DJEMAL, A TROUBLESOME MARK ANTONY--THE FIRST 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
it 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 make him not only
the conqueror of Turkey’s fairest province, but also 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 own orders, dispensing freely his own kind of justice, and
often disregarding the authorities at Constantinople.
The applause with which Djemal’s associates were speeding 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
specialized 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, signalized 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 vise-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 a member of the Cabinet, but he could not work harmoniously with
his associates; 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; it was his
determination to Turkify the whole empire. His personal ambition brought
him into frequent conflict with Enver and Talaat, who 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 the English out of Egypt. Incidentally,
this appointment fairly indicated the incongruous organization that then
existed in Turkey. As Minister of Marine, Djemal’s real place was at the
Navy Department; instead of working in his official field 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 recognized; 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 seas, 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 of one thing only; this fire-eating German had suddenly
become 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 reinstate his fatherland in 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 to the point of
[Illustration: THE BRITISH EMBASSY
This establishment and many others came under Mr. Morgenthau’s
protection when Turkey entered the war. At one time the American
Ambassador represented ten nations at the Sublime Porte.]
[Illustration: ROBERT COLLEGE AT CONSTANTINOPLE
Founded by Americans more than fifty years ago. Turkey’s best
educational institution and the place where many of the intellectual
leaders of the Balkans have received their education.]
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 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 giving 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 his ally might 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 reëstablishment 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 peacemaker; indeed, they never for a
moment thought of any one 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 the German statesmen 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, afterward
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 described his activities in
London in 1913 and 1914, and he figured even more conspicuously in the
infamous 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 one 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 attracted 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 realized 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 forever. 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 might 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 which the other side would regard as ridiculously extravagant.
The Entente would state terms which 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 11, 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!