THE SOCIAL SIDE OF CONSTANTINOPLE
The Senate confirmed my appointment as Ambassador to Turkey on September
4, 1913. Soon afterward I went to Washington to familiarize myself with
the duties of my office and to receive my instructions. A new Ambassador
is allowed thirty days for this purpose. Usually, he spends them in the
State Department, taking a sort of course of intensive training. I did
not take the full month allowed me. The Chief of the Division of Near
Eastern Affairs took me in hand, and in a series of conversations
outlined to me, first, the duties, prerogatives, and privileges of an
Ambassador; and, second, a general survey of existing relations between
Turkey and the United States. Then several hours were occupied in
studying the methods of keeping the accounts of the Embassy, and of
handling its funds.
I found this period of preparation intensely interesting. It was to be
crowned in October, upon a second visit to Washington, by an official
call on the Secretary of State. I looked forward to this visit with
great expectations. Alas for the illusions which a day can wreck!
William Jennings Bryan was the Secretary of State. He knew no more about
our relations with Turkey than I did. The long-looked-for instructions
were an anti-climax. They were, in full, as follows:
“Ambassador,” he said, “when I made my trip through the Holy Land, I had
great difficulty in finding Mount Beatitude. I wish you would try to
persuade the Turkish Government to grant a concession to some Americans
to build a macadam road up to it, so that other pilgrims may not suffer
the inconvenience which I did in attempting to find it.”
Thus fortified by the Secretary’s complete programme for my
Ambassadorial task, I set forward to the White House for a farewell call
upon President Wilson. He bade me a hearty God-speed, and in parting
gave me an injunction which enabled me to save many lives in the next
three years. “Remember,” he said, “that anything you can do to improve
the lot of your co-religionists is an act that will reflect credit upon
America, and you may count on the full power of the Administration to
back you up.”
Fortunately for the success of my mission, I had a most enlightening
conference in New York before I left. At the suggestion of Mr. Alfred E.
Marling, who was one of the trustees of the Presbyterian Board of
Foreign Missions, I had an interview at that great centre of missionary
activity, 156 Fifth Avenue, with a large group of earnest and able men,
who could speak with authority on the problems I should confront in the
East. I learned that five of these men were to cross the Atlantic at the
same time I should be crossing. These were Doctors Arthur Judson Brown,
James L. Barton, Charles Roger Watson, Dr. Mackaye, and Bishop Arthur
Selden Lloyd. These men were the leaders of the Foreign Mission Boards
of the Presbyterian, Congregational, United Presbyterian, Methodist, and
Protestant Episcopal Churches. One of them, Doctor Barton, had himself
been a missionary in Turkey, and had also acted as President of the
Protestant College at Harpoot. Another, Doctor Watson, had been a
missionary in the Turkish Protectorate of Egypt, and his parents had
been missionaries for half a century at Cairo.
I had engaged passage for Europe on the _Imperator_, but when I learned
that these five men were sailing at nearly the same time on the _George
Washington_ (later to become famous as President Wilson’s “peace ship”)
to attend a world missionary conference at The Hague, I asked them to
change their reservations and go with me. They were limited in their
expense accounts and could not change, so, emulating Mohammed, I “went
to the mountain” and changed to their ship. The voyage gave me an
opportunity to gain from them a fuller picture of the work of the
mission boards, which was very helpful to me in my new task.
The conversations I had with these men on shipboard were a revelation to
me. I had hitherto had a hazy notion that missionaries were sort of
over-zealous advance agents of sectarian religion, and that their
principal activity was the proselyting of believers in other faiths. To
my surprise and gratification, these men gave me a very different
picture. In the first place, their cordial coöperation with one another
was evidence of the disappearance of the old sectarian zeal. They were,
to be sure, profoundly concerned in converting as many people as they
could to what they sincerely believed to be the true faith. But I found
that, along with this ambition, Christian missionaries in Turkey were
carrying forward a magnificent work of social service, education,
philanthropy, sanitation, medical healing, and moral uplift. They were,
I discovered, in reality advance agents of civilization. As
representatives of the denominations which supported them, they were
maintaining several hundred American schools in the Levant, and several
full-fledged colleges, of which three, at least, deserve to rank with
the best of the smaller institutions of higher learning in the United
States. They maintained, also, several important hospitals. And, as a
part of their purely religious function, they were bringing a higher
conception of Christianity to the millions of submerged Christians in
the Turkish Empire, who, but for them, would have been left to practise
their religion without the inspiration of the modern thought of the
West, which has so vastly widened its spiritual significance.
As my wife and youngest daughter, Ruth, could not accompany me, I took
with me my daughter Helen, her husband, Mr. Mortimer J. Fox, and their
two sons Henry and Mortimer. We Visited London, Paris, and Vienna on our
way to Constantinople, and at each of these capitals I paid my respects
not only to the American Ambassador, but to the resident Turkish
plenipotentiary as well. In doing this I had in mind two things: first,
to accustom myself to the looks of an embassy from within, as I had to
that date never been in an embassy building in any country; and second,
to secure some hints upon the character of the government to which I was
accredited, in advance of my first formal contact with it. At last, on
November 27, 1913, we rolled into the railroad station at
Constantinople.
My first impression of the famous old capital of Asia-in-Europe was of a
moving sea of silk hats. The station platform seemed populated entirely
with frock-coated gentlemen buried under these chimney-like black
headpieces. After some confusion, human personalities began to emerge
from under them, and to individualize themselves as real people with
proper names, and a rational relationship to myself as another human
being. The first to greet me was Mr. Hoffman Phillip, who as Conseiller
and First Secretary of the Embassy had acted as chargé d’affaires during
Mr. Rockhill’s visit to the United States.
He introduced me to the others, and after a somewhat bewildering round
of handshakings, Phillip, the Foxes, and I stepped into a carriage and
were driven to the Pera Palace Hotel, where Phillip gave us a
Thanksgiving dinner.
The Embassy at Constantinople is a handsome, marble, three-story
structure, set in a garden surrounded by a high wall, and overlooking
the Golden Horn. Often during my first days there I would find myself
humming the old refrain, “I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls.” There were,
to be sure, no “vassals and serfs by my side”; but I had more useful
assistants in my official staff. Besides Mr. Phillip, there were second
and third secretaries, and A. K. Schmavonian, the Turkish legal adviser
of the Embassy. He was the permanent attaché--the interpreter--and was,
besides, the custodian of the Embassy’s traditions. He knew every
American interest in Turkey, had carried on for years the correspondence
with the consuls and the missionaries, and hence was an invaluable
storehouse of information. He knew, also, all the Turkish officials; the
ramifications of the Turkish governmental departments; the names and
characteristics of the leaders of the recent revolution; and, of course,
he was versed in the niceties of diplomatic custom.
Soon after my arrival I observed a curious phenomenon concerning the
position of an ambassador. The instinctive ambition of the attachés led
them to try to keep the Ambassador from taking an active hand in the
work of the Chancery. It was explained to me with great solemnity, that
the business office of the Embassy was not like other business offices;
that its operations were so involved in delicacies of diplomatic usage
that none but old hands, trained in all their niceties, were competent
to handle the transaction of its intricate affairs. All details, I was
informed, should be left to those accustomed to handling them. I made
short work of this mysterious nonsense. Business is business, and
details are the substance of larger concerns. Therefore, I promptly
acquainted myself with the records of the Embassy for several years
preceding, and took absolute charge of its functions, as I was in duty
bound to do. The mysteries faded instantly. Common sense, judgment, and
energy are the desiderata of all business relationships, and I found no
barrier in these affairs, because of their so-called diplomatic nature.
Other American ambassadors have complained to me that their subordinates
usurped their functions in this fashion; and I know of some who have
occupied the most exalted posts in Europe and never penetrated the
mysteries of their Chanceries, and, consequently, never really
functioned as ambassadors at all.
As my wife and Ruth had not accompanied me, their absence relieved me,
for the moment, of social duties, and gave me time for a considered
survey of the society in which I would soon be projected as an active
member. I realized that much depended upon the first associations I
should make in that society, and I needed just such an opportunity to
learn by indirection the composition of it, the factions into which it
was divided, and the cross currents of personality and interest that
disturbed it.
The “diplomatic set” at Constantinople was a little world apart. At
most, its members numbered a scant hundred. It comprised the Grand
Vizier, the Premier and his Cabinet, and the ambassadors and ministers
of other governments, with their principal attachés. Occasionally, there
were added to this intimate circle a few leading international bankers
and merchants and distinguished tourists. But chiefly we consorted with
ourselves. Our intercourse was a continuous succession of luncheons,
teas, dinners, and formal state functions. In such a constricted
society, thrown into such intense communication, the personal equation
was naturally of paramount importance. Ere long, I had occasion to use
every resource, from social gifts to business experience, to maintain
myself in this society of shrewd and cultivated men, all of whom had
the advantage of a life-long training in diplomacy and in the
intricacies of European statecraft.
My first concern, therefore, was to appraise their personalities. I
recalled a piece of wise advice from James Stillman the elder, who was
one of the cleverest American financiers. He told me that when a man
confronted a new situation, and was not yet sure of his ground, his
safest course was to impress his adversaries by mystifying them. I
adapted this advice to the present occasion. I realized that the
diplomatic corps at Constantinople knew much more about me than I knew
about any of them, because I was the one stranger to them, and they were
many and all strange to me. I resolved to do, as nearly as I could,
directly the opposite of what they expected of me. For one thing, they
had fallen into the European habit of imagining that all successful
Americans are men of fabulous wealth, and they credited certain absurd
stories about my supposed intention to conduct the Embassy on a scale of
lavish expenditure, designed to make a great social impression.
Accordingly, I went to the other extreme and managed the Embassy very
modestly. For some weeks after my arrival I did not even use an
automobile, contenting myself with a carriage and a pair of Arabian
ponies.
Further to play the rôle of mystifier, I obeyed only the letter of the
custom which prescribes that a new Ambassador shall call upon the other
ambassadors after he has been presented to the Sovereign. They are
supposed to return this call, and thereafter the newcomer is expected to
make the advances to his elders toward a more intimate and workable
acquaintance. Instead, I remained at the Embassy and devoted myself to
the business of the Chancery and did some watchful waiting.
These tactics were rewarded by an opportunity to enter the society of
the diplomatic corps under circumstances that gave me the advantage.
One day the local correspondent of the _Frankfürter Zeitung_ called upon
me at the Embassy. This was Dr. Paul Weitz, who had been a resident of
Turkey for more than twenty-five years, knew all the officials, spoke
the language, and understood the subtleties of Turkish psychology. He
was, in reality, an unofficial attaché of the Embassy and a secret agent
of the German Government. Dr. Weitz opened the conversation.
“Mr. Ambassador,” he said, “I have gotten the impression that you are a
man of direct methods. For this reason I, too, shall use the direct
method. Frankly, I have come as the emissary of the German Ambassador
and the Austrian Ambassador, with whom I had luncheon this very day. You
were the principal topic of conversation. These gentlemen are puzzled by
your attitude and they are curious to learn your true character. They
have commissioned me to find out these things for them, and I have
preferred to come and ask you bluntly rather than to follow my usual
method of finding out by indirection. What is your real attitude? Are
you by preference a recluse, or are you playing a game?”
“I am glad,” I replied, “that you have come to me personally with these
questions, especially because it gives me the opportunity to send a
direct message to your principals. Please be good enough to tell them
for me that I have made it a life-long practice never to make the first
advances. I have always waited for the advances to come from the other
side. Therefore, you may tell “Their Excellencies” that it is for them
to decide whether they wish their relationship with me to continue to be
one of formal diplomatic exchanges, or a frank, man-to-man friendship.
If they prefer the latter, I shall be delighted to meet them halfway,
but they must cover the first half.”
Dr. Weitz readily agreed to carry this message, and he was so pleased
with the frankness of my conversation that he made no concealment of his
own position. He went on to tell me that he was a confidential adviser
to the German ambassadors, and frequently was commissioned to carry on
unofficial negotiations in which, for reasons of delicacy or of policy,
it was not advisable either that the Ambassador should appear in person,
or that he should make use of one of his official family. He explained
to me that the reason he was used in this capacity was his intimate
acquaintance with Turkish life and officials, and he offered to
undertake similar commissions for me at any time I might care to make
use of him. For obvious reasons, I never availed myself of the offer.
Dr. Weitz faithfully repeated my message to the German and Austrian
ambassadors who afterward told me that they were greatly delighted with
it. The very next afternoon, Baron Wangenheim paid me a call; and the
following morning, his Austrian colleague, Marquis Pallavicini, arrived
to improve my acquaintance. They both greeted me in the spirit of my
message, and we entered at once upon an acquaintanceship which removed
the formality of an official relation. Both of them were very useful to
me during my first weeks in Constantinople. The Marquis was the doyen of
the diplomatic corps. He was a nobleman of ancient family, had grown old
in the diplomatic service, and was an authority on every point of
diplomatic usage, from the most subtle phrasing of a threat of war to
the refinements of precedence in placing guests at table at a diplomatic
dinner. In this latter direction, indeed, he was invaluable to me in
teaching me the relative rank of the bewildering array of officers and
title holders among my visitors.
Baron Wangenheim I have described at great length in my earlier volume,
“Ambassador Morgenthau’s Story.” Unlike Pallavicini, who was quiet,
formal, conventional, and a typical diplomat of the old school,
Wangenheim was a perfect representative of Prussia. He was not a native
of Prussia--but his bearing was that of an excitable Hindenburg. He was
a man of great stature, in the prime of life, overflowing with physical
vitality, energetic in person, opinionated and positive in manner,
voluble and aggressive in conversation, somewhat flirtatious, proud,
overbearing--he was Prussia and modern Germany embodied.
After Pallavicini and Wangenheim had broken the ice, I speedily made the
acquaintance of the other members of the diplomatic corps, and their
characters emerged in my mind in sharp definition. Sir Louis Mallet, the
British Ambassador, was a fine type of English gentleman. He exhibited
the quiet force and cultivation which one naturally expects from a
member of the English upper classes. Though a bachelor, his
establishment was one of the most magnificent in Constantinople. Turkey
has always been a vital point in British policy, and the British
Government has spared no pains to make its public appearance there
correspond with the splendour and importance of the British Empire.
The French Ambassador was M. Bompard, the Russian was Michel de Giers.
These men also adequately embodied their respective countries, the one
in its ideals of polished politeness and clear intellectual grasp, the
other in its ideals of imperial pride and the sense of power.
Meeting these men at luncheon; dining with them and their ladies at
gorgeous evening functions, where the splendour of the men’s uniforms,
the brightness of the women’s costumes, and the gayety of the young
couples made a lively scene of light-hearted inconsequentiality; it was
hard to realize that they were, in truth, acting the part of expectant
legatees of a friendless dying man--sitting at tea in his parlour, and
waiting for his last gasp as a signal for a scramble to divide his
property among themselves. They frankly told me (though of course not in
these words) that this was their position. In their eyes the Sick Man of
Europe, so long the diseased invalid among the nations, was now really
dying. They had no hesitation in discussing their ambitions regarding
his property. Giers comported himself already as if Russia had actually
attained her age-old vision of capturing Constantinople--as if he were
the Governor of Russia’s new capital city. Sir Louis Mallet did not
conceal the interest which his government had in everything that tended
to insure the safety of the Suez Canal. Bompard was deeply concerned to
secure more concessions for French capital in Turkey. Even the Greek
Minister talked with confidence of an approaching Hellenic confederation
which should embrace Smyrna and part of the Asian hinterland.
There was, indeed, considerable reason for their hopes. The
revolutionary party in Turkey, under the name of the Union and Progress
Party, had overthrown the Government and had taken possession of the
country in the name of the people. Abdul Hamid, whom Gladstone, for his
atrocious crimes, had dubbed “Abdul the Damned,” was now shorn of his
power, and was a prisoner in a palace, almost within sight of the
American Embassy. His throne was now occupied by a nominal successor,
his brother, Mohammed V. This good-humoured weakling, however, enjoyed
only the shadow of power and none of its substance. His brother, fearful
of a plot to overthrow him, had caused his successor to be reared in a
manner that totally unfitted him for the exercise of authority. He had
kept him secluded from society, had not permitted him to learn even the
rudiments of history and statecraft, and had enfeebled his intellect and
character by constantly exposing him to the temptations of
self-indulgence. He had placed before the Heir Apparent all the
pleasures of life; had supplied him with countless wives, luxurious
food, rich wines, and all the other ministers of sensual enjoyment.
Reared in such atmosphere, he had grown up and passed the prime of life,
ignorant of Government affairs and without any chance to develop his
character. Socially, of course, he was a charming gentleman, but as a
ruler, he was hopelessly incompetent.
He was, indeed, merely the figurehead of a government whose substantial
ministers were the aggressive, self-made leaders of the Committee of
Union and Progress. These were men of native shrewdness, character, and
courage. Their political leader was Talaat Bey, a great hulk of a man,
who had begun life in the humble capacity of porter in a village
railroad station, and who had advanced to the limits of his social
prospects when he had achieved the dignity of a telegraph operator in
the same station. By sheer force of natural genius, however, he had
become a political power, and after the revolutionists had sprung their
coup d’état, he soon rose to be their leader. With their success, he had
leaped immediately to the dazzling eminence of a Cabinet position, and
was then the chief of the Cabal that was the real ruler of the Empire.
The military head of the Young Turks was Enver Bey, a handsome and
dashing young officer, who had studied his profession and cultivated the
social graces as military attaché of the Turkish Embassy at Berlin. He
was now minister of War and in control of the Turkish Army--a necessary
weapon in the hands of Talaat to maintain the Young Turk party in power.
Some of my foreign colleagues of the diplomatic corps assured me that
these two men were the real power in Turkey. They had seven associates,
all men of great influence, and all members of the Committee of Union
and Progress.
The personalities of these men, and the drama of their conflicting
ambitions and intrigues, gradually unfolded themselves before my eyes.
It was like sitting at the performance of a fascinating play, only this
was more interesting because it was the reality of life. The actors were
the representatives of great nations, and upon the issue of this
dramatic situation rested the fate of millions of people.
The experiences of my first few weeks at Constantinople and the
intensely interesting sensations they aroused in me can best be conveyed
to my readers by reproducing a few of the letters which I wrote home to
America in the excitement of these moments. The first I shall quote was
dated December 23, 1913, and was addressed to my wife and youngest
daughter:
I have been so very busy that I have not written for a few days--so
I will tell you briefly what has happened since. On December 20th
we had our reception, of which I enclose you an account--it was
really splendid--no one can describe the sensations and thrills. I
had to be told and made to feel that I was the head and responsible
man for the property of those great institutions, managed by such
soulful, disinterested, and altruistic people--it makes our small
efforts in New York appear insignificant. Think of a small
determined “band” of Americans revolutionizing with educational
means the Balkan States--the drops of water they kept a-going for
forty or more years had the result of wearing away the indifference
of the Bulgar and roused him. Everybody who is well-informed admits
that Robert College deserves the credit for the education that has
spread there.
At 9:30 Mort and I went to the _Scorpion_ (the gunboat detailed to
guard the Embassy) and had a royal reception and inspected the
boat. On Sunday I then went alone to the college--but I feel as
though I wrote you all this so I’ll skip it--if I didn’t write it,
I’ll tell you about it when you are here. We had intended to go on
the _Scorpion_, but instead we drove to the Seven Towers of Jedi
Kulet, and walked on top of the ramparts and then for one hour
along the old wall--it was a bewitching sight--the sun was shining
brightly, the Marmora made up the background, and the twenty or
thirty towers along the wall in various stages of decay, with the
moat alongside, made a never-to-be-forgotten impression on us all.
As usual, Mortie took a number of pictures and Abdullah guarded us
most carefully. It takes this kind of absorption of the history of
a country to teach one what these people really are. This city is
unquestionably the most favoured by nature of any I have ever seen.
It excels New York and San Francisco.
On our way home, we stopped to inspect the Kahri Jeh Janisi
Mosque--the oldest in C.--it was formerly a Greek Church and the
paintings of Christ, Saint Mark, the old Bible heroes, and angels,
etc., are still here in mosaic--much finer than in the San Marco in
Venice. We were shown through by an old Turk who could give
half-intelligent descriptions of the mosaics, etc., in English and
German. We wended through many narrow little streets, inhabited
largely by Greeks, and it was a most interesting sight. It was
nearly two when we sat down to dinner and none of us complained.
On Monday I had a great day. In the morning, representatives of the
Austrian _Kultur Gemeinde_ called to invite me to attend their
synagogue and visit their school; they instruct about 300 children.
I agreed to do so. I took my first meal away from the house at
Tokatlian’s--the best restaurant here--had Schmavonian with me. At
two, we were at the Finance Office for an interview with Talaat
Bey--who is acting Secretary of Finance as well as Secretary of the
Interior, and the strongest and most powerful man in Turkey at
present. I am already on good terms with the men in power. We had
coffee and cigarettes four times that P.M. We next called on
General Izzett--he wore a shabby uniform, spoke German, and was
really disconsolate--they are very frank people if they talk at
all--he made some very confidential communications to me. The
rumour or hope has gotten around that I may prove their Moses who
will lead them out of their difficulties. Let us hope so; I’ll try
anyhow. Next we called on Colonel Djemal, the newly appointed
Minister of Public Works. I tried to dodge the coffee--but he said
a call in Turkey without coffee is no call. He was of a hopeful
temper and rather dapper. Then we called on Osman Mardighian, the
Postmaster General. He speaks good English and is very
able--devotes his time to administrative works. When I got to the
office, I had to dictate a few despatches and say good-bye to Mr.
Phillip, who is going on a four weeks’ leave of absence. At 5
o’clock, the Grand Rabbi and his Secretary came--he is a very
intelligent, nice, youngish man of forty or so--he thinks he has
the Red ticket settled, but has not and I shall have to help in
disposing of it. While he was upstairs, Helen discussed the White
Slave traffic--babies in the Hospitals, etc., etc. She really does
well at the tea table. It is a picture to see one of those tea
scenes. Helen, Chief Rabbi (addressed as His Eminence, as he ranks
with the Church dignitaries of the rank of Cardinal), Sir Edwin
Pears, Sir Henry Woods Pasha, Rev. Mr. Frew, the Rabbi’s Secretary,
Schmavonian, Mort, and I; and I have to listen to French and
fortunately am beginning to understand it. They left at 7--I worked
at those telegrams until 7:30--then went to bed for a nap and
over-slept, not wakening until 8:25, so that we reached the British
Embassy at 8:40, the last of the guests! You can’t imagine my
feelings as I was ushered into that room in which were thirty other
guests including the Grand Vizier, Talaat Bey and three other
Cabinet Ministers, the Wangenheims, D’Ankerswaerd and other Sirs
and Ladies, and had them all look me over--when
“The American Ambassador”
was announced. I felt, “is it I or not?” Then, “Mr. and Mrs. Fox”
were announced. And then, “_Diner est servi_.” I took in Madame
D’Ankerswaerd. Escorted her to her seat and then went to the other
side of the table where I was seated next to Baroness Wangenheim, a
fine, good looking, typically aristocratic German--a charming
conversationalist. She is W.’s second wife--he divorced his first.
W. is a great personal friend of the Emperor. Sir Louis Mallet, the
English Ambassador, sat on the other side of Baroness W. After
dinner we smoked and drank coffee and talked to others than our
table companions, while fifty or sixty others gathered for a dance.
Such a sight! And to think that we are part of it--Young Princes,
Barons, Sirs, and Americans from the Embassies, etc., and lots of
Turks and Egyptians, etc. I shall never forget it. Helen sat right
opposite me--between Baron Wangenheim, all be-decorated, and
Colonel Djemal (Turk) in full uniform. I talked with Baroness
Moncheur--we have struck up a nice friendship--with Marquis
Pallavicini--Talaat Bey, and Miss Wangenheim, etc., etc., until
about 12, when Wangenheim asked me to play bridge with him, a Turk,
and a Greek banker--which I did until 1:30, when the dancing was
over and they all went in for supper, etc. (I went home) and then
they danced again until 2:30 or so. I thoroughly enjoyed it, I am
not overstating when I repeat what I said in a previous letter--I
am _very glad_ I came.
To-day--at 11--a call from the Bulgarian Minister. In the afternoon
I finished my official calls on the Cabinet Ministers--called on
Mahmoud Pasha of the Marine, Ibrahim Bey--Secretary of Justice, the
Dutch Minister, and Mrs. McCauley (the wife of the commander of the
_Scorpion_).
Mesdames Pallavicini, Bompard, Moncheur, Wangenheim, and Willebois
are the popular and fine women here, and they are out of the
ordinary--you will like all of them and they will like you. Pierre
Loti is wrong, so far as this winter is concerned--we have had no
cold weather. Yesterday and to-day were delightful--the thermometer
has not been below 45°.
On the same day as the foregoing, my daughter Helen (Mrs. Fox) also
wrote her mother a letter which adds new touches of colour to some of
the scenes described in mine. She wrote as follows:
So much to write about! Yesterday afternoon I had Mme. de Willebois
and Mme. Eliasco to tea, and after they left (Mme. de Willebois is
the Dutch Minister’s wife), papa sent up word that “His Eminence”
the Chief Rabbi and his Secretary were here and would like tea.
They trotted up, and His Eminence is an awfully nice soul, garbed
in a flowing black _gouri_ and a fez, be-turbaned in white,
something like a combination of a Greek priest and a Hadja. He is
very learned, especially about archæology as related to the Jews,
and was interesting. In the meantime, Woods Pasha, Sir Edwin Pears
(a marvellously interesting man and English lawyer here), and Mr.
Frew (a Scottish minister who was pastor of the English Church in
Constantinople) arrived. I kept thinking how interesting they all
were, but would they leave me any time to dress for dinner! I had
been to Scutari in the morning, sightseeing with some of the
College faculty, and had brought them home to luncheon. Mr. Frew
left at 7:30, and I was so busy trying to make myself gorgeous that
I completely forgot papa who fell asleep and did not wake up until
8:15. The dinner was at 8:30. Of course, we were all blaming each
other and not ourselves and tearing around, whistling for coats,
servants, etc. We finally tore up to the English Embassy at twenty
minutes to nine. Never in my life have I experienced anything so
wonderful. The Embassy is very large and imposing. Two
marvellously uniformed _cavasses_ stood at the door inside, where
powdered footmen in knee breeches, about twenty of them, were also
stationed. As we came to the stairs, the second Secretary received
us and assured us we were not late. However, we were the last! We
then took off our coats and were ushered into the drawing room,
outside of which stood a little coloured page dressed like an
Egyptian slave. Sir Louis Mallet seems awfully nice. He is a
bachelor, rather nice looking, and very shy and diffident, and
wears a monocle. So many people came up to greet us. Then dinner
was announced. I went down with a Turkish member of the Cabinet,
and sat in the next to the place of honour. Baron von Wangenheim
sat on the other side of me. I think he likes to flirt. At any rate
we chatted in German and had quite a gay time together. The table
had quantities of roses (all from Nice) on it. The only light in
the whole room was from huge, massive, silver candelabra, standing
on mirrors all along the table. We had silver dishes and soup
plates. The meal was served in the usual rapid-fire English style.
Papa sat between Lady Crawford and Baroness Wangenheim. Everyone
goes in according to rank, and consequently, usually husbands and
wives sit with each other’s better halves. The Turk ate most
heartily and told me afterward he didn’t know whether he’d get any
dinner the next night or not. At dinner it was funny--on the other
side of the Turk sat Mrs. Nicholson (née Sackville-West), a beauty,
and with the most gorgeous emeralds! She afterward played poker
with five Turks, as her husband informed me. My partner told me he
hated formal dinners, it was so uncomfortable eating in a uniform.
After dinner there was dancing, and heaps of people were asked for
that. I danced quite a bit, but was so tired from my terribly busy
day that we left at twelve o’clock. Papa played bridge and didn’t
get home until 1:30. The English Embassy is lighted entirely by
candles and really the effect is wonderfully beautiful.
Next day--This morning Mme. Elise, the children, and I, accompanied
by the ever-present Abdullah (the body guard), went to Therepia in
a motor to find a house for the summer. It is just heavenly. You
simply cannot imagine how perfect it is. The houses have the most
beautiful gardens and are right down on the Bosphorus, which is so
blue; and from one’s windows one looks across at Asia. Papa is
going some time to decide finally, as this was just a preliminary
survey. We picked violets and a rose, just think of it, on
December 22nd! But it is quite cold at times. The gardens are so
inviting, and I can just imagine tea parties and all kinds of
thrilling things happening in them. This afternoon I had two
Turkish ladies to tea--Halide Edi Hanum and her mother. They came
in their _yashmaks_ and we had Mme. Elise serve the tea. Halide is
a graduate of the College and a real beauty. She is tall and dark,
with almond-shaped eyes, and has a beautiful complexion; and she is
so gentle and soft and charming. She speaks in the sweetest voice,
and what do you think she is doing? Translating Oscar Wilde into
Turkish! Her mother is the daughter of the sixth wife of a very
great Pasha, and her grandmother was a Circassian slave girl. The
mother cannot speak anything but Turkish, and she smoked all the
time she was here. I gave her some candy and a box of American
cigarettes to take home. Halide doesn’t smoke, and anyway, if she
went into a ball-room at home she’d create a sensation, she is so
charming. You simply cannot imagine how lovely it is here and I
just relish and cherish every moment. Baron von Wangenheim hopes
you will take a house right next to him this summer. He wants to
ride with Ruth. Beware, Ruth!
A rather amusing incident occurred late in January, 1914, when upon
receiving word that my wife had left Vienna for Constantinople, I
communicated at once with Talaat and told him I wished him to facilitate
my intention of meeting Mrs. Morgenthau at the boundary of Turkey. I
told him I proposed to go to Adrianople, the point at which her train
would enter Turkey, to meet her. Talaat’s reply was characteristically
Turkish:
“What!” he exclaimed, “going to all that trouble to meet one’s wife! I
never heard of such a thing.”
“I cannot imagine an American,” I replied, “failing to do it. In my
country, our wives share all their husbands’ interests, and I should
certainly consider myself lacking in both respect and affection if I
failed to show my wife this attention.”
Talaat was frankly bewildered.
“In Turkey,” he said, “we let our wives come to us, we do not go to
them.”
As a last resort, he interposed what he intended to be an unanswerable
objection.
“Adrianople!” he exclaimed. “It’s out of the question. There is not even
a hotel in the whole city.”
“Very well then,” I replied, “I shall find accommodations in a private
residence. But to Adrianople I am going.”
With this retort, I left him.
Mr. Schmavonian later went to Talaat and told him that I was quite
serious in my intention. Talaat then sent me word that he would arrange
with the Governor of Adrianople to entertain me, and that I could
dismiss all thought of other preparations from my mind. I therefore
contented myself with arranging to arrive in Adrianople in the morning,
planning to spend a day there sightseeing, and then joining my wife on
the train, which was due to come through the following morning at 3:30
o’clock. Imagine my astonishment, therefore, upon arriving at
Adrianople, to find that the Governor, acting on Talaat’s orders, had
transformed part of the City Hall into a hotel for my reception. The
office furniture had been removed and a suite of bedrooms for myself, my
son Henry (who had now joined me), and a member of my staff, had been
freshly furnished, with comfortable beds and bedding specially bought
for this occasion. One room had been fitted up as a kitchen; another as
a dining room. Talaat’s attentions had gone so far as even to see that
we were provided with pyjamas, bedroom slippers, and toothbrushes.
When I arrived at Adrianople, the Governor was at the station to meet
me, accompanied by a military guard of honour. He at once took us in his
automobile for a sightseeing tour of the city. I found him a man of
great intelligence--some months later he became a member of the Turkish
Cabinet at Constantinople. He was especially interested in the answers
that my son was able to make to his numerous questions about American
farm machinery, which he wished to import for use on his large estate.
After a very pleasant day we returned to the City Hall and there we were
tendered a splendid dinner and reception. The Governor then told me that
the express train on which my wife was travelling was reported to be
several hours late, and that I had as well make myself comfortable by
going to bed and resting. He promised to have me aroused in plenty of
time to meet the train on its arrival. Accordingly, I made my way to my
improvised bedroom and was soon asleep. At three o’clock in the morning
the Governor himself awakened me. He urged me to hurry, as he said the
train had now made up most of its lost time and was due any minute. We
were soon driving through the chilly streets of Adrianople to the
railroad station. Arriving there, we found that the report was erroneous
and that the train was still two hours late. The waiting room was small,
very dirty, and unheated. It was useless, however, to return to the City
Hall, so we waited for those two hours in the dimly lighted and
evil-smelling waiting room, beguiling the time with conversation and
cups of Persian tea. He was greatly interested to find out from me the
practical workings of the American system of government. Most of our
time was spent in questions and answers regarding our elections, with
their, to him, almost incomprehensible peaceful transitions from one
group of rulers to another.
At length the express drew into the station, the military guard was
mounted, and the Governor with great ceremony escorted me to the train
platform. I thanked him most heartily for a day unique in my experience.
Having undertaken with reluctance to facilitate this meeting of my
wife, Talaat had gone to the other extreme and had given it an almost
royal setting. Through his kindness I was enabled to escort my wife
properly to her new home in Constantinople.
Arriving there, she entered at once into the spirit of my mission and
became of invaluable assistance to me. She had looked forward to it as a
dreary exile from home and friends in a dull and uncivilized community.
Instead, she soon found, as I had already, that the diplomatic circle
was a group of charming people, intellectually stimulating, and engaged
in the fascinating game of high politics. She shared as well my intense
interest in the work of the missionaries, just as she had shared in New
York my interest in the Bronx House and other works of social
betterment. She enjoyed, besides, a most unusual opportunity that was
denied to me, namely, the opportunity to study, under the most
favourable circumstances, the strangely interesting life of the Oriental
woman. This life was not only very different from the life of Western
women but was also very different from our preconceived ideas of it.
Mrs. Morgenthau found, to be sure, that the exclusion of Turkish women
from masculine society was a reality, but she was astonished on the
other hand to learn the extent to which the more ambitious ones among
them had been able to achieve contact with Western thought. The plight
of these intelligent women was really tragical. They were the pioneers
of an epochal social change in Turkey, and they were suffering the usual
martyrdom of pioneering. They had been allowed to acquire the education
and ideas, which have so broadened the mental outlook of Western women,
but the social barrier of custom still prevented them from enjoying in
practice the advantage of its possession. Their husbands sought their
intellectual companions entirely among other men, and continued to
regard their women as playthings of the harem. They were thus denied
the stimulation and enjoyment of contact with masculine thought and were
cut off of course from all active participation in practical works,
where the mind exercises its acquired talents. Doubtless in the course
of time women in Turkey will be freed from these ancient restrictions of
custom and will join their Western sisters in a full freedom to take an
active part in the life of the world, but their position during the
transition period is truly pathetic.
Mrs. Morgenthau came across many cases of this anomalous condition. One
of the most striking was in the home of the Persian Ambassador. He had
married a very cultivated French woman. Notwithstanding the liberality
of thought which had permitted him to marry a European, he had done so
only on the agreement that she should become a Mohammedan; and having
done so, he insisted that she live the life of a Mohammedan woman. She
had thus stepped from that stirring French society of which one of the
most outstanding characteristics is the almost abnormally important
influence exerted by women, both in the intellectual life and in public
affairs, into a society where she was debarred entirely from association
with men and cut off from all practical relations with outside affairs.
When Mrs. Morgenthau entertained her, or any of the native Turkish
ladies, at the Embassy, even the male servants were kept below stairs
and luncheon was served by the house-maids.
So much for the colour of life at the Embassy during the first months
after my arrival. On the sober business side, there was much of equal
interest. When the Young Turks succeeded to power they had brought with
them great hope of permanent progress for their country. This hope was
shared by Liberals not only in Turkey but everywhere. The Christian
world without felt that at last there was a prospect that Moslem
government might succeed in treating a Christian population justly. The
total failure of this party proved again the impossibility of true
reform among the Turks. This was evident to careful observers long
before my arrival at Constantinople, but I was so ardent in my desire to
help them that it took me nearly a year to become wholly disillusioned.
The Young Turks from their accession to power failed in every serious
task they undertook. They made war on the Albanians, with whom the
Sultans had compromised for more than four hundred years. Having been
trained as professional soldiers they were accustomed to the use of
force only. They had not the slightest notion of democratic political
methods or of peaceful conciliation, though it was obvious that among
the various peoples of Turkey peaceful conciliation was the only way of
beginning a united national life. The Young Turks brought the dispute
with Greece concerning the possession of Crete to a crisis. Instead of
recognizing the accomplished fact in Tripoli they insisted upon
retaining control of that province, and Italy declared war. Against the
Armenians the massacres at Adana were conducted with all the horrors of
the past. The guilty, instead of being punished by the Central
Government, were exonerated. But the greatest failure of all on the part
of the so-called Committee of Union and Progress was in connection with
the national legislature. The revolution led the Greeks and Armenians to
think that a democratic government would be established. But the Young
Turks “selected” (not “elected”) the members of the Chamber of Deputies
from among their own adherents.
The Committee of Union and Progress was, in truth, a desperate set of
men confronted by desperate conditions. Therefore they were willing to
take the most desperate means to retain “Turkey for the Turks,” and
especially Turkey for themselves. Their subsequent actions were all in
keeping with this resolve. I was told by my colleagues that business had
to be transacted with the Grand Vizier. But I found that I could obtain
the quickest results through Talaat and Enver. My somewhat democratic,
business-like methods seemed to appeal to them. There were occasions on
which I even went so far as to deal directly with lesser officials. Some
of my experiences would, I am sure, fill a professional diplomat with
dismay as regards the future of his calling.
As I became better acquainted with Talaat, who was the real head of the
Government, meeting him very often at my house and sometimes at the
house of the Grand Rabbi, he confided to me the great disappointment
which he and his fellow revolutionists felt with their people. Having
lived for so many years in a state of subjection, the masses seemed
completely cowed and did not respond in the least to any suggestion of
progress or improvement. He also blamed the Sheikhs and feudal chiefs
who were still extorting tributes and using most exasperating methods in
collecting taxes. The right to collect taxes was, in many districts,
farmed out to the state bank or to the richer inhabitants. They were
entitled by law to collect in kind 10 per cent. of the crops, but were
never satisfied with this portion. They would go and measure the crop
and leave the farms without collecting the taxes. Whereupon the poor
people, not being permitted to use their food and forage, and knowing
that they were in the power of the tax collector, would implore him for
a prompt settlement. Often, to prevent starvation, the farmers would
submit to an exaction of one third of their crop. Talaat thought that
nothing less than the hanging of a number of these men would ever stop
the evil practice. He seemed to have no notion that a better system of
collecting the taxes could be instituted.
During the winter of 1913-14, Talaat and Enver, especially the former,
came to me repeatedly for advice. Inexperienced as they were, their
problems were such as to test the strength of the ablest statesman of
any country. The only reason I can give for the fact that they drew
close to me in the matter of asking advice was that they felt that
America alone of the larger foreign nations had no private axe to grind
as regards her relations with Turkey. Feeling the deepest sympathy for
all efforts to forward the welfare of backward peoples, I did all I
could to aid them with the best counsel I could offer.
One opportunity for such assistance presented itself on the occasion of
the dinner given by the American Chamber of Commerce for the Levant, on
February 22, 1914, at which I was invited to make the principal address
of the evening. Talaat and some of his colleagues were to be guests of
honour. I felt I could point out to them in my address, by indirection,
the path along which they might lead Turkey to regeneration. To do this,
I recapitulated the story of America’s great moral and material
advancement, interpreting the events in the way which I thought would be
most intelligible to the Turkish intelligence, and suggesting that the
Turkish leaders be guided in their policy by the lessons of our history.
As this speech had a considerable effect upon the Turkish Government,
and as it is, I think, not without interest to Americans themselves, I
take the liberty of quoting the substance of it:
What an achievement it would be if the Young Giant of the West, who
by strictly attending to his own business has developed into one of
the greatest and richest nations of the world, could make others
see the advantages and wisdom of following his example. We
recognize the difficulty which confronts everyone who tries to
prevail upon another to benefit by his experience, but perhaps
nations, which are guided by disinterested patriots who have only
the good of the people at heart and none of the selfish motives or
petty vanities of an individual, may be willing, not only to study
the history of a successful nation, but also to profit by its
experiences, and thus save the expense and spare the waste caused
by experimenting.
As a diplomat I am “directed by my Government especially to refrain
from public expressions of opinion upon local political or other
questions arising within my jurisdiction.” These are the exact
words contained in my Instruction Book, and I am obliged to follow
them conscientiously. But that does not prevent me, however, from
telling you what we have done at home to establish and increase our
commerce and what we are doing to improve it and the conditions of
our people; and it is for this country, the Balkan States, and
Persia to determine how much of it can be adopted by them.
It is just fifty years ago that our country finished one of the
bloodiest and most expensive internecine wars recorded in history,
and you all know that the worst strifes are those that are waged
between brothers. All the southern states had been completely
devastated; a large part of their white male population was killed
during the war; millions of slaves had been set free and were
unprepared to take care of themselves and would not work; both the
North and the South were in a complete state of physical and
financial exhaustion. The cost of the war exceeded 1,500 million
dollars; our Government bonds were selling below par and were
mostly owned in foreign countries; we had just been deprived of the
wise leadership of the great Abraham Lincoln who had been foully
murdered. We had fought for a principle and had won, but the hatred
of the sections for each other survived and the great problem was
to reconcile the combatants to the new conditions and again to
absorb into our commercial and business activities the hundreds of
thousands of members of the disbanded army and to have our
communities resume their normal condition and bring about a
reconstruction of the southern states. We were confronted by a
tremendous problem, and it took wise statesmanship, great grit,
patient toil, and unswerving enthusiasm born from an absolute and
abiding faith in the future to solve it. We had only 35,000 miles
of railroads and many of these traversed the devastated country. I
say “only,” because to-day we have more than 250,000 miles of
railroad which have brought into easy communication with the large
markets of our country all our developed farms and mines, etc., and
have given the country four transcontinental routes. We had a
population of 34 millions which has now grown to more than 95
millions, of which 19 millions attend our public and two millions
our private schools, and 320,000 attend 596 universities and
colleges in which there are thirty thousand professors and
instructors and which have libraries containing 16 million volumes
of books. Our imports in 1870 were 436 millions and our exports 393
millions, showing a balance against us of 43 millions; while in
1913, our imports were 1,813 millions and our exports 2,465
millions, so that we had a balance of trade in our favour of 652
millions, and for the last seven years the average annual balance
of trade has been more than five hundred million dollars. We have
gained by immigration about 30 million people of which the year
1913 brought 1,200,000--practically equal to the population of the
city of Constantinople. This great army, besides bringing their
energy, strength, and capacity to work, also brought with them 30
million dollars in cash! I wonder if these figures give you the
faintest idea of this tremendous growth.
How was this all done?
We invited, urged, and welcomed help from every source and there
was a generous response. We utilized English, French, German, and
Dutch money to help build our railroads. We opened our portals wide
to immigrants who overflowed our shores in a most unprecedented
fashion. It first relieved Ireland and Germany of their surplus
population and thereby bettered the condition of those that
remained at home; later on Italy and Russia sent us hundreds of
thousands of their people. And it was thus that the native
population received the necessary reinforcements to help develop
the new districts that were being opened for settlement. As fast as
the railroad development pierced the West, villages and cities
followed it. The Northerners and Southerners found a common ground
in the great and almost boundless West which was then entirely
undeveloped and they worked side by side in this new land of
promise and soon forgot their past differences. They started out in
log cabins which they erected with their own hands; they slept on
pine boughs and were willing to forego all comforts to enable them
rapidly to recoup their lost fortunes. Gradually they acquired the
almost luxurious surroundings in which they live to-day, for there
is hardly a farmhouse without an organ or a piano, a sewing
machine, a small library and carpets on the floor, and most of them
own considerable agricultural machinery and a great many of them
their own automobiles.
We adopted a system of protection so as to foster our then infant
industries which are now managed by wonderful corporations that not
only can stand alone but compete with the world. We encouraged
thrift and habits of saving so that the deposits in the savings
banks to-day amount to 4,450 millions and the assets of the life
insurance companies to more than 4,400 million dollars.
What do such accumulated assets mean?
They mean opportunities realized, steady thrift, thousands of
thrills of pleasure at individual progress toward independence and
protection against want in old age, provisions for rainy days; the
renewed prosperity of the natives of the South, North, East, and
West; conversion of millions of stalwart immigrants into prosperous
farmers, businessmen, mechanics, etc., who are the owners of these
and other assets. I am going to leave to your imagination and
poetic temperament to analyze still further what are the component
parts when reduced into human endeavours that constitute this
monument of prosperity.
We are not so conceited as to arrogate to ourselves the claim that
we are the only country that has accomplished such wonderful
results in the last fifty years. In 1865 there was no German Empire
nor United Italy; their creation and phenomenal development have
taken place since then. I believe that a description of the
industrial and commercial development of those and many other
countries would make as fine a story as I have told you about the
United States; but they are so near to you that it would lack the
enchantment that distance lends to a view. I have shown you results
and I now want to tell you that they have not been attained without
a great many troubles and tribulations. We have had our severe
panics and recessions; our droughts and floods; our pests of
grasshoppers and bollweevils; our strikes and labour troubles, some
of which have led to bloodshed. It was no easy task to assimilate
the many different nationalities that reached our shores. The
troubles of most nations are those of struggling against poverty.
We have had the unusual experience of having to fight and suppress
the excessive prosperity of the privileged classes of our country,
because they were about destroying our free government and were
depriving our people of their equal opportunities. Fortunately we
found in our present President, Woodrow Wilson, a champion for
justice and right, and he has, through his infinite skill and
wisdom, practically after one year of administration, adjusted the
matter.
If I were in America and wanted to compare our accomplishments to
something definite, I would speak of a fifty-story building in
contrast to some of the two-or three-story buildings. But being in
Turkey I want to say that I have shown you the wonderful national
rug that we have produced in the United States. It was woven by the
millions that inhabit our land, natives and foreigners, whites and
blacks, people from the North, South, East, and West, men and
women, and from materials produced in our own soil and imported
from all countries; and as far as we have finished it, we pride
ourselves, notwithstanding some faults and defects, that it makes a
fine, harmonious whole. And the sincerest compliments that any
country could pay to us would be to adopt and imitate our pattern.
When I described the success we had attained in our endeavours during
the fifty years since the Civil War, Talaat and some of his colleagues
were visibly impressed. Shortly after this dinner both Talaat and Enver
urged me to visit various parts of the Turkish Empire in order to be
able to advise them as regards reforms in their administration and other
means of public progress. While my instructions from my government, like
those of every country to its foreign representatives abroad, forbade my
intermeddling with purely domestic affairs, I felt that the situation in
Turkey was wholly without precedent. So I set myself to study the
country and its varied and most intricate problems. With Talaat and
Enver I planned three trips--the first to Palestine and Syria, the
second to the south shore of the Black Sea, and the third to the
interior, as far as the Bagdad railway was then constructed. The coming
of war prevented the second and third trips. The first I shall describe
in the next chapter.
But, fascinating as were my discoveries in the novel field of diplomacy,
and much as I enjoyed the effort to assist the Turkish leaders, I felt
after all that my true function as American Ambassador was far removed
from the intrigues of the Old World Powers and from the momentary
struggles of the existing Turkish Government. On the one hand, America
had no ambitions in Turkey that called for diplomatic gambling. Our
interests there were almost wholly altruistic. We had, to be sure, a
small commercial interest, and I had no disposition to shirk my
responsibility for fostering its improvement. The Standard Oil Company
was our most considerable business representative. The Singer Sewing
Machine Company, served in Constantinople by Germans from its Berlin
branch, was second. The third in importance were the American buyers of
Turkish tobacco and Turkish licorice. Besides these, we had little
commercial representation.
America’s true mission in Turkey, I felt, was to foster the permanent
civilizing work of the Christian missions, which so gloriously
exemplified the American spirit at its best. As I frequently explained
to the Turkish Government officers, we had little need for foreign trade
or foreign sources of raw material. Our territory was so vast, and our
population relatively so small, that we had neither reason nor
disposition to covet further territory. I explained to them further that
our citizens were accustomed to achieve their own financial
independence, and that this characteristic of rising from poverty to
affluence had bred in them, as a national characteristic, a sympathy
with those not yet arrived at fortune, and a helpful wish to place the
means of advancement within the reach of those still struggling upward.
This spirit had lavished itself in America upon the advancement of
common schools and higher institutions of learning, and upon thousands
of other forms of philanthropy and helpfulness. This spirit of good
will, I explained further, overflowed our boundaries into other lands,
partly because we wished to share our good fortune with others, and
chiefly because it was prescribed by the Christian faith, which declared
that good works should not be limited to those of one’s own family or
kindred. America, I told them, is constantly receiving hundreds of
thousands of emigrants from the Old World, and American generosity has
placed among these newly arrived citizens the services of expert
advisers, who use every means to make easy the path of the immigrant,
and to induct him as rapidly as possible into the full fellowship of
American life. The Christian missions in Turkey, I added, carried this
work one step further: it went into other lands and tried to carry to
them some of the benefits which our material prosperity made possible
among us.
I think my words were received, at first, with some reserve, not only by
the Turks themselves, but by my colleagues, the representatives of the
European nations. They soon learned, however, to believe them, when they
saw that I sought no concessions, that I devoted no more attention to
the American commercial enterprises represented in the Levant than were
necessary for the transaction of their ordinary business, and that I
gave my chief attention to encouraging the work of the Christian
missionaries and spreading the gospel of Americanism. I soon found that
I could be of the greatest assistance to these people. It was generally
believed in Turkey that I was unusually close to the President.
Consequently the attentions which I took pains to shower upon the
missionaries added enormously to the importance of their position in the
eyes of the Turkish Government, and placed them upon an entirely new
footing in their consideration. When it was observed that Dr. Gates, the
president of Robert College, frequently accompanied me on my horseback
rides, and that I made an invariable custom of entertaining at dinner at
least once a week Dr. Mary Mills Patrick and Dr. Louise B. Wallace, the
president and the dean, respectively, of the Constantinople College for
Girls, the Turkish Government conceived an entirely new idea of the
importance that America attaches to these institutions; and they gave a
corresponding deference to the wishes of their presidents.
Even if I had not conceived these attentions to be one of my prime
duties, I should have been drawn to these companionships by a native
congeniality of temper. Dr. Patrick and Dr. Gates were splendid examples
of American womanhood and manhood. Both had forsaken the opportunity of
success in America to devote their lives unselfishly to the great task
of human betterment. Their gifts of mind and graces of character would
have made them delightful companions in any circumstances. But having,
besides, as they did, a profound interest in the kind of work that had
so deeply engrossed me in New York, I gravitated toward them in
Constantinople by a natural attraction. With them I would mention Dr.
Peet, the resident financial representative, in Constantinople, of the
Mission Boards of America--a man of great experience and gracious person
who had given a quarter of a century of his life to work in this field.
Further along in this article, I shall describe some of the happy
experiences I had in meeting some of the young men and women who were
students at the colleges.
My relationships with the Jews of Constantinople were equally useful and
equally pleasant. I cultivated the acquaintance of the Chief Rabbi
Nahoun, a learned and brilliant man in his early forties. I took pains
to show him every possible honour in public. I let it be generally known
that I frequented the B’nai Brith Lodge at Constantinople, which, to my
astonishment and gratification, I discovered to contain in its
membership a group of men of higher average quality than are in any
American lodge of the same order with which I am acquainted. My public
attentions to these representative Jews gave to them also a new
importance and a new dignity in the view of the Turkish Government. It
was indeed gratifying to me to be able, with scarcely an effort, so
greatly to improve the status of my co-religionists in the eyes of a
government which controlled the historical birthplace of the Hebrew
religion and the scene of its one-time temporal grandeur.
One of my ambitions at Constantinople was to make the Embassy truly the
American Headquarters. Every American of whatever degree, whether
resident or visitor, was welcome within its portals. I endeavoured to
have every one of them enjoy even its formal hospitality--an invitation
to a luncheon or a dinner. I felt that the Embassy was not intended
merely to provide an opportunity for exclusive social distinction for
the Ambassador. On the contrary, it belonged to the American people; and
certainly part of my function was to see that it was of service to them.
I soon observed how greatly an invitation to the Embassy was
appreciated; and since my return to this United States I have had
innumerable evidences of the enjoyment which the simplest courtesy I
extended brought to its recipient. Time after time I have had strangers
salute me in various parts of this country and remind me with great
warmth of the pleasure they had enjoyed in a call at the Embassy in
Turkey.
But perhaps the most satisfying of all my associations in Turkey was the
privilege I enjoyed of constantly sharing in the problems and
accomplishments of the two principal American colleges. To me their work
was an endless source of satisfaction. To see these great evidences of
American idealism functioning in this remote and backward land,
spreading civilization among people long submerged in ignorance, was a
profound reason for pride in my country. As a humanitarian, it was a
corresponding delight to see the students themselves--their young minds
expanding, their young spirits fired with enthusiasm, in the congenial
atmosphere of these institutions which, but for America, would not have
existed and for which there was no substitute within their reach.
The Girls’ College especially appealed to my sympathy. Here, in a land
in which the position of women was the most unfavourable, was an
institution which was offering to the future mothers of the Near East an
entrance into a new world of freedom and opportunity. Girls were
gathered here from all parts of the Turkish Empire--Turkish girls,
Armenians, Jews, Greeks, Bulgarians, and Albanians. It was a delight to
see how they responded to their opportunity. On numerous occasions, Dr.
Patrick invited me to address them, and one such occasion I recall with
a special pleasure. I described to them the American profession of
social worker, tracing the reasons which gave rise to the movement for
social betterment in our country and explaining how this new profession
arose out of the need for trained workers in that field. I was
astonished to see how deep an impression my description made upon them.
It appealed to the universal instinct of women to cherish life and to
work for its improvement. So enthusiastic were these young Oriental
women that afterward Dr. Patrick told me more than half of them had
expressed an ambition to devote their life to social service.
These girls, touched by the stimulation of the new intellectual world
freely opened to them, attempted many imaginative experiments. One of
the most interesting that I observed was the product of a debate held in
the college, in which one team had maintained the position of the Greek
Stoics against the other group which had defended the philosophy of the
Epicureans. Not satisfied with debating the subject abstractly, the
girls had resolved to put the two philosophies to the practical test of
experience; and for a week the Senior Class was divided into two groups,
one of which attempted actually to live for that period according to the
Stoic dogma and the other according to the Epicurean. They took the
experiment seriously, but of course, with the lightheartedness of
youth, they found it an entertainment as well. The essays written on
their experiences as Stoics and Epicureans would make interesting
reading. I could not refrain from speculating with hope and enthusiasm
upon the numerous influences which this college, through these eager
young spirits, would wield in directing the future destiny of the
millions of backward people among whom they would be scattered as torch
bearers of civilization.
Robert College was an institution for men, founded fifty years ago by
Christopher R. Roberts, a wealthy leather merchant of New York. Its
early destiny was directed by Dr. Hamlin and Dr. Washburn, two
far-seeing statesmen of education. They had steered a course for the
institution which had gained at least the passive coöperation of the
Turkish Government, while in America it had gained the enthusiastic
support of great philanthropists like Cleveland H. Dodge and John S.
Kennedy. Gradually there had been added to its faculty men of strong
character and profound learning, so that by the time I reached
Constantinople it was an institution worthy of all the care that had
been lavished upon it. These earnest men had made a real impression upon
the life of the Near East. Being the only great seat of learning in that
whole large territory, it had attracted the ambitious youth from the
remotest Armenia and all the Balkan countries. Bulgaria especially had
appreciated its opportunity. Hundreds of the leaders of Bulgarian
political and economic life received their training here.
In Dr. Gates, the president of Robert College, I found a man who was
very useful to me. He had lived many years in Turkey, knew all the chief
figures in its public life, and was a profound student of Turkish
psychology. In return, I had the pleasure of being useful to him during
the trying days after Turkey entered the war.
Such was the picture of Constantinople as I saw it during the first four
months of my embassy. It was a picture full of strange anomalies and
apparent contradictions. Here was I, a native of Europe, representing
the greatest republic of America at the court of an Oriental sovereign.
Here was I, a Jew, representing the greatest Christian nation of the
world at the capital of the chief Mohammedan nation. Here was I, a man
without any previous diplomatic experience whatsoever, suddenly
projected headlong into one of the most difficult diplomatic posts in
the world, as one of the ten personal representatives of the President.
Here was a nation, ruled in name by a proud descendant of Mohammed, and
ruled in fact by a group of desperate adventurers whose chieftain was an
ex-railroad porter. Here was the capital of an ancient and decaying
nation, which was soon, because of its strategic position, to become one
of the very vital centres of world diplomacy. Here was a wornout empire
dying, which in its death agony clutched other peoples still with its
withered fingers and was soon to reach up and draw within its fatal
embrace, in the death grapple of a world war, boys from the cattle
ranges of Australia, aboriginal Indians from the wilds of northwest
Canada, peasants from farthest Russia, cockneys from the East End of
London, shepherds from the Carpathian Mountains--vast aggregations of
soldiers as polyglot as the population of Constantinople itself--that
mongrel city which, sitting at the cross roads of ancient trade routes,
had for centuries drawn citizens from every people under heaven. How
could I realize, during those peaceful first months of my embassy, that
I, the representative of remote and isolated America, should soon be
involved in diplomatic complications that should involve the very
continuance of American institutions. It was well that I had those few
months of peaceful education into that society before the storm of the
World War burst upon us. It was well, too, that I had my trip to Egypt
and Asia Minor, where I met and learned much from Lord Kitchener, Lord
Bryce, and the wise Americans and Jews whom I there encountered. This
journey was of so much importance to me that it deserves a separate
chapter.