One lives and learns even from Turks—The Mudir's two
sons—They like your nation—They remember the Crimean
War—Suleiman Effendi—The Vice-Consul—The town of Angora
to be illuminated—The telegram about the Constitution—What
does the Constitution mean?—Suleiman Effendi on education,
and on religious matters—So many roads to heaven—American
missionaries—The massacres in Bulgaria—The intrigues
of Russia—The Circassians hate the Russians—Circassian
women butchered and ravished by the Russians—An English
priest—The impalement story—The Vice-Consul's wife—A
piano in Angora—Turkish ladies—A visit to the Pacha—The
audience-room—The Pacha's son—Only one cannon in
Angora—Twenty-five thousand men gone to the war—The clerk—The
Bey's library—The new Constitution—The Bey's opinion about
it—Turkey requires roads and railways—The only carriage in
Angora.
"Well, how is the animal's back?" I inquired of Radford, when he awoke
me the next morning.
"I can't make it out, sir. I took the saddle off, and our horse ain't
touched at all. Osman came in when I was a looking at him. He laughed
and said 'Eyi' (good), and I said 'Eyi' too. But, sir, it is a wonder
to me that the horse ain't got an awful back."
"How are you getting on with your Turkish?" I inquired.
"Capital, sir; I often have a talk with Osman, though I can't say as
how we understand each other much. The fellow, he knows more about
horses than I thought he did; one lives and learns, even from Turks."
We were escorted out of Istanos[8] by the Mudir and his two sons,
lads of from twelve to fifteen, who had got up at daybreak to speed
the Frank on his way. The Armenian priest also came to the door. In
spite of the early hour, a great many inhabitants had assembled on the
house-tops to have a look at the Englishman and his party.
"They like your nation," said the Mudir, as the people saluted us.
"Why so?"
"They remember the Crimean war, and think that you have come to help us
against the Russians."
"I wish I had," was my answer; "but I am here only as a 'traveller.'"
We retraced our steps along the route of the previous day, marching for
some time by the bank of the river. Presently I came to a well-built
stone bridge. It spans the stream, which is here about forty yards
wide, besides being very rapid and deep. Soon afterwards the path
traversed a spacious plain, formerly the battle field of Tamerlane.
At one end of this plain, and on a hill, or rather ridge of hills,
is Angora. Its ruined battlements and lofty minarets stand out
conspicuously. The town itself lies rather in the background and on a
slope. A Zaptieh met us as we were entering a narrow street, and said
that a Turkish gentleman had sent him to escort me to his house.
On we rode, through many dirty lanes, until I finally entered a wide
yard. This court was overlooked by a large and handsome building.
"Suleiman Effendi lives here," said the Zaptieh.
The gentleman to whom he alluded now appeared descending some stone
steps which gave access to the courtyard. He approached us, and aided
me to dismount; then, taking my hand, he led me into a large room
furnished with chairs, as well as with a divan, and carpeted with rich
Persian rugs. Advancing to the place of honour, in the centre of the
divan, he asked me to be seated, and sat down by my side. Several of
his friends being accommodated on the floor.
Suleiman Effendi was dressed in European fashion, with the exception of
his fez. He had a very fair knowledge of Arabic; I soon found that he
was well posted in European politics.
"I heard that an Englishman was on his way to Angora," he said, "and
determined that you should be my guest. We received the news about you
from Ismid."
"Are there any other Englishmen here?" I inquired.
"Only one—the Vice-Consul, a merchant: but I will send and let him
know that you have arrived. In the meantime have a glass of raki."
Proceeding to a cabinet in the wall, Suleiman carefully unlocked it,
and produced a decanter with some glasses.
"Thanks, I do not drink spirits."
"No more do I," replied Suleiman, laughing; "only medicinally, you
know;" and he drank off a bumper.
In a few minutes the English Vice-Consul arrived. He was dressed in his
official uniform, and was accompanied by a young Bulgarian, who was a
merchant in the same business as himself.
Mr. —— was very surprised to see an Englishman in Angora, no one of
our nation having visited that town for several years past; and he
informed me that a telegram had just been received from Constantinople
with reference to the proclamation of a Constitution. In consequence of
this the town of Angora was to be illuminated on the following evening;
cannon would be fired, and the Pacha would read the telegram to the
populace in the courtyard of the palace.
"What does it—the Constitution—mean?" I inquired.
"Mean?" replied the Bulgarian, who spoke English perfectly; "it means
a quantity of promises which the Government will never fulfil."
"It probably means a Parliament in Constantinople," said the Consul;
"but we have no particulars as yet." And, making an appointment for me
to call upon him in the morning, he left the room, accompanied by the
Bulgarian.
I was very much surprised at this intelligence. A Parliament in
Constantinople! How would the members be chosen? and who would choose
them? If universal suffrage prevailed, only one in about every 300
of the electors would be able to read or write; all of them would
be ignorant of everything beyond the interests of their immediate
neighbourhood.
"Is a Parliament possible here?" I inquired of my host.
"It is possible in theory, but impossible in practice,"[9] was the
reply. "We require more liberty, but this must be a question of
time. We must educate the people, and teach both the Christians and
Mohammedans that a difference of opinion on religious matters is not a
subject about which men should quarrel. Religion has been the cause of
more wars than anything else in history."
"I tell you what it is," he continued, "I believe that in another
hundred years there will be either no religion at all, or else that
every religion will be merged into one creed."
"The Christian," I observed.
"Who knows?" continued my host. "We live in strange times; even we
Turks, the more particularly those who live in Constantinople, begin
to argue about such matters. However, there is one thing I cannot
understand about you Christians—you appear to me to have so many roads
to heaven. For instance, in Anatolia there are American Protestant
missionaries, Italian Catholic missionaries, and then there are the
Armenians, who profess the Armenian faith."
"Well," I remarked, "what of it?"
"Wait a moment," said my host. "An Armenian, who is of the Armenian
faith, is half-way up his staircase to heaven. An American missionary
calls after him, 'Where are you going?' 'I am going to heaven.' 'No
you are not; that is not the road to heaven. You are going in the
wrong direction. Come down immediately, and I will show you the way.'
The Armenian descends the steps, and begins ascending the road the
missionary points out to him. Presently another voice is heard. It
comes from the mouth of an Italian missionary. 'Where are you going?'
'I am going to heaven.' 'No you are not; come down immediately. You are
on the road to hell.'"
"The result is," continued Suleiman, "that the poor Armenian does not
know which way to turn. He is perpetually going up, or coming down the
steps, and he never reaches his destination."
"Stop," I said, "you Mohammedans are also split up into sects. There
are the Sunnites and the Shiites, and you both hate each other."
"Alas! it is true," replied my companion, "but if we have two sects,
you, according to what I have read, number at least a hundred, and
the members of many of the sects think that every one else besides
themselves must be damned. A very charitable doctrine that, is it not?"
he added.
"Who was the Bulgarian with our Vice-Consul?" I inquired.
"He is in business with the Vice-Consul, and, I am sorry to say, does
not love us Turks."
"Why?"
"Because his brother was one of the victims in the late Bulgarian
rebellion."
"People in England blame us for the massacres," continued Suleiman.
"What could we do? Our regular troops were employed elsewhere. This
was owing to the intrigues of Russia; we were obliged to employ
Circassians. The Circassians hate the Russians, and indeed they have
reason to hate them. Those whose own mothers and sisters have been
ravished and butchered, cannot be expected to love their oppressors.
The Circassians looked upon the Bulgarians as Russians, hence the
bloodshed. A few days ago I read an extract from an English paper,
which had been translated into Turkish. It was to the effect that an
English priest had seen people impaled by our Bashi Bazouks. Have you
heard of this?"
"Yes, but the story has been contradicted."
"It is a pity when Christian priests or Mohammedan Imaums mix
themselves up in politics," remarked another Turk; "their place is to
calm men's passions, not to rouse them."
They left me; my host having previously asked at what time I should
like to dine, with the observation that his hour was mine. Three
servants were also placed at my disposal, with orders to supply me with
anything I might require.
The following morning I called upon the Vice-Consul, and found him at
home with his wife—a delicate-looking lady, who had braved all the
hardships of the journey from Ismid in order to be at her husband's
side.
Their house was furnished with every English comfort. It was difficult
to believe that we were so many days from a railroad.
"That piano cost us a great deal of trouble," said the Vice-Consul. "It
was brought here in two parts, and on mules."
"It is wonderful how it could have survived the journey," said the
lady. Going to the instrument, she sounded the notes, which were very
fairly in tune. "The Turkish ladies are so astonished with the piano,"
she continued. "They will sit for hours and listen to me playing."
I now started with the Consul to pay a visit to the Pacha. We arrived
in a large courtyard, which was badly paved with loose stones. At one
end there were some steps which led to the official residence. The
courtyard was thronged with people who had been summoned to hear the
telegram read about the new Constitution; men in uniform, beggars,
people with petitions in their hands, all swearing and jostling each
other, as my companion and myself with difficulty made our way up the
stairs. We were at once admitted into the audience-room. I found the
Pacha, a tall, good-looking man of middle age, engaged in placing his
seal upon a number of documents which an official was handing to him.
He received us courteously, and proposed that we should accompany him
to the court below, and listen to the proclamation of the Sultan's
telegram.
The Pacha then introduced me to his son, a young man about twenty; he
spoke French fluently and without any perceptible accent, having been
educated by a French tutor.
"We have only one cannon in Angora," he remarked, "and it is to be
fired 101 times. We are a little afraid that it may not be able to
stand the ordeal."
"Yes," said his father, "we have only one cannon, but we have sent
25,000 men to the war. We do not require any cannons," he added. "Our
own people are quiet enough. The Russians will not find it a very easy
matter to reach Angora."
We descended the steps; on reaching the courtyard, the clerk—a
wonderful old gentleman in a green dressing-gown, and with a wheezy
voice—called for silence.
The Pacha then announced that the Sultan had been pleased to grant
more liberties to his people, and that the present autocratic form of
government was to be replaced by a Constitution. The Imaum, or priest,
here said "Amin," equivalent to our Amen; and the Vice-Consul put on
his cap with the gilt peak, which he had taken off during the ceremony.
The Pacha's son now invited me to visit his rooms, which were a suite
of apartments separate from those occupied by his father. I found
his book-shelves well stored with scientific French works, and, to my
surprise, discovered that the young Bey was not only remarkably well
educated for a Turk, but was much better informed than nine Englishmen
out of ten who have been to a public school, and have taken their
degree at the university.
"Well, what do you think will be the result of the new Constitution?"
I inquired.
"We are what you would call in England a very conservative nation.
This sudden change has almost taken away our breath. We have not
yet received the document which contains all the clauses of the new
Constitution, and only know of them by telegram; if we are to attempt a
form of Government such as you have in England, in my opinion we shall
fail."
"Why so?" I asked.
"Because not only the electing class, but the men who will probably
be chosen to sit in Parliament are only half educated. We shall have
ignorant legislators legislating for an equally ignorant nation. We
want time," he continued; "we require roads and railways. If there were
means of communication, the people would travel and see that there is
a good deal to be learnt away from home, and even from you Christians.
Give us roads and railways, they will be worth fifty Constitutions, for
the latter, in my opinion, will soon be found impracticable."
"It will never be carried out," said the Vice-Consul, who was
sitting next to him. "It has been drawn up merely as a sop for the
plenipotentiaries at the Conference."
"Well, whatever they do in other places," said the Bey, "we shall carry
it out in its integrity here."
As he said these words the boom of the cannon resounded from below,
the windows of the room began to rattle, the sound of a mob cheering,
rapidly followed the report.
"A great deal of noise and a great deal of smoke: _voilà la
Constitution_," said the Consul, and he prepared to leave the room.
"Stop," said the Bey, "you must not walk, I will send my carriage with
you. It is almost the only carriage in Angora," he added, "and I have
a compatriot of yours as a coachman; he has been with me three years."