DJEMAL, A TROUBLESOME MARK ANTONY--AN EARLY GERMAN ATTEMPT TO GET A
GERMAN PEACE
In early November, 1914, the railroad station at Haidar Pasha was the
scene of a great demonstration. Djemal, the Minister of Marine, one of
the three men who were then most powerful in the Turkish Empire, was
leaving to take command of the Fourth Turkish Army, which had its
headquarters in Syria. All the members of the Cabinet and other
influential people in Constantinople assembled to give this departing
satrap an enthusiastic farewell. They hailed him as the “Saviour of
Egypt,” and Djemal himself, just before his train started, made this
public declaration:
“I shall not return to Constantinople until I have conquered Egypt!”
The whole performance seemed to me to be somewhat bombastic. Inevitably
I called to mind the third member of another bloody triumvirate who,
nearly two thousand years before, had left his native land to become the
supreme dictator of the East. And Djemal had many characteristics in
common with Mark Antony. Like his Roman predecessor, his private life
was profligate; like Antony, he was an insatiate gambler, spending much
of his leisure over the card-table at the Cercle d’Orient. Another trait
which he had in common with the great Roman orator was his enormous
vanity. The Turkish world seemed to be disintegrating in Djemal’s time,
just as the Roman Republic was dissolving in the days of Antony. Djemal
believed that he might himself become the heir of one or more of its
provinces and possibly establish a dynasty. He expected that the
military expedition on which he was now starting would not only make him
the conqueror of Turkey’s fairest province, but make him one of the
powerful figures of the world. Afterward, in Syria, he ruled as
independently as a medieval robber baron, whom in other details he
resembled; he became a kind of sub-sultan, holding his own court, having
his own selamlik, issuing his orders, dispensing freely his own kind of
justice, and often disregarding the authorities at Constantinople.
The applause with which Djemal’s associates were speeding
[Illustration: Enver Pasha, Minister of War.]
[Illustration: Talaat Pasha, Grand Vizier.
[_To face p. 112_
]
[Illustration: Bustány Effendi, ex-Minister of Commerce and Agriculture
in the Turkish Cabinet.]
[Illustration: Djemal Pasha, Minister of Marine.]
his departure was not entirely disinterested. The fact was that most of
them were exceedingly glad to see him go. He had been a thorn in the
side of Talaat and Enver for some time, and they were perfectly content
that he should exercise his imperious and stubborn nature against the
Syrians, Armenians, and other non-Moslem elements in the Mediterranean
provinces. Djemal was not a popular man in Constantinople. The other
members of the triumvirate, in addition to their less desirable
qualities, had certain attractive traits--Talaat his rough virility and
spontaneous good nature, Enver his courage and personal
graciousness--but there was little about Djemal that was pleasing. An
American physician who had specialised in the study of physiognomy had
found Djemal a fascinating subject. He told me that he had never seen a
face that so combined ferocity with great power and penetration. Enver,
as his history showed, could be cruel and bloodthirsty, but he hid his
more insidious qualities under a face that was bland, unruffled, and
even agreeable. Djemal, however, did not disguise his tendencies, for
his face clearly pictured the inner soul. His eyes were black and
piercing; their sharpness, the rapidity and keenness with which they
darted from one object to another, taking in apparently everything with
a few lightning-like glances, signalised cunning, remorselessness, and
selfishness to an extreme degree. Even his laugh, which disclosed all
his white teeth, was unpleasant and animal-like. His black hair and
black beard, contrasting with his pale face, only heightened this
impression. At first, Djemal’s figure seemed somewhat insignificant--he
was undersized, almost stumpy, and somewhat stoop-shouldered; as soon as
he began to move, however, it was evident that his body was full of
energy. Whenever he shook your hand, gripping you with a vice-like grasp
and looking at you with those roving, penetrating eyes, the man’s
personal force became impressive.
Yet, after a momentary meeting, I was not surprised to hear that Djemal
was a man with whom assassination and judicial murder were all part of
the day’s work. Like all the Young Turks, his origin had been extremely
humble. He had joined the Committee of Union and Progress in the early
days, and his personal power, as well as his relentlessness, had rapidly
made him one of the leaders. After the murder of Nazim, Djemal had
become Military Governor of Constantinople, his chief duty in this post
being to remove from the scene the opponents of the ruling powers. This
congenial task he performed with great skill, and the reign of terror
that resulted was largely Djemal’s handiwork. Subsequently Djemal became
Minister of Marine, but he could not work harmoniously in the Cabinet;
he was always a troublesome partner. In the days preceding the break
with the Entente he was popularly regarded as a Francophile. Whatever
feeling Djemal may have entertained toward the Entente, he made little
attempt to conceal his detestation of the Germans. It is said that he
would swear at them in their presence--in Turkish, of course--and he was
one of the few important Turkish officials who never came under their
influence. The fact was that Djemal represented that tendency which was
rapidly gaining the ascendancy in Turkish policy--Pan-Turkism. He
despised the subject peoples of the Ottoman country--Arabs, Greeks,
Armenians, Circassians, Jews; his ambition was to Turkify the whole
Empire. His personal ambition brought him into frequent conflict with
Enver and Talaat; they told me many times that they could not control
him. It was for this reason that, as I have said, they were glad to see
him go--not that they really expected him to capture the Suez Canal and
drive out the English. Incidentally this appointment fairly indicated
the incongruous organisation that then existed in Turkey. As Minister of
Marine, Djemal’s real place was at the navy department; instead of that,
the head of the navy was sent to lead an army over the burning sands of
Syria and Sinai.
Yet Djemal’s expedition represented Turkey’s most spectacular attempt to
assert its military power against the Allies. As Djemal moved out of the
station, the whole Turkish populace felt that an historic moment had
arrived. Turkey in less than a century had lost the greater part of her
dominions, and nothing had more pained the national pride than the
English occupation of Egypt. All during this occupation, Turkish
suzerainty had been recognised; as soon as Turkey declared war on Great
Britain, however, the British had ended this fiction and had formally
taken over this great province. Djemal’s expedition was Turkey’s reply
to this act of England. The real purpose of the war, the Turkish people
had been told, was to restore the vanishing empire of the Osmans, and to
this great undertaking the recovery of Egypt was merely the first step.
The Turks also knew that, under English administration, Egypt had become
a prosperous country, and that it would, therefore, yield great treasure
to the conqueror. It is no wonder that the huzzahs of the Turkish people
followed the departing Djemal.
About the same time, Enver left to take command of Turkey’s other great
military enterprise--the attack on Russia through the Caucasus. Here
also were Turkish provinces to be “redeemed.” After the war of 1878,
Turkey had been compelled to cede to Russia certain rich territories
between the Caspian and the Black Sea, inhabited chiefly by Armenians,
and it was this country which Enver now proposed to reconquer. But Enver
had no ovation on his leaving. He went away quietly and unobserved. With
the departure of these two men the war was now fairly on.
Despite these martial enterprises, other than warlike preparations were
now under way in Constantinople. At that time--in the latter part of
1914--its external characteristics suggested nothing but war, yet now it
suddenly became the great headquarters of peace. The English fleet was
constantly threatening the Dardanelles, and every day Turkish troops
were passing through the streets. Yet these activities did not chiefly
engage the attention of the German Embassy. Wangenheim was thinking of
one thing, and one thing only; this fire-eating German suddenly became a
man of peace. For he now learned that the greatest service which a
German Ambassador could render his Emperor would be to end the war on
terms that would save Germany from exhaustion, and even from ruin; to
obtain a settlement that would reintroduce his Fatherland to the society
of nations.
In November Wangenheim began discussing this subject. It was part of
Germany’s system, he told me, not only to be completely prepared for
war, but also for peace. “A wise general, when he begins his campaign,
always has at hand his plans for a retreat, in case he is defeated,”
said the German Ambassador. “This principle applies just the same to a
nation beginning war. There is only one certainty about war--and that is
that it must end some time. So, when we plan war, we must consider also
a campaign for peace.”
But Wangenheim was interested then in something more tangible than this
philosophic principle. Germany had immediate reasons for desiring the
end of hostilities, and Wangenheim discussed them frankly and cynically.
He said that Germany had prepared for only a short war because she had
expected to crush France and Russia in two brief campaigns, lasting not
longer than six months. Clearly this plan had failed, and there was
little likelihood that Germany would win the war. Wangenheim told me
this in so many words. Germany, he added, would make a great mistake if
she persisted in fighting the war to exhaustion, for such a fight would
mean the permanent loss of her colonies, her mercantile marine, and her
whole economic and commercial status. “If we don’t get Paris in thirty
days, we are beaten,” Wangenheim had told me in August, and, though his
attitude changed somewhat after the battle of the Marne, he made no
attempt to conceal the fact that the great rush campaign had collapsed,
that all the Germans could now look forward to was a tedious, exhausting
war, and that all which they could obtain from the existing situation
would be a drawn battle. “We have made a mistake this time,” Wangenheim
said, “in not laying in supplies for a protracted struggle; it was an
error, however, that we shall not repeat; next time we shall store up
enough copper and cotton to last for five years.”
Wangenheim had another reason for wishing an immediate peace, and it was
a reason which shed much light upon the shamelessness of German
diplomacy. The preparation which Turkey was making for the conquest of
Egypt caused this German Ambassador much annoyance and anxiety. The
interest and energy which the Turks had manifested in this enterprise
were particularly causing him concern. Naturally I thought at first that
Wangenheim was worried that Turkey would lose, yet he confided to me
that his real fear was that their ally would succeed. A victorious
Turkish campaign in Egypt, Wangenheim explained, might seriously
interfere with Germany’s plans. Should Turkey conquer Egypt, naturally
Turkey would insist at the peace table on retaining this great province,
and would expect Germany to support her in this claim. But Germany had
no intention then of promoting the re-establishment of the Turkish
Empire. At that time she hoped to reach an understanding with England,
the basis of which was to be something in the nature of a division of
interests in the East. Germany desired above all to obtain Mesopotamia
as an indispensable part of her Hamburg-Bagdad scheme. In return for
this, she was prepared to give her endorsement to England’s annexation
of Egypt. Thus it was Germany’s plan at that time that she and England
should divide Turkey’s two fairest dominions. This was one of the
proposals which Germany intended to bring forth in the peace conference
which Wangenheim was now scheming for, and clearly Turkey’s conquest of
Egypt would have presented complications in the way of carrying out this
plan. On the morality of Germany’s attitude to her ally, Turkey, it is
hardly necessary to comment. The whole thing was all of a piece with
Germany’s policy of “realism” in foreign relations.
Nearly all German classes, in the latter part of 1914 and the early part
of 1915, were anxiously looking for peace, and they turned to
Constantinople as the most promising spot where peace negotiations might
most favourably be started. The Germans took it for granted that
President Wilson would be the
[Illustration: Mr. Morgenthau (left) in congenial association with Sir
Louis Mallet, the British Ambassador to Turkey.]
[Illustration: Sir Louis Mallet and M. Bompard, the French Ambassador to
Turkey.
[_To face p. 116_
]
[Illustration: Bedri Bey, Prefect of Police at Constantinople.]
[Illustration: Talaat and von Kühlmann.]
peacemaker; indeed, they never for a moment thought of anyone else in
this capacity. The only point that remained for consideration was the
best way to approach the President. Such negotiations would most likely
be conducted through one of the American Ambassadors in Europe.
Obviously Germany had no means of access to the American Ambassadors in
the great enemy capitals, and other circumstances induced them to turn
to the American Ambassador in Turkey.
At this time a German diplomat appeared in Constantinople who has
figured much in recent history--Dr. Richard von Kühlmann, at present
Minister for Foreign Affairs. In the last five years Dr. von Kühlmann
has seemed to appear in that particular part of the world where
important confidential diplomatic negotiations are being conducted by
the German Empire. Prince Lichnowsky has recently described his
activities in London in 1913 and 1914, and he has figured even more
conspicuously in the recent peace treaty of Brest-Litovsk. Soon after
the war started, Dr. von Kühlmann came to Constantinople as _Conseiller_
of the German Embassy, succeeding von Mutius, who had been called to the
Colours. For one reason his appointment was appropriate, for Kühlmann
had been born in Constantinople, and had spent his early life there, his
father having been president of the Anatolian railway. He therefore
understood the Turks as only a man can who has lived with them for many
years. Personally he proved to be an interesting addition to the
diplomatic colony. He impressed me as not a particularly aggressive, but
a very entertaining, man; he apparently wished to become friendly with
the American Embassy, and he possessed a certain attraction for us all,
as he had just come from the trenches and gave us many vivid pictures of
life at the front. At that time we were all keenly interested in modern
warfare, and Kühlmann’s details of trench fighting held us spellbound
many an afternoon and evening. His other favourite topic of conversation
was _Welt-Politik_, and on all foreign matters he struck me as
remarkably well-informed. At that time we did not regard von Kühlmann as
an important man, yet the industry with which he attended to his
business arrested everyone’s attention even then. Soon, however, I began
to have a feeling that he was exerting a powerful influence in a quiet,
velvety kind of way. He said little, but I realised that he was
listening to everything and storing all kinds of information away in his
mind. He was apparently Wangenheim’s closest confidant, and the man upon
whom the Ambassador was depending for his contact with the German
Foreign Office. About the middle of December von Kühlmann left for
Berlin, where he stayed about two weeks. On his return, in the early
part of January, 1915, there was a noticeable change in the atmosphere
of the German Embassy. Up to that time Wangenheim had discussed peace
negotiations more or less informally, but now he took up the matter
specifically. I gathered that Kühlmann had been called to Berlin to
receive all the latest details on this subject, and that he had come
back with the definite instructions that Wangenheim should move at once.
In all my talks with the German Ambassador on peace Kühlmann was always
hovering in the background; at one most important conference he was
present, though he participated hardly at all in the conversation, but
his rôle, as usual, was that of a subordinate and quietly eager
listener.
Wangenheim now informed me that January, 1915, would be an excellent
time to end the war. Italy had not yet entered, though there was every
reason to believe that she would do so by spring. Bulgaria and Rumania
were still holding aloof, though no one expected that their waiting
attitude would last for ever. France and England were preparing for the
first of the “spring offensives,” and the Germans had no assurance that
it would not succeed; indeed, they much feared that the German armies
would meet disaster. The British and French warships were gathering at
the Dardanelles, and the German General Staff and practically all
military and naval experts in Constantinople believed that the Allied
fleets could force their way through and capture the city. Most Turks by
this time were sick of the war, and Germany always had in mind that
Turkey would make a separate peace. Afterward I discovered that whenever
the military situation looked ominous to Germany she was always thinking
about peace, but that if the situation improved she would immediately
become warlike again; it was a case of sick-devil, well-devil. Yet,
badly as Wangenheim wanted peace in January, 1915, it was quite apparent
that he was not thinking of a permanent peace. The greatest obstacle to
peace at that time was the fact that Germany showed no signs that she
regretted her crimes, and there was not the slightest evidence of the
sackcloth in Wangenheim’s attitude now. Germany had made a bad guess,
that was all. What Wangenheim and the other Germans saw in the situation
was that their stock of wheat, cotton, and copper was inadequate for a
protracted struggle. In my notes of my conversations with Wangenheim I
find him frequently using such phrases as the “next war,” “next time,”
and, in confidently looking forward to another greater world cataclysm
than the present, he merely reflected the attitude of the dominant
junker-military class. The Germans apparently wanted a reconciliation--a
kind of an armistice--that would give their generals and industrial
leaders time to prepare for the next conflict. At that time, nearly four
years ago, Germany was moving for practically the same kind of peace
negotiations which she has suggested many times since and is suggesting
now. Wangenheim’s plan was that representatives of the warring Powers
should gather around a table and settle things on the principle of “give
and take.” He said that there was no sense in demanding that each side
state its terms in advance.
“For both sides to state their terms in advance would ruin the whole
thing,” he said. “What would we do? Germany, of course, would make
claims that the other side would regard as ridiculously extravagant. The
Entente would state terms that would put all Germany in a rage. As a
result, both sides would get so angry that there would be no conference.
No--if we really want to end this war we must have an armistice. Once we
stop fighting, we shall not go at it again. History presents no instance
in a great war where an armistice has not resulted in peace. It will be
so in this case.”
Yet, from Wangenheim’s conversation I did obtain a slight inkling of
Germany’s terms. The matter of Egypt and Mesopotamia, set forth above,
was one of them. Wangenheim was quite insistent that Germany must have
permanent naval bases in Belgium with which her navy could at all times
threaten England with blockade, and so make sure “the freedom of the
seas.” Germany wanted coaling rights everywhere; this demand looks
absurd, because Germany has always possessed such rights in peace times.
She might give France a piece of Lorraine, and a part of
Belgium--perhaps Brussels--in return for the payment of an indemnity.
Wangenheim requested that I should place Germany’s case before the
American Government. My letter to Washington is dated January, 1915. It
went fully into the internal situation which then prevailed and gave the
reasons why Germany and Turkey desired peace.
A particularly interesting part of this incident was that Germany was
apparently ignoring Austria. Pallavicini, the Austrian Ambassador, knew
nothing of the pending negotiations until I myself informed him of them.
In thus ignoring his ally, the German Ambassador meant no personal
disrespect; he was merely treating him precisely as his Foreign Office
was treating Vienna--not as an equal, but practically as a retainer. The
world is familiar enough with Germany’s military and diplomatic
absorption of Austria-Hungary. But that Wangenheim should have made so
important a move as to attempt peace negotiations, and have left it to
Pallavicini to learn about it through a third party, shows that, as far
back as January, 1915, the Austro-Hungarian Empire had ceased to be an
independent nation.
Nothing came of this proposal, of course. Our Government declined to
take action, evidently not regarding the time as opportune. Both Germany
and Turkey, as I shall tell, recurred to this subject afterward. This
particular negotiation ended in the latter part of March, when Kühlmann
left Constantinople to become Minister at The Hague. He came and paid
his farewell call at the American Embassy, as charming, as entertaining,
and as debonair as ever. His last words, as he shook my hand and left
the building, were--subsequent events have naturally caused me to
remember them:
“We shall have peace within three months, Excellency!”
This little scene took place and this happy forecast was made in March,
1915!