a half, whereas in the Russian provinces bordering
on Asiatic Turkey there are probably even more, of
whom, however, the world never hears anything. The
route of our journey, as drawn up with the Sultan’s
approval, would take us through Anatolia, Kurdistan,
Mesopotamia, and Syria. We were to proceed by
sea to Trebizond, and starting from thence to reach
Erzeroum; from there to push on to Van, thence
to Bitlis, to Diarbekir, and to Biredschik on the
Euphrates; thence to Aintab in Syria, and on to
Alexandretta, where we would take ship back to
Constantinople. By this route we would traverse
four out of the five so-called Armenian vilayets;[#]
Erzeroum, Van, Bitlis, and Diarbekir, leaving Mamuret
ül Aziz out of our itinerary. This plan was carried
// 077.png
.pn +1
out with the exception that we omitted Van owing to
the severity of the weather and the uncertainty of
being able to keep within the projected time limit.
Little did we realize what hardships we were to experience,
although we had been warned at Constantinople
that such a journey—never an easy one, and usually
undertaken in the spring, summer, or autumn—involved
very serious risks in the depth of winter,
when snowstorms or floods might possibly keep us
for weeks together in remote places. The chance of
being attacked by Kurdish tribes, of catching some
disease owing to the lack of all hygienic conditions
in the country, the primitive nature of the accommodation,
sleeping on the bare floor side by side with
camels, buffaloes, oxen, horses, and dogs all in a state
far removed from cleanliness, lastly the unaccustomed
food: these were all matters for consideration.

.pm fn-start // 1
The term vilayet is derived from the Arabic ejalet, and signifies
a governorship—an area—a district such as would be administered
by a pasha; thus a so-called “pasha tik,” or staathoudership.
Hence the term “Vali” stands for the administrator of a vilayet.
The vilayet of Erzeroum, for instance, has an area of nearly 50,000
square kilometres, with 645,000 inhabitants.
.pm fn-end

On a black windy November morning we started in
the Austrian Lloyd steamer <i>Daphne</i>, and steamed
through the Bosphorus, on our way to the Black Sea,
our destination being Trebizond. Our little party was
quite representative in its character. His Excellency
Sirry Bey, one of the secrétaires traducteurs of the
Palace, was in charge of the expedition. Halid Bey, his
secretary, a fat, good-natured, harmless young Turk,
was always busy taking notes. Two colonels of cavalry,
aides-de-camp of the Sultan, were attached to the
expedition, and six sergeants of cavalry (Suwarie
Tschaoush) formed a military escort in case of unforeseen
contingencies. One of these officers, Colonel
Tewfik Bey, was an easy-going, lymphatic cavalryman,
// 078.png
.pn +1
whose big travelling portmanteau was a horse’s entire
load by itself, although all the other members of the
expedition restricted themselves to small hand-bags in
consideration of the difficulties of transport. The other
officer, Colonel Rushti Bey, was the most interesting
personality of our party, as a specimen of the aristocratic,
carefully brought up Turk. A young fair-headed,
handsome man, he was indefatigable—the first up and
on horseback in the morning and never seeming to tire.
He did not smoke or touch any wine or spirits. His
bearing was chivalrous, and though not given to
expansiveness, he was a man of the kindliest disposition.
We had a Doctor Wallisch, a Hungarian
in the Turkish service, on board, who was on his way
to an appointment in Van. Fortunately for the party
we managed to persuade him to accompany us on
the whole of our journey. Our interpreter, Hermann
Chary, an excitable little Roumanian Jew, who spoke
eight or ten languages, was the same man I had
picked up in Salonica in the spring of the year.

We encountered very rough weather in the Black
Sea, which interfered with our enjoyment of the fine
scenery on the shore of Asia with its forest-clad hills,
some of them already covered with snow. This journey
in the company of staunch Moslems who would spread
their little rugs on the deck at sunrise and sunset,
and pray silently with their faces turned towards
Mecca, was a new sensation to Dr. Hepworth and
myself. An awkward incident took place one day
during the voyage. The cooking on board as well as
the bill of fare was “Frank” (<i>i.e.</i> European), and on
// 079.png
.pn +1
one occasion roast pork formed an item of the menu.
So cunningly was it prepared that none of us was
able to detect it except Dr. Hepworth, whose partiality
for pork was so strong that his first request on
entering a restaurant in Paris, Vienna, or Constantinople
was for a pork chop, and when he had made
it disappear, for another pork chop. In the ecstasy
of a delighted palate he proclaimed aloud that we
were partaking of his favourite dish, “roast pork”!
Never shall I forget the dismay that spread over the
faces of the Turks present when this disclosure was
made. In order to save the situation I tried to make
out that Dr. Hepworth was mistaken, but finally we
all lapsed into silence as the best way out of the difficulty,
since the defilement was beyond question.

The weather continued so rough that we were a
long time in doubt whether we should be able to stop
on our way, as nowhere along the coast was there
a sheltered harbour. Only with great difficulty did
we disembark for a few hours at Kerasoun and at
Samsoun, the seat of large tobacco factories. At
Samsoun we reviewed the school-children and saw for
the first time a primitive type of plough, and carts
with solid wooden wheels drawn by oxen—varying
probably little from those in use in the time of
Abraham.

Trebizond is picturesquely situated on the shore of
the Black Sea at the mouth of the River Moutschka,
at the base of a chain of mountains rising gradually
to an altitude of 1600 metres, culminating in the
thickly wooded Kotal Dagh, 3410 metres high. Even
// 080.png
.pn +1
here there is no harbour, and in stress of weather
ships have to seek refuge at Platana, two hours and a
half distant by steam. The city forms the starting-point
of the caravans to Persia; but these have now
strong competitors in the Russian railway from
Batoum and the caravans from the Persian Gulf. In
consequence of these developments the traffic of the
interior is declining. Yet Trebizond remains, next to
Smyrna, the most important city of Asiatic Turkey,
and previous to the Armenian disturbances of the
years 1895–96 contained a population of 35,000 inhabitants.
At that time, however, a large migration to
Russia and Constantinople began, and this was still
in progress when we arrived there. More than half
of the population consisted of Moslems, with 8000
Greeks and 6000 Armenians, the lower classes being
the so-called Lazis, an unruly tribe, from whom the
Turks draw their best sailors. Trebizond has an
Armenian Archbishop and twenty Christian churches,
as well as an American missionary station. All the
Turkish mosques were once Christian places of
worship.

We were sitting in the dining-room of the Hôtel
d’Italie looking out upon the dark waters of the Black
Sea rolling menacingly far away to the horizon, when
a dark-bearded, slimly built man with a low forehead
and ferret-like eyes approached us. He was a Russian
Armenian, a doctor of medicine, who had come to
Trebizond to set up in practice. He did not care a
fig for politics and was silent. He was absorbed in
his own profession—that of getting on in the world.
// 081.png
.pn +1

Prominent in his quaint costume and mannerism
was a young professor of philology from a university
of Northern Europe. He was about twenty-five years
of age and believed he knew everything worth knowing
in geography, philology, and politics. His sympathies
were all with the Christian “brothers.” He
had come over from Russia, where, in the pursuit of
his philological calling, he had rummaged over the
worm-eaten parchments of sundry Christian monasteries,
and had caught from these the current term of
“brothers”—meaning that the lowliest Christian is
a “brother,” and the Moslem Turk at best an
infidel stranger. He laid down the law without
hesitation. “I never condemn a whole people,” he
exclaimed; “I say that the vices of a people are
always the fault of an autocratic Government.” Here
was a specimen of the learned European, caught
young in Turkey, returning home with all the kudos
which a few months—or even years—added to a
smattering familiarity with Oriental languages, can
confer, to be looked upon by his friends as an
authority on the Eastern question, and possibly, later
on, to champion the claims of the suffering “brothers”
in the East in the legislative Chamber of his native
land!

The sun had sunk in the west. It was twilight
and we were sitting alone, when there entered an
American missionary. A few preliminaries revealed
the fact that we had to deal with a worthy, excellent
man, past middle age—a teacher of the Gospel whose
range of interests did not necessarily exclude politics.
// 082.png
.pn +1

“Yes, sir, it is a hard, laborious life, but we keep
pegging away,” he said in the course of conversation.
“No newspapers, railways, or telegraphs: no means of
communication with one’s friends. It is like living in
another world. And what a cesspool it is—fifty feet
deep, and, do what we may, we can only disinfect the
surface. Formerly, when I first came here, thirty
years ago, it was very different. We were encouraged
to work, and enjoyed every liberty; also we largely
increased the number of our flock; but now,” he
added despondently, “it is all reaction.”

“No wonder,” I rejoined, “the past has bred revolution.”

“Yes, I admit there has been a revolutionary
movement, but not fostered by us. We have always
inculcated obedience to the authorities.”

“But do I understand you rightly that a well-known
revolutionist was one of your pupils?”

“Yes, and I always refused to believe that he had
anything to do with the revolutionists.”

“Do you refuse to believe so now?”

“No, I am grieved to say.”

“Now tell me,” I continued, “how are things over
in Russia—a Christian country?”

“Far worse than here,” he answered in excited
tones. “The Russians are much more intolerant—much
more reactionary than the Turks. Why, if the
Russians ever come here, they will turn us missionaries
neck and crop out of the country.”

Thereupon we parted, and I left the hotel in search
of a breath of fresh air and came upon an Israelite.
// 083.png
.pn +1

“Why, sir,” he began, “those Armenians are an
accursed race. To think of the position which they once
held in Turkey, after having managed, in the course of
generations, to get nearly all the wealth of the country
into their hands, and to fill some of the best paid appointments!
If they had ventured to play their revolutionary
game in Russia, the Russians would not have left
a man of them alive. I tell you they are accursed. In
our Jewish hooks it is written—written three thousand
years ago—that they shall not prosper, that their seed
shall be wasted.”

.tb

Among the men who were credited with a large
share in the cruel measures of repression said to have
been carried out by different Turkish high officials
against the Armenians, the name of Marshal Chakir
Pasha, Imperial Commissioner for the introduction of
reforms in Anatolia, stood foremost. The story that
the Marshal, who was at Erzeroum in the month
of October 1895, at the time of the Armenian rising,
had, like a human bloodhound, stood, watch in hand,
when asked for orders, and decided that the work
of knocking the Armenians on the head was to continue
for another hour and a half—some versions say
two hours—went almost the round of the world. It was
told to me in Constantinople by a person of distinction
and impartiality, and although this did not amount to
proof positive, I could hardly resist the conviction that
there must be something in the tale, bearing in mind
the exceptional source of my information. I had also
// 084.png
.pn +1
heard that more than one of the diplomatic representatives
of the Great Powers at Constantinople, notably
Sir Philip Currie, had repeatedly but vainly urged
the Sultan to recall the Marshal. I was therefore in
a somewhat expectant frame of mind when I learnt
that the redoubtable pasha was staying in Trebizond
with his whole staff. Its principal members consisted
of Hassib Effendi, formerly Turkish Consul-General at
Tiflis in the Caucasus, and since in like capacity at
Teheran; Danish Bey, formerly First Secretary of the
Turkish Embassy at St. Petersburg; and Demeter
Mavrocordato Effendi.

Marshal Chakir Pasha had had a distinguished
career. Educated at the military school of Pancaldi,
at Constantinople, he was afterwards attached to the
Turkish état-major. Quitting that post after a time,
he entered the Administrative Department, and became
within a short space of time Governor in succession of
Bosnia, Bulgaria, and Bagdad. Subsequently he rejoined
the army, and held a command in Montenegro
during the war, and later on was present at the
memorable Shipka Pass battles. After the Russo-Turkish
war Chakir returned to Constantinople, and
was sent as Turkish Ambassador to St. Petersburg,
where he remained for twelve years, and where, so
the Russian Consul-General at Erzeroum assured me,
he saw the Marshal, the doyen of the Diplomatic Corps,
leading the polonaise with the Empress Dagmar as
a partner.

Since then Chakir Pasha had been civil and military
governor of Crete, and previous to his latest appointment
// 085.png
.pn +1
he had been nominated member of the High
Military Commission of Inspection, which sat under
the presidency of the Sultan at the Palace of Yildiz.

I felt somewhat abashed at the thought of asking
such a man a series of questions closely affecting his
personal honour. But Chakir himself made my task
easy by his well-bred urbanity. He was a short,
stout, full-bearded, distinguished-looking man of
about sixty years of age, with massive features and
bright keen eyes, denoting intelligence and capacity
for hard work. I called on him at his official residence
with Mavrocordato Effendi, and found him in a
small, sparsely furnished apartment, sitting at a plain
writing-table, the other members of his staff being
also present and seated round the table.

After coffee and a few preliminary remarks, I told
the Marshal frankly that I had heard the story of the
watch, and that I hoped he would kindly excuse my
asking him the true facts of the case. He took my
question in very good part, and said in reply that he
was perfectly cognizant of the tale, but that he had
never considered it incumbent upon himself to take
official notice of it—any other notice being, of course,
in his position, out of the question. However, he
could assure me, he added with a smile, that when the
story first reached Erzeroum people who knew the
facts of the case smiled at the idea. He could only
advise me not to take his assurance one way or the
other, but, as I was going to Erzeroum, to make my
own inquiries.

Encouraged by the Marshal’s manner, I then asked
// 086.png
.pn +1
him: “I have been told that a large amount of the
trouble in Kurdistan was owing to the Kurds having
been armed by the Turkish Government, and that
it was your Excellency with whom this measure
originated.”

“As a matter of fact,” he replied, “the Kurds
have always been more or less armed, and have
often used their arms against the Turkish Government,
as you are doubtless aware. The idea of
arming the Kurds in a homogeneous military
fashion, which has led to the formation of
the Hamadiè cavalry regiments (about 40,000 to
50,000 strong), belongs to Marshal Zeki Pasha,
the Commander of Erzingian. The Sultan approved
of the idea, which was intended to furnish a
counterpoise to the Russian Cossack regiments, and
asked me to work out the plan, which I did at
Constantinople, in my capacity of member of the
military commission at Yildiz. I even candidly admit
that my sympathies are with these regiments—after
all, they are my own countrymen.” The Marshal
repeated this in a quiet tone of almost apologetic
modesty, which had something quaintly touching in
its simplicity, and set me thinking how very few men
in a similar high position in other countries would
have condescended to enter thus into details. I could
not help feeling drawn towards the old soldier.

Chakir Pasha was not a man of many words, and
several of those present now joined in the conversation,
which became general. Only once did the Marshal
interpose in a quiet but decisive manner. Danish
// 087.png
.pn +1
Bey was in the midst of relating some incident, and
suddenly stopped short, for some reason or other,
whereupon the Marshal said: “Continue, tell him
everything—il n’y a rien à cacher.”

As I was personally acquainted with many well-known
Turkish officers and diplomatists, our conversation
had plenty of points of mutual interest.
However, in what follows I only give a résumé of
what may interest the outside world. Part of what I
have to relate was told in the Marshal’s presence, he
now and then putting in a word or making some
verbal correction, whilst some of the details were
given me later in the evening at the hotel by the
members of his staff and by other persons later at
Erzeroum. I give the facts exactly as they were
stated to me by individuals who one and all held
responsible positions, and who, in our personal intercourse,
which lasted several days, made the impression
upon me of being honourable, cultivated men of the
world. According to my informants, the original
troubles at Trebizond had begun two years previously
as a consequence of members of the Armenian revolutionary
committee firing in broad daylight on Hamid
Pasha, the commander of the garrison, and Bahri
Pasha, Governor-General of Van, who happened to be
at Trebizond at the time, and was walking with Razi
Khan, the Persian Consul-General. Both pashas were
wounded.

“With regard to the interior, signs of coming
trouble were apparent a long time back. In some
districts, where the Kurdish chiefs had been accustomed
// 088.png
.pn +1
for centuries past to do all their business
with the Armenian merchants and bankers in the
towns, their mutual relations were of the most cordial
character. The Kurds were even in the habit of staying
in the houses of their Armenian friends when they came
to town. Gradually a change came over the scene.
The Kurds met strange faces in the towns, and the
manner of the Armenian merchants visibly changed.
Russian Armenian journalists from Tiflis became
regular visitors, and the assumption is that they
influenced the Armenian element in the direction of
discontent and revolt. That they were able to do so
is the more unaccountable as the Armenian language
and the Armenian schools have always been entirely
free, and in Turkey the Armenians are exempted from
military service—a most distasteful profession to them—on
paying a nominal sum. Moreover, the Armenians
have been able, in the course of centuries, to gather
into their hands the greater part of the wealth of the
country. The Armenian ‘bakal,’ or village grocer,
holds a great number of the Turkish peasantry in the
perpetual bondage of usury. In Russia, on the other
hand, the Armenians are rigorously drafted into the
army, and are generally sent to serve their time in
districts far away from their homes, while their schools
and their language are interfered with by a severe
censorship.

“When the insurrectionary movement was ripe, the
men who appeared on the scene gave themselves the
name of ‘Fedaïs,’ or the ‘Sacrificed for the country.’
This is the sobriquet which the notorious Armenian
// 089.png
.pn +1
revolutionist, Daniel Tschoueh, applied to himself.
Under the pretext of saving his country he roamed
through the vilayet of Sivas, where he committed acts
of brigandage. And yet this very man was so deficient
in physical courage that he died of fear the
very day he was brought before the gendarmerie of
Sivas. He was originally employed in the mines of
Kara Hissar Charki, in the district of the vilayet
of Sivas. Among other atrocities which he committed
was the murder of the representative of the Procureur-Général
of Kara Hissar Charki, as well as his wife and
children, on the road to Sivas.

“With regard to the reforms which have since been
introduced, it is as well the world should know that
the Armenians are only willing to accept such as conform
easiest with their idiosyncrasies. But when it
is a question of their undertaking obligations which
involve certain hardships, such as the post of gendarme,
they simply refuse to serve the Imperial
Government. It is extremely difficult to find Armenians
to serve as gendarmes, and this notwithstanding that
the Imperial Government offers them all sorts of
inducements. For not only are they well paid, but
they are held to be doing military service in acting as
gendarmes and are thus freed from the tax for exemption
from military service. Instead of serving in the
above capacity they prefer posts which offer chances
of making money without hard work. Thus they are
very eager to be appointed adjunct (muavin) to the
kaimakan or to other more or less lucrative official
posts.”
// 090.png
.pn +1

Chakir Pasha’s mission had been to travel all
through Kurdistan for the last two years, and the
following interesting statements were made sporadically
in the further course of my conversations with
his suite:

“One of the most remarkable features of this
Armenian rebellion was the marvellous rapidity with
which news spread among Mussulmans and Armenians
alike. Thus, hardly had Sir Philip Currie in the
autumn of 1895 telegraphed to Erzeroum to the
<i>locum tenens</i> of the British Consul that the Sultan
had accepted the proposals of the Powers than the
gentleman in charge asked for the telegram and
interpreted it as portending Armenian autonomy.
A newspaper correspondent telegraphed from London
to Givon Schismanian, the Archbishop of Erzeroum,
‘Victoire complète’ (Armenian: ‘Mouzaferiat berke
mal’), and the news spread to the farthest limits of
Kurdistan. In some places the Kurds decided to
make a clean sweep of the Armenians. Chakir
Pasha started immediately for Khinis, on the road
between Erzeroum and Bitlis, and persuaded the
Kurdish beys to remain quiet. Twenty-four hours
later it might have been too late.” In fact, according
to statements of Chakir Pasha’s suite, both here and
elsewhere he saved many hundred lives by his prompt
measures.

The Armenians on their side, so I was assured,
fêted the correspondent who had championed their
cause in a London newspaper as a national hero, “Le
Sauveur de l’Arménie.” The Armenians of Erzeroum
// 091.png
.pn +1
presented him with a pen set in brilliants; the
Armenians of Tiflis gave him whole cases full of presentation
plate. The following was subsequently told
me by one of Chakir Pasha’s staff:

“We were staying at the government house
in Van with Chakir Pasha at the end of September
’96, when we were unexpectedly informed that the
hiding-place of the Armenian insurgents had been
discovered. They had entrenched themselves in the
gardens of the Armenian quarter of the town, and it
would have been extremely difficult to get at them
without artillery. Chakir, fearing that the Mussulman
population might get beyond control if fighting
was at once commenced, told off a large body of
troops to cut off the Armenian quarter from the other
part of the town. After this was done the Armenian
revolutionists were driven out of the town, losing a
number of killed and wounded. In the meantime the
representative of the Armenian Bishop of Van called
upon Chakir Pasha and showed him a telegram which
he proposed to send at once to Monsignor Khrimyan,
the Armenian <i>Catholikos</i> of Etchmiadzin (in
Russia), in which he said that, while the Armenians
had for six hundred years been contented under the
dominion of the Turks, people from abroad were now
coming to trouble their tranquillity, and he begged
Monsignor Khrimyan to use his influence to prevent
such people from coming into the country, as they
could only do the Armenians harm. To this Chakir
Pasha replied that the telegram in itself was excellent,
but it ought to have been sent long ago, and not at
// 092.png
.pn +1
the very moment when the insurgents had been discovered
by the authorities; that it was a matter of
public notoriety that these people had been in Van
for two months past, and that the Armenian community
had been well aware of the fact, and ought
to have apprised the authorities, so that they
might distinguish between their friends and their
enemies.”

Of the members of the suite of Chakir Pasha with
whom I had opportunities of talking the most interesting
was Mavrocordato Effendi, an Orthodox Catholic,
and related to the Greek princely family of the same
name. He had previously been Turkish Consul-General
at Liverpool and at Barcelona, Secretary of the Turkish
Embassy at Paris, etc., and was a cultured European.
He spoke English almost like an Englishman.
Community of meals for several days following in
stormy, depressing weather brought about mutual
confidence and expansion of ideas.

Mavrocordato had not been able to see his young
wife and child for fifteen months, as he had accompanied
Chakir Pasha in his mission right through Anatolia, or
Kurdistan—a country many Europeans will persist in
calling “Armenia.” He was a hard-working and zealous
Turkish official, with the breadth of view of a cultured
man of the world.

“Yes,” he said in conversation, “the reforms
desired by the Powers are now introduced throughout
Asiatic Turkey and in full working order. But I do
not think much of their practical value. Their spirit
is already contained in Turkish law, which is
// 093.png
.pn +1
excellently adapted to the needs of this part of the
world. Of course we have had abuses: what country,
particularly what Eastern country, has not? But we
are on the road to improvement. The principal thing
we want is a body of honest and capable administrators
and minor functionaries, and on your journey through
the country you will be able to convince yourself
that among Turkish officials in Anatolia the majority,
especially among the new appointments, are good men—a
great improvement on the old order of things.”

“But how about the rumours I hear of appointments
depending on the bribery of officials at the
Palace in Constantinople?” I asked.

“Do I look like a man who has bribed his way through
Palace officials?” he replied. “There may be instances
of bribery and peculation, but hardly in connexion
with these matters. What Asiatic Turkey is most
pressingly in need of are good roads and railways. At
the present moment the Mussulman population, which
is far worse off than the Christian, is very poor; and
the richer the harvest, the poorer they are. For where
there is plenty prices decline, as there are no adequate
means of transport and no markets. But another
difficulty which the Government has to contend with
in all its attempts at reform is the conservatism which
seems ingrained in everything and everybody Asiatic.
It is this that the diplomatists of Europe lose sight of
when they, Penelope-like, elaborate one plan of reform
after another for the Turkish Empire over a green
baize table in some kiosk on the Bosphorus. A
little incident will illustrate this. The Sultan sends a
// 094.png
.pn +1
capable official to some distant province as kaimakan,
or prefect. He has been educated at Constantinople,
at the École Civile. He is scrupulously honest, in
touch with modern ideas, enthusiastically devoted to
his work, and anxious to benefit the people under his
care. He endeavours to introduce reforms, beginning
with the improvement of the roads of the town where
he officially resides. He calls upon the inhabitants to
contribute towards this good work. Result: the
Mohammedans and the Armenian population join hands
and petition the Government to have the kaimakan
removed. He is a modern man: they prefer the old-fashioned
do-nothing type of official.”

Such was the information my companion and I
gathered on the eve of our plunge into the Asiatic
domains of the Sultan from some of the men who had
been responsible there for the maintenance of order.
The time had come for departure. We had spent several
days at Trebizond inspecting the bazaar and making
some purchases of stores, Dr. Hepworth and myself
ordering each a warm sheepskin fur—such as are worn
by the peasants and camel-drivers—and after having
engaged some tumble-down vehicles and horses, we
started on the long journey through the interior of
the country to Erzeroum—a matter of eight to ten
days’ travelling. We took leave of every comfort
associated with civilization, such as beds, washing-basins,
even tables and chairs, which we only
came upon again at the end of our journey at
Alexandretta.
// 095.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER V||JOURNEY THROUGH ASIATIC TURKEY: II
.sp 2
.pm ch-hd-start
                    My mother Earth!
And thou, fresh breaking Day, and you, ye Mountains,
Why are ye beautiful? I cannot love ye.
And thou, the bright eye of the Universe,
That openest over all, and unto all
Art a delight—thou shin’st not on my heart.
.rj
<sc>Byron</sc>
.pm ch-hd-end
.sp 2
.ni
<sc>On</sc> leaving Trebizond the winding road rises gradually
until you reach the tableland of the Taurus, the so-called
Armenian Highlands. We took one last look at
the Black Sea from a height before it was lost to
sight, dark and menacing with its ships lying at
anchor.
.pi
A feature which struck me with surprise shortly
after leaving Trebizond were the Christian monasteries
which we passed at intervals, perched high up on the
ridge of the hills on either side of us. We were told
that they had been tenanted by monks from time
immemorial, and that they still inhabit them. Surely
here was ocular demonstration in favour of Mohammedan
tolerance, since, if the much-spoken-of
fanaticism of the Turk had any tangible existence,
these monasteries could not possibly have remained
// 096.png
.pn +1
unmolested, undefiled, inhabited right through the
many centuries during which the country has belonged
to the Turks.

Another feature of our journey, which, however,
only presented itself to us later on, was equally a
matter of surprise to us—imbued as we were with
the notion that peaceable Armenians were in daily
fear for their lives and property right through the
country. We frequently met whole Armenian families,
men, women, and children, the women sitting astride
their horses, travelling on the road without weapons
of any kind.

It was a novel sensation to arrive in the evening at
a miserable shed, a barn, a stable, mostly without any
windows or other ventilation, termed a “han,” in which
oxen, buffaloes, and camels were quartered, and to be
told that we were expected to pass the night there.
But such was destined to be, with few exceptions, our
nightly experience for the next few weeks.

On emerging from our stable one morning, long
before sunrise, we could scarcely see a yard in front of
us. We were surrounded by a thick mist. It rose
from an encampment of camels, buffaloes, and horses
immediately facing us. It appeared that they had
arrived in the evening after us, and, finding the “han”
occupied by our party, had camped out all night in
the open. The bitter cold had acted in the manner
described, causing clouds of steam to rise from the
bodies of the animals.

Our first station of any note was a place called
Gumysch Hanè, a name which denoted that silver
// 097.png
.pn +1
mines were or had been worked in the neighbourhood.
Here we changed our carriages for saddle-horses,
with which next morning we crossed the
Zigana Pass—6000 feet high and one of the most
perilous sections of our journey now that in the
winter, owing to the snow, the road, at its best
little better than a bridle-path, was narrowed to
the breadth of a mere wooden plank, with yawning
ravines on the off-side of us. It was here that we met
the most thrilling experiences of our whole journey—namely,
the encountering of caravans of mules, camels,
and droves of sheep proceeding in the opposite
direction. We were told that only a short time
previously on this road a number of camels connected
together by ropes had lost their footing and
been precipitated into the abyss below. Here I cannot
resist the temptation of quoting a passage describing
Professor Vambéry’s experience over the same road, as
it exactly tallies with my own: “On our way we met
a long line of over-loaded mules descending amidst the
wild screams of their Persian drivers. It is a rare
sight to watch them advancing with the utmost care,
without any accident upon the slippery path cut into
the rock, scarcely two spans wide, flanked by the
bottomless abyss. And yet it is a very unusual thing
for a mule to be precipitated into the abyss yawning
along the path. If ever it happens it is in winter.
The danger is greatest when two caravans happen to
meet face to face. In order to avoid such an encounter
big bells, heard at a great distance, are used by them,
warning the caravans to keep out of each other’s way.
// 098.png
.pn +1
The continuously steep ascent lasted over four
hours. There is hardly a worse road in all Asia, yet
this is the only commercial road which connects
Armenia with Persia, nay, Central Asia with the
West. During the summer hundreds of thousands of
these animals are traversing this route, going and
coming, loaded with the products of Asia and the
manufactures of Europe.”[#]

.pm fn-start // 1
“Arminius Vambéry: Life and Adventures.” London, 1890:
pp. 38–39.
.pm fn-end

Thus our feeling of relief was great when we had
happily crossed the Zigana Pass without further
trouble than the anxious moments involved in dodging
the camels, mules, and sheep we met; their tinkling
bells warning us of their approach, whilst we in our
turn warned them with our own bells hanging at our
horses’ necks. There was only one critical moment,
at least for me, when my horse became restive, for
it looked as if intent on negotiating the abyss. I
rose in my stirrup, ready to jump off on the inside,
so as to allow of my mount taking the fatal leap
alone.

On the evening of November 21 we arrived at
Baiburt, the largest town in the Armenian Highlands
after Erzeroum, from which it is still 105
kilometres away. Baiburt is about 1638 metres
above sea-level, and occupies an important commercial
and strategic position. It is situated on the fringe of
the Armenian Highlands and the Pontine mountain
range, and forms a connecting link between the
two. Previous to the Russo-Turkish war of 1877
// 099.png
.pn +1
it possessed 10,000 inhabitants, which have since
diminished to about one-half. It had also been
taken by the Russians under General Paskiewitsch
in 1828, and had suffered severely. An observant
German traveller,[#] visiting the place nearly seventy
years ago, before the present German fashion of
treating everything Turkish as <i>couleur de rose</i>,
described Baiburt as giving one a foretaste of “those
desolate, decayed, half-ruined, and nearly deserted
towns which, from here right throughout the whole
of Asiatic Turkey up to the Persian frontier, form a
sequence of progressive misery.” These words require
little variation to describe the appearance of the place
when we came there. For instance, we were assured
that there was not a single qualified doctor in the town.
And yet, although a poverty-stricken place, it was
still possible to meet with people bearing expensive
weapons on their person, for, like the nomads
of old, the Asiatic Turk usually carries all his portable
property about with him. At least, so much
might be inferred from the fact that I bought a
beautiful damascene dagger with a solid silver
sheath and handle from a servant for six Turkish
pounds.

.pm fn-start // 1
Reisen von Moritz Wagner. Leipzig, 1852.
.pm fn-end

We started early next morning, having exchanged
saddle-horses for sledges, and arrived at sunset at our
destination, another wretched “han” at the foot of
the renowned Kop Dagh, which we were to cross in
the morning, the pass being 8000 feet above sea-level.
The summit is variously given as between
// 100.png
.pn +1
10,000 and 11,000 feet above sea-level. Owing to the
danger of being delayed by snow-drifts, relays of
workmen were engaged during the night to clear a
path for our sleighs through the snow. It was
arranged that we should start before daybreak,
between four and five in the morning. The journey
turned out to be a somewhat exciting affair. We
started by the dim light of lanterns, first crossing a
frozen stream. Our horses, at times up to their
bodies in snow, had the greatest difficulty; at others
our sleighs were repeatedly on the point of turning
over and landing us in the unknown. Luckily, we
were not troubled with the boisterous wind we had
feared we might encounter at the summit; and after
several hours of laborious ascent we crossed the pass
in all safety, if not in comfort, owing to the bitter cold
of that region. In the course of the day we met a
solitary horseman on his way to the pass. He was a
Canadian missionary, with whom we exchanged
greetings.

Travellers unite in describing the scenery in this
part of the Armenian Highlands as of surpassing
beauty. In the winter we saw nothing of the wonderful
effects of atmosphere and colour which form
such a striking feature of the country, as the whole
landscape up to the horizon was one mass of snow-covered
mountains, somewhat resembling in character
and outline the broad convex cupolas of a Turkish
mosque, say the Aja Sophia of Constantinople.

As the sun breaks in the early morning on the Kop
Dagh, a vision presents itself to the eye as of the
// 101.png
.pn +1
bursting forth of the light of heaven. It reminded
me of some of the most ambitious efforts of Gustave
Doré in his illustrations of the Bible.

.pm verse-start
          Look, how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold;
There’s not the smallest orb which thou behold’st,
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims:
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.

<i>Merchant of Venice</i>, v.
.pm verse-end

Arrived at the summit of the pass, the endless
panorama of a snow-covered, undulating tableland at
our feet is as that of a mythical world, majestic, almost
terrible in the total absence of all human habitations
as far as the eye could reach towards the horizon—weird
in its vast expanse, all covered with snow.

We reached Erzeroum in the afternoon of November
24. The grim-looking old fortress was dimly
perceptible from afar through the dry wintry mist,
dominated by a background of hills rising considerably
higher than the plateau upon which it is situated. As
we drew near, our cavalcade careered along <i>ventre à
terre</i>, the horses of our cavalry escort foaming and
bleeding at the mouth as their riders urged them on
at a furious pace in order to enable us to reach our
destination before dark—the only instance in all our
journey when I saw horses at all hardly used. Here,
as later at Bitlis and Diarbekir, our arrival had been
expected: the roofs of the houses were crowded with
// 102.png
.pn +1
inhabitants—women and children among them—eager
to obtain a sight of the remarkable visitors as our
cortège drove past and proceeded through the narrow
streets to our quarters at one of the public offices or
konaks in the town. Our camp-beds were promptly
fixed up and we could look for a few days’ rest after
the exertions of our journey. Here we found ourselves
in the interior of Asia.

Professor Vambéry, visiting Erzeroum more than
fifty years ago, gives a depressing description of the
place. The houses were already built in Eastern
fashion, the walls of stone and mud running irregularly
in zigzag line, with windows looking out in the yard
rather than the street, secret entrances, and other
little things characteristic of Eastern houses.[#]
“Evidences of the poverty of the inhabitants of
Erzeroum meet the eye in whatever direction one
may look. The dirt, the squalor, and the underground
dwellings are unbearable. The smell of their food,
which they cook by the fire made of a fuel called tezek
(cattle dung), is especially loathsome.” This description
tallies with our own experience. The hardships
we had undergone—notably the unpalatable food
spread out before us on the ground—quickened our
longing to arrive at Erzeroum, which, to our imagination,
fired by the contrast we expected it to offer to the
places we had passed through, already presented itself
in glowing colours. Dr. Hepworth and I had ceased
to enjoy a meal long before we reached Erzeroum, and
// 103.png
.pn +1
had it not been that M. Maximow, the Russian Consul,
generously lent us his Armenian cook, who accompanied
us during the remainder of our journey, we
both might well have succumbed to its hardships.

.pm fn-start // 1
“Life and Adventures of Arminius Vambéry.” London, 1890: p. 41.
.pm fn-end

Erzeroum is the capital of the vilayet of that
name, and is situated on a plateau thirty-eight
kilometres long by twenty-two broad, stretched
out at an altitude of 6000 feet above sea-level.
It is dominated by mountains of even
greater altitude, near to which the Kara Sua, or
Western Euphrates, has its source not far from the
city. The town is a very old settlement. The word
“Erzeroum” is a corruption of “Arzen-er-rum,” <i>i.e.</i> the
town of Arzen of the Romans—in contradistinction to
a neighbouring town of the same name which was
a Syro-Armenian settlement in antiquity. In the
beginning of the fifth century of our era Erzeroum
was converted into a fortress by Anatolius, one of the
generals of Theodosius the Younger, in honour of whom
it was christened Theodosiopolis, a name it retained
until the middle of the eleventh century. In more
recent times it has been repeatedly occupied by the
Russians, as in 1829 and 1878. To-day Erzeroum
has 39,000 inhabitants, half of which are made up
of Armenians, Persians, and a few Greeks. Persia,
Russia, England, and the United States are represented
by Consuls. It also contains a missionary
station. Erzeroum is approached by a modern but
rudely constructed chaussée.

We had looked forward to visiting the bazaar,
// 104.png
.pn +1
in the hope of being able to get hold of some
bargains in rare coins, old Turkish swords or
daggers; but we were doomed to disappointment here,
as also later on at Bitlis and Diarbekir. Whatever
may have been the chances of bargains in times gone
by, there was nothing left worth picking up when we
were there. Of greater interest than the bazaar was
the street in which the sword-makers plied their trade
beside each other as in their guilds in the Middle
Ages. They worked according to primitive methods,
with rude tools and weighing scales, but apparently
under dignified independent conditions, and seemed to
take a pride in their art, which allowed of a workman
putting his best efforts into his work and claiming a
price in accordance therewith. They showed us some
beautiful specimens of damascene blades and gold-inlay
work, which induced us to have our names
inscribed in Turkish characters by the same process
on the barrels of our Winchester rifles. But even
their trade, we were told, is not what it used to be.
Many of their best workmen (Armenians) had emigrated
to Russia, though some had since returned. Altogether
the influence of Russia loomed large over the place. The
driver of our sleigh, an elderly man, had been a prisoner
in Russia. We were told there was a great scarcity of
wood in the district, but though there are plenty
of forests over the borders in Russia, the Russian
authorities would not allow the timber to be exported
to Turkey, as they pursued a policy of “drying up”
all Turkish means of communication.

We next passed through a street almost monopolized
// 105.png
.pn +1
by black amber workers. They drew their raw
material from Persia, beyond Lake Van, but here
again the workmen told us sadly that they had
to procure their tools from Russia. Altogether, I
gained the impression that the “Double Eagle” would
not have much trouble in ousting the “Crescent”
from these parts; though the more intelligent of the
community, and, significant to note, Armenians among
them, did not view the prospect with favour. The
maligned Turk, if hopelessly backward from a practical
point of view, is yet in many ways more pliable and
conciliatory than the Russian. The market-place, with
its endless array of carts and booths, was largely
peopled by Persians, who do most of the carrying
trade, the retailing business being here, as elsewhere,
in the hands of the Armenians. Of Jews there was
hardly any trace. We were told that they could not
compete with the Armenians.

It would be difficult for people living under European
conditions to realize the prestige which our party
enjoyed in these distant parts. For the moment we
figured as direct ambassadors from the Sultan and
the public opinion of the outer world, thus eclipsing
the status of the Governor-General himself. And
yet in some respects there was a natural homeliness
about our intercourse which is usually foreign to the
Western world. Thus, when we had finished our
dinner, at which we were waited upon by a host of
servants—our six cavalry sergeants among others—and
rose from our seats, those who had waited upon
us sat down quite naturally in the places we had just
// 106.png
.pn +1
vacated and proceeded to take their own dinner from
the rich supply of viands left on the table as almost a
matter of course. Nor did this unusual familiarity
detract in the least from the extreme deference and
goodwill with which we were waited upon by everybody
deputed to our service.

With the object of our journey in view we called
successively upon Mr. Graves, the British Consul;
Mohamed Cherif Reouf Pasha, the Governor-General
(Vali); M. Roqueferrier, the French Consul; and M. V.
Maximov, the Russian Consul-General. To each of
these gentlemen we put the question whether he
believed in the truth of the tale about Chakir Pasha
and the watch-in-hand episode. M. Roqueferrier
ridiculed the story. “Ce sont des histoires inventées
à plaisir,” he said, and added a few words of high
personal appreciation of Chakir Pasha.

The Russian Consul, M. Maximov, said: “It is not
my business to deny the truth of such tales. All I
can tell you is, ‘que Chakir Pasha est un brave
homme—un homme de très bon cœur.’ I have known
him for years, he is a friend of mine.” Mr. Graves,
the British Consul, said: “I was not here at the
time, nor have I spoken to Chakir Pasha about
the matter, but the Vali assured me that it was not true,
and that is quite sufficient for me, as I should believe
implicitly any personal statement of Reouf Pasha.”

“Do you believe that any massacres would have
taken place if no Armenian revolutionaries had come
into the country and incited the Armenian population
to rebellion?” I asked Mr. Graves.
// 107.png
.pn +1

“Certainly not,” he replied. “I do not believe that
a single Armenian would have been killed.”

Mr. Graves is a weighty authority, and if he is
in Turkey to-day I feel sure he will not object to
my citing him in this important matter.

Let it suffice, we did not meet a single person in
Erzeroum, whatever his nationality, race, or creed
might have been, who attached the slightest credence
to a story which, cunningly invented and circulated
broadcast, not only cruelly slandered a man of integrity,
but did a deal of harm to his country in the public
opinion of the world.

The position of Vali or Governor-General of a
Turkish province has come to be associated with
an unenviable notoriety in the estimation of a large
section of the European public. Not unnaturally, a
great share of the responsibility for the wild vengeance
of the mob rests with those invested with supreme
authority, and where the person wielding this
authority has been unequal to its grave responsibilities
rumour has stepped in and has credited
Turkish officials in general with every imaginable
crime.

There are doubtless bad Valis as there are bad men
in other stations of life, and we were on the look-out
for one in order to make an example of him. Alas
that I can only give my experience of a good Vali,
Mohamed Cherif Reouf Pasha, Governor-General of
the first-class vilayet of Erzeroum.

When General Grant visited Jerusalem, he found
Reouf Pasha in the position of Governor of that
// 108.png
.pn +1
wonderful city. A strong friendship sprang up
between the thin-lipped, taciturn general and the
suave, courtly, and yet most simple-mannered pasha.
Their meeting had taken place many years previously,
but Reouf still loved to talk of Grant, whom he
recognized as one of the few truly great men he had
come across in his lifetime. And as for Grant’s opinion
of Reouf, I understand from a reliable source that,
before leaving Jerusalem, Grant assured him that if he
were again elected President of the United States,
he would ask the Sultan to send him as Turkish
Minister to Washington.

Reouf Pasha belongs to one of the oldest Turkish
families. His father, Osman Pasha, was Governor-General
of Bosnia during the last ten years of his life.
Reouf Pasha was educated at home, under the care of
special tutors, and later on his father sent him to Paris
to complete his studies. Among the successive appointments
of a long and honourable career may be mentioned
those of kaimakan and moutesarrif in Roumelia,
Bosnia, and Syria, and twelve years’ governorship of
Jerusalem—one of the most difficult posts in the
Empire. From thence Reouf Pasha was sent to Beirut
as Governor-General, then in succession to Damascus,
Bitlis, and Kharput, displaying everywhere the
qualities of justice and mercy. His activity was
ceaseless, and order followed his advent everywhere.
He was appointed to his present very responsible and
onerous position just one week prior to the breaking
out of the Armenian rebellion in October 1895.

In the following words I endeavour to sum up the
// 109.png
.pn +1
information I gained from various sources, notably the
Consular representatives in Erzeroum, concerning
Reouf Pasha’s work as Vali of that province.

“Those who have carefully watched the Governor-General
in his endeavours to stay the misfortunes of
those black hours, to limit their area and repair the
damage done, cannot resist the impression that no
trouble whatever would have taken place if he had
had time to guard against it.

“When Reouf Pasha was appointed to Erzeroum it
was already too late. He did what could be done to
stop the impending evil, sending the soldiers and
gendarmes to the most threatened spots, arresting
pillaging Kurds and having them summarily shot,
notably those who had come from the vilayet of
Bitlis and had advanced as far as Kighi. Reouf
Pasha caused between eighty and ninety Mohammedan
Turks to be shot during those critical days.

“As soon as the murderous crisis had subsided
Reouf Pasha did all in his power to make amends for
the damage done. He caused searching investigations
to be made all over Erzeroum, and wherever stolen
property was found it was restored to its rightful
owners. A large portion of what had been pillaged
was taken away from the pillagers and delivered back.
He also organized a public subscription, the amount of
which enabled over four hundred mechanics to resume
their occupation.

“Once tranquillity was restored, Reouf Pasha reorganized
the gendarmerie and the police so effectually
that whilst they were kept more strictly in hand
// 110.png
.pn +1
than ever before, they were most successful in arresting
a number of Armenian agents-provocateurs and
revolutionary emissaries, such notably as Aram
Aramian and Armenak Dermonprejan. In the affair
of Alidjekrek, in 1896, a number of Armenian revolutionists
came over the Russian frontier towards
Alaskird. Reouf Pasha, informed in time, sent a body
of gendarmes to meet them, with the result that three
were killed and the remainder took flight back to
Russia.

“A number of secret stores of arms in different
places—Passen, Sitaouk, etc.—were discovered by the
vigilance of Reouf’s police, and were safely stowed
away. I myself saw some of the muskets seized—they
bore a Russian inscription.

“All these results are most satisfactory, and have
been obtained quietly, without exciting the feelings of
the Mohammedan population. Since Reouf Pasha has
been here it can be said that justice is handled in the
most satisfactory manner. Several of the Courts of
Justice which were in need of a broom have been
swept, and now work perfectly. A number of corrupt
officials have been made an example of—notably the
former commissary of police. In a word, all classes
of the population unite in recognizing the beneficent
activity of the present Vali of Erzeroum, respecting
whose government an English Blue Book contains the
following: ‘The Vilayet of Erzeroum may be given as a
model of administration among the governorships of
Asiatic Turkey.’”
// 111.png
.pn +1

The following instance was told me of an Armenian
being chosen for preferment by the Vali. He was the
second commissary of police at Erzeroum, and had
proved himself to be so efficient an officer all through
the political troubles that Reouf procured for him
the commandership of the order of Medjediè, and
also a brevet rank equal to that of major in the
Army.

Thus far the information given to me, the main
correctness of which I feel I can vouch for.

I was privileged to meet his Excellency on several
occasions during our stay in Erzeroum, and nothing
could exceed his unvaried courtesy and affability.
Even more than this, he showed a positive anxiety
that I should accept no statement from him uncorroborated
by independent testimony. Through his
kindness every channel of information, whether
Armenian, Greek, Hebrew, or Turk, was unreservedly
set at my disposal. His pet phrase was: “Si c’est
la vérité, dites-le!”

In my personal intercourse with Reouf Pasha I was
struck by the extraordinary contrast between his
quiet, even gentle manners and the great energy he
was credited with. There was little mutual esteem
between him and Chakir Pasha. To the mind of the
mild, gentle-voiced administrator, the hardy soldier
who had been credited with all sorts of dreadful energy
was not energetic enough. The characteristic feature
of Reouf Pasha’s energy seems to have been that it
enabled him to conciliate—to turn an enemy into a
friend.
// 112.png
.pn +1

Before leaving Erzeroum, we paid a visit to the
Armenian school, which is organized on the German
plan and includes a commercial and classical curriculum.
It had at that time one hundred and thirty-four
pupils. It was a bitterly cold day, the playground
had been flooded and was a sheet of ice, and
a number of boys and grown-ups were skating. One
of the masters told me that the whole “American
Colony” of Erzeroum came to skate there. I asked
“What Americans?” and discovered that there was
absolutely only one <i>bonâ-fide</i> American in the whole
city at that particular moment, and he was Mr. Leo
Bergholz, the American Consul, and even he was not
a Christian, being of the Jewish persuasion; moreover,
he had not yet received his official exequatur.
The so-called American Colony consisted entirely of
Armenians who had acquired American citizenship and
flaunted their cheaply gained nationality in the face of
the Turkish authorities.

Later on, at Alexandretta, when our dragoman became
ill, an “American” doctor was called in to attend
him, and turned out to be a dark Syrian Armenian—a
thoroughbred Asiatic. These facts in themselves
were not necessarily of a mischievous kind; but
nobody who has travelled in those parts can be
ignorant of the capital made by these strange Americans
out of their exotic nationality, and the trouble
they occasionally give to the Turkish authorities
by their pretensions, quite independent of the
fact that many of these so-called “Americans”
were in touch, as they doubtless were in full
// 113.png
.pn +1
sympathy, with the Armenian revolutionary movement.

We were heartily glad to leave Erzeroum, for among
other inconveniences we found the air so rarefied that
the slightest exertion would increase the heart’s action
and produce a sense of fatigue.
// 114.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VI||JOURNEY THROUGH ASIATIC TURKEY: III
.sp 2
.pm ch-hd-start
Rough quarries, rocks and hills whose heads touch heaven,
It was my hint to speak—such was the process;
And of the cannibals that each other eat,
The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads
Do grow beneath their shoulders.
.rj
<sc>Shakespeare</sc>, <i>Othello</i>
.pm ch-hd-end
.sp 2
.ni
<sc>We</sc> left Erzeroum on the road to Bitlis in sleighs,
roughly constructed from unplaned trunks of trees,
which we exchanged for saddle-horses at the first
station we stopped at.
.pi
Shortly after leaving Erzeroum all vestige of roads
whatsoever vanished from our ken, and when we
came up with a river—for instance, the Tigris,
here called the Murad Su or Black Water—it was
always a case of being obliged to ford across, for whatever
bridges we saw were in ruins. Neither tree,
shrub, nor verdure of any kind met the eye—a perfect
wilderness, a country in which, as the Germans say,
“the foxes bid good-night to each other, as there is
nothing to be got for any of them.”

Our Armenian cook Migirditch proved a treasure,
more indispensable to us, as it turned out, than
our doctor, whose services, fortunately, neither Dr.
// 115.png
.pn +1
Hepworth nor I culled into requisition during the
whole of our journey. This man would gallop alone
ahead and reach our evening’s destination long before
us; for our usual rate of progress could scarcely
have exceeded three to four miles an hour. Thus we
had not to wait when we arrived, but found a well-prepared
meal ready for us. How he managed to find
his way when there were no visible roads remains
a mystery to me to this day. Altogether, the
efficiency, the general readiness of this man, the only
one of our party who had a notion how to prepare food
in European fashion, furnished an excellent illustration
of the adaptability of the Armenians. It helped to
explain and justify their ambition to rise in the world
out of their easy-going surroundings. Indeed, it is
only fair to state that throughout our whole journey
the Armenians were the only section of the population
which seemed to be at all imbued with Carlyle’s gospel
of work; which tends to explain their unpopularity with
the Turks on economic grounds.

We were not destined to see much of the fauna of
the country, which is said to consist of panthers,
wolves, hyænas, and many species of the feathered
tribe, including buzzard and blackcock. Birds of prey
we saw in plenty, hovering in the air above us, chiefly
vultures, the presence of which was easily to be
explained by the occasional carcasses of dead
horses and camels we passed on our way. One day
a soldier of our escort shot an eagle. It was only
winged when it fell, and thus maimed, the soldier
brought it into the shed in which we were lying, where
// 116.png
.pn +1
it fluttered about, beating its wings. It was not a
pleasant sight to see the noble bird, the emblem
of imperial power, being beaten to death in our
presence.

On our way we had a striking opportunity of witnessing
the pride and attachment the Turks feel
towards their family, however humble it may be.
Some days after leaving Erzeroum we noticed an old
man in peasant costume riding along with us over hill
and dale through the snow. He wore pointed slippers
and looked like some fierce Saracen chief of old. When
we halted for the night, Sirry Bey asked us if we
would come over into his shed. He wished us to
make the acquaintance of his uncle, who was the old
peasant referred to, and who had ridden quite alone
from his homestead, many miles away, to meet our
party. It was a touching sight to see the pride
with which Sirry Bey introduced us to his kinsman.
He himself boasted the title of Excellency, and was
one of the secretaries of the Sultan, coming direct
from the Palace in Constantinople, with all the prestige
which this fact carries in the eyes of the inhabitants of
the provinces, to whom “Cospoli” (Constantinople) and
the Sultan are only second in importance to Mecca and
the Kaaba; and yet he took a back seat in the presence
of the old peasant, his uncle, and thus his senior in
the family. It did one’s heart good to see the
pleasure with which he introduced us to the
old man. We were told by our doctor that when
Sirry Bey first met his uncle on the road he
embraced him and kissed his hands in token of
// 117.png
.pn +1
deference to his age, and to the higher standing in
the family given him as uncle in comparison with
the nephew.

Our journey through Anatolia also brought us an
unforgettable instance of the unselfish fidelity of a
Turkish police officer. On starting from Erzeroum he
was deputed by the Vali to look after us day and
night, to devote himself especially to the care of Dr.
Hepworth and myself during our journey from Erzeroum
towards Bitlis, as a sacred trust. And faithfully indeed
did he carry out his mission. He never let us out of
his sight: he brought us in the early morning the
water heated over the charcoal fire of the mangal to
make our cocoa, helped us on to the horses’ backs
on starting, forded the river in front of us to make
sure we should have a safe crossing, rode by our side
until we arrived at our destination, and often lay down
beside us at night. One evening we were told that
he was due to return to Erzeroum next morning. We
called him into the shed in which Dr. Hepworth and
myself were to pass the night. In addition to handing
him a letter for Reouf Pasha thanking him for the
excellent service his officer had rendered us, we offered
him a little purse filled with Turkish gold. It was a
poignant spectacle to see this poor fellow, whose
miserable pay was probably months in arrear,
positively refuse to accept anything from us but
the letter in which we had borne testimony to his
fidelity. There was mental distress in his manner and
in the tone of his voice: he, who had probably never
in his life handled as much gold as that we offered him,
// 118.png
.pn +1
pleading that he could not accept it. “No, no,” he
cried out; “you have given me the letter saying you
are satisfied that I have done my duty.” Though
Dr. Hepworth was case-hardened by thirty years of
American journalism, I saw tears glisten in his eyes.

One day a Turkish colonel rode over from Bayazid,
the furthest eastern Turkish frontier station, situated
at the foot of the Ala Dagh (10,000 feet high),
where he was in command, to bid us welcome to
those distant parts. No small feat of horsemanship
was this journey for him—over a pathless mountain
range through the snow, into which his horse sank at
times up to the belly. He was a splendid example of
the strong, pure-bred Turanian Turk, equal to any
amount of fatigue and exposure. For though we were
in the midst of winter, and the distance he had
come could have been scarcely less than a two days’
ride on horseback, he wore no mantle over his
uniform, which barely covered his chest from the
piercing blast. He was, besides, what would justly be
termed a “jolly good fellow.” His saddle trappings,
pistol holsters, dagger, and belt were of silver, beautifully
inlaid with black and gold—the finest specimens of
so-called Circassian, but in reality Armenian, workmanship
that I had ever seen, even in the bazaar of
Constantinople. Responding to our expressions of
admiration, he pressed us to accept the belt and
dagger as souvenirs. This we declined to do, as we
did not see how we could make him any return.
But so determined was he in his generous intentions
that he left the articles on my camp-bed, where I
// 119.png
.pn +1
found them in the evening. But even then I felt I could
not accept such a princely gift from a stranger, and
next morning, with Sirry Bey’s assistance, I prevailed
upon him to take them back.

It was on this section of our journey that we passed
through several Circassian villages. The Circassians
are a most interesting race, inasmuch as it has hitherto
been impossible to discover their relationship to any
other Asiatic race; their origin is also unknown beyond
the fact that they inhabited the shores of the Black
Sea and the Sea of Azov before the Christian era.
Their country was ceded to Russia in 1829 by the
Peace of Adrianople, but the repressive measures they
were subjected to in wars in the Caucasus led to
300,000 out of a total of 400,000 seeking refuge in
Turkey, where they have since lived in separate communities,
some of which we passed through. They are
reputed to be physically the finest race of men and
women in these parts, probably in all Asia. From
them are drawn many of the stalwart guards to be
seen in the Imperial palaces at Constantinople and St.
Petersburg, as well as some of the finest women in the
harems of the Sultan and the wealthy pashas. The men
we saw certainly bore out their reputation for fine
physique. Many of them were well over six feet in
height, with remarkably fine features, well-shaped
hands, and the smallest feet I have ever seen with
such stature. They were dressed in the well-known
Circassian costume, with rows of cartridges on either
breast and long daggers peeping out of their
girdles. They received us with stately hospitality,
// 120.png
.pn +1
but are in general credited with being crafty and
treacherous.

What with the desolate nature of the country,
hardly a soul being met on the road in a whole day’s
journey, and the wretched character of our nightly
accommodation, this section of our journey included
our roughest experiences. The wildness of
the conditions was brought home to us in an unpleasant
manner by the fierceness of the huge dogs in
the villages. They had to be kept at bay with drawn
swords by our escort.

We were now well into the mountain fastnesses of
Kurdistan—a fact revealed to us by the ever-increasing
escort of Kurdish horsemen that joined our cavalcade:
a motley gathering of fierce-looking men armed to the
teeth, dressed in their national costume, the head
covered with a black hood which gave them a
peculiarly demoniac appearance. They bade us a
kindly welcome to their villages and underground
dwellings.

Before we left Constantinople, my friend Ahmed
Midhat Effendi had given me a letter written in
Turkish characters which he said would ensure us
a kindly welcome in every part of the Sultan’s
dominions. So indeed it turned out to be on different
occasions, notably one evening when we halted
in a Kurdish village and passed the night in the
underground dwelling of a chieftain. We squatted
down on the floor in a circle, when Colonel Rushti
Bey brought out Midhat Effendi’s letter, the careful
calligraphy of which called forth the admiration of
// 121.png
.pn +1
those present, and read its contents out aloud.
Therein was set forth how the proprietor of one of
the greatest journals in the world, moved by a noble
impulse to see that justice was done to the Osmanli,
had sent “two fearless, impartial, and, above all, learned
men of letters to see things as they were with their
own eyes, and to report thereon to the outer world.”
It was quite an impressive spectacle to see these men
of supposed lawless proclivities listening devoutly to
the description of our mission therein set forth, to champion
the truth against the slander of the “Frank,”
ignorant of the justice of the Turkish cause. As each
sentence was read out in a clear, sympathetic voice,
the interest of the audience grew visibly, until at the
close, as with one voice, those present ejaculated in
unison, “May Allah bless and protect them!” It was an
impressive scene in its simplicity and evident sincerity.

Early the next morning, when we departed, our
hosts declined to take any payment for their hospitality;
on the other hand, they pressed us to accept
presents from them—daggers and belts richly inlaid
with silver and gold ornamentation, even a horse each
to Dr. Hepworth and myself. All these we declined,
but I could not refuse the skin of a bear which
the chief himself had killed with his dagger in
a regular “hand to paw” encounter, as we were
assured. It served as a rug in my study for years
afterwards. Even when we left, the kindliness of our
hosts was not exhausted, for a number of Kurds
accompanied us for a long distance on horseback—an
attention which was extended to us right through that
// 122.png
.pn +1
part of the country wherever we stopped. This escort
grew sometimes to such dimensions that on occasions
we were accompanied by several hundred horsemen,
most of whom belonged to the irregular force of
cavalry known by the name of Hamidiè, already
referred to. They rode ahead of us, galloped in circles
round us, shouting lustily and firing off their rifles and
otherwise demonstrating the festive frame of mind
into which the visit of the Padishah’s representatives
among his unruly vassals had plunged them. The
further we penetrated into the country the more
numerous became the native escort which joined and
followed us from station to station amid lively demonstrations
of good feeling.

One morning, on emerging from the underground
mud hut in which we had passed the night as guests
of a Kurdish chief, we caught a glimpse of Mount
Ararat, towering 17,000 feet out of the clouds in
front of us. According to our map this marked the
most easterly point of our itinerary, and Mount
Ararat can scarcely have been less than forty miles
away from us. Our own elevation must have been
about 6000 to 7000 feet above the level of the
sea; this circumstance, together with the clearness of
the atmosphere, enabled us to make out the outline of
the giant mountain quite distinctly a long way down
to its base. For, unlike all the other mountains we
saw on our journey, Mount Ararat stands by itself,
rising in the form of a single cone from the plain.

In the further course of our journey, not far from
Bitlis we caught a glimpse of Lake Van to our left.
// 123.png
.pn +1
Indeed, we almost skirted its shores, though it
lay beneath us covered with ice and snow. The
lake is situated about 5000 feet above sea-level:
thus our own altitude must have been considerably
more.

Bitlis is on the caravan road from Erzeroum to
Mosul, about ten miles to the south-west of Lake
Van on about the same level, namely, 5000 feet, on
the banks of the Tigris, with about 39,000 inhabitants.
We stayed at the konak of the Governor in the
centre of the town, on an elevation which was
formerly a fortress, at the foot of which the usual
Oriental bazaar stretches through several narrow
streets. Bitlis has belonged to the Turks since 1514,
when it was occupied by Sultan Selim I. Here we
were once more in touch with civilization by means of
the post office and a telegraph station, and spent a few
days interviewing different people—an English Vice-Consul,
some missionaries and Armenians—and choosing
horses for the continuation of our journey on
horseback to Diarbekir, which took several days and
passed without incident.

Diarbekir lies on the Tigris, which is spanned
by an old stone bridge, across which we rode, the
river itself being navigable only for rafts. Situated
nearly 2000 feet above sea-level, the ancient fortress
of Diarbekir has an interesting history. At one time a
Roman colony, it became the see of a Christian bishop
in <sc>A.D.</sc> 325. Enlarged by the Emperor Constantine
in the fourth century, it was conquered and devastated
by Timur in 1373 and fell under Turkish sway in the
// 124.png
.pn +1
year 1513, when, like Bitlis, it was taken by Sultan
Selim I. To-day Diarbekir is much diminished in size
and importance, but still possesses about 34,000 inhabitants,
twenty mosques, an Armenian school, and
a bazaar, in which, however, there was nothing of
interest to be seen. There were only three European
residents when we came to Diarbekir: an old Franciscan
monk, a French Vice-Consul, and an English Consul,
Mr. Alexander Waugh, now British Consul in Constantinople.
This gentleman bade us a warm welcome,
and his hospitality, notably the meals we partook
of at his house, one of which was our Christmas
dinner, formed the one bright recollection in the dreary
record of our stay. The versions given us by Turks
and Armenians of what had occurred in connexion
with the Armenian disturbances differed little from
those we had already heard elsewhere: that the
troubles were brought about in the first instance by
revolutionary activity, that the authorities had
lost their heads, and that finally the population
had got out of hand and had joined in an
indiscriminate massacre of Armenians, innocent and
guilty.

Our further journey from Diarbekir was also devoid
of any incident, and on the evening of December 31
we rode into the picturesque old town of Biredschik,
and were quartered in a fairly comfortable konak.

Biredschik is situated about 600 feet above sea-level,
on the left bank of the Euphrates, which is navigable
here for boats of considerable size. It is surrounded by a
fairly preserved wall, protected by a castle built on
// 125.png
.pn +1
rocks. Biredschik is the most renowned of the places,
known to both the Romans and the Seleucides, which
were used for crossing the Euphrates, a purpose for
which Biredschik has been much in use down to the
present day. It numbers several thousand Armenians
among its inhabitants. Here we saw the New Year in,
and started next morning for Aintab, crossing the
Euphrates, which is here very broad, with our saddle-horses,
in large shallow-bottomed pontoon-boats. The
country offered a marked contrast to that which we had
hitherto traversed. For whereas we had not seen a
tree for weeks together, or a road of any kind for
an even longer period, here we suddenly found
ourselves among groves of olive-trees and fig-trees,
besides other indications of a Southern clime—an
agreeable change from the treeless wilderness we had
passed through ever since we left Erzeroum.

Not far from Biredschik we rode past Nisib,
a village noteworthy through the battle of that name
(June 24, 1839), in which the Turks under Hafis
Pasha were signally defeated by the Egyptians
under Ibrahim Pasha. The renowned Moltke, then a
plain Prussian captain, was a looker-on with the
Turks on this occasion, and it is said that they owed
their defeat to having neglected his advice in the
disposition of the troops in that battle.

Our road now took us through a flat country, and
our spirits rose under the improved conditions. At
mid-day we used to make a halt, tie up the horses,
light a fire, and take an improvised lunch in the open.
One day we rested beside a stream on the opposite
// 126.png
.pn +1
bank of which one of the soldiers had placed a winebottle
as a target. The Sultan had presented us each
with a revolver on starting, and our Turkish escort
were firing away with them at random, without,
however, “driving the centre.” Dr. Hepworth and I
stood aside, looking on somewhat amused, which
made the situation rather awkward when Sirry Bey
suggested we should join in and have a shot. This,
however, we hesitated to do, for the good reason that
we had previously tested our revolvers on board ship
and found that we could not hit a haystack with them.
Finally, Dr. Hepworth also urged me to try my luck;
so, not wishing to appear churlish, I took a haphazard
aim, and, to my intense surprise, down came the bottle.
The others were much impressed, and begged me to
repeat the exploit. This, however, I firmly declined
to do, preferring to leave them under the impression of
my dexterity. Few things struck me more forcibly on
that journey than the lack of practice with firearms
right through this supposed warlike population. We
never came across a single rifle-range on the whole of
our journey, and on one occasion when we attended
an improvised shooting competition among the Kurds
their marksmanship was of a very inferior order, and
the behaviour of the competitors so excited that I
gained the impression they might resent anybody
excelling them at their sport.

We had met few horsemen since we left the
land of the Kurds; but after Biredschik they again
appeared on the scene. Now, however, they were
Syrians, men in white flowing garments—bournous—resembling
// 127.png
.pn +1
the Arab costumes familiar through
Schreyer’s pictures of Algerian life, wielding spears of
twelve to fifteen feet in length. They gave us an
equally warm reception, and, like the Kurds, accompanied
us for hours on our way.

The rest of our journey to Aintab was now plane-sailing.
The road was tolerable and the traffic such
as gave evidence of some degree of commercial activity.
We counted over 1200 camels laden with merchandise
which we passed in one day.

Aintab is a town of some 20,000 inhabitants, and
they are made up of Greek and Armenian Christians
and Kurdish Mohammedans in about equal numbers.
It is the capital of the Syrian vilayet, and is situated
on the River Sadjur, a tributary of the Euphrates. Like
Biredschik, Aintab includes an old mountain fortress,
which was already known at the time of the Crusades—when
it was taken by Saladin, and again in the year
1400 by Timur the Tartar. To-day it is the seat of
wool and cotton manufactures, a commercial depot of
leather, cloth, honey, and tobacco.

At Aintab we changed our mode of travelling for
the last time; for we disposed of our saddle-horses
and proceeded to the coast in the same type of tumble-down
conveyance as that in which we left Trebizond.
Dr. Hepworth was very sorry to part with his sure-footed
little grey mount, which had carried him from
Bitlis without a single mishap or stumble. Altogether
our experience of the Anatolian horse was one to be
remembered with gratitude: never seeming to tire,
tractable, docile, and sure-footed as a goat, this breed
// 128.png
.pn +1
of horse, which is to be found throughout the Turkish
Empire, is truly a friend of man. It is the only horse
I have ever known which stands at the bidding of its
master for hours together without being tied up.
Also, I never once saw a horse treated unkindly
during the whole of our journey.

The monotony of riding day by day on horseback
at a snail’s pace for weeks in silence, from early
dawn till sunset, over an endless succession of undulating
roadless hills and vales, with occasional
spells of dreadful jolting in springless carts and
carriages, had told on our spirits. Thus we all had
good cause to rejoice over our arrival at Alexandretta.
The sight of the sea once more, as from a high
ridge of hills we first beheld the blue waters of the
Mediterranean, after passing nearly two months in a
wild, almost treeless and pathless country, was a
thrilling sensation. Cut off from all the comforts
of civilization, which lifelong usage causes us to
take as a matter of course, their true value came
home to us. Dr. Hepworth involuntarily recalled
the famous episode in Xenophon’s “Retreat of the
Ten Thousand” where the Greeks at last greeted
the sea—in their case, the Black Sea—with the
cry: “Thalassa! Thalassa!”

Here, for the first time since leaving Trebizond, we
beheld an inn. We were shown into a bedroom and
were delighted to see what we had gone without for
so long, and thus learned to appreciate as a luxury—a
bed, a water-jug, a washing-basin, a table, and a chair.

Founded by Alexander the Great, Alexandretta is
// 129.png
.pn +1
picturesquely situated, but otherwise a poor place,
bearing all the signs of Oriental neglect; even the
harbour, at which various steamers call, looked
deserted and dilapidated. The town itself is surrounded
on the land side by swamps, to the fever-breeding
character of which the many white gravestones
in the large cemetery seemed to offer eloquent
testimony, inasmuch as the place has only about
1500 inhabitants. Thus the European colony gives it
a wide berth, for its members reside ten miles away in
the pleasantly situated town of Beilan. The vegetation,
however, is very rich, almost tropical in character:
beautiful palms and giant cactus plants flourish in
abundance.

In summarizing the incidents of our journey, which
had now come to an end, our Hungarian doctor turned
to Dr. Hepworth and myself and said: “<i>Now</i> that we
are well out of it I think we can congratulate each
other all round. For I do not mind telling you
that there was hardly a day, or rather a night, on this
terrible journey in which we were not exposed to the
risk of catching smallpox or typhus.” At Erzeroum
several of us had been vaccinated, by the advice of the
British Consul, though it was only with the greatest
difficulty that lymph above suspicion was procured in
the town.

Another, and by no means a trifling, danger which we
luckily escaped was one which had been foretold us in
Constantinople as the most serious possibility of our
journey, namely, snowstorms and heavy rains producing
floods. Had we encountered either of them
// 130.png
.pn +1
in an awkward place it might have delayed us for
days, even for weeks, in a country without roads
or bridges. Fortunately, we met with neither the one
nor the other. During the whole eight weeks we
were on the road it never rained, and only snowed
now and then for short periods.

Shortly after leaving Erzeroum our leader, Sirry Bey,
was taken seriously ill with an internal inflammation,
which only yielded to the application of ice. On this
account we were obliged to remain several days in
a village on the road to Bitlis until he got better.
But even then he had to be borne between two poles
fastened to two horses. But for our Hungarian doctor
he would probably have succumbed.

We were obliged to leave our Roumanian interpreter
behind us in a hospital at Alexandretta, as he had
contracted erysipelas in a Turkish bath at Erzeroum.
This complaint developed into an infectious disease of
a tuberculous character termed sycosis, which necessitated
shaving off all the hair on his body. Thus
afflicted he had accompanied us all the way, and we
often had to put up with his sleeping on the ground
close to us.

After staying a couple of days in Alexandretta and
partaking of the hospitality of the United States Vice-Consul
we embarked on board a steamer bound for
Constantinople. During the uneventful voyage we
had ample leisure to review the impressions gained
on our expedition, some of which, though they are not
free from sundry repetitions, I have jotted down in the
following chapter.
// 131.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VII||SUMMARY OF OUR JOURNEY
.sp 2
.pm ch-hd-start
Truth is established by investigation and delay;
  falsehood prospers by precipitancy.
.rj
<sc>Tacitus</sc>
.pm ch-hd-end
.ni
<sc>Mark Twain</sc> in one of his entertaining books tells us
that his travelling party was dirty at Constantinople,
dirtier at Damascus, but dirtiest at Jerusalem.
.pi
Our party had already obtained the Jerusalemic
stage of uncleanliness, and consequent ungodliness, a
few days after leaving Erzeroum. We passed through
close upon eight hundred miles of country sporadically
inhabited by Armenians, still living, however poorly,
in the midst of Circassians, Kurds, Arabs, Turcomans,
and Turks. We saw them “alive” in their villages.
We met them travelling alone along the high road
without any escort or arms, the women now and then
riding on horseback astride like men. We conversed
with innumerable Armenians, priests and bishops of
whole districts among the rest, and were assured by
them that in such and such a district no outrages, no
violence, no molestation whatsoever, even though revolutionists
were about, had taken place. Lastly, our
Armenian cook rode for hundreds of miles ahead of
us quite alone, unarmed, and never encountered the
// 132.png
.pn +1
slightest enmity, even far less than he might if he
alighted as a stranger on horseback among the miners in
some Christian community. And yet these Armenian
agitators do not hesitate to assert that the Moslem
Turk is bent on the extermination of their race. An
even more untenable statement is that the Armenians
are a “nation,” and as such are entitled to autonomy.
The Armenians are not a nation, but an Asiatic race
among many other races forming remnants of independent
states in olden times. If half, or perhaps
three-quarters of a million of Asiatic Armenians, now
sporadically distributed over an area half the size of
Europe, form a <i>nation</i>, what are we to say of the five
million Russian Jews cooped up within the pale
assigned to them by the Russian Government? Why
does not Europe take up their case? What answer
would Europe get from Holy Russia if she did so?
But this does not exhaust the question. The ethical
sentiment of Europe, rightly or wrongly, but in every
case armed with enormous power, steps in and says:
“Even if these facts are admitted, they do not excuse,
much less justify, Turkey in using the means she
adopted to crush a rebellion in our enlightened
Christian age.” Here the Armenians undoubtedly
have a very real grievance, which Turkey must see to
at once unless her rule is to pass from her in Asia
as well as in Europe. But the task will not be an
easy one. We need only put ourselves in her place in
order to realize its difficulties.

Here is a vast Mohammedan country, the Sovereign
of which is acknowledged by international law to be
// 133.png
.pn +1
the Sultan of Turkey. This country belonged to the
Turks even before the discovery of America. To-day
it is honeycombed with Christian, mostly Protestant,
missionary schools, the avowed object of which is to
educate a small Christian minority—be it admitted the
most thrifty, shrewd, pushing, and intriguing of all
Eastern races—in the Christian religion and at the
same time in modern European ideas, and to bid them
look to the Western world outside Turkey as their
natural protector. This was bound to make these
Asiatics discontented with their Asiatic status. It is
denied that proselytism in any form was attempted or
intended. I was informed by an American missionary
at Bitlis, who had lived thirty years in Turkey, that
formerly there was only one small Protestant Armenian
sect in the whole of Armenia, and this was in the
little town of Hunuesch, between Erzeroum and Bitlis.
Yet statistics show that the pupils of the 621 Protestant
schools distributed throughout Asiatic Turkey
in 1896 numbered 27,000. Thus, whether proselytism
has been intended or attempted, or not, it has, <i>de
facto</i>, taken place on a large scale, for the existence
of 27,000 Protestants, school pupils constantly
renewed with each succeeding generation, out of
a total Armenian population of half to three-quarters
of a million (say a million if you will),[#]
// 134.png
.pn +1
represents a preponderant percentage of Protestants
among them. These are not views, but facts, which
can be easily verified, and with regard to which the
reader may draw his own conclusions.

.pm fn-start // 1
According to Cuinet, the number of Armenians in the Turkish
Empire some years ago was 1,144,000, of which about two-thirds would
fall to Asiatic Turkey proper; whereas in Russian Transcaucasia
there were said to be nearly 1,000,000 Armenians, and about
100,000 in Persia. The Armenians are thus scarcely more numerous
in Asiatic Turkey than the Italians and Belgians in France, distributed
over a country twice the size of France.
.pm fn-end

I met missionaries everywhere in Turkey. I was in
their houses as far west as Macedonia, and as far
east as Bitlis, near Lake Van, on the frontier of
Persia. They nearly all evinced a marked anxiety
not to be held responsible, however remotely or indirectly,
for the revolutionary movement in Turkey,
which in its turn was the source of the massacres
that took place, and I willingly believe that they
never really intended to provoke disturbance or
encourage rebellion against the Turkish authorities.
Still there cannot be any doubt that their teaching—not
their doctrines, perhaps—had the result, probably
never intended, and one it has taken a couple of
generations to attain, of fostering the Armenian
revolutionary movement throughout Asiatic Turkey.
Everything had been carefully prepared in Asia and in
the Press of Europe and America before the Armenian
outbreak to boom a second Bulgaria. The project
failed because, as compared with the years 1876–77,
Liberalism as an aggressively agitating force happened
to be under an eclipse in Europe in 1895–96. Asiatic
Turkey is honeycombed with European and United
States Consuls. These gentlemen occupy a quasi-diplomatic
status, although in some places there are
next to no national interests to be protected.[#]
// 135.png
.pn +1
Their dragomans and servants are mostly Armenians.
When these Consuls walk abroad, accompanied by their
armed bodyguard, it is as superior beings, as petty
Ambassadors. They are entitled to address the
Turkish Governor-Generals with almost Ambassadorial
authority. They report the outcome of their investigations
to their Ambassador at Constantinople, who
thereupon proceeds to examine and cross-examine the
Turkish Government at the Sublime Porte on the basis
of the Consul’s communications. This activity was at
work long before the outbreak of the Armenian
massacres, and yet there are still people who
are surprised if the Turks do not seem to love the
Christians. Imagine the great towns in England, or
the United States, or France, or Germany favoured
by the presence of Moslem Consuls walking abroad
like Ambassadors, with extra-territorial immunities,
present in every law court, and reporting every petty
larceny that takes place to their Ambassador! What
would be the feelings in the above Christian countries
towards these Moslem Consuls?

.pm fn-start // 1
American interests in Anatolia are mainly those of the missionary
establishments, schools, hospitals, workshops, etc.
.pm fn-end

The English Vice-Consul at Bitlis read us some
extracts from his latest report to Constantinople.
They consisted of a number of incidents of petty
wrongs regarding internal administration in Turkey—arbitrary
enforcement of local dues, petty larceny
among Turks or what not—matters mostly reported
to him by his Armenian dragoman.

“But are not these purely internal local concerns?”
I queried.

“Yes, to be sure,” was the reply.
// 136.png
.pn +1

“Well,” I rejoined, “if you are hereafter appointed
to a Consular post in Russia, and you make similar
reports to the British Ambassador at St. Petersburg,
and the Russians find it out, don’t you think you
would run a fair chance of the Russians making your
official position rather uncomfortable for you?”

“I fancy I should,” was his jocular reply.

Incidents such as this show the vexations which the
Turks have had to put up with in their own country
at the hands of the Christians. Some time ago an
English Consular official in Persia wrote an article on
Persian administration in an English magazine, with
the result that the Shah of Persia successfully insisted
that he should not return to Teheran.

To these petty vexations must be added the more
serious trouble Turkey has constantly to reckon with
in consequence of the peculiar attitude of the Russian
Government in regard to the Armenian revolutionary
movement. We have been witnesses in our time of
the vast resources of the Russian Government when
called upon to deal with their own revolutionary
parties. If the Russian Armenians would like to put
them to the test they need only try to force the
Russian Government to cease interfering with their
schools, their language, and their creed. They might
then indeed discover for themselves what a Russian
millstone is like. But no!—they submit to Russian
tyranny, preferring to organize revolutionary work at
Kars, Tiflis, and Batoum directed against Turkey;
and “helpless” Russian bureaucracy avows its inability
to discover, much less to interfere with such!
// 137.png
.pn +1

The problem to be faced by Turkey is to ensure that
security of life and property in her Asiatic dominions
which is a <i>sine qua non</i> with every Government, be it
under the Crescent or the Cross. The Kurds must
be forced to give up their predatory propensities.
They still defy the Valis, and are, I was credibly
assured, now and then secretly encouraged in this by
the military commanders, who intrigue against the
civil authorities, and it is difficult for the Government
in Constantinople to ascertain the true facts of the
case. Shortly after our journey the Modiki Kurds
slew the kaimakan of Modiki and along with him
eight Turkish officers. They were still unpunished
a year afterwards.[#] And yet if such men cannot be
brought to respect the law, and security for life
and property be assured, it will shortly be said of
Asiatic Turkey as it was of ancient Carthage:
“Delenda est Carthago.” The Kurd, like Zola’s
hero in “La Débâcle,” must take to the plough and
work. It is the law of the Universe; not even a
Khalif can exonerate his subjects from its inexorable
working. Turkey is in need of reforms—nor is she
the only country in need of them. This is admitted
// 138.png
.pn +1
on all hands. And among these none are so vitally
necessary as those of an economic nature. It is a
misfortune for Turkey to-day that Mohammed lived
practically in a desert, where trees and roads were few
and far between. If this great reformer had lived, for
instance, in Anatolia or Mesopotamia, one of his
earnest injunctions to his followers would doubtless
have been that every one of the Faithful should
consider it to be his duty to plant a tree and assist
in making public roads, the latter being the occupation
which Goethe tells us finally brought contentment
to the restless soul of Faust. The Mohammedans,
who after twelve hundred years still religiously obey
every injunction of their Prophet, down to the number
of prayers and ablutions to be said and practised per
diem, would have naturally carried out his wishes in
this particular. And, if so, Asiatic Turkey would wear
a very different aspect from what it does to-day.
Alas! those who have travelled through Turkey in
Asia and witnessed the absolute lack of roads, bridges,
and almost every other civilized convenience which
marks a certain mean level of social organization,
can only come to the conclusion that the Turk is more
or less of a nomad: a nomad horseman, as he was a
thousand years ago, leading the life of a nomad, even
though his predatory instincts are now and then
dormant, and, when exercised, are impartially put
into practice at the expense of both the Mohammedan
and the Christian.

.pm fn-start // 1
At the moment of preparing these pages for the press, sixteen
years after my journey through Asiatic Turkey, I learn from several
independent sources that although no recrudescence of the massacres
has taken place, the conditions prevailing there to-day are even more
unsatisfactory than of yore. The Imperial authority under the
régime of the Young Turks is at a lower ebb even than in Abdul
Hamid’s time. In addition thereto must be reckoned the dreadful
losses in human life caused by the wars in Tripoli and the Balkans,
so that the fields are now largely tilled by women and old men.
.pm fn-end

The American mind is said to be able to find the
shortest and straightest road from one given point—logical
// 139.png
.pn +1
or material—to another. The Englishman
may possibly come next to the American in this; the
German is slower, but he is infallible in the long run,
for he works a problem out stolidly with the assistance
of logarithms and trigonometry. As you near
the East, the capacity for discovering the short,
straight, logical line decreases—the Austro-Hungarian
finds it sometimes, the Turk hardly ever.

This constitutional inability to seize the value of an
established fact or series of facts, and to draw the
obvious logical conclusion therefrom, has all along
hampered the Turk in putting his case before the
world, even in instances where seven out of ten points
were in his favour. I have heard an educated Turk
cite the case of an Armenian tailor who had deserted
his wife and run away with another woman as a proof
of the iniquity of that interesting race. In his lack
of logic the Turk recalls the Swiss woman who appealed
to the court for a divorce from her husband. On
being asked what grounds she could advance in support,
she replied after thinking awhile: “He is not
the father of my last child.”

Individual Americans, Englishmen, Germans—yes,
even English missionaries—will now and then make
out a better case for Turkey than all the Turks put
together with whom I conversed during my several
prolonged visits to Turkey.

“Yes, you must remember this question has two
sides. There is a deal to be said for the Turks; the
Armenians are not all angels,” an American missionary
said to me in Anatolia. “For, let there be
// 140.png
.pn +1
no mistake about it, it is only the Pharisee who bids
us fancy that the priests of Baal have erected altars
exclusively among the Turks.”

I contend that the responsibility for the horrors
which took place in Asia Minor rested in the first
instance with the Armenian revolutionists who instigated
them, and not with the Turks, who are an
Asiatic people like the Russians and the Persians,
and whose methods of repression are not very different
from theirs. The Armenian revolutionists were
responsible for the suffering of the innocent for the
guilty. I have read their pamphlets, their stirring
circulars urging the helpless Armenian hamal (porter),
peasant, and artisan to rise and throw off the Turkish
yoke. These documents were only too often ruthless
and indefensible in their unbridled lawlessness. The
Armenian revolutionists stated that it was impossible
to hope for anything but persecution <i>on religious
grounds</i> from the Turk. Now the Armenian language,
creed, and schools are perfectly free in Turkey, whereas
they have always been persistently interfered with in
Russia. The Armenians accuse the Turk of persecuting
Christians, whereas the high road from Trebizond to
Erzeroum, as already stated, is dotted with Christian
monasteries and churches unmolested during centuries.

Our steamer stopped at Mersina, Rhodes, and
Smyrna on our way, but we landed only at the
last-named place. In strolling through the city,
we took our farewell of Asiatic life with its caravans
and its camels—a long line of which met us in the
street. Our arrival at Constantinople took place after
// 141.png
.pn +1
sunset, and in observance of some queer harbour regulations
we were obliged to pass the night on board, being
allowed to disembark only in the morning.

Before leaving for Paris we stayed a few days at
Constantinople. The Sultan sent word asking me to
draw up a report of the impressions gained on our
journey. This I did, and expressed myself to the
effect that what had made the deepest impression on
us was the lack of roads, bridges, and trees, and the
desolate nature of the whole country, some parts being
little better than a wilderness. There would seem to
be a great field for beneficent work in these lands.

Thereupon the Sultan expressed a wish that Dr.
Hepworth and myself should come up to the Palace
and be received by him. After duly considering the
matter, we replied jointly that, as His Majesty had
asked us to render a service to truth and justice by
our investigations in his Asiatic dominions, we thought
it best to leave Constantinople without seeing him;
for, if we were received in audience, it would get
known and might be construed into our having only
acted as his agents—a surmise which would certainly
discount the value of Dr. Hepworth’s impartial account
of our experiences. The Sultan seemed to recognize
the force of our contention, for he sent us a kindly
message embodying his best wishes for our journey,
and expressing the hope that we might some day
come again to Constantinople. In order once for
all to dispose of the idle rumours which were
current at the time, I may add that neither Dr. Hepworth
nor myself accepted any memento or present
// 142.png
.pn +1
whatsoever from the Sultan. A decoration which His
Majesty subsequently sent to Paris for Mrs. Hepworth
was returned through the proprietor of the <i>New York
Herald</i>.

Before leaving I received the following letter from
Munir Pasha:

.pm letter-start
<sc>Palais Impérial de Yildiz,
Cabinet du Grand Maître des Cérémonies.</sc>
.sp 2
“<sc>Cher Monsieur Whitman</sc>,

“Je vous envoie par le porteur une lettre que j’ai
écrite à l’adresse de Monsieur Gordon Bennett, et qui
est relative à votre récent voyage en Anatolie.

“En vous priant de vouloir bien faire parvenir
cette missive à sa destination, je me plais à vous dire
combien je me félicite des relations personnelles que j’ai
eu l’honneur d’avoir avec vous, et à vous assurer du
bon souvenir que je garderai de ces relations.
.ti +15
“Votre dévoué,
.ti +20
“<sc>Munir</sc>.”

<sc>Lundi</sc>, <i>12 Janvier 1898</i>.
.pm letter-end
Most of us can recall the peculiar sensation we
experience on returning into the fresh air from the
fetid atmosphere of an ill-ventilated apartment, the
noxious nature of which we had scarcely realized as
long as we remained there. So also the true character
of Eastern conditions only seemed to come home to us
after we had left the country. At least, speaking for
my travelling companion and myself, we only seemed
to realize the treeless desolation, the wilderness of roadless
Kurdistan, as we were passing through that
// 143.png
.pn +1
beautiful, richly verdured section of Austria and South
Germany traversed by the Orient Express. Then it
was that the contrast enabled us to appreciate as
perhaps never before the benefits of the high state
of European land culture. The same feeling might
well suggest itself to the traveller in passing from
Dover to London through Kent, the Garden of
England. On arrival in London, however, other
features of Eastern life forced themselves on our
memory and suggested comparisons less flattering to
our own social conditions. Needless to say they were
those which account for the strange fascination the
East exercises even upon some of the most cultured
European travellers.

Indeed, it was a strange, for the moment an almost
unaccountable, sight to behold the crowds of people
flocking into the City of a morning from the suburbs.
This haste, this eagerness, as if their very life depended
upon catching a train, constantly struck one as
unnatural after living for weeks along the banks of the
Tigris and the Euphrates, staying in villages in which
the conditions were so primitive—a contrast almost
beyond comprehension. What could be the driving
motive that impelled these people to this feverish
activity, this restlessness? Why, hunger, to be sure,
the grim necessities of the battle of life, a struggle
to be continued without intermission from youth to
the grave, and, when done, leaving little to take
note of except, perhaps, that a mutton chop more or
less would be called for at their particular luncheon
haunt. And the background: Tooting Bec, Clapham,
// 144.png
.pn +1
and Brixton in the South, Pentonville and Hackney
in the North, and the East End with its miles of slums
and its paupers; or to take those parts more familiar
to middle-class life, Marylebone and Bloomsbury, with
their interminable, dull, featureless roads and terraces,
the rows of houses in their dread monotony, veritable
soul-killing mausoleums of the living: what Buskin
termed “streets in hell.” To think of their commonplace
residents with their fads and fancies and their
sympathies rigorously narrowed down in accordance
with the tenets of their faith. All are supposed to
worship the selfsame God, and yet they are socially
divided, cut off from each other as nowhere people are
in the East. Surely life should have some wider and
nobler scope, aim, and application than the mere
gratification of the appetite to live, were it only
to cultivate that restful spirit without which any
earnest self-communion, any deeper philosophy of life
is an impossibility. At least so it seemed to strike one
fresh from two months’ intimate communion with
Nature—from conditions varying little, I should say,
since Abraham’s time—a patriarchal state of things
which acknowledges a chief, but gives brotherhood, if
not equality, to the rest of the community. I had
seen men in Syrian villages—the mayor, for instance,
a stalwart, full-bearded peasant patriarch of dignified
bearing and benevolent mien, in profile not unlike
the stone images of the Assyrian kings in the British
Museum—slowly rolling cigarettes with refined, beautifully
shaped hands. Somehow it was a dignified
memory, in spite of the backwardness of the country,
// 145.png
.pn +1
lacking in all our scientific and sanitary improvements.
I had not come across a single man with grimy hands,
and, except in one Armenian village near Bitlis, I had
not seen a woman or child in such rags as I often see in
London. Much less had I heard of cases of starvation,
nor was I told of forlorn, painted harlots or drunken
women—surely items worth recording on the credit
side against much that is to be deplored and commiserated
with.

Some months after my return to London I received
the following letter from the companion of my Armenian
hardships:

.pm letter-start
.rj 2
<sc>New York</sc>,
<i>April 22, 1898</i>.

“<sc>My dear Whitman</sc>,

“I was glad to see your familiar handwriting again,
and almost thought I could hear your voice.

“Yes, my dear fellow, those were troublous, but
still good, times; and now that I have largely forgotten
the hardships, I should like to do something of
the same kind again. I did get the letters you sent,
and thanked you for sending them. Did my letter
miscarry? I fear so, as you did not acknowledge the
receipt or answer my questions. Did you say your
article was in the April number of <i>Harper’s</i>? I have
sent for it, and am sure that I shall have great
pleasure in reading it.

“I worked hard at my book[#] while in Paris, then
went to Marseilles, to Nice and Mentone. The book
// 146.png
.pn +1
is now nearly finished. It will cover about three
hundred pages, possibly more, and will be published
in September. I shall take pride in sending you
a copy.

“My health is good. I am still a bit nervous, but
that is because I have not yet rested as I ought to
have done. The summer I guess will see me right
again. You do not tell me about yourself. What are
you doing? Where have you gone, or do you expect
to go to Berlin[#] as we thought? Moreover, do you
expect to write a book? This is important, for it
is sure to be a good one. You can do it, and you
ought to.

“Please give my regards to your good wife, and
believe me,
.ti +15
“Always yours,
.ti +20
“<sc>George H. Hepworth</sc>.”
.pm letter-end

.pm fn-start // 1
“Through Armenia on Horseback,” by the Rev. George H.
Hepworth. New York and London, 1898.
.pm fn-end

.pm fn-start // 1
Reference to an offer made me by the proprietor of the <i>New York
Herald</i> to go to Berlin as its permanent correspondent, which I
declined.
.pm fn-end

Nearly seven years elapsed before circumstances
took me back for a short visit to Constantinople.
This time I went no longer as the representative of a
great newspaper, but only as a private individual.
All the greater was the surprise I felt on my
arrival to find a warm welcome from the friends
I had previously made there. From the Sultan and
his entourage down to the kafedji, who used to
hand me my cup of coffee in the Palace, and the
swarthy arabadji, whose black stallions took me on
// 147.png
.pn +1
my daily round of visits, they all seemed to bear one
in kindly memory in gratitude for what they deemed
were services rendered to their country, and this too,
after a lapse of seven long years, in the Mohammedan
East! This has often struck me as extraordinary in an
age in which a lifetime of beneficent work, even when
recognized at all, is forgotten in a week.

In the remaining chapters I have striven to reconstruct
under different headings the impressions and
experiences gained during my various visits to
Turkey.
// 148.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.nf c
<xxl>PART II</xxl>
.nf-
.sp 4
// 149.png
.pn +1
// 150.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VIII||YILDIZ
.pm ch-hd-start
The Spider hangs the curtain over princely palaces,
The Owl stands sentry on the cupola of Efrasiab.
                   <sc>Saadi</sc>, <i>Gulistan</i> (Persian)
         Baluk bashdan kokar.
                        (Turkish Proverb)[#]
.pm ch-hd-end

.pm fn-start // 1
“The fish begins to rot at the head.”
.pm fn-end
.ni
<sc>The</sc> circumstances already related under which I
went to Constantinople made me a frequent visitor at
the Imperial Palace of Yildiz. The so-called Palace
(recently dismantled) consisted of an extensive stretch
of park-land surrounded by high walls in which were
fair gardens, woodlands, lakes, interspersed with
different buildings of the most varied types and kinds.
There were mansions, country-houses, stables, stud
establishments, military barracks, a theatre—even a
zoological garden and a china factory being thrown
into the hotch-potch. Several thousand people were
gathered here, consisting of the members of the
Sultan’s family, their separate establishments and
their dependents, besides a horde of Palace officials
of every imaginable type and denomination.
.pi
During thirty years the Sultan of Turkey directed,
single-handed, the destinies of his Empire from this
place, paralysing every other authority, the official
// 151.png
.pn +1
channels of Government included; working as hard
as any nigger, yet with chaos in the end.

On a warm summer day there was an element of
repose about the surroundings of the Palace soothing
to the jaded nerves of the Western European, and
quite different from what fancy would conjure up in
connexion with the spiritual head of three hundred
millions of human beings. A solitary Albanian soldier
stood on guard at the entrance of the Palace, close
to which on either side were unpretentious-looking
porters’ lodges, whose inmates, without any uniform
or other distinctive mark of their responsible position,
asked you your business. If your face was known to
them and a small douceur quickened their memory,
you passed through without any further ado. If not,
a polite request for your card and a query as to whom
you wished to see might bring the request to wait
whilst inquiry was made. Or it might be that merely
giving the name of some influential official would
suffice and you were allowed to proceed on your way.

On passing the porter’s lodge into the wall-surrounded
precincts of Yildiz and turning to the left,
the eye was arrested by a low-lying, bungalow-like
building in which a staff was employed to peruse
a promiscuous mass of European newspapers, and to
translate extracts which were deemed suitable for
submission to the Sultan. In the same building the
stock of the various Turkish decorations was kept in
a cupboard, to which, as occasion arose, the officials
would come and take out those that might be wanted
for bestowal.
// 152.png
.pn +1

Immediately in front of you was another building
of a similar, though superior, type. Here the
ground floor was devoted to the offices of the Grand
Master of Ceremonies; on the first floor was that of the
Sultan’s First Secretary, Tahsim Pasha. You passed
on to the right towards a slight incline, up which
many a fat Turk has toiled breathless, and beheld
further to the right a more pretentious and massive
structure in that peculiar bastard Oriental style of
French design which apparently came into fashion in
Turkey in Abdul Aziz’s time, and which, on a larger
scale, is represented on the European shores of the
Bosphorus by the palaces of Dolma-Baghtchè and
Tcheragan, and on the Asiatic side by Begler-Bey,
the villa farther away, in which once upon a time
the Empress Eugénie had been the Sultan’s guest.
In this particular building, in the Palace at Yildiz,
Ghazi Osman Pasha had his office and several of the
Sultan’s chamberlains had their rooms. There also
the sittings of the Supreme Military Commission,
over which Osman Pasha presided, were occasionally
held.

Immediately on the left was another white structure,
with a richly ornamented glass door in the centre.
This was the Sultan’s own kiosk, where he was much
during the day and where he granted audiences. Rarely
was a soldier, or indeed any other person, to be seen
there, for the military guard-house was hidden from view
farther away to the right. There a solitary soldier
stood on guard, and the chances were that a stray
officer would be sitting on a camp-stool close by smoking
// 153.png
.pn +1
a cigarette. But no challenge came as you passed
on to enter another unpretentious two-storied bungalow
type of building. A number of dirty goloshes in
the hall denoted that the official residing here must
be a personage who had many callers and was much
sought after, and no wonder! It was the office of
the notorious Izzet Pasha, the Sultan’s Second
Secretary, his favourite, and reputed to be the most
influential personage in the Turkish Empire. You
walk upstairs and take a seat in his room, where
already a number of persons are awaiting his arrival—indeed,
several rooms are full of callers waiting to
see him.

A cat moves along the corridor rubbing its sides
against the wall. Nobody thinks of disturbing it.
Izzet Pasha’s little son is playing about the room.
The white buildings of Constantinople are seen in
the distance from the window, indistinct in the mist
rising from the blue waters of the Bosphorus on a
sunny morning. A few pigeons coo and play on the
leads immediately under the window. Undisturbed,
they too are apparently safe from intrusion. In the
garden immediately in front some gardeners are peacefully
at work. In the room itself a Turk takes a
small rug which had lain rolled up in a corner and
places it on the floor so that at the further end it is
supposed to point in the direction of Mecca. Thereon
he murmurs his prayers. Only his lips move, at times
almost convulsively. He kneels down, bends backwards
and forwards, repeatedly bringing his forehead
down into contact with the carpet; he folds his hands
// 154.png
.pn +1
on his breast, then rises upright and stretches them
out with palms upward. This continues for fifteen or
twenty minutes, and nobody takes the least notice of
him or his proceedings. Then he picks up the rug,
folds it carelessly, throws it into a corner of the
room, and begins talking unconcernedly with those
present. “Il a fait ses prières, il a fait son devoir,”
and within five minutes he is as blithe as the rest of
the company.

We are still waiting, for one and all are anxious
to have a few words with the powerful favourite.
He is expected, but he has not arrived yet, and, as far
as any distinct obligation to put in an appearance is
concerned, may not appear at all this day or the next.
For among the possibilities of his position is that
of having fallen into temporary disgrace overnight
and being ordered like some naughty school-boy to
stay at home and not to quit his konak for days
together. Sometimes he would not leave the Palace
at all, but work half through the night, for which
eventuality a bedstead stood in one of the waiting-rooms.
On this particular occasion he has been
attending an important meeting of the Conseil des
Ministres—a Cabinet Council, we should say—at the
Sublime Porte in Stamboul. He is already on his
way to Yildiz, leaning back in his closed brougham,
for he is not popular, and consequently not anxious to
be recognized. His carriage has thundered across the
rickety old wooden planks of the Galata Bridge, he
has driven along the shores of the Bosphorus, past the
arsenal, Tophanè, past the Palace of Dolma-Baghtchè,
// 155.png
.pn +1
and is now driving up the steep hill from Beschiktasch
towards the Palace at a sharp trot. The heavy gilt
harness of the two magnificent black carriage horses
gleams in the sun as the white foam starts from their
coat. It is as if instinct had revealed to the very
walls that the great man is coming, for everybody is
on the alert; even the cat in the corridor, still rubbing
its sides against the wall, curls up its tail higher than
before in purring glee. I look out of the window, and
am just in time to see Izzet’s slim figure coming through
the narrow passage at the back of the building. He
is surrounded by several secretaries and attendants
and followed by a crowd of suppliants, who are
anxious to interview him and put their claims before
him even before he has reached his sanctum. There is
a rush to the door, and half a dozen dark-eyed servants
simultaneously offer their services to divest the great
man of his overcoat. He takes his seat at his desk,
upon which lies a heap of letters. They have arrived
overnight, most of them addressed in Turkish characters,
but one of stout dimensions has a boldly
printed address in Latin characters to his Excellency
scrupulously enumerating all his titles and dignities.
It is from the Deutsche Bank in Berlin, where he
keeps his banking account, and through which institution
he invests his securities—the harvest of the favours
bestowed upon him by his master, the sum of which,
according to rumour, is a private fortune of several
millions. He bows distantly to those present and goes
through the stately Turkish salute, termed “temena,”
to each one in turn of the visitors who are seated on
// 156.png
.pn +1
the couches or all round the room, and who return
his greeting with the same dignified motion of hands
and head, though with an extra degree of deferential
eagerness. He hands cigarettes round, and even
throws some across the room to one or two of his
more familiarly known visitors, and then proceeds to
open the most important of his letters. Coffee is
brought in, smoking is indulged in, and there is a
distinct air of relief and ease among those present;
but still not a word is spoken.

A fine, dignified-looking man in the prime of life,
wearing the garb of a Sheikh or a Ulema or Mollah,
crosses the room and takes a seat quite close to Izzet
Pasha. He is evidently a personage of importance,
for the two converse a long time in whispers, and
whereas the Sultan’s favourite is most courteous to
his interlocutor, the latter maintains a dignified, almost
severe demeanour. As I was told afterwards, he is one
of the most influential of Ulemas in Constantinople,
learned in law, and of high standing as regards personal
character. Izzet assured me that this man was
able to trace his descent from Mohammed, if not even
back to Abraham. He enjoys high consideration in the
Mohammedan world, beyond that of any pasha or even
the Grand Vizier himself. There is an evident reflex
of his high standing in the deference with which Izzet
listens to what he has to say, and with good reason,
for the chances are that he will remain a great personage
in Turkey long after the favourite has fallen into
disgrace or the Sultan himself has passed away. The
men of this type are among the most distinguished
// 157.png
.pn +1
visitors at Yildiz—these Sheikhs, Mollahs, and
Ulemas, who, in their white and green turbans
and flowing garments, come occasionally from distant
parts of the Turkish dominions and look in to have
a chat with the Sultan’s Second Secretary, by whom
they are treated with greater distinction than any
other visitor. They are in fact the only callers with
regard to whom the word deference can justly be
used; for they are almost the only visitors who do
not come to ask for personal favours. They stand for
the ideals of conduct of the Mohammedan world.

As the sunflower turns naturally towards the sun,
so also every hope of worldly advantage, every hope
of preferment, turned at that time towards the
Imperial Palace of Yildiz and the august person of
the Sultan. Only those who have had personal experience
of the conditions prevailing at this centre of
intrigue can form a conception of what is conveyed
in so simple a statement. The prestige of being
in Imperial favour could raise the humblest to a
position of influence over and above the Grand
Vizier himself, not to mention such minor satellites
as Ambassadors or Ministers of State. The Turkish
Ambassador on leave might be obliged to loiter about
antechambers for weeks and months together without
being admitted to an audience of the Sultan,
whereas the favourite would go in and out daily, even
hourly. Thus “to be received” was the first stage on
the road to fortune; to be granted a favour the second
step, the culmination of which lay in the magic
word “Iradè,” meaning the Imperial decree by which
// 158.png
.pn +1
a favour promised and granted, whether a high
appointment or a valuable concession, had become
law.

Sheikhs, Ulemas, Mollahs, Softas, even the Muezzin
of the Minaret (the caller to prayer), Armenian Patriarchs,
Archbishops, Archimandrites, Grand Rabbis,
Ministers-Plenipotentiary, Turkish Ambassadors
awaiting their final instructions, Pashas, Generals,
Admirals, Ministers, were to be met here doing
antechamber service and sitting round the room
in silence for hours, even days together. I have
even met here a deputation of Kurdish chiefs of
the Milli tribe, with Ibrahim Pasha, their leader,
a right jovial fellow, and as mild-mannered a man
as ever cut a throat, whose advent at Constantinople
with a regiment of Hamidiè cavalry shortly after
the Armenian outbreak caused quite a panic among
the nervous members of the foreign colony in
Constantinople.

Traders called for their accounts and sat down sipping
coffee with the rest: imagine the collector of Marshall
and Snelgrove or Whiteley walking into Buckingham
Palace and sipping tea with one of the King’s
chamberlains! Officials came begging for their overdue
salaries. The Hebrew Court jeweller from Stamboul
was a regular caller. One day he brought a
beautiful coronet of diamonds and pearls which he drew
from a bag, and which Izzet Pasha took in to the
Sultan, probably destined as a gift for one of His
Majesty’s many wives. He too, like the rest, I was
told, was unable to do business on a cash basis, the
// 159.png
.pn +1
Sultan being in his debt to the amount of some £T20,000
or £T30,000.

Those who are familiar only with the social effulgence,
the mystery surrounding Turkish diplomatists
abroad, from the full-blown Ambassador accredited to
the Great Powers to the Minister-Plenipotentiary and
Envoy-Extraordinary, can scarcely form an idea of the
everlasting delays, tracasseries, humiliations, and heart-burnings
which often preceded their appointment under
the Hamidian régime. Sometimes the suspense dragged
on for months, and nearly wore out the heart of the
suitor for the post. Even more aggravating were the
circumstances which followed upon the recall of a diplomatist
who might not have satisfied the Sultan. I
knew a Minister-Plenipotentiary and Envoy-Extraordinary
of distinguished family and high intellectual
attainments who, after being summarily recalled from
his post, haunted the antechamber of the Sultans
secretaries at the Palace for ten years without obtaining
another appointment in all that period; nearly half
a lifetime wasted in idleness, chewing the bitter cud
of hope deferred. No wonder that such a man became
disgusted with Hamidian conditions and longed for the
introduction of European institutions. “How can you
hope to carry on a Government,” he once said to me,
“which does not even pretend to furnish a Budget?”
He was one of many who were great admirers of
England, and longed for English influence to regain a
foothold in Turkey. The whims of the autocrat, the
intrigues of his surroundings, sounded the funeral knell
of every form of honesty, as they shut the door to
// 160.png
.pn +1
every chance of ability coming to the fore. For all
that, such conditions having been more or less traditional
features of Oriental life from Byzantine times
down to the present day, their effects were less disastrous
to the Turks themselves than to some alien
elements in the service of the Sultan; upon these
they acted in some cases like fire and sword,
extirpating the last vestige of self-respect.

Solicitants for favours of every kind—place, office,
appointment, contributions in money—used to swarm
into the Palace. The applicants embraced nearly every
nationality that was represented at Constantinople,
with the one, and I cannot help saying striking,
exception of Russia. Whatever may be averred in
connexion with bribery and corruption, official or
otherwise, in Russia itself, or of the ruthless policy
towards the Ottoman Empire pursued by Russia for
generations past, I can say that during my many visits
to Constantinople I never met a single Russian either
at the Palace or elsewhere asking anything of the Turk,
and the Russians are the only nation of which I can
say as much; for even the Americans were not above
seeking favours in the missionary interest. The only
Russian I ever knew to call at Yildiz was the chief
dragoman of the Russian Embassy, M. Maximow.
It was during the Armenian trouble, and he came
to rage and threaten. “Go in to your master and
tell him to go to ...!” he shouted, to the
dismay of the stately Turks present, whose voices
never rose above a whisper in the hallowed precincts
of the Palace.
// 161.png
.pn +1

Those unfamiliar with the Turkish character can
scarcely form an idea of the importance attached by
the Turk, and more particularly the ex-Sultan, to the
power of the pen—the eagerness with which the
expression of European public opinion used to be
scrutinized by the authorities in Abdul Hamid’s time
under a régime which was popularly supposed to be
carried on in open defiance of the spirit of the age.
One of the means by which those eager to curry
favour with the authorities sought to gain their object
used to be to defend the Sultan in the Press. At
times a ray of naive humour would mingle in the
game. Thus, on one occasion, a pasha of my acquaintance
had taken up the cudgels and written a dissertation
in defence of the Sultan’s claim to the Khalifate.
He may have thought that he had thereby given proof
of his zeal, and perhaps even expected some recognition
in return. What was his surprise, after receiving
a curt summons to appear at the Palace, to be met in
a cool manner by one of the Sultan’s secretaries. The
latter took him aside and, pointing to the sun which
shone through the window, said: “You see the sun?
Well, there it is! No argument is necessary to prove
its existence. So it is with the Khalifate of the
Sultan. It needs no demonstration, no defence. His
Majesty does not wish you to write about the Khalifate
any more.”

The Sultan’s extreme sensitiveness to European
newspaper opinion afforded a wide scope for intrigue
at the Palace, inasmuch as Abdul Hamid attached
exaggerated importance to newspaper articles the
// 162.png
.pn +1
relative value of which he had no means of
verifying. This idiosyncrasy was traded upon by
a cohort of adventurers of different nationalities,
some of them of most shady antecedents. They were
supplied with funds in return for their supposed influence
with the Press in England, France, and Germany.
Some were paid a fixed salary by the Sultan; others
were fed by occasional doles from his different
favourites, acting on the supposition that they—the
favourites in question—would be credited with the
effusions of these minions as proofs of their own zeal
in the interests of his Imperial Majesty. Rarely could
Oriental astuteness be found together with such
childlike gullibility as was evident in this connexion.
The representative of a powerful journal would be
snubbed, whilst the correspondent of some obscure
sheet would be extravagantly rewarded for some
supposed service rendered to the cause of Islam.
It has been stated that European newspapers were
regularly subsidized by the Palace; but, except in the
case of an obscure periodical, <i>L’Orient</i>, which appeared
in Paris, and a Vienna compilation of news items
drawn from telegraphic agencies and called the
<i>Courrier de L’Est</i>, I never met with any tangible
evidence in support of this assertion.

Another feature of lavish expenditure was connected
with the Ramadan festival. On this occasion
every official at the Palace, including all the pashas
in Constantinople, received an extra month’s salary,
which amounted to about one hundred and fifty
thousand Turkish pounds. It was sometimes
// 163.png
.pn +1
necessary to borrow this amount from one of the
banks or to withdraw it from the funds of the
customs. The more one saw of this state of things,
the easier it was to understand the eternal impecuniosity
at the Palace, and the more one
wondered how the Sultan ever managed to make both
ends meet.

Towards mid-day an endless stream of Turkish
visitors, fat and lean intermingled, dressed in the black
frock-coat termed stambolin, could be seen toiling up
the hill in the broiling sun to partake of the hospitality
indiscriminately offered to the thousands feasting daily
at the Sultan’s expense.

Some of the parasites of the Palace used to be on
the look-out to be sent by the Sultan “en mission
spéciale” on some quixotic errand, at times of a rather
undignified nature. Lavish expenses were allowed in
the shape of a little bag of gold, and if successful
there were chances besides of subsequent preferment.
The case of a Field-Marshal who was sent
to Berlin to engage a cook for the Sultan has
occupied the Berlin courts of law since the deposition
of Abdul Hamid. I recollect an engineer of the
Hedjas Railway returning from Budapest, whither
he had been sent on a similar errand on behalf of a
pasha. The latter introduced this official to me
with the words: “Il est Juif de race, Allemand par
nationalité, et Turc par son emploi.”

An amusing feature of life at the Yildiz Palace was
the arrival of a certain military element on the scene
whenever there was a chance of baksheesh or preferment.
// 164.png
.pn +1
The poem in Heine’s “Buch der Lieder”
comes to mind in which he depicts himself as being a
god and distributing largess broadcast, causing champagne
to flow in the streets:

.pm verse-start
The poets to such festive treats
  Pour in a happy flutter!
The ensigns and the subalterns
  Lick clean both street and gutter.

The ensigns and the subalterns—
  Now aren’t these fellows clever?—
Feel sure a miracle like this
  Can’t hope to last for ever!
.pm verse-end

There was something of the comic-opera order, not
to say of Christmas pantomime, in this feature of life at
the Palace. The transformation scene in “Cinderella”
is not more kaleidoscopic in its changes. The obscure
little pill-man, once happy at home in his strenuous
vocation, passing his evenings in a beer-house, is
suddenly called to Constantinople and driven about in
a carriage and pair, dressed in a Turkish uniform
“made in Germany,” with a jewelled bauble dangling
from his collar. Just as suddenly the carriage and its
black horses are gone, and the worthy doctor has to
appeal to the law courts of Berlin for the salary
owing to him by the dethroned Sultan.

Bobadil Pasha, Bombastes, Swashbuckler Pasha,
Boule-qui-Roule Pasha (a French importation who was
said to have owed his successful career to the sirenical
attractions of Madame Boule-qui-Roule), Birra (beer)
Pasha from the Fatherland—one and all of them
// 165.png
.pn +1
enter upon the scene, play their little parts, and disappear
through the trap-door exactly as in a pantomime.
Alexander of Battenberg, the Prince of Bulgaria, is
presented with an Arab steed by the Sultan, but
goes away without it, for Marshal Bombastes, the
Master of the Horse, who was entrusted with the task
of its delivery, had lost or otherwise disposed of it.
There were some truculent personages among these
gentry.

Calling one day on Ibrahim Pasha, who had
succeeded the late Munir Pasha as Grand Master of
Ceremonies and Introducer of Ambassadors, I saw a
tall, pompous personage in the uniform of a Turkish
General engaged in conversation with his Excellency.
To judge by appearances he was a very Bobadil, a
swashbuckler sort of man, one of the grasping,
cunning windbag variety which Abdul Hamid’s
promiscuous generosity tempted from the barrack-room
of his native country to a palace on the Bosphorus,
to the dismay and disgust of many a loyal Turkish
heart. Six feet of coloured cloth surmounted by an
almost round bullet head, bobbing up and down
mechanically as if set in motion by wires, the
features of the man were commonplace, if not downright
plebeian. A hectoring, flamboyant mien stamped
the whole personage, breathing the soldier’s contempt
for the civilian, which is one of the most ominous
phenomena of contemporary Europe. And yet he was
by no means one calculated to inspire fear: the sort of
man that an American cowboy would throw out of a
bar-room without taking his pipe out of his mouth.
// 166.png
.pn +1

.pm verse-start
Vorne mit Trompetenschall
Ritt der General Feldmarschall
  Herr Quintilius Varus.[#]
.pm verse-end

.pm fn-start
“Full in front with trumpet blast<br>
Rode Field-Marshal General<br>
  Herr Quintilius Varus.”<br>
             (German Student Song)
.pm fn-end

I took a seat, awaiting my turn to approach his
Excellency, and, as is customary, bowed right and
left in doing so. The tall man drew himself up and
seemed to resent the courtesy of a mere civilian. But
what particularly attracted my attention was that
he pestered Ibrahim Pasha with details, given in
execrable French, about the ailments of his wife, whom
he had recently conveyed to a European sanatorium.
It was a sight to note the courtly patience with which
Ibrahim Pasha listened to the narrative of Miles
Gloriosus, for it is the very worst form of breeding in
the eyes of a Turk to refer to one’s womenkind. This
edifying tête-à-tête went on for some time. At last
pomposity was about to take his leave. I held up a
newspaper in front of me so as to spare him the
trouble of making up his mind whether he was to notice
me on quitting the apartment or not. Ibrahim Pasha
accompanied his visitor to the door of the ante-room
leading out of the building. It was a most amusing
sight as I peered over the newspaper through the open
door. I saw the two engaged in conversation, the
loquacious officer indulging in lively gesticulations.
On Ibrahim Pasha returning to the room I said to
him: “If I might venture to put it to your Excellency,
// 167.png
.pn +1
I would be prepared to wager that the pasha who has
just left the room gave way to an impulse of effeminate
curiosity and asked you who I am.”

“Yes, to be sure he did,” Ibrahim Pasha smilingly
replied. “But I did not gratify him. I merely told
him that you were an American.” “Well then,” I
rejoined, “if he should ever ask you the same
question again, pray tell him, with my compliments,
that my name is perhaps better known than his own
in the country of his birth.”

The sun shines through the window and lights up
the faces of the grave, swarthy-featured Turks. Officers
in full dress, decked out in all their stars and sashes,
are pouring into the Palace, for it is Friday. The
Sultan has had a good night. Everything is <i>couleur
de rose</i>, and the Palace officials are getting ready for
the Selamlik. Izzet Pasha divests himself of his
black frock-coat with the help of a dark manservant,
and dons a gorgeous gold brocaded and wadded uniform
covered with Turkish and German decorations,
doubling the size of his little, attenuated Syrian figure.
There was something almost childlike about it all in
its contrast to the grim realities of life. The diplomatic
loggia was filling. Some of the foreign Ambassadors,
eager <i>de faire acte de présence</i>, were rarely absent
on such occasions and would bring some officers of their
respective nationalities to see the show. These had
generally just arrived at Constantinople, with a keen
scent for favours which would be showered upon them
after the ceremony in the shape of commanderships of
the Medjediè or Osmaniè Order, for an inferior class
// 168.png
.pn +1
of which a poor Turkish officer might wait a lifetime
in vain.

The great Officers of State, the Grand Master of
Artillery, the fat Minister of War, the Minister of
Marine, a little humpback, a notorious personage, and
the rest of the pashas—military and civil—are all
gathered together in the inner courtyard of the Palace
in anticipation of the Sultan starting for the Selamlik
ceremony. A military band is heard in the distance.
It is playing the “Hamidiè March,” composed in
honour of His Majesty, a somewhat thin and commonplace
production. And here I may mention a fact
which is not generally known, that military bands as
such are quite a modern feature in Europe, and owe
their origin to the Janissaries. “Janitscharenmusik”
is still to this day the term used in Germany for
an infernal din of tin kettles, pipes, and brass. To the
Turk, then, is due all the noise which has become such
a public nuisance in our time on the continent of
Europe; a heavy responsibility before the tribunal of
decency and decorum!

We crane our necks, looking towards the left, when
from the rising ground we see the military pageant
coming along: first of all the Ortogrul Cavalry,
followed by the Sultan’s Albanian Guard, trained to
the mechanical Prussian goose-step, singularly out of
character with the whole bearing and appearance of
these untamed sons of the Albanian hills. Then the
Sultan himself appears and drives past in an open
carriage, with Ghazi Osman Pasha, the hero of Plevna,
sitting opposite him.
// 169.png
.pn +1

The Sultan alights, enters the Hamidiè Mosque, and
the muezzin from the top of the adjacent minaret calls
the Faithful to prayer. An interval of about half an
hour follows, in which tea and cigarettes are served to
the Sultan’s guests. At last a slight stir is noticeable at
the entrance of the mosque. The Sultan reappears,
enters an open victoria, the reins of which he handles
himself, and drives back to the Palace up the hill,
followed by a throng of gaudily attired functionaries—old,
white-bearded men among them—running after
the carriage as best they may: a somewhat undignified
sight to a European.

.if h
.sp 2
.nf c
<b><l>Listen:</l></b> [<a href="music/i156.mp3">MP3</a>] [<a href="music/i156.mid">MIDI</a>]

<b><l>Music XML:</l></b> [<a href="music/i156.musicxml">MusicXML</a>]<br>
<b><l>Musescore:</l></b> [<a href="music/i156.mscz">MuseScore]</a>
.nf-
.il fn=i156.jpg w=600px
.if-
.if t
.sp 2
[Illustration: Musical Score]

[Music: Double Eagle March<br>
<i>pp   p  p dolcissimo.</i><br>
  <i>pp</i>]
.sp 2
.if-

The band now strikes up the Austrian “Double-Eagle
March.” It is almost imperative to have heard
the famous trio of this most enthralling of military
marches—a languorous, sensual theme—in
order to gain an idea of the effect a military band is
capable of producing upon a susceptible crowd. The
popularity of the “Double-Eagle March” throughout
// 170.png
.pn +1
Austria-Hungary and the German Empire has long
been general. Composed by a bandmaster of an
Austrian regiment, it has been set to music in close
upon twenty different arrangements. A great deal of
what is incomprehensible to strangers in latter-day
Germany may be attributed to the effect of this
popular military march on the public, and, what is
more, on those who are supposed to influence and
inspire it. If there is a march in the whole world
which produces intoxication without either alcohol or
hashish, it is this one.

A parallel to the last years of the Second Empire
and Jacques Offenbach’s Grande Duchesse de Gerolstein,
General Boum-Boum, and Prince Paul would
suggest itself on the occasions when foreign princes and
princesses with their hungry retinues came to visit the
Sultan. The Prince Imperial would find his counterpart
in the Sultan’s poor little sons, who got on horseback
and figured in the pageantry of the Selamlik.
It is a wonder that there were still some quiet nooks
in which a philosophic contemplation of the vanity of
things could be indulged.

One day, now long ago, I paid a call on Munir
Pasha at his office after the Selamlik. I have already
had occasion to mention this high-bred, gracious, and
kind Turkish gentleman. Not a breath of scandal,
slander, or concession-mongering ever touched this
man, whose influential position during many years
might have brought him wealth for the mere asking.

“How are you to-day, my dear pasha?” I asked,
as he came beaming with kindliness towards me,
// 171.png
.pn +1
shaking hands in European fashion, a form of greeting
rarely indulged in by the Turk. “Ah, mon cher!” he
replied, as a hamal (porter) passed in front of the
window, carrying a dinner tray on his head, “you see
that poor fellow! How gladly would I exchange with
him, and hand him over all my forty-two Grand Cordons
into the bargain, if he could only give me his lusty
health in return.” Munir Pasha was a martyr to
asthma, and before my next visit to Constantinople he
had passed away.
// 172.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER IX||SULTAN ABDUL HAMID
.sp 2
.pm ch-hd-start
I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones.
.rj
<sc>Shakespeare</sc>, <i>Julius Cæsar</i>
.pm ch-hd-end
.sp 2
.ni
<sc>So</sc> much has been said and written to the detriment
of the ex-Sultan Abdul Hamid that it would seem to
be an almost hopeless task to break a lance in his
favour; and yet to do so, at least with regard to the
human aspect of his character, is nothing more than a
bare act of justice.
.pi
As he timidly peeps out of the window of his palatial
prison at Begler-Bey, on the Asiatic side of the Bosphorus,
he has now ample leisure to reflect on the
ingratitude of those he loaded with his favours.

.pm verse-start
Time hath a wallet at his back
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,
A great-sized monster of ingratitude.
.pm verse-end

And if he be familiar with the history of his own
time, in bemoaning the unhappy fate of his country
he may well re-echo the bitter words of the Austrian
ex-Emperor Ferdinand, who, living in retirement at
Prague when, in 1866, the victorious Prussians
appeared before the city, exclaimed: “Surely it was
// 173.png
.pn +1
scarcely worth while to force me to abdicate in order
to bring things to their present pass!”

Certain figures have come down to us as typical of
the extremes of fortune, and some are identified with
Constantinople; of these that of Belisarius, the victorious
general of the Byzantine Emperor Justinian,
lies nearest. After great deeds of war, he is said to
have ended his days in a prison, through the iron
bars of which he implored the charity of passers-by:
“Give, oh, give an obolus unto Belisarius, whom virtue
had raised and envy has brought so low.”

The ex-Sultan Abdul Hamid offers the latest instance
of a similar change of fortune, for on his
deposition an orgy of vilification was let loose in the
Press of the Old World concerning this unfortunate
Sovereign, who only a short time ago was able to boast
the friendship of Emperors. One of the last to be
entertained by him was a daughter of the House
of Habsburg, upon whom, as was customary with
him, he poured a rain of diamonds. To-day all
these visitors have departed, and the ex-Khalif of the
Faithful has not a friend left in the world among the
crowd of high, well, and Imperial born to whom, in his
prosperity, he played the part of a generous host, and
upon whom he squandered countless millions of treasure
in one form or another, either as presents or in expensive
entertainment. Between them and him constant
relays of highly paid emissaries were flitting on
confidential missions along the iron roads of
Eastern Europe, always at his expense. Close upon
4000 parasites were daily remorselessly draining
// 174.png
.pn +1
his financial resources by living on him, and the
more lavishly he dispensed his favours the deeper
became the morass of ingratitude which at last engulfed
him. But even this record does not exhaust
the list of his iniquities. He was said to have hoarded
fifty millions, whether in francs or pounds sterling
matters little, which he invested in German banks. And
it was these millions which excited the cupidity of his
conquerors, and upon which they were bent on laying
hungry hands.

“The power of kings is based upon the reason and
folly of the people, but more upon their folly. The
greatest and most important thing in the world has
human weakness as its basis; and this very basis is
admirably secure; for nothing is more certain than
the fact that the people are weak. That which is
founded on reason alone is badly founded, as, for
instance, the recognition of wisdom.”[#]

.pm fn-start // 1
Pascal’s “Pensées.”
.pm fn-end

This may serve to explain much in connexion with
those exotics of our democratic age—the autocrats,
and more particularly the career of the ex-Sultan
Abdul Hamid, though the lesson conveyed is not
applicable to him alone, even among the living.
Autocrats can have little or no conception of real
values; whilst their system makes it next to impossible
for them to train those whose abilities and
knowledge of realities might be of use to them.

The career of Abdul Hamid offers too many parallels
to that of Napoleon III not to call for notice,
embodying as they well may a useful lesson to those
// 175.png
.pn +1
who care to understand. Abdul Hamid wanted to
monopolize power, and in the end everything slipped
from his grasp.

I had not been long in Constantinople when it
occurred to me that public opinion, as in the case of
Napoleon III, overrated the Sultan’s ability and his
knowledge of mankind, and underrated his qualities
of heart. It was not so much the disastrous results
of his reign to Turkey which irresistibly forced this
conclusion upon me as the poor estimate one could
not help forming of his surroundings and of the
exaggerated importance he attached to things and
individuals of questionable value; notably those complimentary
missions and visits the practical results
of which stand revealed to us to-day in all their futility.
The Sultan was imbued with the instincts of a gentleman
in his personal dealings, and these inclined him
to accept as sincere assurances of friendship from
those whom he thought in a position to be as good as
their word. And yet I have it on fairly good authority
that the only true friend in high station the Sultan
possessed was the Emperor of Russia, who promised
him that he would not undertake anything against
Turkey during his reign, and kept his promise. On
one occasion I ventured to point out to Baron Marschall
von Bieberstein that the never-ending visits of foreign
princes and the expense of their extravagant entertainment,[#]
whilst the salaries of the officers in the
// 176.png
.pn +1
Army remained unpaid, were calculated to make the
Sultan unpopular with his own people. He replied
that His Majesty could never have enough visits
of that kind. The Sultan clamoured for them, and,
as we know, he got an ample supply of what he
clamoured for.

.pm fn-start // 1
The Turkish deputation which the Sultan sent to greet the German
Emperor in 1908, at Corfu, was said at the time, in the German
newspapers, to have cost him, one way or the other, £T35,000.
.pm fn-end

When Abdul Hamid ascended the throne, the
internal situation of Turkey was so critical that it
required a man of great strength of character not to
lose heart. The tragic circumstances connected with
the death of Abdul Aziz had contributed to unhinge
the mind of His Majesty’s brother, his immediate
predecessor. The reckless extravagance of Sultan
Abdul Aziz and his Court had left the finances of the
Empire in hopeless embarrassment. The Ottoman
Empire was practically bankrupt. Corruption reigned
supreme in every department of the State. The
governorships of the provinces had frequently been
sold at enormous prices to men who were utterly corrupt
and unfitted for their positions, and who oppressed
the unfortunate populations under their charge, extorting
from them, often by torture, the profits of their
industry. Justice was shamelessly bought and sold in
the courts. There was no uniform system of taxation:
every governor fixed his own tariff and enforced its
collection, however unjust and oppressive it might be.

The responsibility imposed upon a young and inexperienced
prince was heavy indeed; for Abdul Hamid
was only thirty-four years of age when he succeeded
to the throne, which was still reeking with the blood
of his predecessor. Disorder reigned in the provinces.
// 177.png
.pn +1
Bosnia, Herzegovina, Servia, Bulgaria, and Montenegro
were in open rebellion, and, incited by Russia,
declared war against Turkey. The demands of the
States practically amounted to independence and
autonomy. Russia backed up their demands by
moving a corps d’armée to the banks of the Pruth,
and declared war. What followed is part of the
history of the nineteenth century.

It affords strong testimony to the firmness of
the Sultan’s character that he did not despair: far
from it. From the very first, Abdul Hamid boldly
grasped the nettle of sovereignty, and for thirty years
never ceased for a day to devote his whole energies to
the task of ruling his country. As a stray indication
of such devotion to duty, it may be mentioned that
during all that period he missed only one Friday’s
public visit to the Hamidiè Mosque for the ceremony
of the Selamlik, and that omission was due to
illness. Surely this is almost a unique record of
regularity of habit, and one which only a constitution
fortified by a life of constant hard
work and studied moderation could have rendered
possible.

To-day it is no empty assertion to say that Abdul
Hamid endeavoured to be the Educator of his people.
He had hardly girded on the sword of Ejoub, the
emblem of Turkish sovereignty, when he sent an aide-de-camp
to a German professor living in Constantinople—Dr.
Mordtmann—and sought his assistance to
organize the so-called <i>Mekteb Milkiè</i>, a school for
training Government Civil officials. He established
// 178.png
.pn +1
the Turkish University at Haidar Pasha, near the
English cemetery at Scutari, at an expense of close
upon £1,000,000. The water supply of Constantinople,
the finest in the world, is due to him. Constantinople
had abundant fresh water at a time when Europe had
little or no idea of its hygienic value. Under Sultan
Suleyman there were 700 fountains or springs in
Constantinople. Most of these had been allowed
to dry up and decay. One of Abdul Hamid’s first
acts was to create a gratuitous supply of fresh water
for the inhabitants of Pera at a cost of £100,000.

In former days, famine and hunger-typhus, which
invariably accompanies it, periodically ravaged Asia
Minor. Anatolia now exports wheat worth two
million pounds per annum and is growing cotton, and
Angora produces improved cereals which are used
in brewing and are also exported. Turkey even
exports goats’ skins so far as it can do so in face
of Russia’s prohibitive tariff. When Abdul Hamid
came to the throne Constantinople lived on Russian
beef; an excellent quality is now raised in Anatolia
which is sent to Constantinople by rail.

It must be borne in mind that these and other
achievements were carried out in the face of constant
money difficulties. The Sultan founded technical
schools and hospitals and made roads and railways.
But more remarkable still, from a Turkish point of
view, were his manifold efforts to raise the status of
the Turkish woman. He even created a special decoration
for ladies, the Order of the Chefakat. He was
a true Mohammedan in his democratic breadth of
// 179.png
.pn +1
sympathies, and there can be no doubt that in his
early days he was honestly intent on the recognition
of individual worth and character.

Where so much power is placed in the hands of one
man, it goes without saying that abject servility
has to be reckoned with; nor is this a feature peculiar
to Turkey. That the Sultan often showed respect
for unwelcome though honest opinion is, under the
circumstances, a merit which calls for recognition.
That he did so in early years is attested by some
well-authenticated facts. He had hardly come to
the throne when he decided to call a Council of
State to judge the conduct of Midhat Pasha and
his associates, who had agitated for the introduction
of European representative institutions into
Turkey. The question was submitted to the Council,
which sat at the Imperial Palace, whether the said
persons were guilty of treason or not. All the
members but one brought in a verdict of “Guilty.”
The single dissentient vote of “Not guilty” was
given by Emin Bey, a German—a native of Mecklenburg—who
had entered the Turkish service and
embraced Islam. His colleagues, in their dismay,
pointed to a curtain in the apartment and endeavoured
to convey to the recalcitrant German that
the Sultan was posted behind it and consequently
cognizant of his opposition to the vote of the rest.
Emin Bey, however, remained firm, for he belonged to
the old school, and added that he could not conscientiously
decide otherwise. Every member of the
Council received some mark of the Sultan’s favour,
// 180.png
.pn +1
but the highest distinction of all was reserved for
Emin Bey.

Either the Sultan must have been endowed with
remarkable qualities, or circumstances must have been
exceptionally favourable to him, or both, to have enabled
him to hold on during thirty-two years, in the course
of which the pay of his soldiers was always in arrear
and the gang of favourites at the Palace was constantly
plundering him. Whatever may have been
the effects of despotic rule on his character in the
course of years, there can be no doubt that when
he came to the throne he was filled with a high
conception of the responsibilities of his position. It
is established beyond question that it was with the
greatest reluctance he consented to his brother being
deposed, and then only after the most reliable medical
opinion regarding the latter’s mental unfitness had
been taken. At the beginning he endeavoured to
attract honest advisers to his service.

But whatever may have been his qualifications or
shortcomings as a politician, there can be little doubt
that he possessed many unusual personal attributes,
though perhaps of a negative nature. He had the calmness,
the reticence, the self-control of a well-bred man,
never proffering advice and not given to expansiveness,
for his nature was undemonstrative. He showed no
vulgarity, no coarseness, no hectoring or bullying.
He had no desire to put himself forward, to be communicative,
his thoughts in the market-place, nor was he
carried away by the shouts of a crowd or intoxicated
by its homage. When on a Friday he passed in front of
// 181.png
.pn +1
the cheering troops his features always bore an expression
of calm dignity and benevolence, and a
marked capacity for leniency and forgiveness. His
recognition, even to the humblest, for services, many
of a trivial kind, was extreme.

Abdul Hamid’s political ability has been for long
an article of faith, even with those who were prepared
to deny him every other quality, and the results
obtained by him during a period of over thirty
years in his dealings with the Great Powers, freely
admitting that their final outcome was a negative
one, point undeniably to his having been endowed
with some political gifts. He must have possessed
a certain inborn sagacity, which, however, was not
nurtured by a wise bringing up or such an experience
of the world as would have enabled him to gain an
insight into real values, notably in the selection of high-class
character. This handicapped him through life.
It showed itself in his misplaced confidence, as evidenced
by the rise of many favourites of doubtful character
from absolute obscurity to power and great wealth, and
it does not tell in favour of the common belief in the
Sultan’s perspicacity that so many of those he distinguished
were mediocrities even when they were not
rogues.

Professor Vambéry relates the following incident as
an illustration of the queer type of men that managed
to gain the favour of Abdul Hamid: “Among these
obscure worshippers round the Sultan was the famous
Lufti Aga, in his official capacity of Master of the
Robes, but in reality the most intimate confidant of
// 182.png
.pn +1
the Sultan, in spite of his Turkish origin.[#] I had a
rather curious adventure with this worthy. One day
whilst walking with the Sultan in the garden I saw
this man approaching His Majesty, and looking closer
into his face, I recognized in him the servant of Mahmud
Nedim Pasha, formerly Grand Vizier, distinguished
by his Russian sympathies—hence his nickname,
Nedimoff—in whose house in Bebek I acted formerly
as teacher of French to his son-in-law, Rifat Bey. In
accosting the said former servant somewhat boldly I
noticed a perplexity on his face, but still more remarkable
was the blushing of the Sultan, who asked me
whether I knew his favourite man before. ‘Of course,’
said I, ‘Lufti was a servant in the house of Mahmud
Nedim Pasha, and he often cleaned my boots.’ Tableau!
The most intimate man of the Sultan a shoeblack by
origin. But this intermezzo did not disconcert Abdul
Hamid, for Lufti went on in his delicate service until
the end of his life. Such is the East, and such are
Orientals, however so much gifted.”

.pm fn-start // 1
This refers to the Sultan’s well-known preference for Albanians,
Circassians, and Arabs. Izzet Pasha was an Arab.
.pm fn-end

We have only to review the course of affairs since
his deposition to be forced to the conclusion that whatever
Abdul Hamid’s mistakes may have been, he
was yet able to postpone the catastrophe which, under
any circumstances, must now be admitted to have been
inevitable in the long run.

To-day there can be no doubt that he was more or
less driven into the arms of Germany by the attitude
of England both under Mr. Gladstone and in a less
// 183.png
.pn +1
degree under Lord Salisbury, more particularly during
the period known as that of the Armenian atrocities.
But even this should not have sufficed to endow him
with the faith he undoubtedly possessed, where only
the cleverness to take advantage of Germany’s
assistance in a utilitarian spirit would have been
justified. This credulity on his part was all the more
remarkable seeing that it was never shared by the
more sterling and astute political and religious
elements around him. These never swerved in their
preference for England and the English, even in
the darkest days which followed upon the Armenian
massacres in 1895 and 1896. They still held on to
the Turkish traditions of the Crimean war of friendship
between Turkey and England. In departing
therefrom the Sultan may be said to have made the
exchange familiar to us as children in Aladdin’s story
of bartering old lamps for new. England’s goodwill
was Turkey’s old lamp in spite of every misunderstanding.

In some respects the ex-Sultan shone to advantage
as compared with many rulers of the past and some of
the present. Notably was this the case as regards his
sense of gratitude for services rendered and of loyalty
to those who he believed had served him well. My
own sporadic relations with His Majesty have furnished
me with evidence that his wish to benefit
others could even outweigh a consideration for his own
interests. For supposing that my position as correspondent
of the <i>New York Herald</i> at Constantinople
was really of any value to him, as he plainly believed
// 184.png
.pn +1
to be the case, his proposal to me to leave that paper
and enter his service was obviously contrary to his
own interests. The guiding principle of others in
the Sultan’s position would have been to continue to
utilize a man’s services at no cost to themselves and
then to throw him over. How different was Abdul
Hamid’s conduct in this as in so many other cases!
The late Mr. Whittaker, for many years correspondent
of the <i>Times</i> at Constantinople, received
signal marks of favour at the Sultan’s hands, in
spite of the anti-Turkish attitude of that paper. He
was, I think, acceptable to the Sultan as a man of
culture and a talented musician, and was now and
then asked to come up to the Palace to play the
piano. When a rupture finally took place, it came
about through Mr. Whittaker himself, who was
exasperated at the restrictions placed by the Censor
upon the <i>Levant Herald</i>, of which he was the proprietor.

Barely has a sovereign distinguished a private
individual, without wealth or rank, and a foreigner
into the bargain, with his intimacy to such a
degree as the Sultan did in the case of Professor
Arminius Vambéry, whom he used to address by the
familiar, almost endearing, term of “Baba.” This
friendship had its source in his appreciation of the
Professor’s distinction as an Oriental scholar and his
well-known sympathies with Turkey, her people, and
her religion. Here, again, the estrangement was, I
believe, due to the Professor himself, who became
dissatisfied with His Majesty’s political tendencies,
// 185.png
.pn +1
which he could not see his way to share or
champion.[#]

.pm fn-start // 1
See Appendix, pp. #287#–#288#.
.pm fn-end

The Sultan possessed a rare delicacy of feeling,
which he now and then showed in small things,
doubly remarkable in a man in his exalted position
and, moreover, always overburdened with work.
Thus when Sirry Bey, one of the Sultan’s secretaries,
accompanied us as chief of our expedition through
Anatolia, and was taken seriously ill between Erzeroum
and Bitlis, the Sultan was apprised of the fact.
He was most anxious to keep the news away from
Sirry Bey’s wife, and made a point of sending to
his konak from time to time with cheering news
and a present of money, for fear the Bey’s salary
might not have been paid to his family in his absence
through the ordinary channels. In conferring the
Order of the Chefakat on a lady, he caused the
following words to be inscribed in the brevet: “Sa
Majesté Impériale accorde cette décoration à Madame
X pour faire plaisir à son mari.” It seemed to
afford him gratification to give pleasure to others.

Comparatively few people are aware of the refined
nature of one so much maligned; and yet testimony to
this effect rests on irrefragable evidence. I need only
mention the Sultan’s intense love of music, his munificent
remuneration of artistes who had been asked to
perform at the Palace, and the deep interest he took in
Nature, whether animals, birds, or flowers. One
day the Turkish Ambassador in London asked me to
assist him to procure a book dealing with Australian
// 186.png
.pn +1
birds. The Sultan had heard that such a work existed
and would like to have a copy. All this may well
lead us to inquire how such facts are to be reconciled
with the popular conception of his treachery, his blood-guiltiness?
The answer is self-evident.

The Sultan was anxiously bent on keeping in touch
with the happenings in the outside world. Thus, in
addition to reading translations of foreign newspaper
articles, he looked through several English illustrated
weeklies regularly, the letterpress of which was translated
into Turkish expressly for him by his secretaries.
One of the first questions he would ask a visitor, after
the usual inquiry regarding his welfare, would be concerning
some important current event: what might
be the outcome of the Russo-Japanese war, the Russian
revolution (1905–6), etc. On one occasion he expressed
his belief to me that both the Mohammedans and the
Jews would outlast the Christian world.

I have often seen it stated in print that the Sultan
wore an habitual look of melancholy—in other words,
that his main characteristics were sadness and nervousness.
Neither my own experience, nor the testimony
of others best in a position to form a reliable opinion,
bears this out, although the tragic circumstances under
which, very much against his will, he came to the
throne may well have left their impress on his
mind. The Sultan was of an exceedingly sensitive
nature. He was a man in whom the domestic affections
were very strong; thus a blow, such as the loss
of a daughter, might well have had a cruel effect on
him, as only those can understand who have loved
// 187.png
.pn +1
and lost children of their own. But I do not believe
that the Sultan’s temperament was one of habitual
melancholy. On the contrary, I know that His
Majesty could enjoy a joke as heartily as ever did
Martin Luther; though the nature of some of the
doughty Reformer’s sallies would hardly have suited
the refined taste of the Khalif of the Mohammedans.

The Sultan on one occasion was inquiring of one of
his confidants about a stranger whose personality
interested him. His Majesty’s informant told him
that the individual in question was never seen in
coffee-houses or theatres, much less in places of doubtful
repute or in suspicious company; that he was
most moderate, even abstemious, in his habits; that
he sat at home working most of his time, and if
he went out, it was to visit a mosque and watch the
Faithful at prayer. “Truly a remarkable man,” broke
in the Sultan; “he might almost be an Osmanli” (for
among themselves the Turks never use the word
“Turks”). The other, feeling that he had drawn an
impossible picture of perfection, which might perhaps
encounter the Sultan’s incredulity, here rejoined that
truth compelled him to confess to His Majesty that he
had seen the stranger walk up and down in his room
during the hot weather with next to no clothing on—almost
naked. This caused the Sultan to burst
out laughing. On such occasions—and they were by
no means rare—when the Sultan was in good spirits,
the monarch’s merriment, as if by magic, was reflected
in his surroundings. I have seen all Yildiz in the
best of good humour, for the word had gone round
// 188.png
.pn +1
that “Sa Majesté est de fort bonne humeur,” and
the news spread far and wide; it even found expression in
the broad grin of the hamal who carried the fat pasha’s
dinner-tray from the Imperial kitchen on his head.

It would, indeed, be no cause for wonder if the
Sultan had been occasionally in a serious mood.
There are other monarchs besides the Sultan whose
humour is not always <i>couleur de rose</i>. “Uneasy lies
the head that wears a crown” is not a Mohammedan
proverb. But the Sultan’s strength of purpose, his
truly phenomenal powers of work, his abstinence
from every form of nervous stimulant except an
occasional cigarette and a cup of coffee, are irreconcilable
with the idea that he could have been of a
morbidly nervous disposition. As to the Sultan’s
working habits, I have known him to be at work
at five in the morning and at that hour keep going
a whole staff of secretaries, who had slept overnight
on couches in the rooms in the Palace in which they
habitually worked. Munir Pasha once said to me:
“There is one characteristic of His Majesty which
conveys a lesson to us all: it is his extraordinary
self-control—his impressive calm. It is almost sublime—no
contrariety, no trial seems to ruffle his perfect
self-possession. It is truly marvellous.”

Making every allowance for the enthusiasm of
a devoted servant and a prince of courtiers, I am
yet inclined to believe, on the strength of other
evidence, as well as from my own personal observation,
that Munir Pasha’s estimate of his master’s
nerve was by no means exaggerated. Certain Ambassadors,
// 189.png
.pn +1
who had abundant opportunity of testing
the Sultan’s self-control, might, if they were still among
the living and inclined to make revelations of incidents
in which they did not come off with flying colours, give
even better corroborative evidence than I am able to do.

It has been said that the Sultan was constantly
surrounded by a fierce soldiery armed to the teeth,
and that sudden death awaited the hapless creature
who should venture to intrude unbidden within the
sacred precincts of the Imperial Palace. As a matter
of fact I doubt whether there is any other palace
into which it would be so easy for a stranger to
penetrate as it was into the Yildiz Kiosk. All sorts
and conditions of men—but no women—used to find
their way in and out. As already mentioned, I have
known the Pera shopkeeper of English nationality
enter the Palace and walk unbidden into the sanctum
of the Sultan’s all-powerful secretary, take his seat
among the Ambassadors, Pashas, and Ministers, sip his
coffee and smoke his cigarette, and sit there for hours
together as if “to the manner born.” So much for the
exclusive character of the Sultan’s Palace.

I remember more than once being at the Palace
rather late in the evening. Everybody had gone
home long since. A few servants, wearing fezes and
dressed in the black stambolin frock-coat, stood silently
in the hall which adjoined the Imperial apartment.
Otherwise not a soul, much less an armed man, was
to be seen until you passed the sentry at the gate
of exit. Nor, indeed, was a sound to be heard on the
beautiful moonlight night, except the splashing of
// 190.png
.pn +1
the water of the marble fountain, which issued from
one of the side walls of the unpretentious one-storied
wing. The Sultan was within, hard at work with his
secretary in a suite of apartments opposite those of
Ghazi Osman. A stranger might have remained there
unmolested, as I did in front of the Sultan’s room,
without a soldier to be seen, or a policeman to call
upon him to “move on.”

It will always remain a strange feature connected
with the dethronement of the Sultan that it came
on a sudden, quite unexpected even by those who
ought to have been in a position to form a correct
estimate of what was going on. As a matter of fact
the Sultan’s authority was being undermined some
time before the catastrophe really took place. He no
longer ventured as of yore to act in direct opposition
to the advice of his Ministers by granting valuable
concessions to his favourites. The pressure of foreign
Ambassadors, notably Baron Marschall von Bieberstein,
also became more embarrassing.

About this time the Turkish Ambassador at Madrid,
Izzet Fuad Pasha, a grandson of the renowned Grand
Vizier Fuad, published a book severely criticizing the
conduct of Turkish affairs as embodying so many
lost opportunities. He was recalled to Constantinople,
put under surveillance in the Pera Palace
Hotel, and forbidden to leave it even for an airing.
Crowds of spies surrounded the hotel by day and by
night. Of even greater significance were the doings
of Fehim Pasha and his arraignment and disgrace, of
which more later. The contradiction between the
// 191.png
.pn +1
Sultan’s supposed diplomatic astuteness and the short-sightedness
which appears to have marked his measures
in meeting the forces which were destined to overthrow
him has not yet found an explanation.

The personal appearance of the Sultan has been
described by many writers, for no monarch in
the world was seen so regularly in public as he.
Anybody who wished to see him had only to walk up
to the Imperial Palace, the Yildiz Kiosk (“Tent of
the Stars”), on a Friday morning, and he was absolutely
certain of seeing His Majesty as he drove in an
open victoria, with Ghazi Osman sitting opposite him,
out of the Palace gates to the Hamidiè Mosque to prayer,
and half an hour later, on his way back, when he himself
handled the ribbons. It is quite true that the road
was double-lined with soldiers, but that in no way
prevented the spectator from taking stock at his
leisure of the Sultan and all his courtly surroundings.
Then, again, a number of rooms adjoining the Palace,
overlooking the whole pageant of the Selamlik, were
placed by the Sultan at the disposal of foreign visitors
and the better classes of Constantinople every Friday,
and it used to be—until the last few years, as explained
elsewhere—the easiest thing in the world for
anybody with a decent coat to his back to obtain a
card of admission, and thus, for the short period of one
forenoon, to become <i>de facto</i> a guest of the Sultan.
During the interval, whilst the Sultan was in the
Mosque, excellent tea and sometimes, on exceptional
occasions, even sweets and cigarettes were handed
round to the visitors, whilst bags of bonbons were distributed
// 192.png
.pn +1
among the crowd in the road on Mohammed’s
birthday; a list of those present was also regularly
handed to the Sultan, who perused it, and if any name
was familiar to him, he would send his personal greeting
to the visitor in question. Thus the privilege of witnessing
the ceremony of the Selamlik from the rooms
set apart for the purpose was one involving the
acceptance of His Majesty’s hospitality. There every
Turk appeared dressed in his best, wearing his decorations.
This was not always realized by visitors of
the English-speaking world, some of whom I have
seen in flannel shirts, dirty shoes, and knickerbockers
mingling, with complete self-possession, among diplomatists
and others belonging to good society, who were
carefully attired for the occasion.

The favourable impression which the Sultan is
universally admitted to have produced on those who
were privileged to come into contact with him was
doubtless due to that charm of manner, that quiet
dignity which is more or less characteristic of all
well-bred Turks. But in his case it was supplemented
by a kindly smile and an unusually sympathetic
voice, the tones of which conveyed a pleasant impression
even to the stranger who was unable
to understand what His Majesty had said until
it had been translated by the interpreter. The
Sultan usually gave audiences on Friday after the
ceremony of the Selamlik, when he wore a Turkish
general’s uniform with the star of the Imtiaz
Order in brilliants hung from his neck. As he
sat in front of you, his hands resting on the hilt of
// 193.png
.pn +1
his sword before him, and spoke to Munir Pasha
in his quiet, dignified way, you could not resist the
impression of a picturesque dignity. I have also seen
him attired in a black frock-coat, cut in Turkish
fashion, which just hid a white waistcoat with a gold
watch-chain, scarcely differing in appearance from one
of his secretaries or the other officials. The only other
jewellery was a plain gold ring on the little finger of
the right hand with a fair-sized cut ruby, or polished
en cabochon. He received his visitors standing. It
was customary to sit in the presence of the Sultan
after being requested to do so; but the native-born
Turk sat only on the very edge of the little gilt
chair, and folded his arms across his chest, waiting
for the Sultan to address him, and then muttered in
reply, while bending low, and touching chest, lips, and
forehead with the right hand: “Firman Effendemizen”
(“Master, thy word is law”).

Many might find it difficult to account for the
personal popularity of Abdul Hamid in face of the disasters
which marked his reign, such as the Russo-Turkish
war and the several Armenian risings. The
explanation is to be found in the fact that Abdul
Hamid represented the ideals of a ruler in the
hearts of his people far more than any Sultan since
Mahmud II, who ordered the extermination of the
Janissaries. How far he deserved this attachment
can be estimated only by making due allowance for
the retentive memory of the Turks and their traditional
attachment to their race and the tenets of their
religion. It is impossible to do justice to Abdul
// 194.png
.pn +1
Hamid without realizing to what a depth Turkey
had sunk under Abdul Aziz. A knowledge of these
facts alone enables us to appreciate the reforms which
Abdul Hamid introduced, and for which he obtained
credit from his subjects, but none at all from the outer
world.

Even allowing for these things and the influence
which they exercised upon the minds of the Turkish
people, it would be difficult to understand how the
Sultan maintained despotic sway for thirty years were
it not for the realization that the Mohammedan has a
different outlook upon the world from that of the other
peoples of Europe. Reverence for the past, fidelity to
his faith, deep attachment to the traditions of race
and creed—these unfashionable virtues are instinctive
with him. Abdul Hamid’s strength lay in this,
that he represented in his own person, at least for a
time, the ways of thinking of his people: that his
ways were in essence theirs. In this connexion my
thoughts ever and again revert to the scene of the
Selamlik, when I saw Ghazi Osman Pasha sitting
opposite the Sultan in his carriage. Nowhere in the
Christian world can I call to mind such an inspiring
picture as this of the white-headed old man being
demonstratively honoured in public by his Sovereign
and revered by the people, although his name will
always be identified with one of the greatest catastrophes
that ever overtook the Turkish arms in Europe.
And yet in the eyes of his master there was no disgrace,
only honour, for one who typified in himself all the
virtues that belong to Islam. How can one help
// 195.png
.pn +1
contrasting the treatment the Turks and their ruler
meted out to their defeated champion with that which
the ever ungrateful house of Habsburg bestowed
upon that gallant soldier Field-Marshal Benedek, the
unfortunate Austrian commander at the battle of
Sadowa—all his former services, his splendid record in
Italy in 1848–49, when the Archduke Albrecht presented
him with the sword of his father the Archduke Charles,
the victor of Aspern, his prowess in Hungary, his
distinguished conduct at the battle of Solferino in the
Franco-Italian war of 1859, all wiped out of memory,
and he himself disgraced and sent to die of a broken
heart in the obscure little town of Gratz.

.pm verse-start
Blow, blow, thou Winter wind!
Thou art not so unkind
  As man’s ingratitude.
.pm verse-end
// 196.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER X||A CITY OF DIPLOMATISTS
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
O, what a tangled web we weave
When first we practise to deceive.
.rj
<sc>Scott</sc>
.pm verse-end
.sp 2
.ni
<sc>I have</sc> already mentioned that the Turk is accustomed
to the vagaries of despots, to the flatteries and
servility which they breed. But to be more exact, it
should be stated—indeed, it cannot be too often
repeated—that Constantinople was the hearth of
duplicity, of every form of intrigue, long before the
Turks were ever heard of. The Byzantine historian
Procopius of Cæsarea, private secretary to Belisarius,
has left invaluable testimony to the treacherous
atmosphere of Constantinople in the days of the
Emperor Justinian and the Empress Theodora.
Other historians have also borne witness that
these characteristics marked the life of the Court
of Byzantium down to the last hour of its existence.
With a tradition of over fifteen hundred
years to legitimize the term of “Byzantinism” and
all it conveys, it is scarcely to be wondered at that
Constantinople has always proved a disintegrator of
human character, and that only the strongest and the
noblest have ever been able to pass unscathed through
// 197.png
.pn +1
this fiery furnace of deceit, in which, be it said, the
Christian element has shown itself to be a far abler
adept than the Mohammedan. Even now, in the
twilight of Turkey’s fortunes, many may still remain
of opinion—so often expressed in the halcyon days of
her prosperity—that of all the races that have ever
ruled in Constantinople, the Turkish has been the only
one noted for its honesty. Indeed, it is an incontrovertible
historical fact that the advent of the Turk in
Constantinople inaugurated an era of tolerance, till
then unknown in those parts. But however this may
be, it cannot be gainsaid that Constantinople has
witnessed more intrigue than any other capital in the
world—Rome excepted—and thus is fitly considered
to be the best training-ground for diplomatists;
and many are the stories concerning them. One day
an Ambassador met a carriage, guarded by a eunuch,
containing some ladies of the Sultan’s harem. He
endeavoured to peep in at the window, when he
received a blow across the face from the vigilant
eunuch. Great uproar ensued thereupon, and formal
complaint was made to the Sultan on the part of the
outraged diplomatist. He was received in private
audience, and Abdul Hamid listened patiently to the
tale of outrage. On its conclusion the Sultan replied:
“My dear X, I have gone carefully into the case,
and see exactly how it stands. You are a gentleman,
therefore you could never have committed such a
breach of good manners as that alleged to have taken
place; and consequently no eunuch could possibly
have presumed to strike you. The whole affair
// 198.png
.pn +1
must be the product of your fancy; pray let us
dismiss it.”
.pi
Another Ambassadorial story tells how an august
personage—let us call him Prince Florizel—sent word
to the Sultan, by the Ambassador at Constantinople
of the country to which he belonged, that he intended
to make his Imperial Majesty a present of a horse.
Now the Sultan already possessed a number of horses,
and he was somewhat anxious to find out what sort of
animal the Prince had destined for him. If it was to
be a racer, or a so-called “Clydesdale,” the Sultan
had no use for it. The Imperial horse-boxes were built
to suit the size of the animals usually kept there; and
in order to find room for a racing thoroughbred or a
Clydesdale mare, the Sultan would have to enlarge
the stable or to make the gift-horse a head shorter in
order to find room for it. In this dilemma he sent a
trusted servant privately—that is to say, unofficially—to
the Ambassador in question, with His Majesty’s
best compliments. Would his Excellency be kind
enough to say what kind of horse it was intended to
bestow on him, the accommodation of the Imperial
stables being, etc.? Great indignation thereupon on
the part of the Ambassador. “This is not the way
to treat me; you are not qualified to discuss this
matter with me. The proper person is the Sultan’s
Master of the Horse. Let His Majesty communicate
with me through him, or go to ...” The Sultan’s
trusty servant returned to the Imperial Palace and
gave a “truthful” but Orientally diluted version of
what had taken place, omitting the Ambassadorial
// 199.png
.pn +1
reference to a certain alternative invoked. For an
Ambassador is usually supposed to be <i>persona grata</i>
with the Sovereign to whom he is accredited, and the
openly expressed wish that his Imperial Majesty
should accept the alternative of being damned would
hardly have rendered his presence in Constantinople
agreeable to the Sovereign.

The Sultan declined to send his Master of the Horse
to the Ambassador, ignored the whole affair, and took
no further notice of the offer. When, all the same, the
gift-horse arrived, it was received in silence and put
in the Imperial stable to get fat and ugly. No
acknowledgment of any kind was vouchsafed, either to
the Ambassador or those entrusted with the delivery of
the horse. And I am told that Prince Florizel, down
to the end of his life, when he had become a powerful
monarch, esteemed for his tact and courtesy throughout
the world, could never understand how it was that
the Sultan, than whom no man more courteous and
more genuinely appreciative of a kindness existed,
should have had nothing to say in return for this
particular mark of attention. According to Professor
Vambéry, the Sultan subsequently took his revenge
on the Ambassador in question by receiving him one
bitter winter day in an apartment without a fire, and
his Excellency was laid up with a cold for a fortnight.

If men gifted with the acute perceptions, the
prescience and tact of an Ambassador have not always
been accurate in their judgment of the East, or happy
in their dealings with the Sultan, it will readily be
believed that men of inferior calibre are often singularly
// 200.png
.pn +1
at sea in their opinions and unfortunate in
their experiences with the Turk. The keynote of the
Turk’s bearing is a serene dignity; and a lengthened
sojourn in the East has an imperceptible effect on
the traveller from the West. The European gets unconsciously
accustomed to expect a certain grace of
bearing in the humblest, and when he meets a distinguished
representative type from his own country—a
man who would be the talk of the capital by reason of
his wealth, or some one in high station, a law-giver, hereditary
or otherwise—the traveller is disenchanted, and
says to himself: “Is it possible that this restless, hustling
creature is the type of man we look up to at home?”

There have never been any powerful social elements
in Constantinople, as in other capitals, to compete with
diplomacy. A millionaire banker might be knocked on
the head with impunity in the streets of Pera, but the
obscure Vice-Consul of a Great Power is sacrosanct.
In every case the social as well as the intellectual life
of Constantinople, such as it is, is largely made up of
and regulated by the staff of the different Embassies,
Legations, and Consulates, of which “his Excellency,”
the full-blown Ambassador, is the supreme embodiment.
Behold him as he comes along in all the pomp
and circumstance of his high calling! He steps ashore
from his richly ornamented caique, he, the cynosure of
all beholders, preceded by kavasses, guards, and dragomans
dressed in blue, green, red, or purple tunics and
gaiters, richly embroidered with gold and silver.
He is obsequiously followed by his secretarial staff;
deeply impressing the imagination of the crowd as his
// 201.png
.pn +1
carriage drives up to the Sublime Porte or the Imperial
Palace. Verily, the Ambassador stands as the
centrepiece of a world of tinsel and make-believe,
the pinnacle of an edifice of decorative glamour; for
the reality of power rests with the Press to-day,
and an astute Ambassador builds up his reputation
by carefully nursing the correspondents of influential
newspapers, for the slighted journalist is in a position
to give an Ambassador a deal of trouble.

“To have been an Ambassador at Constantinople,”
one of the most distinguished of them once said to me,
“is to have been <i>somebody</i>, at least for once in a
lifetime. Compared with an Ambassador here, even
an Imperial Chancellor, who is continually badgered
and bullied by Press and Parliament, is almost a
nobody,” he added with a self-satisfied smile. The
diplomatic light who expressed himself thus was also
quite frank in his estimation of the world in which he
moved. Potentates he regarded as merely kings on a
chess-board, to be separated from their protecting
pieces, and, if of opposing colour, to be hustled,
circumvented, and checkmated. He declared that he
had become satiated with, and quite indifferent to,
decorative distinctions. These had been showered
upon him in such profusion that he now only prized
those studded with brilliants, “avec de grosses pierres,”
such as Gortschakoff asked for from Bismarck.

The facilities for telegraphic and postal communication
between the different Embassies at Constantinople
and their Governments at home have hitherto
not been of that perfect kind which reduces an
// 202.png
.pn +1
Ambassador in some other countries to the status of a
cipher at the end of a wire. Therefore, a wider field
was open for personal initiative on the part of an
Ambassador there than elsewhere. The complex
personality of Abdul Hamid, round whom everything
revolved, also afforded until quite recently exceptional
scope to the abilities of an Ambassador, and lent great
importance to the dragoman service, <i>i.e.</i> the man
who holds the responsible post of official interpreter
to an Embassy. His rôle demanded varied linguistic
accomplishments, tact, and a liberal course of diplomatic
education. Among the chief dragomans of the
Embassies of the Great Powers were to be found some
of the ablest, most astute and cultivated of men,
particularly Levantines of Italian or Greek origin.
The dragomans form so conspicuous a feature of
diplomatic life at Constantinople that the Turks
declare the souls of those who have passed
away in the course of time flit on the waters of the
Bosphorus in the bodies of the flocks of birds so
often seen skimming the blue waters at sunset.

Like Bucharest—another preparatory school of
budding Ambassadors—Constantinople has long been
a seminary, a high school for diplomatists of every
country. Here it is that uncouth youths, taken raw
from the Foreign Office, their hands everlastingly
thrust in their pockets, a pipe in their mouth, with
slouching gait and pitiable embarrassment, on entering
the room of their official superiors come gradually to
discard their angularities and are taught to behave
themselves in accord with cosmopolitan usage. They
// 203.png
.pn +1
are put through their paces, and finally learn to
roar in true leonine fashion in the name of their
country.

The gaucheries of the young diplomatists might
be a theme for ridicule, but I refrain. On one important
matter, nevertheless, a word may be said. It
would be well if the British Ambassadorial staff were to
abandon that hauteur which some of its members are
apt to display towards those of their countrymen who
visit Constantinople charged with important commercial
interests. It is not necessary that a British Ambassador
should imitate the policy of those who use
their diplomatic position to champion the commercial
interests of their country at the expense of higher
trusts and higher standards; but it is advisable to
avoid the other extreme of ignoring everything and
ostentatiously snubbing everybody connected with
commerce as beneath the dignity of diplomacy. Yet
this has repeatedly been the line of conduct, as it has
been that of inclination. For it was only in 1908
that our Embassy first took official notice of the
British Chamber of Commerce at Constantinople and
sent a representative to attend its sittings, who probably
thought he was demeaning himself in being called
upon to do so. This aloofness towards trade interests
and their representatives is all the more inexplicable as
many of these young men come of families which owe
their worldly position to trade, either as bankers,
brewers, meat contractors, or even less reputable
connexions. Both the Anglo-Saxon and the Teuton
take on a most necessary coat of social polish in
// 204.png
.pn +1
Constantinople by rubbing against the more subtle and
elusive elements of the Levant, the more graceful-mannered
Italian or Spaniard and the well-bred Turk,
from the “Excellency” down to the caikdji (boatman)
of the Bosphorus. “Texas Jack” can go to school here,
did go to school, and so profited by tuition received
that on his return home he could not reconcile himself
to the every-day rough-and-tumble uncouthness of
Yankee-land. He had been favourably impressed by
the Turks, and they liked him in return, for there was
a touch of genuine unspoilt human nature about the
man. One winter the Sultan sent and begged his
acceptance of a fur coat to keep the cold out. Thereupon
a howl went up in the American Press; accusations of graft,
bribery, and corruption—not in New
York, but in Constantinople! Altogether it may be
said that the diplomatists the United States sends to
Turkey, even if they may have been somewhat ignorant
of diplomacy as a profession, are invariably men of
sterling worth and value in themselves, not chosen
on account of their family connexions or financial
resources. And this is a matter of importance inasmuch
as things are apt to vary according to the character
of the representative of a country. The well-bred
gentleman would naturally inculcate that urbanity
of manner and that cultivation of heart and mind
which, far more than any other accomplishments, form
the true charm of the élite of European society. The
Ambassador less happily constituted can hardly fail
to leave his mark on his subordinates in a corresponding
degree.
// 205.png
.pn +1

A peculiar type of Ambassador is he who arrives
on the scene unduly advanced in life, “un peu gaga,
ramolli,” whose mechanical style of address and
response acts like a yawn on his surroundings. There
is again the Ambassador who has been sent to Constantinople
in order to be got decently out of the way
from his own country. He is known to be in the wake
of business, and spites the diplomatic world by giving
no entertainment beyond a cup of tea, thus saving a
good proportion of his salary, but thereby inculcating
the habit of economy among a class only too readily
given to spend money. It was said of one such that he
“stole like a raven,” and had become a millionaire
since he came to Constantinople. He managed to keep
on excellent terms with the wily representative of
another great country, and more particularly with
certain journalists who might easily have exposed his
menées. One of his exploits was to join the representative
of another Power in bullying the Sultan and
ultimately blackmailing the Turks shamefully, who
thus had good reason to hurl their maledictions at his
head when he departed.

A pitiable figure of the diplomatic world is the poor
Ambassador: one whose private income is unequal to
the calls upon his position and whose life is besides
bankrupt in happiness. He sits alone in glittering
dejection in his beautiful palace, with no money to
entertain and no wife to comfort him and cheer his
solitude.

Diplomatic Constantinople is exceptional in that an
Ambassador and his staff live out of social contact with
// 206.png
.pn +1
the nation to which they are accredited, and are thus
thrown much more on their own resources—those
of their immediate circle and nationality—than anywhere
else in Europe. The Embassies form a social
centre for those who come under their influence such
as is not readily met with elsewhere in European
society. I need only mention, as far as England is
concerned, the brilliant names of the past, the many
references to be found in diplomatic memoirs to such
men as Lord Stratford de Redcliffe, Sir Henry Layard,
Lord Dufferin, Sir William White, and last, but not
least, the late Sir Nicholas O’Conor, all of whom
exercised a beneficial influence over those who passed
their time of diplomatic apprenticeship under them.
Hence the rôle of an Ambassador at Constantinople—and
partly that of an Ambassadress as well—is of an
educational nature. Many a young attaché has found
in the wife of his chief a motherly and sympathetic
confidante whose counsel has kept him out of mischief
in this dangerous centre of temptation. For the
family life of the English diplomatic world in Constantinople
has long been an exemplary one: one to
look up to. English diplomacy can boast of having
always preserved personal integrity, an aloofness from
every species of sordid and illegitimate transaction
and from all concession-mongering and cadging for
favours of any and every description in the Turkish
capital. The English Ambassadorial staff has left
such dealings severely alone, a course of conduct
which has redounded to England’s honour in the past;
and as it has always been highly appreciated by the
// 207.png
.pn +1
best class of Turks, even in the worst days of England’s
unpopularity at the Palace, it can scarcely fail
to redound to her permanent advantage in her dealings
with Turkey in the future. For here we have an ideal
of conduct worthy of a great nation.

Turkish diplomatists have always been picturesque
figures in European society even when their salaries
were in arrear; but when they return to Constantinople
they are to be pitied. Many of them have
been spoiled by their experience in other lands. A
few years in the social whirl of Paris, Vienna, Berlin,
or London does not improve them: the Mohammedans
in particular are apt to acquire undesirable habits and
modes of thought. They become imbued with the
worldly cunning, the artificiality and insincerity of
European fashionable life, with the extravagant homage
Europeans pay to social position, so different from the
patriarchal instincts of home, and they are consequently
disenchanted when they return to Constantinople to
find that they are nobodies, mere hangers-on at the
Palace, perhaps destined to spend years as suppliants
for work. Without private means, accustomed to spend
money like water, these officials are in a hopeless plight.
Society in London and Paris has deadened every unspoilt
interest and ideal. They have become sceptics
and cynics. I met one who was the son of a Minister,
said to be one of the most notorious personages in
Turkey. He quoted Renan and La Rochefoucauld, and
would tell you that vanity and egotism are the driving
forces of every human action. Such a man finds
his countrymen stupid, not “up-to-date.” He
// 208.png
.pn +1
believes Turkey to be rotten to the core, and if you
tell him that you are a philo-Turk he will take you
for a rogue who is in the pay of the Palace. Has
the Sultan “received” you or not? That is all that
interests him about you. And if you ask him what
he does to earn a living, he will be quite surprised.
He is military attaché of the Ottoman Embassy at X.
“Yes, but what are you doing here?” “Oh, I’m on
leave.” “Yes, but surely not permanently?” “Well,
for a year or two.”

The lack of a distinctive, dominant national feature
which marks intellectual or social life generally at
Constantinople extends to the cuisine. There are not
half a dozen establishments in the whole city in which
the Western European can obtain a meal that in any
way satisfies a discriminating palate. Even at the
Club de Constantinople the cooking has the irritating,
kaleidoscopic, nondescript character of its members; it
is of every and of no nationality. It is only at the
Cercle d’Orient, the club of the diplomatic world, and
at the Embassies that the cuisine has that Parisian
foundation to which the epicure can look forward
with pleasure. Under such circumstances it is a great
treat to be invited by one of the “gros bonnets” of
the diplomatic world whose dinners enjoy a well-deserved
popularity. It was on such an occasion that,
carried away by the excellence of the fare, I ventured
to express myself to his Excellency to the
following effect. I had noticed that there was not a
single member of his Ambassadorial staff who had not
been decorated by the Sultan, so I suggested that he
// 209.png
.pn +1
might perhaps prevail upon His Majesty to bestow a
decoration upon his cook, whose culinary feats appeared
to me to constitute an appreciable auxiliary force
telling in the scale of his Excellency’s many diplomatic
triumphs.

Not overwork, but over-eating, late hours, and no
exercise constitute the real handicap to longevity in
the diplomatic world in Constantinople, for Ambassadorial
dinners and dinner-giving go on all the year
round, each Embassy in turn inviting the others:
“cutlet against cutlet.” This means sitting up late.
It is almost impossible for the heads of the different
Embassies, who are supposed never to take a walk
abroad except when preceded by dragomans and
kavasses, to indulge in a quiet daily “constitutional”
either on foot or on horseback. Such a mode of living
requires a tough constitution, and it is not surprising
to find that an Ambassador at Constantinople rarely
attains a great age.

English and Americans who are enamoured of what
has come to be internationally known as “high life,”
and whose limited means may not admit of their
rubbing shoulders with the diplomatic world in Paris
or London, cannot do better than take a trip to Constantinople
in the height of the winter season of
that gay, pleasure-loving city. Furnished with a few
decent introductions, the chances are that they will
see something of fashionable life without being called
upon to make any “frais de représentation”! There
is Oriental lavishness in the mode of entertainment.
Something of Turkish generosity in the way of hospitality
// 210.png
.pn +1
has become engrafted on to the Christian
elements, and invitations to Ambassadorial dinners
and balls are not beyond the reach of the travelling
English who at home have never come nearer to the
regions of fashion than South Kensington or Brompton.
Should these advantages, however, be unattainable, a
stray guinea or two as a subscription to one or other of
the various charity balls given by different nationalities
in the town will suffice to ensure social contact with
the cosmopolitan financial and diplomatic world.
These balls under Ambassadorial patronage and presidency
are unique, the more so since they take place
in the capital of a people which does not dance. Sometimes
it is a fancy-costume ball, at other times one in
evening dress, with the military and naval attachés of
the different Powers in full uniform. Such an entertainment
affords a vivid picture of cosmopolitan life,
the atmosphere being that of the Levant and endowed
with an articulate abandon, obsolete under our more
sedate social conditions. To see the guests arrive
is a curious sight. A regular pandemonium of shouts,
shrieks, and curses proceeds from the Turkish arabadjis
lashing their restive steeds as the carriages jostle each
other in front of the building. A unique feature of a
past age consists of a few old-fashioned sedan-chairs,
from which ladies emerge.

Inside, the building swarms with attachés d’ambassade,
representative of every imaginable nationality.
British, French, Spanish, Italian, German, Russian,
Persian, Servian, Roumanian, Bulgarian, Montenegrin,
Greek, not to forget the Levantine ruck of no exact
// 211.png
.pn +1
nationality, are gathered together here, but no
Mohammedan Turks. Such a ball is a rare treat for
the dark-eyed Perote débutantes, some of them of
mixed Greek blood of great physical beauty. Looking
down from a balcony in stucco Mauresque, the whole
scene present a rare whirl of colour, life, and excitement,
a picture of the vanity and transience of all
things: one which recalls the sad exclamation attributed
to Xerxes, in crossing from Asia not far from this
very spot, that in less than a hundred years not a
single soul of all his hosts would be alive.
// 212.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XI||THE LEVANTINE
.sp 2
.pm ch-hd-start
The wish—which ages have not yet subdued
In man—to have no master save his mood.
.rj
<sc>Byron</sc>
.pm ch-hd-end
.sp 2
.ni
<sc>You</sc> come across a queer medley of races, languages,
and nationalities in the narrow streets of Pera,
somewhat trying to the nerves in its promiscuous
incongruity. Almost with a shock you see the name
of Pericles over a grocer’s shop, Demosthenes over
that of a tailor or a barber, and Socrates or Euripides
staring you in the face as the name of a bootmaker.
Enter a café or brasserie and you find Germans,
Austrians, French, Greeks, Italians, and Armenians at
one and the same table playing dominoes or tric-trac.
One of such a group, to whom I had mentioned that
I should go mad if I lived for long in such
kaleidoscopic surroundings, retorted: “We are accustomed
to it here. Indeed, I should feel depressed
unless I could express myself in half a dozen languages
before I went to bed. When I get home to-night,
I shall converse in Hungarian with my father-in-law,
in German with my wife, in Greek with my
children, and in English with their governess. And I
shall probably wind up by addressing my servants
in Roumanian or Turkish.”
// 213.png
.pn +1
.pi
I have known a Levantine civil pasha married to an
Austrian lady whose three-year-old son would prattle
in English, German, Greek, and Turkish. Nor am I
quite sure that this list of the prodigy’s accomplishments
is complete. Such polyglot proficiency as is to
be met with among the Levantine element is calculated
to impress the monolingual Anglo-Saxon; but in the
long run it is not without its drawbacks. Never
was the saying, “Qui trop embrasse mal étreint,”
more applicable than here. Listening to superficial,
aimless small talk, defectively conveyed in half
a dozen different languages, is apt at last to
irritate even the most hardened and indulgent
listener. For it goes without saying that these are
spoken indifferently, and when put to paper written
ungrammatically. According to Continental standards
of mental culture, the level of the Levantine is not a
high one. The artisan class in this as in other respects
are, I should say, decidedly superior to their social
betters, and lead a healthier life generally. You may
meet individual cases of excellent musicians in Pera
society; but the gramophone, not to say the French
horn, and third-rate French music-hall entertainments
more correctly indicate the average taste of the community.
I found it impossible to obtain the songs of
Schumann or Franz, and only a poor selection of the
works of other great composers was to be had in any
of the music-shops of Pera. Whatever taste for belles-lettres
may exist partakes of a second-rate French
order. The lack of a definite nationality acts unfavourably
in the direction of the cultivation of intellectual
// 214.png
.pn +1
pursuits, with the possible exception of the
Greek colony, which maintains a touch with the
literature of ancient Hellas. This defect also shows
itself in the nondescript character of the cookery at
the principal hotels and restaurants, as already
stated.

A strange and wondrous world this, and, what
is equally remarkable, a free-and-easy one into the
bargain. To all appearances it is Liberty Hall right
round the compass. More particularly does this
apply to the stranger within the gates. And all are
strangers here who by their pseudo-nationality can
claim to come under the privileges of the Capitulations
which the Sultans, even in the plenitude of
their power, tolerantly allowed to continue in force.
Strangers pay no taxes either as individuals or as
house-owners. It was only quite recently, and with
the greatest difficulty, that the Turkish Government
succeeded in making foreigners pay a small
stamp duty for receipts on bills, etc. There is full
liberty to revile the authorities as much as you
please, and even now and then to introduce bombs
and explosives with the connivance of a certain
Great Power. No wonder that the late Sultan was
driven in self-defence to keep a huge staff of professional
spies in his service.

Nevertheless, there are no police to be seen, and no
regulations in force when to close or when to open
your business, whatever its nature. If you sit in
a café or a brasserie, there is really no valid reason
why you should ever get up, unless to go to the
// 215.png
.pn +1
hospital, of which there are any number—to die! No
boards are to be seen informing you that you will
be prosecuted in case of trespass, no walls (except
those round the Imperial Palace) to shut out the sight
of the beautiful country, which apparently belongs to
all alike. Indeed, there seems no reason why the
mule-driver with his load of bricks should not
unload where he stands and begin to erect a
palazzo of his own on the spot, for the land would
appear to belong to anybody, to judge by the
absence of enclosures. There is also liberty to
cheat to your heart’s desire and go bankrupt ad
libitum. An English financier who had lived in
Constantinople for years once told me that the one
thing he regretted on leaving the city was the
sense of unlimited personal freedom he had enjoyed
there.

I used to stroll through narrow streets into which
the sun never enters, though in the summer months it
may burn the roofs of the houses. You hear loud
shouting across the road from an obscure beer-house,
and fancy the place is on fire; which would be
no joke in such exiguous surroundings. But it
is only a few Germans with beaming faces shouting
“Hoch! Hoch! Hurrah!” unable to restrain their delight
over the excellent beer Herr Kusch provides for
his customers and anxious to give an expression to their
unbroken fidelity to the German Emperor. Further up
the street, peering through a small damp window, you
can see a middle-aged man sitting by a lamp writing
a letter. He is a grandfather, but in Constantinople
// 216.png
.pn +1
this need not clip the wings of amorous fancy. He is
writing a passionate letter to an English girl. He has
only seen her a couple of times in his life, and will
probably never see her again, for she has gone away
to Egypt. But he wants to tell her that she is a
“houri”—the ideal of his dreams. It can only be in
Constantinople that old men indulge in such fancies,
and it is wondrous strange how they are received
and reciprocated at times. In a beautifully appointed
konak on the hill there dwells a haughty beauty, one
of the loveliest women in the Empire. She sails into
the room and tosses her empty little thoroughbred
head in lofty disdain as she passes her Greek servant.
But he does not lower his gaze. On the contrary, the
flash of his dark eyes betrays that he has no need to
do so. There is no impassable gulf here between high
and low born, no helot-bred menial race marked with
an abject inferiority, physical, mental, and moral, by the
ruthless inbreeding of generations. Beneath an outward
veneer of self-control there is a deal of the
unbridled, unbroken master man of the Middle Ages
left in this population. The slums of Constantinople
have before now sent forth lovers for queens
and wives for emperors. The Greek valet has the
same pride in his veins as the more highly placed, for
people in his humble station of life, men and women
alike, still possess that sense of unsubdued personality
the loss of which is one of the dark shadows which
cloud our more “civilized” communities. There may
be little education or character here in the conventional
sense, and not overmuch reliability perhaps in
// 217.png
.pn +1
any sense, but there is plenty of unrestrained human
nature. This it is which the high-born lady pines and
sighs for, and when she leaves Constantinople she will
take her Greek servant with her, to while away the
time for her and enliven the dreary surroundings of
her aristocratic home, for she has grown to loathe the
sight of her uninteresting money-grabbing husband
with his sordid interests.

Each nationality, except such as belong to the
artisan class, keeps more or less to itself in the
Turkish capital and has its separate cliques. The
English merchant class long resident in Turkey make
an exception in associating and occasionally intermingling
with the better Greek families. This exclusiveness
is partly a result of the insurmountable
barrier of language, so that Europeans may live in
Constantinople for years without coming into contact
with a Turk above the status of an arabadji.
My friend Hugo Avellis was an exception to this rule.
Few Europeans had mixed more with other nationalities,
more especially with Turks of every class, in
the course of a residence of thirty years in Constantinople.
What he did not know about Constantinople,
the habits, customs, and ways of thinking of its
inhabitants, was not worth knowing. Many are the
pleasant hours I used to spend listening to his
stories and gaining information from him on subjects
which were far more interesting to me than
the dancing or howling dervishes, the gossip of
drawing-rooms in Pera, or the intrigues of the Palace
or the Embassies.
// 218.png
.pn +1

A German by birth, educated at one of the excellent
Berlin classic gymnasia, Avellis, like many of his
countrymen, had already become acclimatized in the
land of his adoption. He retained, however, an inborn
instinct for thoroughness in his vocation, and
with this a strong love of literature, mingled with a
thoroughly German idealism in its sanest and best
acceptation. German thus by thoroughness and intellectual
interests, he had become almost a Turk in
his humane recognition and love of his fellow-men.
“Bravo!” he would impulsively exclaim on hearing of
a generous action.

“If you would judge of the fibre of a man,” says a
French aphorist, “inquire of his dentist.” This dictum
applies equally to the doctor or surgeon; and my
friend’s experiences as a member of the Red Cross
during the Russo-Turkish campaign gave him rare
opportunities for observing the Turk there, where he
is seen at his best: in his silence, in his capacity for
patient suffering and self-denial. Avellis was present
at the siege of Plevna. He saw the harrowing scenes
depicted by the brush of Vereschagin, and witnessed
the surrender of Ghazi Osman to the Russians. He
came to Constantinople after the war, where his
business as maker of surgical instruments, together
with the practical experience of surgery gained in the
field hospitals during the war, brought him from time
to time into contact with all classes of the community,
from Imperial Princes and Grand Viziers, the present
Sultan included, down to the humble water-carrier.
Even the mysteries of the harem are not quite hidden
// 219.png
.pn +1
from those of his calling. The high-class Turks value a
fellow-man independently of his station in life, and
often honour him with their confidence, though his
social status be far beneath their own. The “medicine
man” in particular has often played a great part
in Eastern intrigue. Dr. Mavrogeni, the Sultan’s
physician in the seventies, was not without political
influence. He intrigued against the German Ambassador,
Count Hatzfeldt, and fell into disgrace in
consequence.

Avellis spoke Turkish fluently, though unable to
read its written characters. He was a good Latin
scholar, and was familiar with both ancient and
modern Greek. With the devotion of a Hellenist he
loved to quote Homer in both versions. He also
spoke French, Russian, English, Roumanian, and
Hungarian, his wife being a native of Hungary. With
such opportunities and accomplishments he became a
rare judge of the Turk and a reliable guide to the
intricacies of Oriental life. I see him still in the
Passage Oriental, abutting on the Grande Rue de
Pera, in his little shop, over the doorway of which a
large signboard announced that he was “By Special
Appointment Purveyor of Surgical Instruments to his
Imperial Majesty the Sultan.”

Quite a queer and characteristic nook of Constantinople
is this Passage Oriental, in which from early
morn is heard the cry of the huckster, the
zazavatij, selling vegetables, and, in the autumn,
luscious grapes and oranges; the fishmonger extolling
his red mullet, mackerel, turbot, and swordfish.
// 220.png
.pn +1
Opposite Avellis’ shop was a branch of the
French post office, on the top floor of which a
French dressmaker plied her trade and flirted with
the Greek tailor and also with the Greek barber,
both of whom had their establishments a few doors
off. Nor must I forget the French book-shop, to
which came the Perote lady to buy the latest
French novels on the sly.

I follow Avellis upstairs into his old-fashioned,
musty consulting-room, his sanctum—whither his
patients of both sexes (veiled Turkish ladies with the
rest) came to consult “Monsieur le Docteur”—with
its mysterious bottles in which sundry medical viscera
were preserved in spirits of wine, its cases of
stuffed birds, and its aquarium. Two photographs of
an Albanian peasant hung on the wall, one showing
him deprived of his upper lip, the other with
artificial nose and moustache supplied by Avellis by
order of the Sultan, who subsequently took this man
and many others into his service in the Palace after
they had been mutilated by Christian Montenegrins in
the great struggle of 1876.

When driving or walking through the city on a
Sunday afternoon with Avellis, it used to surprise me
to see the number of people who returned his greeting.
Among them were some of the highest personages in
the land, and their marked cordiality was in striking
contrast to the treatment usually meted out in Europe
to those of an inferior class.

Sauntering along the Grande Rue de Pera with
him one Sunday afternoon, we were passed by a
// 221.png
.pn +1
State carriage, drawn by two magnificent black horses,
with that rich gilt harness peculiar to the Imperial
family. It contained the present Sultan of Turkey,
at that time, by force of circumstances, a do-nothing
Prince under strict police and Palace spy surveillance,
but by no means an indoor prisoner, as was currently
reported. Avellis knew the Prince well, and gave me
an interesting account of his sadness, his all-absorbing
care and anxiety regarding the future of his country,
his kind-hearted benevolence, and his unassuming simplicity
of manner and character. Carried away by
his admiration for the man, Avellis demonstratively
took off his hat as the Prince drove past, who returned
the unusual attention with evident satisfaction, though
both actions were almost sure to have been noticed by
spies and reported to the Palace: a proceeding which
might well result in Avellis receiving a broad hint
that a “Purveyor of Surgical Instruments to his
Imperial Majesty the Sultan” must be more careful
in future in the choosing of his friends.

It is true that all these people might have been
brought into contact with Avellis through business;
but it was not only business. “C’est un brave
homme,” say Turks and Rajahs alike. This in itself
is sufficient to secure for a man the respect and goodwill
of his fellow-citizens, even though he may not
have five pounds in the world to call his own. And
here it is only fair to mention that the Christian and
Jewish population in Constantinople join with Mohammedans
in paying respect to personal character. I
have seen a crowd of hundreds of people—more than
// 222.png
.pn +1
would be likely with us to be present at the funeral of
many a man of worth and learning—follow one to
his last resting-place, although during his lifetime all
that could have been said of him was, “C’est un brave
homme.”
// 223.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XII||THE TURK AND HIS CREED
.sp 2
.pm ch-hd-start
Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee
Corruption wins not more than honesty.
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace
To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not:
Let all the ends thou aim’st at be thy country’s,
Thy God’s, and truth’s; then if thou fall’st....
Thou fall’st a blessed martyr.
.rj
<sc>Shakespeare</sc>, <i>Henry VIII</i>
.pm ch-hd-end
.sp 2
.ni
<sc>As</sc> I indite these pages, the rule of the Turk seems to
be irrevocably destined to pass from Europe, not in
consequence of his religious fanaticism, even less on
account of his supposed cruelty, but owing to a feature
of the Turkish character which is shared by other
races whose instincts are in perpetual conflict with the
modern surroundings of their existence. The North
American Indian cannot be converted from habits
engendered in the past. In a lesser degree the same
may be said of the Celt in conflict with the Anglo-Saxon,
and the Slav with the Teuton. In spite of a
dominion of centuries in Europe, the Turk is still in
his heart, and even in his habits, an Asiatic, and not
only an Asiatic, but an Asiatic of a peculiar type—a
born horseman with little aptitude for plodding,
sedentary occupations, herein displaying marked
// 224.png
.pn +1
divergence from the highly cultivated Chinese and
Japanese.
.pi
In the most recent development of affairs in the
Near East there is indeed something pathetic in the
evident yearning of the Turk to turn towards his
home—Asia. Instinctively his longing is directed
towards the East, the resting-place where he may
hope to be unmolested.

Professor Vambéry, writing to me under date
November 12, 1912,[#] says: “The fate of our poor
Turkish friends is sealed. They will get rid of
the cumbersome European ballast, and it is to be
wished that they should be able to recuperate in Asia,
where they cannot be replaced by any other Moslem
nation. Their collapse in Europe was inevitable,
and it is only the suddenness of the fall which has
surprised me.”

.pm fn-start // 1
See Appendix, p. #284#.
.pm fn-end

But even if we accept the view that the Turk is
by nature something of a nomad, and as such
has never been much else than a stranger, an Asiatic
in Europe, this should not deter us from recognizing
the sterling human qualities which every unbiased
foreigner who has visited the country must have
observed as innate in the Turks as a people, and
which mark the best of all classes.

And yet, with their minds centred on material
aims, immersed in the humdrum conditions of
life which this all-absorbing activity indicates,
accustomed to subdue their feelings until many
of them have lost the faculty of expressing, let
// 225.png
.pn +1
alone giving way to, strong passion, how difficult
it is for Europeans to form an idea, to realize what
unrestrained human passions are like when they flare
up in fierce hearts, and to make allowance for them.
This must be more particularly the case when they
are called into play by those traditional antagonisms
of race to which many of the harrowing tragedies
of the East are due; for other forms of crime, or
rather instigations to crime, are probably fewer
among the Turks than among Europeans. I was
once a witness to a desperate encounter between some
Montenegrins and Greeks in a German beer-house in
Pera, and the memory of the diabolical fury of the
Montenegrins is still present to my mind, together
with the quiet self-control of the proprietor, an old
Prussian soldier of ’66 and of ’70, who at last succeeded
in calming the disputants. The passionate hatreds of
the Near East are practically unknown to us.

With due reservation regarding these fierce outbursts,
commonly, but in my humble opinion most
unjustly, attributed to religious fanaticism, I am
still of opinion that the Turk is far from being
inclined by nature to cruelty. His kind treatment
of animals, of horses and dogs, and of the birds
in the air, which he takes no pleasure in shooting,
speaks volumes for the humane attributes of the
Turk, whose deep attachment to his own family
and kindness to dependents nobody who knows the
East can call into question. For instance, English
governesses in Turkish families are treated with such
consideration that they endeavour to avoid meeting
// 226.png
.pn +1
their own countrymen and countrywomen, for fear
that the difference in our treatment of dependents
should expose them to humiliation in the eyes of their
Turkish masters and mistresses.

As regards the accusation of fanaticism and
intolerance so liberally levelled against the Turk,
what are we to say to the incontrovertible fact
that the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem has been
under the protection of Turkish soldiers for centuries,
and that no instance has ever been put on record of
sacrilege or desecration at their hands, or could have
been, since the Koran prescribes veneration for Christ
and everything appertaining to our Saviour? How
does this fit in by contrast with the record of rapine
and destruction which all through the Reformation
marked the struggles between Roman Catholics and
Protestants, not only on the Continent of Europe,
but also in England and Scotland, where, for instance,
the ruins of the Cathedral of St. Andrews bespeak
savage passions which are not extirpated even to-day
from the hearts of many so-called Christians? Is it
not a fact that only a few years ago, when the
Eucharistic Congress was being held in London, the
British Government could not see its way to allow the
Host to be paraded through the streets of Westminster,
whilst in Constantinople, on the day of Corpus Christi,
the Host is borne through the streets escorted by
Turkish Mohammedan soldiers? The dead of the
Orthodox Greek Church are publicly exposed to view,
a proceeding not allowed in Greece. Only a short time
ago the dead body of their Archbishop, attired in his
// 227.png
.pn +1
full robes, seated in his Archiepiscopal chair, was
paraded through the streets and followed by a crowd
of Greek prelates, accompanied and protected by
Turkish soldiery. This happened whilst fierce war
was raging between Greek and Turk, without a voice
being raised by the Turks to deprecate a religious
ceremony being held in public by enemies of their
faith and country, and belonging to a creed which the
Turks are supposed to loathe and detest.

The very words “The Terrible Turk,” with their
grim alliteration, seem to flow naturally from our
tongue, without ever suggesting the thought that the
Turk might be more than justified in applying the
epithet to others. The Anglo-Saxon pesters him with
his missionary activity, the Italian has robbed him of
Tripoli, the Greek has annexed Crete and several
islands, the latter-day German intrudes upon him
with his noisy presence and his pestering commercial-traveller
instincts, but above all the terrible Russian
silently hovers ready to swoop on his country like
some huge bird of prey.

The European, at least of the English-speaking
world, who visits Constantinople for the first time
usually arrives with extraordinary preconceptions
regarding the mysterious ways, the cruelty and
fanaticism of the Turk. If he be one of the open-minded
few, a prolonged residence in Turkey will
usually suffice to banish his previous opinions, to
inspire him with sympathy, and to make him marvel
how it could have been possible to harbour such false
notions regarding a people and a country concerning
// 228.png
.pn +1
which the average European knows so little. For
there can be no doubt that our early training, the one-sided
ideas of our youth due to clerical teaching from
generation to generation, are the main causes of our
conception of the Turks as cruel and depraved. Who
of us has not been shocked as a boy in visiting the
Chamber of Horrors at Madame Tussaud’s and viewing
the array of coloured prints depicting the horrible
tortures said to have been inflicted upon dishonest
traders in Turkey?[#] Well might Turkish Ambassadors
have protested long ago against this
method of prejudicing the English mind against
Turkey, as Bismarck did in Paris, after the 1870 war,
against the public exhibition of M. Edouard Détaille’s
well-known picture, “Nos Vainqueurs,” which was
removed in consequence. But the Turk is accustomed
to suffer wrong in silence, and, as far as I know, has
never complained officially.

.pm fn-start // 1
As far as I recollect no explanation is vouchsafed with these
drawings that they refer to the Turkey of the past. Hence the likelihood
that many a cockney visiting Madame Tussauds goes away with
the impression that they treat of Turkish practices of to-day.
.pm fn-end

The mystery attached to polygamy, our imaginary
ideas concerning the position of Turkish women and
the harem, may also have a great deal to do with our
prejudice against the Turks.

We are taught in our youth to look upon the
Crusades as expeditions undertaken to protect the
Tomb of Christ from the desecrating hands of the
Infidel. Serious historians are no longer under any
delusion as to the political character of the Crusades.
// 229.png
.pn +1
Thus if the Sacred Sepulchre was ever endangered
by the Turks, how came it to pass that it was not
destroyed long before the Christians ever reached Jerusalem?
Is it not an historical fact that Jerusalem was in
the possession of the Turks for centuries before the
idea of protecting the Holy Sepulchre ever occurred
to the Popes? If the Crusades were justified as
undertaken for the protection of the Christians against
the Turks, how came it to pass that so few Christians
in the East ever joined the Crusades? From what we
know of Christian fanatical intolerance, even down to
comparatively recent periods, is it not rather more than
likely, supposing the Holy Sepulchre had been situated
in a Christian country, that its very site would long ago
have been obliterated?

In the course of my various visits to Constantinople
I used often to look up my kind friend Ahmed
Midhat Effendi, and our many conversations, always
fraught with instruction for me, embraced every
imaginable subject. They turned especially upon the
Mohammedan religion and the attitude of Christianity
towards Islam, not merely in our time, but throughout
past centuries. It needed no great powers of
persuasion to convince me that the European frame of
mind towards the Mohammedan world must needs be
the outcome of a one-sided version of events. How
could it be otherwise in view of the inaccessibility of
the records of Mohammedan history? Thus Lessing’s
drama of “Nathan the Wise,” and the portrayal of
Sultan Saladin as the ideal type of chivalry and
religious tolerance, struck the Western world at the
// 230.png
.pn +1
time as a revelation. To-day no serious person who
has given the slightest attention to the subject can
doubt that, whatever may have been the policy of
aggression of the great Moslem conquerors, the spirit of
Islam was one of broad religious tolerance at a time
when such a quality was practically non-existent in
Europe. When Sultan Selim proposed to offer the
Christian population of his dominions the alternative
of embracing Islam or expatriation—or, if you will,
extermination—it was the Sheikh ul Islam who
appealed to the precepts of the Koran prescribing
the duty of the Sultan to protect and safeguard his
subjects, whatever their faith, which prevented Selim
from carrying out his intention. It was thus owing
in a large measure to the Koran that the Christian
population in Asiatic and European Turkey was protected
and enabled to prosper in days when no
European public opinion could have possibly intervened
on its behalf. While the Turk was thus practising
religious tolerance Jews were burnt at the
stake in Christian Spain; the most intelligent portion
of the inhabitants of France, the Huguenots, were
being persecuted for their faith and driven from their
homes by Louis XIV, and in England the penalty
of death awaited the priest who dared to say Mass.

These are weighty historical facts, without fully and
constantly realizing which it is practically impossible
for a Christian born and bred to be fair to the
Mohammedan Turk, and approach the study of his
customs and character in an impartial spirit.

Ahmed Midhat, in drawing my attention to a recent
// 231.png
.pn +1
publication concerning the conduct towards Christians
prescribed by the Koran for Mohammedans, wrote to
me some years ago as follows:

“I do not know whether this document will be
sufficient to bring home to you the calumny which the
Christian world launches at us, in attributing to us a
hatred for everything that is not Mohammedan, and
more particularly for Christianity and Christians as
such. But if you believe in my honesty, accept my
assurance, tendered on my oath as a devout
Mohammedan, on my honour as a gentleman, that
such hatred has never existed among us....

“Quite recently I read Count de Castries’ excellent
book on the Islam faith.[#] De Castries is an old
French officer who has lived many years in the Algerian
deserts, and has become almost an Arab himself in
language, habits, and even in religion. I call his book
excellent not merely because it is favourable to us,
but because it reveals the attitude of the Christian
world towards Islamism. I recommend you strongly
to read it. But before you do so, I would like to
tell you that we Mohammedans have never produced a
single poet or prophet in the East who has written
against Christianity and Christians in the spirit of
those thousand abominations in which the Italian,
French, and Spanish troubadours sang of Islam. You
will not find a single line in all our literature of the kind
such as the hundreds cited by De Castries from Christian
writers, and which justly arouse his indignation.
// 232.png
.pn +1
I do not exaggerate, my dear friend, I merely tell you
the naked truth. You can defy the Christian world
to cite, not a single Mohammedan writer, but a single
line in the whole of our popular literature which could
inspire hatred of the Christian. Even the wars of the
Crusades, which lasted through centuries, were powerless
to change the sentiment of tolerance towards the
Christian world, a sentiment for ever rooted in the
spirit of the Koran—the Word of God revealed by His
Hadis (the words of the Prophet) and by the legislation
of His Imams the so-called Cheriat.

.pm fn-start // 1
“L’Islam: Impressions et Études.” Par le Comte Henri de
Castries. Paris: Armand Colin.
.pm fn-end

“The hatred which the Christian world attributes
so gratuitously to us is only the reflection of its own
animosity towards us. The centuries which have
elapsed since the Renaissance have been unable to
efface this hatred from the spirit of Christianity. It
is now half a century since Orientalists of different
countries have been doing their best to eradicate these
voluntary errors, and to spread the truth with regard
to Islamism; but they have not been able to change
the old Christian antagonism with regard to us. The
last Græco-Turkish war fully demonstrated this.
‘Cet animal est bien méchant. Quand on l’attaque il
se défend!’ Our legitimate defence against unprovoked
aggression was accounted a crime because the
aggressors were Christians and according to the words
of the mediæval troubadours we are the ‘Adorers of
Moham.’

“I see that thoughtful minds, such as Father
Hyacinthe, Draper, Carlyle, and others, are supposed
to have investigated the tenets of Islamism. Is it
// 233.png
.pn +1
really possible to make serious investigations into
what you have been accustomed to look upon as a
‘multitude of contradictory and false[#] conceptions—the
barbarous ideas of a false Prophet, the sanguinary
aspirations of a barbarian’?

.pm fn-start // 1
That this outburst is not entirely unprovoked or unjustified
seems to be proved by an extract from a public speech of the late Lord
Salisbury, in which he spoke of England’s antagonist in Egypt as
representing “the most hideous side of barbarism which a false religion
can produce”—this religion (the Mohammedan) being that of sixty
millions of British subjects.
.pm fn-end

“And here I would say: The time for these
blackguardisms, the fashion for these blasphemies, has
passed. We live to-day in an age when everything
has to submit to the process of analysis. We no longer
rest satisfied with abstract ideas or despotic dicta.
We insist upon the results of exact observation and
study; we ask for concrete, logical judgment. You
must study the Mohammedan faith; you must institute
a fair, well-balanced comparison between our
creed and other religions before you are in a position
to judge, much less to condemn. Is such a comparison
feasible? To my mind it is a task of supreme
difficulty, and yet without an attempt in that direction
it is impossible to be fair and unbiased towards
the Mohammedan world.”

An accusation against Islam which Midhat resented
more than any other was its supposed antagonism to
letters and learning, an accusation which, by the way,
is sufficiently refuted by the history of the Moors in
Spain. In this connexion Midhat used to cite the
following words of the Koran: “Advance with your
// 234.png
.pn +1
lances in order to make room for your pens”—the
term for “lance” and “pen” being identical in Arabic.
The Koran thus intended to convey the idea that warlike
advance was only to make way for opportunities
of culture and enlightenment.

Talking one day to Midhat on these and kindred
matters, I said:

“Midhat, they tell me at a certain Embassy that
you are a fanatical old Turk who hates the stranger
within the gates; though, to be frank with you, if I
were a Turk, I too should hate them with a vengeance,
after all the uncharitable things they say about
Turkey.”

“And I tell you,” replied Midhat, “that you have
only to read up the unbiased records of our history to
learn that tolerance is the very basis of our conduct.
Does not the word of Mohammed tell us: ‘Whosoever
does wrong unto a Christian or a Jew shall find me as
his accuser on the Day of Judgment’? Do not the
Jews and the Mohammedans keep the same fasts and
almost the same festivals? The principal difference I
detect between them and us is that the Jews do not
believe in Christ or Mohammed; whereas the Mohammedans
believe in Moses, Christ, and the Prophets.

“The history of the Crusades (which has long since
been, so to speak, a monopoly of the Christian world)
is the greatest source of injustice to the Saracens.
To-day it is acknowledged by those experts who have
investigated this vast subject that the Christians
domiciled in the East rarely made common cause with
the Crusaders, and that those who did so were not
// 235.png
.pn +1
molested by the Saracens after the withdrawal of the
former. When the Crusaders of the Third Crusade
got as far as Constantinople they found that the
Byzantine Emperor and his Christian subjects were in
close alliance with the Saracens. History relates that
instead of directing their efforts against the Saracens,
the Crusaders on more than one occasion fell out
among themselves and robbed the Greeks. In fact,
wherever the Crusaders went they brought rapine and
seduction with them. Neither do we ever hear how
it came to pass that the Christians in Asia never
joined the Crusaders against the Saracens or assisted
them in any way. Thus we are bound to assume
that as far as their religion is concerned the Christian
population was, at least at that time, not molested by
the Mohammedans.

“I tell you that a Christian place of worship has
never been desecrated by a Turk, except, as at the
taking of Constantinople, during the heat of battle.
And for this very simple reason: that the Koran
expressly lays down that a Christian church is sacred
as an edifice devoted to God, and must be respected
as such. You yourself have had ample opportunity of
seeing that this injunction has been strictly carried
out in the past by the untouched condition of the
many Christian monasteries on the road between
Trebizond and Erzeroum. You can see it even in
Constantinople to-day, where many mosques which
were formerly Greek churches still show the images of
Christian saints on the walls restored to-day, as they
were over 500 years ago, notably in the Kaarie
// 236.png
.pn +1
Mosque.[#] The fresco images of the saints of the
Byzantine Church look down from the walls upon the
Mohammedan worshippers.

.pm fn-start // 1
Midhat Effendi himself took me over this particular mosque
during one of my visits to Constantinople.
.pm fn-end

“As a matter of fact, it is wonderful to me how
little differentiates the Moslem faith from the tenets
of Christianity. It is true we do not accept the
Trinity, but neither was it accepted as a dogma by
the Evangelists; indeed, it is never once mentioned
in the Old or New Testament. Also, at the Council of
Nicæa (<sc>A.D.</sc> 325) only two hundred priests, backed
by Constantine the Great, accepted this doctrine,
but two thousand two hundred priests refused to
subscribe to it.

“We Mohammedans accept Jesus as the Son of
God. We also believe in the Holy Virgin. Indeed,
in more than one respect the Mohammedans deviate
little in their faith from the old Arian Christians of
the period of Nestorius, Patriarch of Constantinople
in the year 400 <sc>A.D.</sc> It is only within living memory
that in self-defence Mohammedans have entered into
a polemical contest with the Christian world. Even
the notorious Lebanon troubles had little or nothing
to do with religion and intolerance as such. They
were almost entirely political in origin and character.”

In a conversation which I had in November 1904
with Ahmed Midhat, he gave me the following explanation
with regard to the creed of Islam:

“Je crois à un seul Dieu et ses anges et
ses livres sacrés et ses Prophètes, et que le Bonheur
// 237.png
.pn +1
et le Malheur viennent de lui. Jésus est parmi eux
et qu’au dernier jour il sera là comme intercède auprès
de Dieu. Nous ne demandons rien de Mahomet.
Nous ne nous prosternons pas devant lui; il n’est pas
notre idole. Il a besoin de nous. Nous prions Dieu
pour son salut dans l’autre monde. Il est notre précepteur,
notre Socrate. Pour devenir Mussulman il y
a deux phrases qu’il faut citer et croire:

“(1) La ilahe illa Allah: Il n’y a Dieu que Dieu—Allah.
Il n’est digne d’être adoré que Dieu.

“(2) Mohammadune ressoul Allah: Mahomet est
son prophète.”

.tb

Thus far Ahmed Midhat, who at least was[#] sincere,
living as he preached, according to the laws of
Mohammed. He was one of the living forces of the
Islamic world, whose name was known and honoured
throughout Asiatic Turkey, as I had opportunity to
convince myself in the fastnesses of Kurdistan, and
have already related.

.pm fn-start // 1
Since this was first drafted I have been obliged to alter it into
the past tense. For a letter I recently addressed to my friend comes
back to me through the British Post Office at Constantinople, with
the word “deceased” stamped upon it. When and how Ahmed
Midhat passed away I know not; but were he alive I feel sure that
the misfortunes of his beloved country would soon have broken his
big but childlike heart.
.pm fn-end

Fortunately, the Christian world is not quite so
blind to the human side of Mohammedanism as
Midhat imagined. The late Sir Richard Burton—than
whom no European possessed a keener insight
into Oriental life—was once asked by a friend what
// 238.png
.pn +1
creed he professed. He made the following reply:
“I profess no creed; but if you ask me what I am,
I would say more nearly Mohammedan than anything
else. There is something sterling in that religion.
The Mohammedans do what they profess, which is
more than most Christians do.” I for one believe
that it is this sincerity which is the source of Turkish
courage and Turkish dignity in misfortune.

Not only difference of religion, but the Oriental
form of government explains the antagonistic attitude
of the Western world towards Turkey and her
Sovereign. As Khalif of Islam, the Sultan, according
to Ahmed Midhat, comes in for the ill-will harboured
unconsciously for centuries towards Islam by the
Christian world. As an autocrat he also incurs the
jealous displeasure of a rival Power—not the King of
England nor the President of the United States, but
the real governing despots of England and America—the
easily excited passions of the masses; far more
powerful, more prejudiced and intolerant than any
ruling Sovereign in our time. This is indirectly proved
by the fact that hatred of the Turk has manifested itself
most passionately in those countries in which public
opinion, with all its ignorance of other lands,
ministered to by a sensational Press, is most powerful.
Neither Scandinavia, Germany, Italy, nor France shares
this bias to the same degree; and yet who would
assert that they are not intelligent, educated communities
imbued with high standards of conduct? For
many years past these passions have been fed by those
who have had an interest in fanning them into open
// 239.png
.pn +1
flame. According to Napoleon I, a lie needs but
twenty-four hours’ start in order to become immortal.
What are the chances of dispassionate truth when the
start is one not of hours, but of generations?

The Turk may continue to deny officially this or that;
but who reads with an open mind what he has to say
for himself? Only those who have seen with their
own eyes—such men as Burton, Gordon, Hobart,
and the late Admiral Commerell—have been
fair-minded towards the Turk. The wealthiest men
throughout the Turkish Empire are Greeks and
Armenians; and yet we are asked to believe that
these Christians, who probably own three-fourths of
the real estate in the Turkish Empire, are sufferers
under a grasping despotism!

On one occasion I was conversing with the
chairman of the Ottoman Bank, Sir Edgar Vincent,
who has since resigned and returned to England.
He was tired of Constantinople. An Englishman of
social tastes, he lacked congenial intercourse in
Turkey. But one thing he told me he felt he
should miss terribly in returning to Europe—the
extraordinary freedom in Turkey! And as if by
the irony of fate, it is this very liberty, this tolerance
in Turkey which has powerfully contributed to
the downfall of the Turk in Europe. For it is from
Robert College, the Christian educational institution
on the Bosphorus, which owes its very existence to
the tolerance and benevolent munificence of successive
Sultans that a number of Christian subjects
of Turkey have gone forth into journalism and
// 240.png
.pn +1
persistently blackened the character of the Turks and
their ruler.

The following testimony to the spirit of Turkish
tolerance was handed to me the last time I was at
Constantinople by a distinguished fellow-countryman.
I transcribe it here as it seems but natural
that evidence from such a source should carry more
weight than that of even the most unsophisticated
Mohammedan:

“All religions are tolerated by the law of Turkey,
and those who profess them are granted the fullest
liberty to practise them. The only conditions exacted
by the State are that each religious body must be
duly authorized and that a responsible chief must be
appointed, with whom the Government can treat in
case of need.

“These spiritual heads enjoy several very remarkable
privileges. They are ex-officio members of the Councils
of the Provinces and Communes in which they live,
and are thus enabled to protect the interests and
rights, spiritual and temporal, of the members of the
communion.

“The internal administration of all matters spiritual
and temporal connected with their respective communities
is entrusted by the Turkish law to the
jurisdiction of the Patriarch, Grand Rabbi, Vekel, or
Sheikh, as the case may be. They are also members
of the Grand Council of the nation sitting at Constantinople,
which regulates and prescribes the rights
of the various communities.

“The communities recognized by the State, and which
// 241.png
.pn +1
enjoy the privileges I have named as well as perfect
liberty, are the following:
.sp 2
“1. Orthodox Turks, Orthodox Bulgarians, Armenians,
Syrians, Jacobites, Copts, and Chaldean Nestorians.

“2. Rites in communion with Rome, viz. Latin
Catholics, Uniate Armenians, Uniate or Melchite
Greeks, Uniate Chaldeans, Uniate Syrians, Uniate
Copts, Uniate Bulgarians and Maronites.

“3. Protestants of every description—Anglicans,
Presbyterians, English and American Methodists,
Baptists, etc.

“4. Four different types of Jews, five of Metoualis,
and six of Druses.
.sp 2
“The Moslem finds it most difficult to understand
and distinguish the difference between the to him
amazing variety of sects all professing the Christian
faith; this is one of the causes of the sterility of
Christian missions in the East. The Turk lumps
them together as <i>giaours</i> and regards them all with
contemptuous indifference, wondering, indeed, why
they did not remain in their own countries to
convert each other, or at least to arrive at a common
agreement as to what is the Christian faith before
thrusting their antagonistic creeds upon the contented
Moslem. Nevertheless, he is very tolerant of what he
considers their eccentricities, and provides a guard
at the Holy Sepulchre at Eastertide to prevent the
Greek and Latin Christians from massacring one
another for the love of God.
// 242.png
.pn +1

“In travelling through Palestine they are as
free as in any of our Indian provinces. The laws
may not be perfect—very few are—but they are
found adequate in most cases to protect life and property.
It is true that they were not always so.
About a hundred years ago, and, indeed, until the
middle of the nineteenth century, there was as little
liberty in Turkey for the Christians as there is at the
present day in Russia except for the Orthodox Greeks.
But all that has long been changed in the Ottoman
Empire. Seventy years ago Sultan Mahmoud thus
publicly expressed himself:

“‘I desire that in future a Moslem shall only be
distinguished as such at his mosque, the Christian at
his church, and the Jew at his synagogue.’

“In these words he manifested his intention to regenerate
the Empire by the complete emancipation
and assimilation of the races under his rule; he
announced the inauguration of a new era of reform.
But it was his son and successor, Abdul Medjid, who
actually introduced the new system, the ‘Tanzimat,’
by the proclamation of the ‘Hatti-Sherif of Gulhanè’
on November 9, 1839. This was followed by the
establishment of the Criminal Code in 1840 and the
Commercial Code in 1850. Both of these were chiefly
based upon the Code Napoléon and have worked well.
But the most important enactment of all was the
publication of the firman of 1854 which guaranteed
the perfect equality of Christians and Moslems before
the law. These were the first-fruits of the Sultan’s
efforts to carry into effect the reforms promised by the
// 243.png
.pn +1
Hatti-Sherif of Gulhanè. The next stage of the
Tanzimat was reached after the Crimean war by the
Hatti-Humayoun of 1856, which extended the reforms
to the civil and military administrations, etc.” Thus
far the authority I have quoted.

When we bear in mind the conservative nature
of Orientals generally and their hatred of any departure
from their national practices and traditions, it is
truly wonderful that the changes brought about in the
internal constitution of the Empire by these decrees
have not resulted in a violent upheaval of the Moslem
population. It is a remarkable proof of the respect
and veneration in which the Sultan is held by his subjects
that they should have submitted so peacefully to
such a startling revolution in their national life.

It is most unlikely that any other nation would
endure for a moment the encroachment on its status,
the abuse of its hospitality, which the Turks have long
submitted to at the hands of different European
nations. No other nation would, in the long run,
allow foreign newspaper correspondents to perpetrate
the misrepresentations which have been indulged
in for years past at Constantinople, unless, as in
England, it felt it could afford to ignore calumny.
One thing, however, is certain, that neither in
France, Germany, Austria, nor Russia would the
persistent campaign of misrepresentation which was
carried on for years by foreigners enjoying the
hospitality of the Turks, paying no taxes and in some
cases making their fortunes in Turkey, be tolerated.
All the above-mentioned countries can furnish
// 244.png
.pn +1
cases in which foreign newspaper men have been summarily
ordered to leave the country within a few hours
for comparatively trivial offences. In the United
States foreign journalists of such a type would probably
find more serious consequences await them than mere
banishment. No less noteworthy are the disgraceful
facts connected with the promiscuous naturalization
of Turkish subjects. Thus when I was in Constantinople
in 1897, it was openly stated that the Greek
Envoy, Prince Mavrocordato, in order to reward a man
who carried his gun for him during a shooting expedition,
made him a present of a Greek naturalization
paper. The latter thus became a Greek subject, and as
such entitled to all the immunities which foreigners
have been entitled to under the well-known Capitulations,
thanks to the easy-going tolerance of the Turks.
The Armenians, being the most cunning of the
Christian subjects of the Sultan, are the most successful
in perpetrating these naturalization frauds, now
and then with the connivance of foreign Powers.

In the course of my many visits to Constantinople
I have repeatedly been made acquainted with instances
of questionable newspaper correspondents who came
up to the Palace with the scarcely veiled intimation
that it was to be a case of pay or slander. During
the Armenian disturbances in 1896 a French female
journalist went up to the Palace and openly declared
that she intended to be paid or to write up “atrocities.”

Such are a few of the influences which have been at
work to cause trouble in the Turkish Empire, and such
the basis upon which is founded the most hypocritical
// 245.png
.pn +1
agitation known the world over, that of the Russians
in favour of their Christian “brethren” in Turkey.
Who that has visited Russia as well as Turkey,
and has a spark of fairness left in his composition,
would not cry out in indignation at the hypocrisy
of it?

No wonder Turks are loth to become reconciled to a
state of things which none but this ever-patient race
would have put up with so long, and have turned for
sympathy to others who, whatever their selfish motives,
have been less tainted with these intrigues against the
laws of hospitality and common decency.
// 246.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIII||TURKISH TRAITS
.sp 2
.pm ch-hd-start
A jewel in a ten-times-barred-up chest
Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
.rj
<sc>Shakespeare</sc>
.pm ch-hd-end
.sp 2
.ni
<sc>There</sc> would seem to be two distinct strains of
character influencing principle and conduct in the
Turks. The one is that of the Turanian, the conquering
Asiatic as typified, even before the Christian
era, in a Mithridates, and subsequently in Attila,
Tamerlane, Timur, Ghingiz Khan. The other is that of
the Arab, whose code of life is contained in the
teaching of Islam, with its gospel of placability and
charity. Sultan Selim I represented the one in causing
40,000 Schiites to be exterminated. It is related that
when he proposed to convert by force or exterminate
the Christian population of his dominions, he was
opposed, as already mentioned, by the Arab element in
the person of the Sheikh ul Islam, who exhorted him
to remember that Mohammed inculcated the duty
of protecting, not harming, the Christians. These
antagonistic currents were blended most harmoniously
in the person of the renowned Saladin
of Crusading fame. Down to the present day the
Turks have instinctively recognized this duality and
// 247.png
.pn +1
accepted it in the person of the Sultan, whilst they
themselves have adhered to the teaching of Mohammed
and by it regulated their own conduct. This explains
why the Turkish people view the irresponsible acts, the
extravagances, and the severities of their rulers so
leniently as rightly appertaining to their exalted
position; whereas the Turk himself is remarkably free
from such tendencies. It explains their appreciation
of the hard-working, industrious qualities of their
Sultan as these were typified in Abdul Hamid, and
their contempt for a lazy Sovereign like Abdul Aziz,
though they themselves as a people rather incline to the
indolence of a tranquil and contemplative life. Only
when roused beyond endurance, excited and perplexed,
is the Turk galvanized into quick action and apt to be
resentful and cruel. Great crises find him placid and
calm. The vast mass of the Mohammedan people is
deeply imbued with its own code of ethics, and carries
it into practice with a single-minded sincerity to which
it would be difficult to find a parallel. From this
point of view the Turk may be considered not so much
“worldly” as “other-worldly.”
.pi
A deal of the mental acumen which with us is directed
towards business and the accumulation of wealth is
devoted in the case of the Turks to other and higher
objects. While wealth and worldly position are our
aims, and failure to achieve either spells life bankruptcy,
the Turk appreciates conduct and good deeds as
expounded in the Koran above everything else.
According to Guglielmo Ferrero, “the Moslem can
never pardon the unlimited materialism of Europeans.”
// 248.png
.pn +1
Right conduct in all the situations of life is
impressed upon him by the law of Mohammed, and in
this respect the Moslem is more removed from European
thought than in any other, inasmuch as there is a
harmony between his precepts and his practice. He
sees the stranger bowing down to rank and worldly
position, whereas with him class distinctions are
scarcely more than official. In Turkey, outside a
comparatively few wealthy families—many of which
are Phanariote Greek Christians who have supplied
high official servants for generations to the Turkish
State, and hold themselves somewhat aloof from the
Mohammedans—there is little superiority of caste or
the arrogance of class consciousness. The current
standards are, in conformity with the teaching of
the Koran and the New Testament, humanely democratic.
Ahmed Midhat was at one time talked
of as a possible Grand Vizier, for the Sultan was
convinced of his integrity as well as of his ability. The
fact that his father was a seller of cloth, or that he
himself began life as an apprentice, was so far from
constituting any disadvantage that neither he nor his
friends would have been able to understand the idea
of his humble parentage being in any way derogatory.
All the less so since he was a man of magnificent
presence, one of the comparatively few in Constantinople
who by their appearance recalled the
Sultans of the zenith of Ottoman power, who were
fathers at sixteen and still added to their family at
the age of seventy. So little does obscurity of birth
constitute a stigma that a Turk, after having once
// 249.png
.pn +1
been a servant who took charge of the goloshes of
visitors left outside on entering a Turkish private
house, became a pasha and was given the name of
Papoudji (or slipper) Pasha; this cognomen was
accepted by him and his friends rather as a compliment
than otherwise. A Turk would be despised who
was ashamed of, or endeavoured to hide, his humble
antecedents, or denied his poor relations. He has
no understanding of those who, having got on in the
world, neglect or cut themselves adrift from their
connexions because these have become irksome
and they are ashamed of them. When a man rises
to high position in Turkey he remembers only too
readily those who belong to him, and now and then
gets himself into trouble by helping his poor relations
or those who have been friends of his obscure youth;
and this often without any other motive than the
satisfaction to be derived from a kind action. For in
Turkey high position is supposed to be a reward for
zeal in service, for conduct, and is freely open to all
classes. That it is often bestowed upon the unworthy
is only to say that judgment and selection are fallible
in Turkey as elsewhere; but there can be no doubt
that service rendered is in the first instance the test.

It is only among the Turks who have mixed with
Europeans, particularly in diplomacy, that you find
that hauteur, that “class-selfish arrogance,” and
that degree of cynicism which have been acquired
in social intercourse in the capitals of Europe. From
the ranks of these Europeanized Turks sprang the
artificial element who upset the ancient régime, with
// 250.png
.pn +1
small prospect, as we now see, of putting anything
better in its place.

But if obscurity of origin does not constitute a bar
to advancement it would be a mistake to suppose that
the Turks attach no weight to an illustrious ancestry.
Izzet Pasha introduced me, as already mentioned,
to a Ulema at the Palace who, he assured me, could
trace his descent not only from Mohammed, but
back to Abraham. Their conception of an aristocracy
is one of descent from men renowned for their
virtues.

So great is the value which the Turks attach to
conduct that, even in their favourite authors, they do
not rest satisfied with precept or with doctrine, but
look, besides, for conduct. Thus those of philosophic
bent are not attracted by Voltaire or even by Schopenhauer.
They are influenced by such thinkers as
Büchner, Justus Möser, Spinoza, and Herbert Spencer,
who lived as they taught. Conduct is verily the keystone
of Mohammedan ethics, for while the Sultan
is accepted as the direct representative of Mohammed
in the eye of the Faithful, the Sheikh ul Islam,
although in a sense himself a nominee of the Sultan,
possesses final authority as interpreter of the word
of the Prophet. He is invested with far more real
authority than that possessed by any priest in the
world with the single exception of the Pope of Rome.
The Sheikh ul Islam may be said to be the spiritual
watchman set by Mohammed to control the conduct
of his worldly successors. The most ominous feature,
as I was repeatedly assured in connexion with the later
// 251.png
.pn +1
years and tragic end of Sultan Abdul Aziz, was that
he had incurred the censure of the Sheikh ul Islam
and through this had lost caste with the Sheikhs,
Mollahs, and Ulemas, and lastly had aroused the
hostility of the Softas. They accused him of
neglecting his duties and leading a life of idleness.
Months before his dethronement the mosques of
Constantinople were deserted even on days of high
festival.

Whatever some Turks may think of the form of
government under which they live, and more particularly
of the centralization of power in the hands
of a Sultan, their appreciation of Abdul Hamid as a
man could be gauged by anybody who had the
opportunity of mixing freely with them. Most
illuminating were casual comments, inasmuch as they
often reflected the ideals of the people. The Turk
never talks for the sake of talking, and scorns the
rhetorical tricks of the actor. He is a sincere and a
dignified man. You never heard the Sultan extolled
as a great sportsman or a war lord, rarely as a statesman,
although Abdul Hamid enjoyed a high and
probably an exaggerated reputation in this respect.
But you would often hear him praised as being good
and kind. “Sa Majesté est si bon; il est un vrai
gentilhomme,” and above all, “C’est un Sultan
travailleur,” “Il travaille jour et nuit pour le bonheur
de son peuple, ses sujets,” were expressions I often heard
in private conversation.

If a visitor felt that he had been slighted where he
deemed he was entitled to some attention on the part
// 252.png
.pn +1
of the Sultan, the Turks would apologize for their ruler
and tell the stranger that he must not be harsh in his
judgment, as His Majesty was busy day and night
working for the good of his vast dominions. More
than this, the Sultan was not above apologizing himself
to quite minor folks if they had done him good service
and he fancied that he had failed in attention towards
them. “Tell Mr. X I have been so busy with one thing
and another that I have not been able to see him and
thank him as he deserves for the services he has
rendered our country.” This was by no means an
unusual message for a stranger to receive from the
Sultan. Indeed, it is a question whether the Sultan
did not owe his popularity rather to his being a true
representative of some of the most marked Turkish
traits of character, such as a sense of gratitude,
generosity, simple distinction, and hospitality, than to
his political abilities as a ruler.

It has been asserted that the sentiment of democratic
brotherhood and disregard for the privileges of birth
and caste are responsible for the downfall of the
Turkish régime. I am inclined to think that it has
been largely the human attributes indicated above
which enabled an anachronistic system of uncontrolled
autocracy to live so long.

Nobody knew the Turkish character more
thoroughly than my good friend Avellis. Never
have I met a more enthusiastic champion of their
virtues or a more earnest apologist for their defects.

“Believe me,” Avellis would say, “if you find a
Turk is dishonest, you may be sure that he belongs to
// 253.png
.pn +1
the gang of pashas at the Palace, or that he has
imbibed roguery from contact with Levantine Christians or
Europeans. A long residence in European
capitals deprives him of his most sterling and attractive
characteristics. It robs him of his faith and his unspoilt
patriarchal virtues, with their intensely human
attributes. When he loses his faith he acquires in
its place the sceptical cynicism which distinguishes
the upper classes in every European capital.” Avellis
believed that European society had a debasing influence
on the Turk, just as the European on coming
to Constantinople, unless of an exceptionally fine
type, becomes vitiated by associating with the
Levantine. “There is no finer man on earth
than the uncontaminated Turk. I have often signed
contracts with Turks without understanding their
contents (for I read their writing with difficulty),”
continued Avellis, “and I would not hesitate to
do so again. I know them to be incapable of falsehood
or deception, unless debased by intercourse
with Europeans. The unspoilt Turk is incapable of
dishonesty. No one practises the virtues of humanity,
the tenets of faith and charity to such a degree as
he. Be a Turk ever so poor, no beggar will
appeal to his hospitality in vain. Let us suppose it is
the end of the Ramadan Fast. He is just sitting
down to his first frugal meal after the prescribed fast,
and one still poorer than he enters and solicits a morsel
of food. As often as not he will exclaim: ‘Boujourun
Effendem,’ meaning ‘Welcome, sir, help yourself.’ If
there is not enough for two he may even invite the
// 254.png
.pn +1
stranger to partake of what he himself was about to
eat, too proud to let his guest think that he had not
already satisfied his own hunger.

“You must know the best type of Turk intimately
to realize the extent of his generosity, of his sense of
gratitude, the delight he takes in giving pleasure to
others—that true test of love of our fellow-men. Then
note his freedom from envy, the petty jealousies,
trickeries, and arrogance which are such unlovable
traits of my own countrymen, the Germans, whose
overbearing demeanour of late years has become more
and more objectionable in Turkey.

“Think of the patience and forbearance of the Turks
in tolerating abuses of the liberty granted to aliens.
No Government in any other country of the world
would put up with the like of it. The Greeks are the
most unabashed offenders. They parade their dead
through the streets of Constantinople with the face
of the corpse exposed, a morbid exhibition which is
not allowed in Greece. Look at the disgraceful
orgies of disorder among the Greek colony of Constantinople
on the celebration of the Orthodox Greek Easter
Day, with men discharging firearms promiscuously
in the street from Saturday evening till Monday
morning. Every year a number of people are wounded,
if not killed, by accidents on these occasions.”[#]

.pm fn-start // 1
During my last visit to Constantinople—it was at Easter-time—I
was invited to the house of a Levantine pasha, but the dinner had
to be put off because his Greek cook had injured his hand by firing
off a rusty old pistol in celebration of Easter Day.
.pm fn-end

During my various visits to Turkey I have had
ample opportunities of hearing the opinions held
// 255.png
.pn +1
by those who have mixed with the best Turks
with respect to them. No testimony is more
valuable than that of cultured Englishmen who have
lived long in the East, more particularly such as
have been engaged in a large way in commerce, or
held positions in the Turkish naval and military service.
In this connexion I may mention the well-known
English family of merchant princes of which at that
time the late Sir William Whittall was the head.
The very name of Whittall has long been a passport
throughout Asiatic Turkey, guaranteeing safe conduct
in remote regions where scarcely a European is seen
for years and years together. Such Englishmen are
thorough-going admirers of the Turkish character and
are distinct from those who have done so much by
journalistic work to estrange England from Turkey,
and Turkey from England.

Many are the stories told of the simple-minded
attachment of the Turks to their employers, their
superiors, even though these be Christians, and thus
presumably with little affinity with them. Prince
Alexander of Battenberg could not speak too highly of
the fidelity of the Mohammedan element among his
Bulgarian subjects: their orderliness, their freedom
from crime, their childlike loyalty to him. After an
important debate in the Sobranje—the Bulgarian
Parliament—the Mohammedan members would call
upon him privately at the Palace of an evening and seek
instructions from him how he wished them to vote.

My old friend, Admiral Sir Henry Woods Pasha,
who has been more than thirty years in the Turkish
// 256.png
.pn +1
service, could never tell me enough of the devotion
of the Turkish sailors under his command. Count
Szechenyi Pasha, the Hungarian nobleman who for
many years was at the head of the Constantinople
Fire Brigade, which he originally organized, after
having learned the business as an apprentice under
the late Captain Shaw in London, is another of
those who hold a high opinion of the fidelity and
devotion of the Turks. Such evidence from men in
whom the gentleman was innate before they had
been lifted into rank and position by the Sultan is
most valuable. They were inspired with gratitude
towards their benefactor and declined to turn against
him in the hour of his difficulties. One who had been
approached with this object in view during the
Armenian crisis indignantly replied: “No, I cannot,
I will not bite the hand that has fed me.” Alas, that
there were too few of this stamp among the men
Abdul Hamid distinguished by his favour.

There is probably no city, Moscow not excepted, in
which so many fires take place as in Constantinople.
The flimsy woodwork of the houses in the Turkish
quarters, which the heat of a Constantinople sun
turns in course of time to tinder, partly accounts for
it. Nor must the temptation to arson among the
Greeks and Armenian trading element be lost sight
of. Most of the insurance is done in English offices,
for the English insurance offices have hitherto been
those which have met claims most handsomely and
with fewest awkward questions. I have repeatedly
watched the firemen as, with bare legs and chests,
// 257.png
.pn +1
they rushed breathless in a body in the wake of the
fire-engine across the Galata Bridge to some fire in the
Stamboul quarter. One could not help being impressed
by their evident whole-hearted enthusiasm, though
they got little pay and no reward, and it was easy to
understand how in times gone by a rush of half-naked
Turkish warriors, sword in hand, has proved well-nigh
irresistible against clumsily moving knights in armour
and awkward pikemen. This might even explain
victorious inroads up to the very walls of Vienna.
The development of modern firearms and tactics, for
which the Turk by his temperament is ill-fitted,
seems to account for the modern defeats of the Turks
far more than any racial decline. Where the virtues
of courage, sincerity, piety, and self-sacrifice have
admittedly remained unchanged, it would be absurd
to talk of degeneration. What can be admitted is
that the character of this fine race may be no longer
fitted to cope successfully with the intricate demands
of a modern, highly systematized civilization.
// 258.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIV||TURKISH TRAITS: II
.sp 2
.pm ch-hd-start
Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart,
Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood,
When man’s worst sin is, he does too much good.
.rj
<sc>Shakespeare</sc>, <i>Timon of Athens</i>
.pm ch-hd-end
.sp 2
.ni
<sc>The</sc> conditions of life under an autocracy naturally
tend towards a sense of loyalty degenerating into
adulation and servility on the part of public servants,
as well as towards greed and corruption on the part
of those whose high position places endless opportunities
for dishonesty within their reach.
.pi
To estimate the character of the Turk, therefore, by
the corruption at the Palace would not be fair to him.
As well might we ourselves be judged by the wiles of
the company promoter or the outside broker in the City
of London. For despotism, however well intentioned,
offers a similar field of operations for the dishonest;
only the thousands who are annually robbed and
ruined in the City of London, and the doings of the
vultures who rob them, are not nearly so much in the
public eye as the rogueries of the influential parasites
in Turkey.

Strange it is that side by side with despotic
authority and its narrowing effect on the development
of character there should still exist an extraordinary
// 259.png
.pn +1
appreciation of personal worth, intellectual and moral.
You will never hear a Turk refer to a man as
being rich, or as being “worth so much.” All
the time I spent among them I never once knew
a Turk single out such qualifications as worthy of
remark. A man’s value lies in his character. Thus
he is “instruit, fidèle, un homme qui a rendu de
grands services et en rendra encore.” Neghib Bey, a
dark-eyed Syrian, exclaims: “Speak not to me of
politicians, nor of men of wealth. I am ready to make
use of them, but they do not otherwise attract me.
Rather let me meet those of high thought, of talent,
of genius, men with ideals. To obtain such as friends
and to resemble them would be my ambition.”

The greatest stress is laid upon the fidelity of those
who have shown themselves to be true. When a
deserving person received a reward a common remark
would be: “Yes, he has received a favour of His
Majesty, but he well deserves it.” Instead of being
envious when he sees a friend distinguished above
him, the Turk rejoices in the exaltation of that friend.
It has come under my notice more than once that
when somebody received a distinction from the Sultan
his friends were pleased, and said even exultingly to
him: “You will obtain yet higher recognition, because
you deserve it (parce que vous l’avez mérité).” It is
ever a recurring reference to what you have done and
for which you should be richly rewarded.

Great is the gratitude of the Turk for sympathy
shown to him. Partisanship he does not look for.
The most that he hopes for is freedom from prejudice
// 260.png
.pn +1
and fairness towards his race and his religion.
Should the stranger go so far as to betray a partiality
for his country, a liking free from the suspicion
of its being quickened by an expectation of baksheesh,
his satisfaction is as genuine as it is spontaneous.
A Frenchman is astonished if the stranger
does not admire everything French; the Englishman
is apt to be disdainful if the foreigner does not immediately
admit the superiority of everything English.
The Turk is more modest and self-restrained, and he is
thankful if his feelings are not hurt by the “Frank.”

His appreciation is apt to show itself in the smallest
matters. One day, as I was about to go to the bazaar to
buy a present, Ahmed Midhat offered to let one of his
uniformed officials accompany me. This, said he, would
ensure my being treated fairly by the Mohammedan
traders. On going round that part of the bazaar known
as “Bezestan,” mostly tenanted by Mohammedans, I
stopped before a stall belonging to a magnificent type
of Turk. He might have been an Assyrian king as far
as appearance and dignity of manner went. He sat,
with legs crossed, perched up on high, immediately
behind his show-case of curios—old watches and silver
and gold bric-à-brac of all sorts. I pointed to a riding
whip made of rhinoceros horn, mounted in gold, and
asked the price. The answer my companion got was,
“Tell your friend that it is the work of the Frank”
(European workmanship), implying thereby inferiority
in quality. He had been informed by the official
accompanying me that, as I was a friend of the
Osmanli, he was to treat me as one of themselves.
// 261.png
.pn +1
Thus he did not want me to purchase an inferior
article, even though he would have made a profit by
selling it to me.

The Turk holds in grateful memory the names of
those foreigners who have rendered Turkey unselfish
service, even though it be generations ago. Of
Englishmen, Hobart Pasha is still remembered; of
Germans, Moltke. More remarkable still, a Vienna
doctor, Professor Riedler, who organized the School of
Medicine at Constantinople as far back as the reign
of Sultan Mahmoud, more than eighty years ago, is
to this day held in honour by the Turks, and this in an
age of kaleidoscopic changes and short memories!

The genuine spirit of hospitality of the Turks, the
noble traditions of which have come down to us
through the Arabs, together with their chivalry, has
long been recognized, in spite of the fanaticism of
Christian detractors. The lavish hospitality to be
found in Spain is perhaps traceable to a common
Arabian origin; for it is significantly absent as a
distinctive trait among all the other branches of the
so-called Latin races. Its most remarkable feature
is the custom, when a visitor expresses admiration
for an object belonging to his host, of immediately
offering it to him. This still obtains in Spain, and
is to be met with, as I have myself experienced, in
distant Kurdistan.

But it is not among those who have gold and silver
to dispose of that Turkish hospitality or other Turkish
qualities can be tested. What really constitutes
the most interesting feature of Turkish character is
// 262.png
.pn +1
that these virtues are to be seen practised among the
humblest classes. Thus, whereas Emerson’s renowned
treatise on “English Traits” deals almost exclusively
with types of character observed among the
well-born, no study of Turkish character could be
complete, or, in fact, of any value, which did not
deal with the characteristics which are to be found
throughout the broad strata of the Mussulman population.
Writers of Emerson’s spirit deal with the
apex of a pyramid; he who deals with the Turks
must treat of its broad base—the great mass of the
Turkish population, which alone adequately reflects the
many excellent qualities of the Mohammedan world.

There is ample evidence that the Turks in their
prime, notably when they became the conquerors of
Constantinople and overthrew the corrupt Byzantine
Empire, felt contempt for the Christians they
came across. Thus, when the arrival of the Ambassador
of the Holy Roman Empire was signalled at
the Sublime Porte, the answer came, “Let the <i>giaour</i>
be admitted”; and when, after his audience, the
illustrious person was dismissed by the Grand Vizier,
it might even happen that he would be pelted with
eggs by the crowd. But there was more of good-natured
contempt than of animosity in this treatment.
Of intolerance to the Christian faith there was none
at this period. Not only the Christian but the
Jewish population lived free and unmolested in
Constantinople.

The tolerance which the Jews have always enjoyed
in Turkey is well known. At the time when they
// 263.png
.pn +1
were being burnt at the stake in the public square in
the town of Valladolid in Spain, Jewish overseers
were deputed by the Jewish community in Constantinople
to sit in the public bakehouses and see that the
bread which was baked for Jewish consumption was
prepared according to Jewish rites. Individual Jews
were even permitted by the authorities to exercise a
kind of police supervision over the Turks themselves at
a time when their co-religionists were being exterminated
like vermin in some Christian countries. Under
Sultan Suleyman, one of the most influential of
Turkish Ministers of Foreign Affairs was a Christian,
Ludovico Gritti, a son of Andrea Gritti, the Doge of
Venice. Sultan Suleyman even went so far as to have
his portrait painted by a Christian, Melchior Lorenz,
an inhabitant of Flensburg. One of the men most
honoured by Sultan Mohammed Fatè, the conqueror of
Constantinople, was again a Christian, an Italian of
the name of Gentil Gellini, who was treated by the
Turkish monarch with the greatest distinction. When
subsequently war broke out between Venice and
Turkey, the Sultan commissioned Gellini to take back
to Venice the body of Enrico Dandolo, a former Doge,
the first conqueror of Constantinople, during the
Fourth Crusade, whose sarcophagus was found in the
Church of Saint Sophia. Even the outbreak of war
and all the supposed fanaticism of the Turks did not
prevent a Turkish Sultan from pursuing a course of
conduct which, even after five centuries, would be
looked upon as an exceptionally chivalrous action
among Christians.
// 264.png
.pn +1

When I was in Salonica there was no virulent
Turkish Press to hound on the Turks against the
Greeks, although a large proportion of the inhabitants
in Salonica, albeit Turkish subjects, were Greeks in
open sympathy with the Greek cause, even joining
Greek committees, an act of high treason—in every
country but Turkey. Nor did the Greeks take any
trouble to hide this feeling, poring over the Greek
newspapers in public as they arrived day by day. Yet
no signs of popular resentment were visible during
my stay on the part either of the populace or of
the soldiery. The same passive toleration was to
be observed in Constantinople, where the narrow
streets leading to the French Consulate in Pera were
crowded with Greeks seeking to obtain the protection
of the French Embassy. They were not molested in
any way. This might, perhaps, seem to be a matter
of course, if we were not reminded of what happened
to the Germans in Paris at the outbreak of the war
in 1870.

How little is known of the record of the Turks in
offering shelter to the oppressed of other races! Who
was it that sheltered the Hungarian revolutionists
who, when captured, were hanged or imprisoned? Is
it not an historical fact established beyond question
that a Sultan of Turkey risked war with Austria and
Russia combined rather than break the sacred laws of
hospitality of Mohammed, and surrender the Hungarian
leaders Kossuth, Görgey, and many others? How do
these facts, I ask, tally with the slander heaped upon
the Turkish people and their rulers?
// 265.png
.pn +1

In no country in Europe are there so many foreigners,
both as regards nationality and religion, as in Turkey,
and nowhere else would aliens have a chance of such
careers as some of them have made there. And yet I
never came across any signs of Turkish jealousy. I
have heard Turks speak with the highest respect of
individual foreigners whom the Sultan had loaded with
favours, but who at least had shown gratitude and
attachment to the interests of their adopted country.
We have only to think of the Dutch crew of adventurers
who came over with William III from
Holland to find an analogy, and compare the
sentiments of the English towards them with those
of the Turks towards foreigners in high place and
pay in Turkey to illustrate even more closely the
generosity of the Turks, and how far they can go in
their tolerance of an alien element. Such favouring of
the foreigner, even if it could exist in other countries,
would inevitably evoke intense jealousy and intrigue
on the part of the natives.

Speaking of a foreign pasha noted for his bumptious
arrogance, and referring to some of his countrymen,
a high-placed Turk said to me: “Que voulez-vous,
mon cher? On les tolère.” But whatever the Turks
may feel, they have never shown it by malevolence
towards foreigners who were in the employ of their
Government.

Many Turkish Ambassadors abroad have at different
times been Christians. The Turkish Ambassador in
Berlin some years ago was a Greek, who, mainly through
his position as Ambassador, was enabled to make a
// 266.png
.pn +1
rich marriage. Far from feeling any gratitude to
the Turkish Government for his career, he left his
private fortune to some Greek institution at Athens,
although at that particular moment Greece was
meditating war against Turkey.

We have had of late years only too many instances
of Christian ministers lending themselves to denunciation
and depreciation of the Moslem. I have gleaned
from the lips of missionaries, and their wives more rabid
than themselves, both in Macedonia and in Asia,
how ignorant prejudice can blind the understanding.
A pathetic instance of this, verging on imbecility,
is to be found in a book written by an Englishwoman
which circulates in the Tauchnitz Collection
of British authors, entitled “Diary of an
Idle Woman in Constantinople.”[#] In relating that
she had seen a eunuch at the Selamlik with the
Sultan’s ladies, she exclaims: “He was a fat giant, a
wretch.” Why a poor devil who has been deprived
of manhood should be a “wretch” the ingenuous
authoress does not explain. Yet, so far as my experience
goes, a good deal of what has been written
in disparagement of the Turks has no better logical
foundation than this exclamation. For all that, there
can be no doubt that this eunuch abomination is
a feature of Turkish life which has always created
a strong prejudice in the Christian world against the
Mohammedans. Hence it is not without interest to
emphasize once for all that this unnatural institution
is not of Mohammedan origin at all, but, as well
// 267.png
.pn +1
as every other kind of human mutilation, is strictly
forbidden by the Koran. Eunuchs were a common
feature in antiquity, and in spite of the efforts of both
Constantine the Great and the Emperor Justinian to
do away with them they were quite common among
the “good” Christians of the Byzantine Empire.
Even at the present day the eunuchs in Constantinople—who,
by the way, are only to be found
in the household of the Sultan and of a few wealthy
pashas—are supplied from the Christian monasteries
of the East, notably those of Abyssinia.

.pm fn-start // 1
Vol. 2921, p. 320.
.pm fn-end

Is it to be wondered at that people nurtured on
misleading data can scarcely be brought to believe
that there is less crime in Turkey than in almost any
other country; that the punishment for crime is far
more lenient than in most countries; that the deposed
Sultan was never known to sign a death-warrant; and
that the Mohammedan Turks, as distinct from the
Christian inhabitants of the Levant, are so kind to
animals of every variety, beast or bird, that a Society
for the Protection of Animals, however vigilant, would
find its occupation gone in Turkey?

The Turk’s kindness to the dogs of the capital, since
exterminated, is well known, as is also his kind treatment
of horses. The beneficent results of this can be
witnessed by the visitor to Constantinople when he
sees saddled horses standing, free and unfettered, for
hours by the kerbstone waiting to be hired, as docile
as dogs, without anybody looking after or controlling
them.

One of the favourite sports of the Christian
// 268.png
.pn +1
Levantine population in Turkey is to shoot all kinds
of singing birds, which are served up in restaurants
in the Turkish national dish, pilaf. Any day in
the autumn one can see crowds of doughty Christian
Nimrods, armed with guns, going out in quest of the
lark and the throstle, but never a Mohammedan Turk.
This sight is a disgusting one to all lovers of
nature, and when I was last in Constantinople the
wife of the German Ambassador availed herself of
the opportunity of an audience with the Sultan to
intercede for the little songsters, asking His Majesty to
issue an Iradè that they should not be exterminated.

If procrastination and dilatory methods of business
are sometimes calculated to bring a highly strung
European or American to despair in Turkey, patience
and forbearance and long-suffering, on the other
hand, rise with the Turks to the dignity of virtues.
Rarely are these virtues more striking than in connexion
with the calumny to which the Turk is continually
subjected. Mehmet Izzet said to me, in the midst of a
storm of invective let loose by the English Press upon
the Turks: “Mon cher, nous sommes un peuple taciturne,
nous ne pouvons pas nous défendre.”

One day I was present at the Palace when an
elderly man was engaged in earnest conversation with
Izzet Pasha, the Second Secretary of the Sultan,
supposed to be the most influential, as well as the
most unscrupulous, man in Turkey. As the conversation
was in Turkish I could not follow it, but the
tone of supplication of the visitor was so marked that
it made me think it must be a question of imploring
// 269.png
.pn +1
mercy for some serious delinquency. So I ventured to
say: “My dear Pasha, I hope you will be merciful to
that poor fellow.” “Mon cher,” he replied, “the fact
of the matter is that he is Governor of Jerusalem, and
he wants me to get him a better appointment. We
are old school-fellows, and I would like to oblige him,
but it is quite beyond my power to do so in this
instance.”

Ample contact with the Turks in all manner of
positions in life has convinced me that many of the
wicked stories circulated about them have no better
foundation in fact than the supposition involved in the
above incident, of which I was an eye-witness.

.tb

Those who are acquainted with the character of
Turkish women cannot speak too highly of their kindness
of heart and their devotion to their children. During
the Armenian massacres there were many instances of
Armenians who sought refuge in the harem, and were
saved by the interposition of Turkish women. This
is all the more noteworthy since in other countries,
notably those of Latin race, in times of great political
excitement the women—as was the case with the
Paris Commune in 1871—are often far more ferocious
than the men. But here, among the Mohammedan
women, mercy was to be met with—

.pm verse-start
No ceremony that to great ones ’longs,
Not the king’s crown, nor the deputed sword,
The marshal’s truncheon, nor the judge’s robe,
Become them with one-half so good a grace
As mercy does.[#]
.pm verse-end

.pm fn-start // 1
Shakespeare: “Measure for Measure,” <sc>II.</sc> 2.
.pm fn-end

// 270.png
.pn +1

The stranger, whatever his opportunities, only comes
into contact with one-half of the Mohammedan population;
the other is barred from his observation, from
his very sight. In the course of all my visits to
Turkey I never had an opportunity of approaching
a Turkish woman within speaking distance. Even
when I visited Ahmed Midhat, at his patriarchal residence
at Beikos on the Bosphorus, in spite of our
intimacy I saw no woman, though it was a large
family gathering.

Avellis was my principal source of information
regarding Turkish women, as he now and again was
admitted to the harem in connexion with his calling.
He often spoke to me of the distinction and the kindliness
of the Turkish lady. But their graceful bearing was
easily observable as they alighted from their carriages
to shop in the Grande Rue de Pera. Their costumes—the
quality of the rich silks of dark hues of blue or
purple—were all noticeable, and indicative of good
taste. Never have I seen a gaudily attired Turkish
lady.

Only once was I privileged to obtain an idea of
the impulsive kindness of their hearts. It was one
afternoon at Scutari, when I went with Avellis and
two ladies to visit the English cemetery. A closed
carriage passed us, which, to judge by the richly gilt
harness and the striking uniform of the menservants,
evidently belonged to some high-placed Turk. Not
until the third time it passed us did it attract our
attention, when our two ladies had separated from
us and had gone a little ahead. Then we saw
// 271.png
.pn +1
all on a sudden two veiled faces lean out of the
carriage and kiss their hands to the beautiful English-woman
with auburn hair and angel face. Never am I
likely to forget this incident, since she who was thus
distinguished by high-bred Turkish ladies was the
mother of my children.

A feeling of clannish affection for their family is
said to be especially strong among Turkish women.
It shows itself in their lasting attachment to their
family long after they have left their homes and
been separated from their kith and kin. For many
of the women of the Imperial harem and of those of the
great dignitaries of State come from the interior of
Asia Minor, and are of lowly origin. Yet they keep
up a regular communication with their relations in
distant parts of the Empire, and are often the means
of bringing these relations to Constantinople, where
they are now and then given good appointments.
Hassan Bey, the Circassian who assassinated Hussein
Avni Pasha, the Minister of War, in open Council
(June 15, 1876), was a brother of the favourite mistress
of Sultan Abdul Aziz, whose death he wanted to
avenge.

A certain primitive simplicity in the Mohammedan
character—not the least of its attractions—is pointedly
illustrated by the following incidents drawn from
Mohammed’s life, for which, as for so much else in
these pages, I am indebted to my deceased friend
Ahmed Midhat.

In his early days Mohammed belonged to a humble
sphere of life. At the age of twenty-four he married
// 272.png
.pn +1
the widow of a rich merchant in whose employ he had
been in a subordinate capacity. He remained devotedly
attached to her, although she was sixteen years his
senior. Only after her death did he marry again; but
his thoughts would still revert to the one he had lost
and to whom he owed his rise in the world. This
excited the jealousy of his second wife, with whom
otherwise he lived most happily. One day she pressed
him to assure her that she was as dear to him as his
first wife had been. “I love you dearly,” Mohammed
replied, “but do not ask me to say that I love you as
much as Chadidja, for she was the first human being
to believe in me.” It was only after his first wife’s
death that Mohammed, at the age of forty, really came
forward and proclaimed himself a leader of men with a
divine mission.

It is related of Mohammed that when he felt his end
approaching he summoned his followers around him,
and, being still possessed of sufficient strength to
address them, told them that he knew his days were
numbered, and he wished to ask whether there was
anyone present who could say that he had done him
a wrong; if so, he was ready to crave his forgiveness.
They replied with one voice that Mohammed had
been their friend and benefactor and that he had
wronged no man. Then someone got up and said he
had a claim against him. On a certain occasion he had
been present when a beggar had solicited alms of
Mohammed, who, apparently having no money with
him, had borrowed a drachma of the speaker to give to
the beggar. This drachma Mohammed had omitted to
// 273.png
.pn +1
return to him. Such, we are told, was the slight
record of wrong and indebtedness of the founder of a
religion which hundreds, aye thousands, of millions
of human beings have professed in life and have
adhered to until their last breath.
// 274.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XV||CONCLUSION
.sp 2
.pm ch-hd-start
Truths can never be confirmed enough,
Though doubts did ever sleep.
.rj
<sc>Shakespeare</sc>
.pm ch-hd-end
.sp 2
.ni
<sc>Englishmen</sc> who are old enough to remember the
Crimean war might well rub their eyes on coming to
Constantinople to-day, where the stranger, after being
shown the public fountain in Stamboul dedicated by
the German Emperor to the Sultan, is taken over
the water to Scutari, where, in the most picturesque
cemetery in the world, England’s dead warriors sleep
under the cool shade of the cypress-tree. Gone are the
days when Englishmen and Turks fought as Allies,
when the Sultan Abdul Medjid visited the British
Embassy as the guest of his trusted friend, Lord
Stratford de Redcliffe, when English capitalists
supported Turkey’s credit, and English merchant
princes first introduced railways into Turkey and
dominated the sea-borne commerce as well as the
passenger traffic of the Levant. In those times
the Englishman embodied in the eyes of the Mohammedan
Turk all that was estimable and reliable among
the “Franks.”
.pi
Since those comparatively recent days many changes
// 275.png
.pn +1
have been wrought. Foreign bankers, powerful
international syndicates have encroached upon English
financial influence, and nearly all the Turkish railways
and most of the shipping have gone into other
than English hands. The finest passenger steamers
that come to Constantinople are German, Austrian,
Italian, and Russian. The dead alone sleep on as
before, under the shady groves of Scutari.

Whatever may be the causes which have brought
about these changes, it is permissible for an Englishman
to deplore them, not only on economic grounds,
but also as a matter of sentiment and of sympathy
with the Turks, who have been the greatest losers
thereby.

Alas that the supreme ordainment of things in the
life of nations, even of whole races and creeds, takes
small account of the ups and downs, the sufferings of
whole generations of human beings, whatever be their
virtues. The Albigenses represented a far higher
level of culture, conduct, and principle than those who
took up arms against them and brought about their
extermination. So also with regard to the Turks in
our day, their good qualities are not those which are
imperative in order to enable a community to hold
its own in times of strenuous commercialism and of
unscrupulous political rivalry and intrigue.

For many years the traveller entering Turkish
territory at the railway station of Mustapha Pasha
saw the Custom House officers in ragged uniforms,
on the look-out for baksheesh, since their small
salary, if ever paid, was certainly in arrear. How
// 276.png
.pn +1
could he come to any other conclusion than that conditions
prevailed here which are no longer tolerable in
Europe? For even in Asiatic Russia, with all its backwardness,
they do not exist. This impression of the
anachronism of a Turkey in Europe is likely to be
applied to Asia as well by those who have traversed
that part of the world, unless some drastic administrative
and financial reforms are put into force at once.

Calling one day in the summer of 1896 at the
British Embassy, at Therapia, the late Sir Michael
Herbert, who was in charge during Sir Philip Currie’s
absence, told me that about a hundred years ago the
Ambassador of the French Republic at Constantinople,
in writing home to his Government, wound up his letter
by declaring that the prospects of Turkey looked so
desperate that he would not be surprised if the Turkish
Empire had ceased to exist before the arrival of his letter.

During a visit I paid to Constantinople in January
1907 something occurred which impressed me
forcibly with the conviction that the Hamidian
régime, the desire of one man, however well-intentioned
and industrious, to do single-handed all the
directing work of an empire, was doomed to failure;
and this in spite of the many evidences I had had,
both in Europe and in Asia, of the personal popularity
of the Sultan. It was the talk of Pera that the Chief
of the Secret Police, Fehim Pasha, had been guilty of
some extraordinary pranks; among them the instigation
of sham conspiracies which he pretended to nip in
the bud in order to give proof of his devotion to the
Sultan. All attempts to draw the Sultan’s attention
// 277.png
.pn +1
to this man’s misdeeds had apparently failed, owing, it
was said, to His Majesty’s indulgence towards one who
was the son of his own foster-brother. Emboldened by
success, Fehim Pasha had extended his sphere of black-mailing
operations to members of the European colony,
while several murders were put to his account as having
been their instigator. Still he managed to elude the
arm of justice. At last he took upon himself to lay
an embargo on a ship, either belonging to a German or
in the cargo of which some German firm was interested.
Here, however, he came into conflict with the German
Ambassador, the late Baron Marschall von Bieberstein,
who promptly took the part of his countrymen, saw
that the embargo on the ship in question was removed,
and, distrustful of the dilatoriness of the officials at
the Sublime Porte, lodged a strongly worded complaint
direct at the Palace. This ultimately resulted in
Fehim Pasha being banished to Asia Minor, where he
was subsequently assassinated by a mob in the street.
This tragic development, however, only took place after
I had left Constantinople.

The German Ambassador, who was always very
friendly and frank with me, one day discussed the
situation created by Fehim Pasha’s delinquencies. He
convinced me that the man was a scoundrel, and that
he himself had done no more than what he was
perfectly entitled to do in endeavouring to bring one
to book who was neither more nor less than a
criminal miscreant, fully deserving to be given over to
the public hangman.

I happened to call at the Palace next day, and
// 278.png
.pn +1
went up as usual into the private room of Izzet
Pasha, where, quite unexpectedly, I met my old
friend Ahmed Midhat Effendi. It was one of the
very few times I had ever known him to pay
a visit to the Palace. Fehim Pasha’s crimes and
the energetic measures of the German Ambassador
formed the subject of conversation in the room. Izzet
Pasha warmly expressed his indignation at an Ambassador
presuming to interfere in what he considered
to be a purely internal incident. “Qu’est ce qu’il
s’imagine, ce Monsieur de Marschall?” Knowing
what I did of the affair on such good authority,
I was taken by surprise, the more so as Ahmed
Midhat Effendi joined in upholding the innocence of
the incriminated pasha. I could scarcely credit the
culpable ignorance thus revealed to me by those to
whom it should have been a first care not to lead their
master astray on an issue of such vital importance. I
said it was hopeless for the well-wishers of Turkey to
attempt to say a good word for their Government as
long as such things were possible; that the German
Ambassador had had the training of a State Prosecutor,
and certainly was not one to be misled by
unreliable evidence, or to be moved from his point
once he had decided upon it; and that English
newspapers, which were not usually over-favourably
disposed to German interests, had strongly supported
the Ambassador in this particular matter. But it
was all to no purpose. I failed to shake their
belief in Fehim Pasha’s innocence. They even
asserted that he was quite a good fellow. The most
// 279.png
.pn +1
they would admit was that he had been somewhat
hasty and headstrong owing to his youth, “un peu
étourdi.” It is only fair to state, however, that those
present did not show any ill-feeling at my being so
plain-spoken; but this was only in accordance with
what I have so often experienced in the Turkish
character. Still I left the Palace with a pessimistic
feeling.

Sirry Bey, who had been the chief of our expedition
in Armenia, called on me at the Pera Palace Hotel
one evening and said: “I come to you on behalf
of His Majesty. He feels his dignity trespassed upon
by the interference of the German Ambassador in
this Fehim Pasha business, which he holds to be one
of an internal nature not concerning a foreign Ambassador,
and he would like to see you.” I mentioned
to Sirry Bey what I had heard from the Ambassador,
and told him that it seemed to me to be a black
business, and he would do well to convey this opinion
to the Sultan. In due course I received a message
to come up to the Palace immediately as the Sultan
wanted to see me.

On my arrival I was taken in to His Majesty,
and he at once began to discuss the Fehim Pasha
incident, and to complain of the conduct of the German
Ambassador. As the editor of the <i>Daily Mail</i> had asked
me to send him a report in case I should have an
opportunity of interviewing the Sultan, I asked His
Majesty whether he would wish me to give his version
of the affair to that paper, at the same time repeating
to him what I had heard about Fehim Pasha’s
// 280.png
.pn +1
delinquencies. Whether the Sultan attached any
importance to what I told the interpreter I am
unable to say, but in reference to my suggestion he
held up his hands in a deprecatory manner, and
uttered the words, “Yok! yok!” (“No! no!”) twice
in succession.

“It is nothing more than my plain duty to see
justice done,” the Sultan said to me. And as if it
were monstrous that a doubt could exist with regard
to so self-evident a truism, he added: “Even if it
were one of my own sons, I would see justice done.”

Of course, I respected his wishes, and did not refer
at all to the German Ambassador in my interview
with His Majesty, a report of which appeared in the
<i>Daily Mail</i> of March 8, 1907. There would also have
been no point in my doing so, as I was convinced of
the hopelessness of the Sultan’s case, whatever might
have been the uncompromising attitude the German
Ambassador had taken up. Since such outrages were
possible under the very eyes of the diplomatic representatives
of the Great Powers in the capital in
broad day, was it not within the range of probability
that many crimes which had been imputed to the
Sultan had indeed been committed, though without
his knowledge? I left Constantinople with the conviction
that nothing, not even the support of the
German Empire, could long sustain a régime in which
such things were allowed to happen.

The rivalry of the different European nationalities
forms too important a feature in the eyes of the
foreign visitor, at least those of a political turn,
// 281.png
.pn +1
not to call for comment. Nowhere are Goethe’s words—written
nearly a hundred years ago—more applicable
than to this subject:

.pm verse-start
Und wer franzet oder brittet,
Italienert oder teutschet
Einer will nur wie der Andere
Was die Eigenliebe heischet.

<i>West-Oestlicher Divan</i>
.pm verse-end

The idea conveyed is that whether a man speaks in the
name of France, Britain, Italy, or Germany, the burden
of his contention is invariably self-interest, self-love.

The question of German influence in Turkey has become
such a prominent feature in the public eye that
it seems to warrant more than a passing reference
from one who has had many opportunities of following
its development. Our attention has been drawn so
much of late to this influence that we are apt
to lose sight of what is likely to be a more lasting,
as it is certainly a more valuable, feature, namely,
its effect as a practical civilizing force. Indeed,
this advent of the German, and with him of the
Belgian, the Swiss, the Italian, and the Hungarian, as
financial and industrial pioneers, as erectors of railways,
schools, hospitals, and other useful institutions, may
be said to mark a new beneficial era in the East.
Nor should it be forgotten that the Germans and their
partners have now and then shown a commendable
spirit in inviting the co-operation of others whom they
to some extent have superseded. For although the
Anatolian Railway is essentially a German undertaking,
M. Huguenin, a French Swiss, has been
// 282.png
.pn +1
elected its chairman. The Mersina-Adana Railway,
originally an English enterprise, has also been taken
over by the Germans, but they have re-elected the
former chairman, an Englishman, resident in Constantinople,
to preside over the board of directors. Nor
need there be any reason why, under normal conditions,
a similar friendly co-operation should not
exist in all directions, not merely in commercial and
financial matters, but also in the domain of politics.
It is therefore to be regretted that the flamboyant
circumstances under which the Sultan’s Iradè for the
concession of the Bagdad Railway was obtained, and
suddenly communicated to the world by the usual
telegram, were calculated to arouse an uneasiness in
the public mind which a less sensational departure
would have avoided. The onerous financial guarantees
imposed upon the Turkish Government by the
German concessionnaires have not tended to increase
the popularity of the German element among thoughtful
Turks or the broad strata of the Turkish people
who are called upon to make sacrifices for an undertaking
the political and economic importance of which
they have not the knowledge to appreciate. To such
as these the German concessionnaire appears somewhat
in the light of the usurer, who is now in addition
credited with political aims which Germany long
persistently repudiated. But however this may be,
there can be little doubt that she has lost rather than
gained in her hold on the sympathies of the Turks,
since, in addition to the scalpel of the surgeon, the
text-book of the schoolmaster, and the staff of Mercury,
// 283.png
.pn +1
she has added the sword of the soldier and the Field-Marshal’s
baton to the emblems of her activities in
the Ottoman Empire, and increased the jealousy of
the other Great Powers. Promises of political support
to Turkey were undoubtedly given. The Sultan was
encouraged to favour the reactionary military element
in making appointments. Soldiers were asked for as
Ambassadors in preference to diplomatists of Phanariote
families, although the latter had supplied for generations
past the most able Turkish diplomatists. By
Imperial desire a Mohammedan Turkish cavalry officer,
Tewfik Pasha, a charming companion, but one completely
ignorant of politics, was appointed Turkish Ambassador
in Berlin, and remained there until the Turkish revolution
in 1908. It is not for non-Germans to decide
whether it was to the advantage of the more solid
German interests in Turkey and of Turkey herself that
the Sultan’s favourites were loaded with Prussian
decorations. The last Grand Vizier of Abdul Hamid,
Ferid Pasha, an Albanian, only a few days before his
dismissal received the Grand Cross of the Black Eagle,
a distinction supposed to be on a level with our Order
of the Garter. There are things a Government
can do which would be reprehensible if done by a
private individual, but there are also things which are
permissible to an individual but which a Government
cannot do without imperilling those unweighable
assets the correct estimation and cherishing of which
was one of Bismarck’s strongest points. He would
never have stooped to such little manœuvres; neither
have the English nor the Russians nor even the French
// 284.png
.pn +1
condescended to curry favour with the Turks by such
questionable means.

For years past the German official world has made
a business of flattering the Turks, instead of warning
them and, as true friends, insisting on the execution
of the reforms upon which the public opinion of Europe
insisted. This has been more particularly the case
since the Græco-Turkish war of 1897, which was the
moment when Germany might have been able to at
least postpone the evil day of reckoning which has
come in our time on the blood-stained fields of Thrace
and Macedonia.

Turkey’s German friends, with all the privileged insight
they were allowed into her affairs, appear to
have been blind to the black political outlook of the
Turkish Empire which politically gifted Italians such
as Mazzini and Crispi foresaw and confidently foretold
half a century ago. Germany’s policy in Turkey
encouraged the Turks to procrastinate and assume
a truculent attitude. Hence the collapse of Turkey
has been a moral blow to military Germany which
might have been avoided, and which no sophistry can
hide.

The Turkish officers who have served in the German
army may have become imbued with the militant
atmosphere of the officers’ mess of the Potsdam
Guards; but this does not mean that they have
assimilated the better qualities of the German army.
And even if they had, they could not possibly hope to
engraft these upon the Mohammedan Turk, who
is in every way their antithesis. The Turks are
// 285.png
.pn +1
very different from the imitative, assimilative
Japanese, with whom German military instructors
are said to have been so successful. Thus, contrary
to current surmise, I venture to hold the heretical
opinion that the expectations founded in some
quarters on a successful Germanization of the Turkish
army are doomed to disappointment. The best type
of English or French officers would be more likely to
suit as instructors of the Asiatic Turks, as they have
both proved their capacity in this respect in their
dealings with Asiatics in the past. But an even more
pressing question may possibly present itself, namely,
the growing political aspirations of Germany in
Turkey, which her policy since Bismarck’s retirement,
hand in hand with the optimistic publications of many
German military writers, has done so much to encourage.
These elements also find a support to-day in the
headstrong aggressiveness of the Turkish officers above
referred to. According to a recent interview with the
King of Roumania, that far-sighted monarch characterized
them as the one danger still threatening
peace in the East.

The English, whatever their mistakes may have been,
have played a more dignified and, as I venture to
believe, a more far-sighted part—one which thoughtful
Turks now recognize was well meant to Turkey.

The general policy of England is graphically laid
down in the following letter which the late British
Ambassador at Constantinople, Sir Nicholas O’Conor,
favoured me with a few months before his death:

“I have no hesitation in saying that I think the
// 286.png
.pn +1
strong point in our English policy is the fact that we
have invariably based our representations to the
Ottoman Government on the undoubted interests of
both the Christian and Moslem subjects of the Sultan;
that we have upheld justice to all the people; and
that we have fought for an honest administration and
political freedom, without compromising either the
interest of the State or its Sovereign.

“We have kept aloof from the many selfish and
ruinous commercial concessions which have been so
disastrous in their consequences, and we have abstained
from any demands which were not in the
interests of Turkey as well as of England. We alone
have built, organized, and developed a railway without
a penny guarantee from the Turkish Government, and
by capable and honest administration we have made it
a commercial success. I refer, of course, to the
Smyrna-Aidin Railway.

“This attitude on our part has been appreciated by
Turkey and more especially by the Moslems.

“The several demands which England has put forward
as conditions to her consent to the 3 per cent.
increased Customs duty are as much in the interests of
Turkish as of foreign trade, and our resolute insistence
on these points has been an object-lesson all round.

“We have impressed upon Turkey the advantages
of developing her enormous internal resources, and we
have succeeded in obtaining such alterations of the old
Mining Law as will now permit British as well as
foreign capital to be embarked in Turkey without
more risks than usually attend such enterprises.”
// 287.png
.pn +1

My own experience fully corroborates the above
statement of the British Ambassador that the Mohammedans
have indeed appreciated the rectitude of English
policy and its freedom from all shady transactions. Also
as regards the best class of Englishmen (for these alone
come into consideration)—once they have rid themselves
of their prejudices—their self-restraint, reserve, and,
above all, their reliability and fair dealing in personal
intercourse generally cause them to be trusted, if not
liked, by the Mohammedan, who instinctively distrusts
effusiveness, voluble protestations, and more
particularly the obtrusiveness associated with the
pushing commis-voyageur. This explains why many
Turks, even in the hour of their humiliation, prefer
the English to others in spite of many advantages
they may have reaped from the latter.

That Germany may retain and even increase
the commercial hold which she has already gained in
Turkey seems more than likely unless others are prepared
to compete successfully with her in financial
enterprise and industrial efficiency. Her geographical
position places her in easy connexion with
the Turkish Empire for commercial purposes not
only through Roumania and the Black Sea but also
by the Danube and by rail through Servia and
Bulgaria. All this is decidedly in her favour. But
whether in the long run she will be able to
use these assets to gain a permanent political
ascendancy extending over Asia Minor, as openly
advocated by the pan-German party, may well be
open to question. Certain idiosyncrasies of the
// 288.png
.pn +1
German character erect between the races a barrier
which does not exist when the Turk comes into
contact with the English, the Italians, the French, and
the Greeks. Apart from all this the geographical
position of Germany seems to set fixed limits to her
political ambitions. For if there is a country the
situation of which might well entitle her to look forward
to political possibilities in Turkey, it is surely
Austria-Hungary, whose frontiers for centuries past
along the Danube have been co-terminating with
those of Turkey. The character of the Austro-Hungarians
also shows many points of affinity
with that of the Turks. The German language
is another stumbling-block in the way of extending
German ideas beyond certain limits,[#] and it encounters
a powerful competitor in the French language. French
has been recognized in Turkey as the foremost tongue
of the “Franks” for nearly three hundred years. There
are close upon six hundred schools in Turkey in
which French forms part of the regular curriculum.
French is spoken more or less by nearly every
Turkish official above a certain rank; German by
scarcely any. This difficulty of the German language
competing with the French has already been felt
by the German authorities engaged in the working
of the Anatolian Railway. It will also be found
// 289.png
.pn +1
a hindrance in case serious efforts should be made
to start German colonies along the track of the
railway, a plan few people who have visited these
regions think likely to succeed, at least yet awhile,
although many Germans will recall the strange
story of the Saxon colony in Transylvania, and
fondly imagine that this unique phenomenon is likely
to repeat itself in Asia Minor. Germany’s geographical
position, which is in her favour where commercial
facilities are concerned, is decidedly against her
once political influences come to the fore. Several
instances in point have arisen of late years in
which she has been unable to convert her Turkish
sympathies into effective action in favour of Turkey
against the opposition of Russia, France, and England.
This was notably the case in the naval demonstration
against Turkish rule in Crete in 1898 and
also in a lesser degree in the Græco-Turkish war
of 1897, when, Russia objecting to the German
military instructors taking part in that campaign,
Turkey was prevailed upon to recall those who had
already started for the front. An even more recent
case in which Germany failed to support Turkish
interests successfully arose in connexion with English
action on the Egyptian frontier, and this is still in
public memory. But by far the most potent cause
which is likely to prevent German political influence
getting beyond certain well-defined limits in Turkey
is to be found in the ever-watchful jealousy of Russia—Turkey’s
most relentless and stealthy foe.

.pm fn-start // 1
During our two months’ journey through Armenia in 1897–98
Dr. Hepworth and myself did not come across a single German, nor
even one person who spoke German, though in common fairness it
must be admitted we did not touch the Anatolian Railway tract,
which is, of course, largely a German enterprise. French, English,
Italian, and Greek were the European languages spoken.
.pm fn-end

Neither England, France, nor Russia, as great
// 290.png
.pn +1
Mohammedan Powers, can be expected in the long
run to view the “conversion” of German influence
into the assumption of the part of Protector of Islam
with complacency, much less with favour. The fact
that the action of these Powers is apparently a passive
one for the present would not justify us in assuming
that it will permanently remain so.

The real disposer of Turkey—the vulture hovering
overhead, ready to swoop down upon her, though
restrained for a time by the kindly feelings of the
present Emperor Nicholas[#]—is, and always was,
Russia: Russia, which has steadily and relentlessly
aimed at the destruction of the Mohammedan
empire of the Ottomans.

.pm fn-start // 1
I have it on good authority that the present Tsar solemnly promised
Sultan Abdul Hamid that he would not undertake anything
against Turkey in his lifetime. This personal promise has been
nullified now that the Sultan has been dethroned.
.pm fn-end

From the moment England and Russia arrived at an
understanding the fate of Turkey in Europe was in
jeopardy, and any ambitions which Germany had in
Turkey were doomed to sterility. Even to-day their
hopelessness is not realized, for the Germans still
enjoy the fruits of past prestige, and the Russians,
who are not petty where great issues are at stake,
have quietly looked on at Hedjas and Bagdad Railway
concession-mongering. It will only be when Germany
makes any serious attempt to galvanize Asiatic Turkey
into life that the Russians will and can cry “Halt!”

Friedrich Bodenstedt—and few better judges of
Eastern life could be quoted—writing fifty years ago,
has the following: “The Caucasus is the basis of
// 291.png
.pn +1
future world-hegemony. Which does not mean that it
will come about in a day, nor vanish overnight, but
gradually and inevitably, without the befooled nations,
proudly conscious of their superior education, having
a suspicion of the danger which threatens them. The
submission of Shamyl in the east and the exodus of
the Circassians in the west of the Caucasus are events
of which the Press took hardly any notice at the time,
but which future generations will consider to be among
the most important happenings of the century.”[#]

.pm fn-start // 1
“Tausend und ein Tag im Orient.” Berlin, 1865.
.pm fn-end

A glance at the map of the Turkish Empire and its
frontier separating the territories of the Northern
Colossus should be sufficient to bring home to the
most casual student the full significance of this
passage, and to illuminate M. Nelidow’s remark to
me in 1896, “We shall never allow others to
handle the key of our house,” meaning the Bosphorus.
But nobody could well traverse Anatolia and witness
its desolate condition, without roads or bridges—more
backward than Siberia or Manchuria—without realizing
that the danger of absorption by Russia is like the
sword of Damocles, a menace ever present. As a matter
of fact, Russia occupied Erzeroum temporarily in 1878,
and only the pressure of England at the Congress of
Berlin induced her to withdraw. As long as England
was at variance with Russia the danger was kept in
suspense, but now that they are united in an entente
it would be foolhardiness for any other Power to
imagine that it could intervene and prevent by force of
arms any consummation which these two had agreed
// 292.png
.pn +1
upon. Should such an entente lead to a dividing up
of Asiatic Turkey into different spheres of influence
among the Great Powers, there would in all probability
be a European war, as foreshadowed by Professor
Vambéry,[#] which ultimately would be only too likely
to result in the incorporation of the greater part of
Turkey in Asia in the Russian Empire, since Russia
never will, and in view of her geographical position
never can, allow Germany to be the permanently
dominating influence on the Bosphorus.

.pm fn-start // 1
See Appendix, p. #291#.
.pm fn-end

In the course of my first visit to Prince Bismarck
in April 1891, the topic of Russia’s intentions with
regard to Constantinople was discussed. To my
surprise, the Prince stated that he did not believe
Russia intended to take Constantinople. Russia
might even undertake to guarantee the Sultan in the
possession of his palaces, his harem, and his wives on
condition that no other strong Power should be
dominant on the Bosphorus. I ventured to ask the
Prince whether he did not think such a development
might be inimical to British interests. Bismarck
replied: “Not necessarily so.”[#]

.pm fn-start // 2
I was on the point of publishing this conversation at the time,
but wrote first to Bismarck to ask his permission, to which he
replied asking me to refrain from publication.
.pm fn-end

Leaving these far-flung possibilities out of consideration,
it is worth while pondering what beneficial part
England can play in the East. Many liberal-minded
Englishmen have advocated that Germany and England
should join hands with other nations and endeavour
// 293.png
.pn +1
to work peacefully together, in order to enable Turkey
to introduce reforms, exploit her unlimited resources,
and thus place herself in a strong independent position
in Asia; the only hope left to her.

The British Government might be careful not to send
minor officials to Turkey imbued with dislike for the
Turk. Such men play into the hands of our rivals by
drawing up reports marked by ill-feeling towards the
Turks, by corresponding with English newspapers in
the same vein, and thereby they indirectly hamper
English chances in the competition for commercial
advantages. When these practices have ceased, then
the goodwill of the Turk will come as a matter of
course, and will readily take the practical shape of
giving English capital an equal chance in competing for
the many valuable opportunities for developing trade
still to be had in Turkey; for it may come as news
to many Englishmen that, next to Holland and
Switzerland, Turkey has the lowest tariff of any
country in Europe, and approaches nearest to the
English ideal of Free Trade. The splendid work
already done by England in Egypt, particularly in
the matter of irrigation, affords ample guarantee
that honest co-operation between England and Germany,
as advocated by Lieutenant-Colonel H. P.
Picot (see Appendix, p. #294#), might not only result
in an addition to, but in a multiplication of, forces
working for the benefit of Turkey and for the
advantage of the world at large.
// 294.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.nf c
<xl>APPENDIX</xl>
.nf-
.sp 4
// 295.png
.pn +1
// 296.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=app
APPENDIX
.sp 2
.ni
<sc>In</sc> the autumn of 1912 a paragraph appeared in a
London evening paper announcing that a street in
Plumstead had been named after Professor Arminius
Vambéry, the eminent Hungarian scholar, who, as is
well known, was a personal friend of Queen Victoria
and Edward VII, and I sent it to him. This little
incident led to a correspondence between us, of which
the following letters of the Professor, written in English,
are a portion. After his death I sent copies to his son,
Dr. Rustem Vambéry—who, like his father before him,
is now a Professor at the University of Budapest—and
received by return the authorization to publish them,
which is embodied in the first letter of the series. In
view of the eminence of Professor Vambéry as an
authority on Eastern affairs, I gladly avail myself of
his kind permission to do so.
.pi
.pm letter-start
.rj
<sc>Budapest</sc>, <i>October 11, 1913</i>.

<sc>Dear Mr. Whitman</sc>,—I thank you most heartily
for the delicacy of feeling which prompted you to give
me the opportunity of revising my father’s letters to
you, which you are quite at liberty to publish.

I have read them carefully through, and see no
reason to alter or omit anything. You know how
proud my father was of his status as an independent
man, who could freely express his views without let or
hindrance. Why should I not continue to act for him
in this spirit now that he has passed away?
// 297.png
.pn +1

It might perhaps interest you to know that your
work on Austria[#] was the last book he read in his life.
The afternoon before his death he asked me to read a
few pages aloud, for his sufferings (oppression of the
heart) were alleviated by the distraction.

He was a great admirer of your writings, a feeling
which has been fully inherited by
.ti +15
Yours most sincerely,
.ti +20
<sc>Dr</sc>. R. VAMBÉRY
.rj
(Professor of Criminal Law at the University of Budapest).
.pm letter-end

.pm fn-start // 1
“The Realm of the Habsburgs,” by Sidney Whitman. Wm.
Heinemann, London, 1892.
.pm fn-end

.sp 2
.h3
I

.pm letter-start
.rj
<sc>Budapest University</sc>, <i>November 12, 1912</i>.

<sc>Dear Mr. Whitman</sc>,—It was very kind of you to
remember the old Dervish and to take interest in the
honour bestowed upon him by your magnanimous
countrymen.[#] Any services I may have rendered to
England are insignificant; but I am proud of having
been able to champion England’s interests, for, in spite
of all shortcomings, you are still the greatest nation in
the world.

The fate of our poor Turkish friends is sealed. They
will get rid of the cumbersome European ballast, and
it is to be wished that they should be able to recuperate
in Asia, where they cannot be replaced by
any other Moslem nation. Their collapse in Europe
was inevitable, and it is only the suddenness of the
fall which has surprised me.

My son is much pleased by your kindly remembrance
of the slight attention he was able to pay to
// 298.png
.pn +1
you. He only acted as in duty bound towards a
foreigner and an Englishman.[#]
.ti +15
Yours very truly,
.ti +20
A. VAMBÉRY.
.pm letter-end

.pm fn-start // 2
Reference to the naming of a street in Plumstead already
mentioned above.
.pm fn-end

.pm fn-start // 1
Reference to my stay in Budapest in the summer of 1897, during
which I made the acquaintance of Professor Vambéry’s son.
.pm fn-end
.sp 2
.h3
II

.pm letter-start
.rj
<i>December 14, 1912.</i>

<sc>Dear Mr. Whitman</sc>,—Allow me to express to you
the great pleasure I felt in reading your article published
in the <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i> under the title
“Some German Military Writers.”[#] It is certainly
highly gratifying that you, sir, whom I know as the
most able writer on German affairs in England,
should have come forward to give a good lesson
to these overbearing gentlemen. It is in any case a
most important <i>signum temporis</i>, and it must diminish
the idolization of brutal force, of sad mediæval traditions.
The eminent soldier who wrote the book
“Unser Volk in Waffen” (General von der Goltz) is
often quoted by Germans when comparisons are drawn
between England and Germany’s Imperial power, and
deductions are drawn therefrom of Britain’s near downfall.
Well, let us hope that they are grossly mistaken,
just as they were mistaken in predicting a sure victory
for the poor Turks, of whom a great German once
stated, in the presence of Sultan Abdul Hamid, that
“<i>one Turkish soldier was worth three Prussians</i>.”
The German military instructor may have succeeded
in turning the goodly Turk into a Prussian, minus the
Pickelhaube, but Lule-Burgas has proved a most cruel
// 299.png
.pn +1
disenchantment to the glorifiers of General Bernhardi’s
theories.

In so far I agree with your views. But there is one
point with regard to which the English must take
particular care, and this is not to fall into the mistake
of disregarding the necessity arising from the general
situation of European armaments. Formerly the
English were quite right to pity the man on the
Continent forcibly made a soldier; to-day, however,
you must consider the Latin saying, <i>Ulula cum lupis</i>,
and you are compelled to take note of your next-door
neighbours. You must approve Lord Roberts’s
efforts regarding compulsory military service. If Lord
Haldane finds it possible to admire all sorts of
German theories and institutions, why does he make
an exception with regard to universal military service,
which is a genuine German invention?
.ti +15
Yours very truly,
.ti +20
A. VAMBÉRY.
.pm letter-end

.pm fn-start // 2
In the issue of December 4, 1912.
.pm fn-end

.sp 2
.h3
III

.pm letter-start
.rj
<sc>Budapest University</sc>, <i>December 30, 1912</i>.

<sc>Dear Mr. Whitman</sc>,—I have read your ably
written chapter on Sultan Abdul Hamid with much
interest, and I may tell you that I can neither add to
nor take away anything from its contents. Of course
there is a good deal I could say about the man whose
favourite I was supposed to be during more than ten
years, but it is impossible to lift the veil more than I
did in the two essays I published in the June and
July numbers of 1909 of the <i>Nineteenth Century and
After</i>, in which you can find more than one episode
worth reproduction.
// 300.png
.pn +1

Abdul Hamid was decidedly an extraordinary man.
Want of able and trustworthy Ministers caused his
downfall; but it is generally admitted that if he had
remained on the throne the present catastrophe would
not have taken place. As I hear from Constantinople,
he has got much chance to return to power. The bulk
of the nation is siding with him. The Young Turks
confess themselves the mistake they made (<i>vide</i> a
paper by Husein Djahid, the editor of the <i>Tanin</i>, in
the January (1913) number of the <i>Deutsche Revue</i>).
The adherents of the old school were always in the
Opposition, but the blow was too heavy a one, and I
very much doubt whether he, or anybody else, will be
able to heal the wounds.

Be so kind as to let me have a copy of the book you
will publish, as I am much interested in the late
Sultan. Properly speaking, I was not his favourite,
for he wanted to use my pen in the interest of Russia,
whereas I endeavoured to turn him into British
waters, in which I should have probably succeeded if
your politicians and your public opinion had not been
under the sway of false humanitarian views, and if your
nation had not lost the persistency of bygone ages.

In a personal meeting with you I could furnish you
with more than one detail. With best greetings from
my son,
.ti +15
Yours sincerely,
.ti +20
A. VAMBÉRY.
.pm letter-end
.sp 2
.h3
IV

.pm letter-start
.rj
<i>January 1, 1913.</i>

<sc>Dear Mr. Whitman</sc>,—My letter of yesterday will
answer most of your questions, and I only write to tell
you that your friendly feelings towards Sultan Abdul
// 301.png
.pn +1
Hamid ought not to blind you to the real character of
this unfortunate prince. He was decidedly highly
gifted, though this was less apparent towards the end
of his reign. He suffered from the defects of Eastern
princes and of Orientals in general. His intentions
may have been honest, but the means he applied were
decidedly perverse and he never listened to advice,
nor did he believe in anybody.

At all events I look forward to the issue of your
book with interest.
.ti +15
Yours sincerely,
.ti +20
A. VAMBÉRY.
.pm letter-end
.sp 2
.h3
V

.pm letter-start
.rj
<i>January 6, 1913.</i>

<sc>Dear Mr. Whitman</sc>,—I had great pleasure in
perusing the copy I duly received of your chapter on
Sultan Abdul Hamid. Your able pen has lent colour
to his career, even though you could not of course deal
fully with his real doings.

If I have not always done full justice to this extraordinary
man, I may plead some excuse. For more
than twelve years I worked hard, I even risked my
life, to lead him into the harbour of political security
by which the present catastrophe could have been
avoided, without, I regret to say, being able to achieve
any result.

His entourage made him over-cautious and distrustful,
and I am sure he will be haunted by remorse when
he remembers our long evening conversations in the
Yildiz Kiosk or Chalet Kiosk. He is not the only
culprit: your statesmen, too, have made great mistakes.

I trust your poetical pen will be fully appreciated
by the reading public, for, as I have told you already,
// 302.png
.pn +1
Abdul Hamid has still a fair chance of coming back to
the throne. But I do not envy him on that account.
It would only turn out to be a midsummer night’s
dream.

In reciprocating your good wishes for the New Year,
.ti +15
I beg to remain, yours sincerely,
.ti +20
A. VAMBÉRY.

P.S.—Pray give my compliments to M. Chedo
Mijatovich.[#] I am very glad that <i>Bog dal srecu
yunacku</i>[#] to his countrymen.
.pm letter-end

.pm fn-start // 1
The distinguished Servian historian and diplomatist, formerly
Minister of Finance in Servia and Servian Minister in London, where
he has since taken up his residence.
.pm fn-end

.pm fn-start // 2
“God has given the good luck of heroes.”
.pm fn-end
.sp 2
.h3
VI

.pm letter-start
.rj
<i>February 11, 1913.</i>

<sc>Dear Mr. Whitman</sc>,—I delayed answering your
last letter as I was awaiting the arrival of the book
you promised to send me. Now that your most interesting
and fascinatingly written study on Germany[#]
has arrived I hasten to express to you my best thanks
for the pleasure I have derived from your book, as
well as for your kind reference to my Essays on
Sultan Abdul Hamid.[#]

In writing about leading contemporaries we are apt to
get into a predicament, evidently not unfamiliar to you,
which causes us a great deal of trouble. Those who know
cannot write and those who write most do not know.
At all events the personality of Abdul Hamid is a
// 303.png
.pn +1
landmark in the history of the Osmanides which will
be often spoken of.

The Persian poet whom I quote at the end of my
article on Abdul Hamid is Saadi, and the quotation is
derived from the “Gulistan.”
.ti +15
Yours sincerely,
.ti +20
A. VAMBÉRY.
.pm letter-end

.pm fn-start // 3
“German Memories.” Wm. Heinemann.
.pm fn-end

.pm fn-start // 4
<i>Nineteenth Century and After</i>, June and July 1909.
.pm fn-end

.sp 2
.h3
VII

.pm letter-start
.rj
<i>February 14, 1913.</i>

<sc>Dear Mr. Whitman</sc>,—Don’t take it as a compliment,
for it is a fact that during the three days
that I was reading, with slight intervals of leisure,
your “Deutsche Erinnerungen”[#] all my studies had to
take an involuntary pause. Such an extraordinary
influence has your masterly pen wrought upon me.
I dare say no German would be able to write such
a book upon England, although the subject would be
most interesting from a national and ethical point
of view, considering the liberal views predominating
in England and the great achievements of your
nation all over the world. I am glad to see that
the unjustified enmity between your country and
Germany is gradually subsiding. Both nations are
supplementary the one to the other, and their mutual
friendship furthers the common interests of humanity.

When will your “Turkish Memories” appear? I am
anxious to read them.
.ti +15
Yours sincerely,
.ti +20
A. VAMBÉRY.
.pm letter-end

.pm fn-start // 1
German version of my “German Memories”. Deutsche Verlagsanstalt,
Stuttgart.
.pm fn-end

// 304.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.h3
VIII

.pm letter-start
.rj
<i>February 20, 1913.</i>

<sc>Dear Mr. Whitman</sc>,—It will give me much
pleasure to go through any chapter of your “Turkish
Memories” you may choose to send me. Of
course one cannot apply a too severe criticism to a
writer on Western affairs who is dealing with Eastern
topics unless he is under the sway of preconceived
notions like Pierre Loti, who, like Lamartine, dips
his pen in Castalian fountains. And, besides, Abdul
Hamid was to me the most incomprehensible Oriental
character I have met in all my long and variegated
Eastern career, and I could not vouch for the correctness
of my judgment of him. There is one danger, however,
you must take care not to fall into, <i>i.e.</i> unconditional
Turcophilism. I mean to say you must avoid all
sentiment in dealing with politics. Statesmen may
have ignored the horrible effects of Turkish misrule
and the ruin of the finest portion of Asia, but we
writers, at any rate, are bound to speak the truth.

I am no admirer of Sir Edward Grey’s policy in the
Near East, and still less in Central Asia, but I cannot
refrain from calling the German policy haughty and
overbearing. Her <i>Drang nach dem Osten</i>[#] is silly
and childish and must provoke a most bloody contest
all over the world. If Germany imitates Austrian
methods she will be overtaken by a similar fate, for
it is no secret that the sentence, <i>finis Austriæ</i>, is
looming in the distance.

What I pity is my poor country, whose future is not
very bright.
.ti +15
Yours sincerely,
.ti +20
A. VAMBÉRY.
.pm letter-end

.pm fn-start // 1
A current German phrase meaning “The trend towards the
East.”
.pm fn-end

// 305.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.h3
IX

.pm letter-start
.rj
<i>February 21, 1913.</i>

<sc>Dear Mr. Whitman</sc>,—I have gone through your
manuscript with great pleasure, and all I can say is
that indulgence, nobility of mind, gratitude, and
gentlemanly feeling form the ruling features of the
paper, whereas the manifold harm resulting from
the personal idiosyncrasies of the Sultan is only
occasionally touched upon.

From your point of view, and judging as a foreigner,
you were quite right to use subdued colours, but
having acted as a political writer who endeavoured
and intended to turn the Sultan on the right way, I
am sorry to say I could not follow your example. Nor
could any modern Turk who had witnessed the ever-increasing
calamity of his country do so. At all events
your book will call forth much comment and varied
criticism.
.ti +15
Yours sincerely,
.ti +20
A. VAMBÉRY.
.pm letter-end
.sp 2
.h3
X

.pm letter-start
.rj
<i>April 28, 1913.</i>

<sc>Dear Mr. Whitman</sc>,—In reading your well-conceived
and well-written book on the “Realm of the
Habsburgs” I could not refrain from feeling regret at
not having been blessed by nature with that rare gift
of literary skill and eminence which distinguishes your
pen. Having seen and experienced so much in many
countries and in many nations, where I passed as a
native, what attractive and truthful pictures could I not
have furnished of my variegated experiences, and how
// 306.png
.pn +1
considerably I could have facilitated the intercourse
between man and man! Well, <i>non omnes omnia</i>—and
writers like yourself, in whose works I delight, do
sometimes darken the distant horizon of my past.

Your book, like the last one I read, is a masterpiece,
in spite of the disadvantages resulting from the
changes caused by the quick pace of our times, when
so many features must obviously alter. It reminds me
of an Oriental remark about a decayed beauty: “The
mosque has fallen into ruins, but the altar where
people worshipped still stands upright.” With some
slight alterations your book could be advantageously
republished. I am exceedingly sorry to be so far from
dear old England, for, owing to this distance, many
interesting items culled from my daily Turkish,
Persian, and Tartar reading are lost to the public.
Germany is not the place for practical Eastern topics:
a long essay written on the slippers of Goethe is more
appreciated there than a detailed description of recent
political events in Turkey, Persia, etc. I was certainly
not wrong in saying one day to a great German:
“Hätte Deutschland weniger Orientalisten aber mehr
Orientkenner gehabt, so brauchten sie heute Englands
Stellung in Asien nicht mit neidischen Augen zu
betrachten.”[#]

You are much younger than I am. Perhaps chance
will favour me in seeing you one day in this part of
the world.
.ti +15
Yours sincerely,
.ti +20
A. VAMBÉRY.
.pm letter-end

.pm fn-start // 1
“If Germany had possessed fewer Orientalists and a greater
number of true judges of the East, she need not have regarded
England’s position in Asia with envious eyes to-day.”
.pm fn-end

// 307.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
I feel I cannot more fitly conclude my “Turkish
Memories” than by citing the letter of Lieutenant-Colonel
H. P. Picot, already referred to in the
Preface:

.pm letter-start
“On reading the letter written to you on February
14, 1913, by Professor Vambéry, I was greatly
interested to find him saying: ‘I am glad to see that
the unjustified enmity between your country and Germany
is gradually subsiding. Both nations are supplementary
the one to the other, and their mutual friendship
furthers the common interests of humanity.’

“The Professor, I see, agrees with you that ‘the
real crux of Turkey’s political problems is, and always
was, Russia’; and, further, that ‘the geographical
position of Germany seems to set fixed limits to her
ambitions.’ It was the realization of these factors by
Turkish statesmen that gave Germany her opportunity
during the later years of Abdul Hamid’s Sultanate.
The welcome extended to the German Emperor by the
Sultan at the time of his visit to Constantinople and
the Holy Land was a direct invitation to Germany to
interest herself in the development of the Asiatic
provinces of Turkey, and thereby to build up a barrier
against Russia in Armenia and Mesopotamia. The
Sultan saw clearly that if German capital could be
employed on a large scale in the development of
railways between the capital and Bagdad, and in
opening up the Mesopotamian delta by means of
irrigation, etc., his country might obtain that political
support which had become practically essential for
// 308.png
.pn +1
the preservation of the integrity of his Asiatic
dominions.

“The same view was doubtless held by Sir William
White, H.B.M.’s Ambassador at Constantinople, who,
years ago, was of opinion that, in the interests both of
Great Britain and of Turkey, it would be well if Germany
were encouraged to extend her influence at
Constantinople and in the Balkans.

“Abdul Hamid naturally hoped for the political
support of Germany in the Balkans as well as in his
Asiatic possessions, though he must have been aware
of the difficult position Germany, as a Christian Power,
would find herself in should the Balkan States make
an effort on a sufficiently wide scale to extend their
frontiers at Turkey’s expense. In such a case, however,
he had little or nothing to expect from Great
Britain, and even less from Russia. Thus, Germany
was a last hope; and though, as events have shown,
her support was of little avail when the psychological
moment arrived for the long-expected Balkan war,
the Sultan’s political sagacity has yet to be proved at
fault in so far as Asia Minor is concerned. Germany
now possesses great interests in Anatolia and Mesopotamia,
and if Turkey is ever to build up her Asiatic
Empire and regain her position as a Moslem Power, it
will only be done with the assistance and co-operation
of Germany and Great Britain. It does not follow
that because Germany failed Turkey in Europe, she
will do so in Asia. The problem is a different one in
that quarter, where it has lost its peculiarly European
character. It may well be within the power, as it
// 309.png
.pn +1
certainly is in the interest, of Great Britain and Germany
to safeguard Turkey’s sovereign rights in her
purely Asiatic possessions. Russia is the enemy at
the gate.

“It is of happy augury that the bitterness of
feeling that has separated Great Britain and Germany
is now fast giving way to a better understanding, and
it would be well that Turkish statesmen should realize
early in the day that the future of their country
depends on welding together, as far as it lies in their
power to do so, the economic and political interests
of these two countries in Asia. For Russia is already
moving in the direction of Mesopotamia and Armenia:
her occupation of Persian Azerbaijan, where she has
concentrated 17,000 troops, is meant to serve her
designs upon Mesopotamia, as the first étape of her
advance towards the Persian Gulf.

“Russia has not yet forgotten the lessons of the
Russo-Japanese war. If she scents obstacles ahead,
she will hesitate to advance too rapidly on the path of
adventure. But hesitation is not synonymous with
withdrawal. Russia is still true to Gortschakoff’s
famous phrase, ‘La Russie ne boude pas, elle se
recueille.’ Turkey would be in less danger from her
if she could enlist the sympathies and engage the
material interests of Great Britain and Germany upon
her side, as Abdul Hamid evidently considered that
they might be enlisted in regard to his Asiatic
dominions.

“As already stated in your own words, ‘the geographical
position of Germany seems to set fixed limits
// 310.png
.pn +1
to her ambitions’; and since Great Britain has no
territorial ambitions in Asiatic Turkey—as it is recognized
at last, even in Turkey—there is everything to
be gained by their loyal and whole-hearted co-operation.
But only on such lines.
.rj
(Signed) “<sc>H. P. Picot</sc>.”
.pm letter-end
// 311.png
.pn +1
// 312.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.h2
INDEX
.sp 2
.ix
Abdul Aziz, #20#, #27#, #163#, #181#, #234#, #238#, #258#

Abdul Hamid, and the Marquis of Salisbury,  #1#;
  works of, #8#, #51#–#54#,#164#–#166#;
  and the Armenians, #20#,  #57#;
  and the Germans, #22#,  #270#;
  and Ahmed Midhat Effendi, #25#,  #26#;
  popularity, #27#–#28#, #180#–#182#, #238#–#239#,  #243#;
  and Dr. Hepworth, #60#–#61#, #128#–#129#;
  and Mr. Whitman, #30#–#35#, #51#, #61#,  #170#;
  and the Press, #148#–#149#;
  deposition, #150#, #177#–#178#;
  ceremony of the Selamlik, #154#–#158#, #178#–#182#;
  account of, #159#–#182#;
  promise of Nicholas of Russia to, #162#, 277 <i>and note</i>;
  personality, #166#–#167#, #234#, #237#–#238#, #254#–#255#;
  and Mr. Whittaker,  #171#;
  and Professor Vambéry, #171#–#172#;
  audiences, #179#–#180#;
  stories of his diplomacy,184;
  spies of,  #201#;
  and the Fehim Pasha incident, #264#, #266#–#267#,  #270#;
  mentioned in Professor Vambéry’s letters, #285#, #286#–#287#, #288#–#292#;
  William II and, #294#–#295#

Abdul Medjid,  #261#;
  reforms of, #229#–#230#

Abraham Pasha, #19#–#20#

Abyssinia, Christian monasteries of, #254#

Adrianople, peace of, 1829, #106#

Ahmed Midhat, account of, #25#–#28#, #235#–#236#;
  letter in Turkish to Mr. Whitman, #107#–#108#;
  conversations with, #216#–#224#, #225#, #247#, #257#,  #265#;
  stories of Mohammed’s life told by, #258#–#260#

Aintab in Syria, #63#, #112#, #114#

Aja Sophia of Constantinople, #28#, #87#

Ala Dagh, the, #105#

Alaskird, #97#

Albanian Redifs, the, #45#, #155#

Albanians in Salonica, #40#

Albigenses, the, #262#

Albrecht, Archduke, #182#

Alexander of Battenberg, Prince, and the Mohammedan element, #242#
// 313.png
.pn +1


Alexander of Servia, #59#

Alexandretta, #63#, #81#, #115#–#117#

Alidjekrek affair of 1896, #97#

Ambassadors in Constantinople, position of, #186#–#169#;
  types, #189#–#193#;
  social life, #193#–#194#;
  Turkish, #194#–#195#

American element in Erzeroum, #99#–#100#;
  interest in Anatolia, #121# <i>and note</i>

Anatolia, the mission to,  #60#;
  reforms, #63#, #70#, #76#, #79#–#81#,  #278#;
  prosperity,  #165#;
  German interests, #295#

Anatolian Railway, the, #268#, #275# <i>and note</i>

Anatolius, General, #90#

Anglicans, #228#

Angora, prosperity of, #165#

Arab types in Turkey, #233#, #248#

Aram Aramian, arrest, #97#

Ararat, Mount, #109#

Arians, the, #223#

Armenak Dermonprejan, arrest, #97#

Armenia, military service in, #75#–#76#;
  people of, #118#–#119#, #120# <i>and note</i>

“Armenian Atrocities,” rising of 1895–6, #70#–#79#,  #170#;
  the outbreak in Constantinople, #10#–#35#

Armenian Cemetery, Constantinople, #18#

Armenian Committees, #13#, #74#, #127#

Armenian schools, #63#, #66#, #75#, #99#, #127#

Armenians in Turkey, #228#, #231#

Arms from Russia seized, #97#

Arsenal (Tophanè), Constantinople, discovery of bombs, #24#

Arson in Constantinople, #243#–#244#

Ashmead-Bartlett, Sir Ellis, #48#, #53#–#55#

Aspern, #182#

Asquith, Mr., and the Eucharistic procession in London, #213#

Austria-Hungary, Turkish policy of, #275#

Austrian Double Eagle March, the, #156#–#157#
// 314.png
.pn +1

Avellis, Hugo, in Constantinople, #204#–#248#;
  knowledge of Turkish character, #239#–#240#;
  stories of Turkish women, #257#–#258#

Azarian, Armenian banker, #20#

Azerbaijan, #296#


Bagdad Railway, #269#, #277#

Bahri Pasha, Governor-General of Van, fired on, #74#

Baiburt, #85#–#86#

Bajezid, Sultan, mosque of, #8#

Balkan War, #295#

Balls in Constantinople, #197#–#198#

Baptists, #228#

Batoum, #67#

Bayazid, #105#

Bazar de Secours, #52#–#53#

Bebek, #169#

Begler-Bey, Palace of, #139#, #159#

Beikos, #27#, #257#

Beilan, #116#

Belgrade, #59#

Belisarius,  #183#;
  sayings of, <i>quoted</i>, #160#

Benedek, Field-Marshal, #182#

Bennett, Mr. Gordon, #10#–#11#, #15#, #40#, #57#–#59#, #129#

Bergholz, Mr. Leo, American Consul at Erzeroum, #99#

Berlin, Congress of, #278#

Bernhardi, General, #286#

Beschiktasch, #142#

Bieberstein, Baron Marschall von,  #162#;
  and Abdul Hamid,  #177#;
  and the Fehim Pasha incident, #264#–#247#

Bigham, Clive, #48#, #55#

Birds, shooting of, #254#–#245#

Biredschik, #63#, #111#–#112#

Bismarck, Prince, opinion on the Cretan situation, #1#–#2#;
  the Sultan’s message to, #34#–#35#;
  and Gortschakoff,  #188#;
  and Détaille’s picture,  #215#;
  diplomacy, #270#–#271#,  #272#;
  on the position in the East, #279#

Bitlis, #63#, #77#, #88#, #91#, #96#, #120#,  #132#;
  the road to, #101#–#110#;
  report of the English Vice-Consul, #122#–#123#

Black Sea, #65#, #82#

Blunt, Mr. J. P., #47#–#48#

Bodenstedt, Friedrich, <i>quoted</i>, #277#–#278#

Bombs, discovery in Constantinople, #24#

Bosphorus, the, #92#, #141#, #278#

Bournous, the, #113#

Bribery, charges of, #80#

Bucharest, diplomacy in, #189#
// 315.png
.pn +1

Büchner, #237#

Budapest, 285 (<i>note</i>)

Budapest University, #283#

Bulgarians, Uniate, #228#

Burton, Sir Richard, knowledge of the East, #224#–#225#, #226#

Buyukdere, massacre of Armenians at, #19#–#20#

Byron, Lord, on Constantinople, <i>quoted</i>, #5#

“Byzantinism,” #183#


Capitulations, the, #201#, #231#

Caravans, starting point for,  #67#;
  on the Zigana Pass, #84#–#85#

Carlyle and Islamism, #219#–#220#

Cassim Pasha, suburb of, #8#

Castries, Count de, “L’Islam,” #218#

Catholics, Latin, #228#

Censorship of the Press in Constantinople, evading the, #23#–#24#, #171#

Cercle d’Orient, Constantinople, #19#, #195#

Chadidja, #259#

Chakir Pasha, Marshal, story of the watch, #70#–#6#, #93#–#94#;
  accounts of the Armenian rising, #77#–#79#;
  and Reouf Pasha, #98#

Chaldeans, Uniate, #228#

Chalet Kiosk, #288#

Charles, Archduke, #182#

Chary, Hermann, Roumanian interpreter, #40#–#41#, #48#, #65#, #117#

Chefakat, Order of the, #165#, #172#

Christian Churches in Turkey, #28#, #222#–#223#

Christianity in Turkey, #119#–#123#, #216#–#223#, #226#–#230#

Circassians, characteristics of the, #106#–#107#;
  exodus of, #278#

Club de Constantinople, #195#

Colombo, Hôtel, Salonica, #37#

Commerce, British Chamber of, at Constantinople, #190#

Commercial code of 1850, #229#

Commerell, Admiral, #226#

Constantine the Great, #223#, #254#

Constantinople, impressions, #5#–#9#;
  cavalry barracks, #7#,  #8#;
  Fakir Hanè,  #8#;
  Greek High School,  #8#;
  Marine Hospital,  #8#;
  Marine Ministry,  #8#;
  Ters Hanè,  #8#;
  gossip in, #12#–#13#;
  British Embassy, #17#, #55#–#56#;
  German Post Office, #21#–#22#;
  Arsenal,  #24#;
  Aja Sophia, #28#,  #87#;
  Gumysch Soujou Hospital,  #30#;
  outbreak of the war, #50#–#51#;
  a return to, #127#–#128#;
  water
// 316.png
.pn +1
  supply of,  #165#;
  diplomacy in, #186#–#195#;
  cuisine of, #195#–#196#;
  “high life” in, #196#–#198#;
  the Passage Oriental, #206#–#207#;
  Europeans in, #214#–#215#,  #240#;
  fall of,  #222#;
  fire brigade of, #243#–#244#;
  Bazaar, #247#

Constantinople, Club de, #12#, #195#

Copts, #228#

Corpus Christi, Feast of, in Constantinople, #213#

Corruption and bribery in Turkey, #163#–#164#

“Cospoli,” provincial name for Constantinople, #103#

Costaki Pasha, #1#

<i>Courrier de L’Est</i>, #149#

Crete, Bismarck’s interest in the island, #1#–#2#;
  the naval demonstration 1898, #276#

Crimean War, #170#, #230#, #261#

Criminal code of 1840, #229#

Crispi, #271#

Crusades, nature of the, #215#–#216#, #219#, #221#–#222#

Cuinet <i>cited</i>, #120# (<i>note</i>)

Currie, Lady, #55#–#56#

Currie, Sir Philip,  #263#;
  the protest to the Porte, #54#–#56#;
  urges recall of Chakir Pasha,  #71#;
  telegram to Erzeroum, autumn 1895, #77#


Dagmar, Empress, #71#

<i>Daily Mail</i> and the Fehim Pasha incident, #266#–#267#

Damascene swords, #91#

Damascus, #118#

Dandolo, Enrico, #250#

Danish Bey, #71#

<i>Daphne</i>, Austrian-Lloyd steamer, #64#

Dead, Turkish reverence for the, #8#

Deliler, village of, #55#

Demeter Mavrocordato Effendi, #71#, #72#

Détaille, M. Edouard, “Nos Vainqueurs,” #215#

Deutsche Bank, Berlin, #142#

<i>Deutsche Revue</i>, #287#

Diarbekir, #63#, #88#,  #91#;
  history, #110#–#111#

“Diary of an Idle Woman in Constantinople,” #253#

Djahid, Husein, paper by, #287#

Dogs of Constantinople, #17#, #254#

Dolma-Baghtchè, palace of, #139#, #141#

Doré, Gustave, illustrations of the Bible, #88#

Dragoman Service, the, #189#

Draper, and Islamism, #219#–#220#
// 317.png
.pn +1

Druses, #228#

Dufferin, Lord, #193#

<i>Duilio</i>, the Italian ship, #37#


Edhem Pasha, generalissimo of the Turkish forces, #43#–#44#, #46#, #48#

Edward VII, #283#

Egypt, irrigation, #280#

Egyptians at Nisib, #112#

Elassona, Turkish headquarters at, #40#–#48#

Emerson, “English Traits,” #249#

Emin Bey, story of, #166#–#167#

England, Turkish policy, #22#, #170#, #272#–#274#, #278#–#279#

English governesses in Constantinople, #213#

English settlement in Salonica, #39#–#40#

Englishman, Turkish estimation of the, #261#–#262#

Erzeroum, vilayet, #63# <i>and note</i>;
  Armenian rising, October 1895, #70#–#76#;
  the journey to,  #81#;
  reception at, #88#–#90#;
  history of the town,  #90#;
  Russian influence, #91#–#92#;
  the American element in, #99#–#100#;
  Russian occupation 1878, #278#

Erzingian, #73#

Etchmiadzin (Russia), #78#

Ethnike Hetairia, the, #36# <i>and note</i>, #37#

Eucharistic Congress in London, #213#

Eugénie, Empress, #139#

Eunuchs, #253#–#254#

Euphrates, crossing the, #112#

Europeans in Constantinople, #214#–#215#, #240#


Famine, #165#

Fauna between Erzeroum and Bitlis, #102#–#103#

“Fedaïs,” the, #75#–#76#

Fehim Pasha, Chief of Secret Police, #177#–#178#;
  scandal of, #263#–#267#

Ferdinand, Austrian ex-Emperor, sayings of, #159#–#160#

Ferid Pasha, #270#

Ferrero, Guglielmo, sayings of, <i>quoted</i>, #234#–#235#

Fire brigade in Constantinople, #243#–#244#

Franco-German War 1870, #251#

Franco-Italian War 1859, #182#

Franz-Josef, present to the Bazar de Secours, #53#
// 318.png
.pn +1

French Embassy in Constantinople, #50#, #251#

French language in Turkey, #275#–#276#

Friedrichsruh, #2#

Fuad, Grand Vizier, #177#


Galata Bridge, the, #15#–#18#, #21#–#22#, #141#, #244#

Gautier, Théophile, on the Turk, #8#

Gellini, Gentil, #250#

“German Memories,” Prof. Vambéry’s remarks on, #289#, #290#

Germany and England, #293#, #294#

Germany and Turkey—Behaviour of Germans during the massacre, #21#–#22#;
  German officers in Turkey, #48#–#49#, #271#–#272#,  #285#;
  German surgeons for the wounded, #51#–#52#;
  Turkish policy of Germany, #169#–#170#, #279#, #290#, #291#, #293#,  #294#;
  German influence in Turkey, #202#, #214#, #241#, #264#, #267#–#272#, #274#–#277#, #279#, #295#–#296#;
  German language in Turkey, #275#–#276#

Ghazi Osman Pasha, #50#–#51#, #155#,  #205#;
  his office at Yildiz, #139#, #177#–#178#, #181#

<i>Giaours</i>, #228#, #249#

Gladstone, the Rt. Hon. W. E., policy of, #169#–#170#

Goethe <i>quoted</i>, #125#, #268#

Golden Horn, #6#, #7#, #8#, #9# (<i>note</i>), #55#

“Goldener Lamm,” Vienna, #4#

Goltz, General von der, #285#

Gordon, General, #40#, #226#

Görgey, #251#

Gortschakoff, #188#, #296#

Græco-Turkish War, #35#–#56#, #219#, #271#, #276#

Grant, General, and Reouf Pasha, #94#–#95#

Gratz, #182#

Graves, Mr., British Consul at Erzeroum, opinion of, <i>quoted</i>, #93#–#94#

Greece, incursions into Macedonia,  #36#;
  religious intolerance in, #213#–#214#;
  Turks in, #251#

Greek Committees, #2#

Greek Orthodox Church, #20#–#21#, #213#–#214#

Greek Press, Bismarck and the, #2#

Greeks in Constantinople, behaviour, #50#–#51#;
  characteristics,  #212#;
  burial customs, #213#–#214#,  #241#;
  Uniate, #228#

Grey, Sir Edward, Eastern policy of, #291#

Gritti, Andrea, #250#

Gritti, Ludovico, #250#

Grumbkow Pasha, #48#
// 319.png
.pn +1

Gumysch Hanè, #83#–#8#

Gumysch Soujou Hospital, Constantinople, #30#

Gwynne, H. A., #55#


Hafis Pasha, #112#

Haidar Pasha, university at, #162#

Haldane, Lord, #286#

Halid Bey, #64#

Hamid Pasha, #74#

Hamidiè cavalry regiments, #73#, #109#, #145#–#155#

Hamidiè Mosque, #156#, #164#, #178#–#179#

“Hans,” #83#, #86#

Harem, the, #215#, #256#–#257#

<i>Harper’s Magazine</i>, #132#

Hassan Bey, #258#

Hassib Effendi, #71#

Hatti-Humayoun of 1856, #230#

Hatti-Sherif of Gulhanè, #229#–#230#

Hatzfeldt, Count, #206#

Hedjas Railway, #150#, #277#

Heine, “Buch der Lieder,” <i>quoted</i>, #151#

Hepworth, Dr. George H., the expedition into Armenia, 58 <i>et seq.</i>;
  “Through Armenia on Horseback,”  #62#;
  the journey to Erzeroum, #81#, #89#–#90#;
  the road to Bitlis, #101#–#102#, #104#, #105#,  #108#;
  incidents of the journey, #113#, #114#, #115#,  #116#;
  and Abdul Hamid, #128#–#129#;
  letters to Mr. Whitman, #132#–#133#

Hepworth, Mrs., #129#

Herbert, Sir Michael, #263#

Hobart Pasha, #226#, #248#

Holy Sepulchre, Turkish protection, #213#, #215#–#216#, #228#

Horse, the Anatolian, #114#–#115#

Hospital for the wounded at Yildiz, #51#–#52#

Hugo, Victor, #26#

Huguenin, M., #268#–#269#

Huguenots, the, #217#

Humboldt, Alexander von, observations of, on Constantinople, #5#–#6#

Hungarian revolutionists, sheltered by the Sultan, #251#

Hunger-typhus, #165#

Hunuesch, #120#

Hussein Avni Pasha, #258#

Hyacinthe, Father, and Islamism, #219#–#220#


Ibrahim Pasha, #112#, #145#, #152#–#154#

Impérial, Hôtel, Salonica, #40#

Imtiaz medal, the, #33#, #51#–#52#, #179#
// 320.png
.pn +1

“Iradè,” the term, #144#–#145#

Izzet Fuad Pasha, Turkish ambassador at Madrid, #177#

Izzet Pasha, and Mr. Whitman, #30#–#35#,  #237#;
  apartments at Yildiz, #140#–#145#,  #265#;
  work of,  #154#;
  Arab origin #169# (<i>note</i>)


Jacobites, #228#

Janissaries, the, #155#, #180#

Japan, German officers in, #272#

Jerusalem, #94#–#95#, #118#, #213#, #216#, #256#

Jews in Turkey, #21#, #38#–#39#, #92#, #217#, #221#, #228#, #249#–#250#

Johnson, President Andrew, #26#

<i>Journal de Salonique</i>, extract from, #41#–#42#

Justinian, Emperor, #183#, #254#


Kaarie, or Kariè, Mosque, #28#, #222#–#223#

Kara Hissar Charki, mines of, #76#

Kara Sua, source, #90#

Karaferia, #42#

Katerina, #42#, #46#

Kegel Club, Salonica, #37#

Kerasoun, #66#

Khalifate, the, claim of the Sultan, #148#

Khinis, #77#

Khrimyan, Monsignor, #78#

Kighi, #96#

Knackfuss, Professor, #53#

Kop Dagh Pass, #86#–#88#

Koran, precepts of the, #213#, #217#–#223#, #234#–#235#, #254#

Kossona, village of, #43#

Kossuth, #251#

Kotal Dagh, the, #66#–#67#

Kurdistan, #63#,  #79#;
  relations with Armenians, #74#–#75#;
  rising of the autumn 1895,  #77#;
  mountain fastnesses of,  #107#;
  characteristics, #129#–#130#

Kurds, arming of the,  #73#;
  Reouf Pasha and, #96#–#97#;
  kindliness of, #107#–#109#;
  marksmanship,  #113#;
  predatory propensities,  #124#;
  deputation to the Sultan, #145#


Lamartine, #291#

Larissa, #45#, #55#

Layard, Sir Henry, #193#

Lazis, the, of Trebizond, #67#

Lebanon, #223#

Lessing, “Nathan the Wise,” #216#–#217#

<i>Levant Herald</i>, and the censorship, #171#
// 321.png
.pn +1

Levantine, the, #199#–#209#

London, contrasts with the East, #130#–#132#

Lorenz, Melchoir, #250#

Loti, Pierre, #291#

Louis XIV, #217#

Lufti Aga, story of, #168#–#169#

Lule-Burgas, #285#


Macedonia, missionaries of, #121#

Mahmoud, Sultan, #229#–#230#, #248#

Mahmud Nedim Pasha, #169#

Mamuret ül Aziz, #63#

Marienbad, #57#

Maronites, #228#

Mavrocordato Effendi, #79#–#80#

Mavrocordato, Prince, #231#

Mavrogeni, Dr., #206#

Maximow, M., dragoman, #19#

Maximow M., Consul-General, #90#, #93#, #147#

Mazzini, #271#

McColl, Canon, #22#

Mecca, #65#, #140#–#141#

Medjediè, order of, #98#, #154#

Mehmet, Circassian officer, #40#, #43#, #48#

Mehmet Izzet Bey, saying of, <i>quoted</i>, #15#, #255#–#256#

Mehmet Tscherkess, #45#

<i>Mekteb Milkiè</i>, #164#

Meluna Pass, the, #45#

Mersey, Lord, #48#

Mersina, #127#

Mersina-Adana Railway, #269#

Mesopotamia, #63#, #295#, #296#

Methodists, #228#

Metoualis, #228#

Midhat Pasha, #26#, #166#

Migirditch, Armenian cook, #101#–#102#

Mijatovich, M. Chedo, #289#

Milan, ex-king, #59#

Miles, Gen. Nelson, #53#

Mining law, alterations, #273#

Missionaries in Turkey, #38#, #39#, #120#–#121#

Modiki, Kurds of, #124#

Mohamed Cherif Reouf Pasha, #93#–#98#, #104#

Mohammed, life of, stories of, #125#, #258#–#260#

Mohammed V, #208#

Mohammed Faté, Sultan, #250#

Mohammedanism and Christianity, #82#–#83#, #216#–#223#, #228#–#230#

Mollahs, #143#–#145#

Moltke, Count von, and Turkey, #35#, #112#, #248#
// 322.png
.pn +1

Monasteries, Christian, #82#–#83#, #127#, #222#, #254#

Montenegrins, struggle of 1876,  #207#;
  characteristics, #212#

Montgomery, George R., #55#

Mordtmann, Dr., #164#–#165#

Moscow, fires of, #243#

Möser, Justus, #237#

Mosques, #222#–#223#

Mosul, #110#

Moutschka, River, #66#

Muezzin, the, #145#

Munir Pasha, Grand Master of Ceremonies, #60#, #152#,  #180#;
  letter to Mr. Whitman,  #129#;
  personality, #157#–#158#;
  estimate of his master, #175#–#176#

Murad Su, #101#

Mustapha Pasha, railway station at, #262#


<i>Namouma</i>, yacht, #57#

Naples, #5#

Napoleon, Code of, #229#

Napoleon, saying of, #62#, #226#

Napoleon III, Abdul Hamid compared with, #161#–#162#

National, Hôtel, Vienna, #4#

Naturalization of Turkish subjects, #231#

Neghib Bey, saying of, #246#

Nelidow, M. de, #19#, #278#

Nestorians, Chaldean, #228#

Nestorius, #223#

<i>New York Herald</i>, the, #2#, #10#–#11#, #14#, #23#–#25#, #31#, #34#, #36#, #41#, #42#, #43#, #46#, #57#, #58#, #60#, #61#, #129#, #133# (<i>note</i>), #170#

Nicæa, Council of, #223#

Nicholas, Emperor, promise to Abdul Hamid, #162#, #277# <i>and note</i>

<i>Nineteenth Century and After</i>, #286#, #289# (<i>note</i> 4)

Nisib, village of, #112#


O’Conor, Sir Nicholas,  #193#;
  letter of, <i>quoted</i>, #272#–#273#

Offenbach, Jacques, #157#

Ohannes Effendi, #19#

Olympus, Mount, #37#, #43#

<i>Orient (L’)</i>, #149#

Ortogrul cavalry, #155#

Osman Pasha, #95#, #139#

Osmanian, #18#–#19#

Osmaniè order, #154#

Ottoman Bank, the attack on the, #16#–#18#, #23#–#24#
// 323.png
.pn +1


Palestine, law in, #229#

<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, #285#

Pancaldi, #71#

Paris Commune 1871, #256#

Pascal, “Les Pensées” <i>quoted</i>, #161#

Paskiewitsch, General, #86#

Passage Oriental, Constantinople, #206#–#207#

Passen, #97#

Paul, Emperor, #32#

Peel, W., #55#

Pera, #15#, #199#,  #200#;
  the outbreak at,  #17#;
  discovery of bombs,  #25#;
  after the massacre, #29#–#30#;
  water supply,  #165#;
  Grande Rue de Pera, #206#–#208#,  #257#;
  population of,  #212#;
  the French Embassy, #251#

Pera Palace Hotel, #6#, #12#, #177#, #266#

Phanariotes, #235#, #270#

Pharsalia, #45#

Philippopolis, #23#–#24#

Picot, Lieut.-Colonel H. P.,  #280#;
  letter to Mr. Whitman, #294#–#297#

“Pilaf,” #255#

Platana, #67#

Plevna, siege of, #205#

Plumstead, naming of a street in, #283#–#284# and <i>note</i>

Police, Turkish, #201#–#202#

<i>Policevera</i>, steamer, #50#

Polygamy, #215#

Pontine range, the, #85#

Potsdam Guards, the, #271#

Powers, the, proposals of 1895,  #77#;
  the Capitulations, #201#, #231#

Presbyterians, #228#

Press, the, in Turkey, #148#–#149#, #160#, #188#, #230#–#232#,  #251#;
  evading the censorship, #23#–#24#, #171#

Prinkipo Islands, #20#

Prior, Mr. Melton, #29#

Procopius of Cæsarea, #183#

Protestants in Turkey, #120#–#121#, #228#

Pruth, the, #164#


Ramadan Festival, #149#–#150#

Razi Khan, #74#

“Realm of the Habsburgs,” by Mr. Sidney Whitman, #284#, #292#

Red Cross, the, #205#

Redcliffe, Lord Stratford de, #56#, #193#, #261#

Reformation, the English, #213#

Religious toleration in Turkey, #216#–#222#, #227#–#228#;
  firman of 1854, #229#–#230#

Revolvers at the Pera Palace Hotel, #17#
// 324.png
.pn +1

Rhodes, Island of, #25#, #127#

Riedler, Professor, #248#

Rifat Bey, #169#

Roads, Persian, #80#–#81#, #85#, #101#, #125#, #128#

Robert College on the Bosphorus, #226#–#227#

Roberts, Lord, #286#

Roman Catholic Armenians, #21#

Rome, rites in communion with, #228#

Roqueferrier, M., #93#

Rothschild, London house of, #20#

Roumania, King of, #272#

Ruskin, saying of, <i>quoted</i>, #131#

Rushti Bey, Colonel, #65#, #107#

Russia—Turkish policy of, #19#, #127#, #147#, #232#, #276#–#279#, #296#–#297#;
  revolutionary propaganda fomented by, #20#–#21#, #24#, #61#, #75#–#76#,  #123#;
  protest against German officers in Turkey,  #49#;
  influence in Erzeroum, #90#–#92#,  #97#;
  the Czar’s promise to Abdul Hamid, #162#, #277# <i>and note</i>;
  trade with Turkey,  #165#;
  religious toleration in, #229#

Russian Cossack regiments, #73#

Russo-Japanese War, #296#

Russo-Turkish War, #44#, #85#–#86#, #164#


Saadi, poet, #290#

Sadjur, River, #114#

Sadowa, battle of, #182#

Saint Andrews, Cathedral of, #213#

Saint Sophia, Church of, #250#

Saladin, #114#, #216#–#217#, #233#

Salisbury, Marquis of, #1#, #170#, #220# (<i>note</i>)

Salonica, Greek population, #37#, #49#–#50#;
  Jewish element, #38#–#39#;
  English element, #39#–#40#;
  outbreak of the war,  #49#;
  Turks in, #251#

Salzburg, #5#

Samsoun, #66#

Saumur, #45#

Schah-Zadè, Sultan, #8#

Schiites, #233#

Schismanian, Givon, #77#

Schools, Armenian, #63#, #66#, #75#, #99#,  #127#;
  Turkish, #164#–#165#, #275#

Schopenhauer, #237#

Schreyer, #114#

Scott, Sir Walter, <i>quoted</i>, #49#

Scutari,  #257#;
  the English cemetery, #165#, #201#–#202#

Sedan-chairs, #197#

Selamlik, ceremony of the, #154#–#158#, #164#, #178#–#181#, #253#

Selim, Sultan, #8#, #110#, #111#, #217#, #233#

Shamyl, submission of, #278#
// 325.png
.pn +1

Shaw, Captain, #243#

Shaw, G. B., #48#

Shefket Pasha, Marshal, #51#

Sheikh-ul-Islam, #52#, #217#, #233#, #237#–#238#

Sheikhs, #143#–#145#

Shipka Pass, #71#

Silver mines, #83#–#84#

Sirry Bey, #64#, #103#–#106#, #113#, #117#, #172#, #266#–#267#

Sitaouk, #97#

Sivas, #76#

Smyrna, #22#, #127#

Smyrna-Aidin Railway, #273#

Sobranje, the, Mohammedan members, #242#

Softas, #145#

Solferino, #182#

Sorovitch, #41#, #42#

Spain—Religious intolerance in, #38#, #217#,  #250#;
  the Moors in, #220#–#221#;
  generosity of the people, #248#

Special Correspondent, Mr. Gordon Bennett’s ideas of his duties, #11#–#12#

Spencer, Herbert, #237#

Spinoza, #237#

“Stambolin,” #25#, #150#, #176#

Stamboul, the outbreak in, #15#–#17#,  #22#;
  the Aja Sophia, #28#,  #87#;
  the Sublime Porte,  #141#;
  fires in,  #244#;
  the public fountain, #261#

Steevens, G. W., #55#

Sublime Porte, the, #14#, #141#

Suleyman, Sultan, #8#, #165#, #250#

Sultan, the, and the Khalifate, #225#

Sunday, the Mohammedan, #27#

Suwarie Tschaoush, #64#

Sycosis, #117#

Syrian horsemen, #113#

Syrians, Uniate, #228#

Szechenyi Pasha, Count, #243#


Tahsim Pasha, #139#

<i>Tanin</i>, the, #287#

Tanzimat, the, #229#–#230#

Tariff, Turkish, #280#

Tauchnitz Collection of British Authors, #253#

Taurus, the, #82#–#85#, #88#

“Tcharik,” #42#

Tcheragan, Palace of, #139#

“Temena,” ceremony of, #142#–#143#

Tempè, vale of, #45#

<i>Terdjumani Hakkikat</i>, the, #26#

Tewfik Bey, Colonel, #64#–#65#

Tewfik Pasha, #270#

Theodora, Empress, #183#

Theodosiopolis, #90#
// 326.png
.pn +1

Theodosius the Younger, #90#

Therapia, #263#

Thessaly, alleged Turkish atrocities, #54#–#55#

Tiflis, Armenians of, #78#

Tigris, the, #101#, #110#

<i>Times</i>, the, correspondents in Turkey, #14#, #18#, #47#–#48#, #171#

Timur the Tartar, #114#

Tophanè, Constantinople, #141#

Transylvania, Saxon colony, #276#

Trebizond, #63#, #64#,  #81#;
  description, #66#–#70#;
  the troubles at, #74#–#76#;
  Christian monasteries of, #82#–#83#, #222#

Tripoli, #214#

Tschishly, #18#

Tschoueh, Daniel, #76#

Turanian type in Turkey, #233#

Turk, the, traits, #210#–#260#;
  love of family, #103#–#104#;
  fidelity, #104#–#105#;
  generosity and courtesy, #105#–#106#, #240#–#242#;
  respect for personal character, #206#, #208#–#209#,  #246#;
  absence of class distinctions, #235#–#237#;
  gratitude, #246#–#248#;
  hospitality, #248#–#249#;
  love of animals, #254#

Turkey—War on Greece,  #36#;
  religious tolerance in, #184#, #212#, #216#–#222#, #227#–#230#, #249#–#250#;
  shelter given to Hungarian revolutionaries,  #251#;
  foreigners in, #252#–#253#;
  German officers in Turkish army, #271#–#272#

Turks, Orthodox, #228#

Tussaud’s, Madame, #215# <i>and note</i>

Twain, Mark, #118#


Ulemas, #143#, #144#, #145#

United States, the Press in, #231#

University at Haidar Pasha, #165#


“Vali,” the term, #63# (<i>note</i>)

Valis, unpopularity of, #124#

Valladolid, #250#

Vambéry, Dr. Rustem, letter to Mr. Whitman, #283#–#284#

Vambéry, Professor Arminius, experiences,  #84#;
  life and adventures, <i>quoted</i>,  #89#;
  stories of Abdul Hamid, #168#–#169#, #171#–#172#,  #186#;
  letters to Mr. Whitman, #211#, #289#–#293#;
// 327.png
.pn +1
  on the European situation,  #279#;
  a London street named after, #283#, #284#

Van, #63#, #64#, #65#, #74#, #78#,  #79#;
  the rising in, #78#–#79#

Van, Lake of, #72#, #109#–#110#

Vassos, Colonel, recall from Crete, #36#

Venice, #57#

Vereschagin, #205#

Victoria, Queen, #283#

Vienna, impressions, #3#–#5#,  #59#;
  Central Post Office, #4#,  #5#;
  Leopoldstadt, #4#

Vienna Congress 1815, #4#

“Vilayet,” the term, #63# (<i>note</i>)

Vincent, Sir Edgar, in Constantinople, #226#

Voltaire, #237#


Wagner, Reisen von Moritz, <i>quoted</i>, #86#

Wallisch, Dr., #65#

Waugh, Mr. Alexander, English Consul, #111#

Weldon, Mr. Hamilton, #55#

Westminster, Duke of, attitude towards Armenian atrocities, #22#

White, Sir William, #193#, #295#

Whitman, Mrs., and the Turkish ladies, #258#

Whittaker, Mr., #14#, #171#

Whittall, #15#–#16#, #22#–#23#, #242#

William II and Abdul Hamid, #53#, #162# (<i>note</i>), #261#, #294#–#295#

William III of England, #252#

Woman, the Turkish, status, #165#–#166#, #215#, #256#–#258#

Woods, Admiral Sir Henry, Pasha, #242#–#243#


Xerias, River, #43#


Yildiz, the Palace at, #14#, #18#, #19#, #31#–#35#, #51#–#52#, #72#–#73#, #128#–#129#, #137#–#158#, #176#–#177#

Young Turk movement, #26#, #124# (<i>note</i>), #287#


Zeki Pasha, Marshal, #73#

Zigana Pass, #84#–#85#

Zola, <i>La Débâcle</i>, #124#
.ix-
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but there is no page 282. It has been corrected to page 283.
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