Palace Revolution and Counterrevolution in Turkey (March-April 1909) 9781463225711

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Palace Revolution and Counterrevolution in Turkey (March-April 1909)

Analecta Isisiana: Ottoman and Turkish Studies

A co-publication with The Isis Press, Istanbul, the series consists of collections of thematic essays focused on specific themes of Ottoman and Turkish studies are brought together in Analecta Isisiana. These scholarly volumes address important issues throughout Turkish history, offering in a single volume the accumulated insights of a single author over a career of research on the subject.

Palace Revolution and Counterrevolution in Turkey (March-April 1909)

Paul Farkas

1 The Isis Press, Istanbul

gOÎ^ÎaS pre** 2010

Gorgias Press LLC, 954 River Road, Piscataway, NJ, 08854, USA www.gorgiaspress.com Copyright © 2010 by The Isis Press, Istanbul Originally published in 2005 All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise without the prior written permission of The Isis Press, Istanbul. 2010

o

ISBN 978-1-61719-117-6

Printed in the United States of America

Kenneth Kronenberg is a German translator specializing in 19th- and 20th-century letters and diaries, and Holocaust-related material, including some 450 letters written between Constantinople and Germany (1884-1888) and 30 letter-length responses to a questionnaire by German officers who fought under Bliicher at Waterloo. He keeps body and soul together by translating medical and biotech patents and other such material, and in his free time he cultivates the art of befriending longforgotten writers and attempting to rescue them from oblivion. His publications include Lives and Letters of an Immigrant Family: The Van Dreveldts' Experiences along the Missouri, 1844-1866. University of Nebraska Press, 1998 (author/translator); Karl Heinz Brisch. Treating Attachment Disorders. New York: Guilford Press, 2002; Vilem Flusser. Freedom of the Migrant (Anke Finger, ed.). University of Illinois Press, 2003; and Alice Ehrmann. "Terezin ghetto diary." In Alexandra Zapruder, Salvaged Pages: Young Writers' Diaries of the Holocaust. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002. Kenneth Kronenberg lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Cover: Postcard from Sacit Kutlu, DÌDÀR-I Me$rutiyet

HURRÌYET

1908-1913, Istanbul 2004, p. 166.

Kartpostallarla

ìkinci

Translator's note This edition of Paul Farkas's Staatsstreich und Gegenrevolution in der Tttrkei is the product first of serendipity and then of determined followthrough. I am not an Ottoman specialist or scholar but a translator, specializing in 19th- and 20th-century German correspondence and diaries. In 2000 I was asked to translate approximately 450 privately held family letters that were written between a mother in Germany and her daughter, who worked from 1884 through 1888 as a governess in Constantinople. Marie's letters were intimate and rich with details of family life. Overt discussion of politics and world events rarely intruded. Instead, the realities of European life in Pera took center stage in discussions of whether a Greek or a Turkish cook should be hired, for example, and whether either could be trusted; or in descriptions of hamals carting the family's possessions to Buyukdere for the summer, of winter balls, and of the German School attended by her employer's children. As I worked with the letters and their context, I found myself increasingly fascinated, as many others have been, by the European idea of Constantinople, and particularly by the political and cultural ramifications of the German presence in the Ottoman Empire leading up to and following the First World War. When I translate a body of letters I immerse myself in the contemporary literature and socio-political life of the era. In this case, I read about German colonial politics; I studied a contemporary German book on etiquette; and I even tracked down the novels that the writer mentioned, such as Eugene Sue's potboiler, The Mysteries of Paris, which I read as the governess Marie did—in bed after a long day's work. Because of this total-immersion approach, I am always on the lookout for contemporary reference sources, and (when I can find them) eyewitness descriptions of the times and places in which my principals lived. I am also a sucker for antiquarian bookstores. On a foray to a particularly disorganized one near Boston I spotted a novel on a small and tattered pile of old German books. It had a striking black and camel cover in an early art deco style, depicting a hand holding an upraised scimitar. The title was Die Hand des unsichtbaren Imam [The hand of the invisible imam]. I had never heard of Paul Farkas, the author, but the book was set in Constantinople, the publication date (1921) was close enough, and it was priced at $7. A bargain! I took it home.

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The story takes place in 1909 and revolves around the efforts of a group of German bankers to negotiate a spur off of the Baghdad railroad that would extend it to Kirman in Persia. As a novel, Imam is not particularly successful. Parts of it read like a play, the ends of several chapters lacking only the directions "Exeunt stage left." At other times the dialogue descends to Victorian cliché, and the plot manages to be simultaneously utterly far-fetched and utterly predictable. But primarily the book is a perceptive and trenchant satire of great-power arrogance, a phenomenon that seems to be with us always, although its practitioners, its locations, and its style may vary from period to period. In the novel, longtime European residents and scholars of the Levant patiently (and repeatedly) try to explain to Farkas's bankers why their plans cannot possibly succeed: For cultural and religious reasons, Shi'ite Persians will obstruct anything that the Sunni Sultan of Turkey supports. But the bankers brush aside this sage advice. Does not Germany's economic might guarantee the rightness of the plan? So certain are they of the ultimate supremacy of their national values—that financial power and influence, German financial power and influence, will triumph—that they cannot imagine an alternative outcome. This is their manifest destiny. And what is the ultimate goal? "German world supremacy, my friend!" says Herbert Dorner, director of the West Asiatic Bank. From Kirman, he explains, it is only a hop, skip, and a jump to Afghanistan, and from there to British-held India. But these glorious plans are foiled by political events—the conspiracy that toppled the Young Turks, and the machinations of a supposed descendent of the Assassin Hasan-i-Sabah, who personifies the Shi'ite forces that the Germans contemptuously dismiss, and who secretly drives events. As I say, it is a contrived novel. But as I read Farkas's description of the army mutiny of the night of 13 April in Atmeidan Square, this period piece came vibrantly alive, suddenly taking on the urgency and conviction, the true drama, of an eyewitness account. "This is real," I kept thinking. "He saw this." A similar unexpected immediacy enlivened some of the people in this stylized melodrama. The descriptions and conversations led me to think that Farkas may have known several of the Young Turk politicians. The Germans were not stock characters, either. They seemed to be drawn f r o m intimate knowledge and from intense personal feeling, as revealed, for instance, in a conversation between the Herr Geheimrat August Walda, an old and canny bank president—a realist who has been through the wars and has absolutely no use for his nephew, the flyweight Dorner—and Schroder, his young secretary and, as it turns out, Farkas's alter ego. Farkas was clearly concerned with larger historical and philosophical issues as well:

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"You see, Schroder, I know very well that you think that all of us are basically asses. But you do us an injustice. Do you really believe that I don't understand the weaknesses of our Orient policies? But our situation is exactly like that of the Turks —we can't play our cards any differently than we do. Because only Turkey is open to us we have to play this hand with everything at our disposal." "And if we lose?" "We couldn't have played it any differently." "But—please pardon the question, Herr Geheimrat—must we play?" Walda's face hardened. "We must. Economic battles are fought exactly like armed ones. Whoever retreats demonstrates his weakness. And those who are considered weak, well... they are stripped of everything, even of everything they already possess. I would rather lose all in battle than as a result of abdication.... How did Hegel put it? Wollen heisst wollen miissen." 1 Here was an interesting representation of a particular class of Germans at a particular moment and place in history, as seen—and at times punctured— by a perceptive outsider. Intrigued, I tried to learn more about Farkas, which was not easy. I found a reference to an entry in the Universal Jewish Encyclopedia, but the article was brief and the references were to texts in Hungarian. While a Hungarian-born ally sorted through those for me, I queried bookfinder.com, and learned that Farkas had in 1909 published a report of the Turkish revolution—Staatsstreich. When the book arrived from a German antiquarian, my hunch was borne out: many of the incidents in Imam had been lifted wholesale from Staatsstreich and set into a novelistic frame. Farkas makes a point of saying that as far as he and his Hungarian journalist companion could see, they were the only Europeans in Atmeidan Square that night, and perhaps his account of those moments will contribute something to history's view of those events. My own interest, however, lay elsewhere. Paul Farkas appears to have been one of those people who play a minor enough role in the political and literary life of their times as to be little remembered later, yet who serve as fascinating lenses through which their times can be viewed. Unfortunately, very little hard information is available about him—at least not in English or German. 2 ' Approximately, ' T o want/will means to be forced to want/will." The following biographical notes come largely from the Universal Jewish Encyclopedia, as well as from two Hungarian sources that Frank Dudas was good enough to translate for me and which are cited below. Prof. Gabor Vermes was also very helpful. In addition, I want to thank Alex Schwartz, who translated some of the first Hungarian biographical sources I tracked down on the Internet. 2

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Farkas was a Jew, born Pal Wolfner in Budapest, on 27 November 1878. He was educated in Budapest. He took a particular interest in sociology and apparently had a hand in founding two very different sociological societies. Within the first one, founded in 1903, according to the writer Istvan Kosaras, Wolfner taught political geography to working people. 1 However, the increasing internationalist and leftward drift of the group alienated him, and he broke with it in 1906. He was critical of any revolutionary ferment, fearing that it would always redound to the detriment of the Jews, who were disproportionately represented in revolutionary and socialist ranks. In that same year, 1906, he magyarized his name {farkas means wolf in Hungarian) —a clear statement of his identification with Hungarian nationalism. Farkas's family owned one of the most respected publishing houses in Hungary, Singer & Wolfner. He himself was a prolific writer and produced plays, novels, essays, and feuilletons, as well as works on the French and Turkish revolutions, his travels in the Levant, and the experience of emigration. But according to Ferenc Herczeg, a writer and close friend, he was suspect in the eyes of other writers because much of his output was published by the family presses; even Uj Idok [New Times], in which his newspaper commentaries appeared, was owned by the Wolfners. Furthermore, much of his writing was didactic: that is, in the service of an idea, and usually with a clear moral, a flaw that even friends commented on. Although Farkas traveled in Turkey and the Levant in 1908-09,1 have been unable to determine precisely why he did so. Upon his return, he joined forces with the nationalist Istvan Tisza, becoming one of his most trusted confidants in the Party of National Work. 2 Farkas had long been concerned with Hungary's explosive "nationalities question"—clearly analogous to similar questions active within the Ottoman Empire. Even before he went to Turkey, he made several trips to Transylvania to study the "Wallachian question" at first hand, concerned as he was with the inroads made by Romanian nationalists among the Wallachians. In 1910, Farkas stood for election in the Wallachian district of Szaszvaros on Tisza's nationalist ticket, apparently winning by 55 votes (out of 1399 cast). I say "apparently" because the day before, his Wallachian rival Aurelius Vlad had been declared the victor by 5 votes. At least five deaths were attributed to the campaign. 3 The 1910 election also brought Tisza to power. * Kosaras, Istvan. Farkas Pal. Budapest: Singer es Wolfner, undated. Unpublished translation by Frank Dudas. 2 For more on Tisza and an excellent introduction to Hungarian politics of the period, see Gabor Vermes, Istvan Tisza. The Liberal Vision and Conservative Statecraft of a Magyar Nationalist (New York: Columbia [East European Monographs], 1985). Kosaras. Op. cit

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Farkas maintained his concern about revolutionary tendencies in Hungary, and according to one source, he made something of a practice of pointing out to Tisza who he thought might become a revolutionary 1 — presumably including some members of his first sociological society. Some of this unease comes out in Imam in the revolutionaries' distrust of Spanioles, the descendants of the Sephardic Jews who found refuge in Salonika and other Turkish cities after their expulsion from Spain in 1492, and were to play an important role in the Young Turk revolution. With the outbreak of war in 1914, Farkas volunteered for the front, even though he could easily have avoided service. He was wounded, and during the Transylvanian offensive he apparently contracted an unspecified kidney disease from which he never recovered. By 1920 he could no longer write, but had to give dictation to his wife, Clara Rado. He died on 23 April 1921. 2 I had "met" Sinan Kuneralp of Isis Press on the Internet when I put out queries about some of the names I had found in the Constantinople correspondence. He was very helpful and forthcoming, and later I asked him if he would read my translation of Imam — not to publish it, but because I suspected that it was a roman a clef,\ and I was not familiar enough with the Young Turks to decipher who was who. I mentioned that I thought that Staatsstreich might be a good fit with his press's program. And he responded that he would be interested—but only in an English translation. And so this volume. Finally, I wish to thank my partner and secret weapon Eve Golden, MD. A psychiatrist, writer, librarian, and researcher extraordinaire, she discovered the facsimiles of the Pester Lloyd when I despaired of finding anything more on the elusive Farkas. I complained that I couldn't find archives of old German-language newspapers on the Internet, and she said, "Oh, I bet 1 can..." And she certainly did. The German term Staatsstreich is often translated as "coup." However, it is a more specific term than that, referring to the abrogation of a constitution and the dissolving of parliament by a sovereign. Because there is no exact translation in English, I have used the German term throughout. The actions of the forces loyal to Abdul Hamid are themselves usually referred to as the coMWferrevolution, and Farkas himself uses the word this way on at ^Herczeg, Ferenc. "Farkas Pal" in Farkas, Pal. Elheszelesek. Budapest: Singer es Wolfner, 1927. Unpublished translation by Frank Dudas. ^Kosaras. Op. cit. There was a report on his funeral in Pester Lloyd, the German-language newspaper on 25 April 1921, p. 3.

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least one occasion. So although I might have retitled this work The Counterrevolution

and its Suppression,

Hamidian

this would have left me with the

issue of what to do with F a r k a s ' s usage throughout; it would also have established as primary a viewpoint different f r o m Farkas's own. As a matter of fidelity, I have elected to use terms and words that Farkas employed so that his perspective and prejudices are not concealed. For the title we settled on palace revolution,

even though that is not precisely accurate either. Kenneth Kronenberg Cambridge, Massachusetts

Foreword I have been traveling the provinces of the Ottoman Empire for many years. I have visited Albania and Anatolia, come to know Turkish conditions in Constantinople and Damascus, and sought to inform myself regarding the questions and problems facing the Turkish people in the valleys of Lebanon and the Meander, Mount Hermon and Jordan. The events of last April found me in Constantinople, and I had the opportunity to observe at firsthand the Sultan's abrogation of the Constitution as well as the Young Turk counterrevolution. I know many of the leaders of the Committee and leaders of the Liberals, and have often sat with them and analyzed the present situation and discussed the future. And so I will now attempt to write a summary, giving a true and accurate picture of those Turkish developments whose details have justifiably been of such interest to the world at large. The following lines do not claim to be definitive. They are merely meant to give to all who are interested in the development and problems of the Ottoman Empire a glimpse into the events in order to clarify some things that may perhaps not have been comprehensible until now. The facts must be combined with the results of historical and sociological research before they can appear in their true light. I have tried as much as possible to avoid pushing the details of this study too much into the foreground, and I have also used no statistical material, primarily because Turkish statistics either do not exist, or where they do they are even more suspect than those of other countries. I have noted my personal experiences only to the extent that these seemed of some relevance to an understanding of the events described. If this little book offers its readers even a few insights that have to now eluded their attention, it will have completely fulfilled its purpose. Budapest, end of May 1909 Dr. Paul Farkas.

I During the night of 13 April there broke out a peculiar sort of military revolt that can perhaps only be compared with the equally reactionary revolt of the lazzaroni in Naples. However, these events can only be understood once we have analyzed as closely as possible the development of the constitutional movement in Turkey. The events of July 1908 are fairly well known to the public. The desertion of a battalion attached to the Monastir garrison led to a general revolt of the army corps of Salonika, and suddenly Europe, to its amazement, found itself faced with a well-organized freedom movement. It had been well known that a Young Turk Committee had been at work in Paris. But now the existence of such a committee in Salonika became known, and it had to be admitted that the secret work carried out by this clandestine organization had borne astonishing fruit. The Committee had demanded a constitution, and the army as a whole provided the force necessary to bring it about. Abdul Hamid did not even attempt resistance, but in the most theatrical manner immediately declared himself in favor of freedom. This ushered in a frenzy of fraternal feeling that gave June 1909 an aura similar to that of March 1848 in Western Europe. Representatives of all races, all religions, and all political orientations hugged each other in tumultuous joy. All would be forgotten; a new beginning made. Those who had been banished returned from the West. Men who had worked for years outside the country were received with jubilation. A parliament was elected, and the Young Turk organizations were almost everywhere victorious. The entire world observed with wonder this revolution, which had been without bloodshed, and all friends of peaceful progress congratulated themselves on the example that the Orient had given the entire world. However, people who know and understand the social structure of the Ottoman Empire could not but feel a certain skepticism. It was clear to them that the Turkish revolution had nothing in common with the freedom movements of the West that had culminated in the great 19th-century revolutions. Western European liberalism was the product of an economic and cultural development, in which the ideology of the bourgeois classes countered that of the feudal system of the ancient nobility. A patriarchal economic order first had to be dissolved, new business structures developed, and new ideas

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gain a foothold before this struggle could begin. The leaders of this struggle were, no doubt, extraordinary men, but they were certainly supported in these efforts. Well-organized interests stood behind Cobden and Bright, Thiers and Casimir Perier, Hansemann and Camphausen—the interests of a class increasingly gaining in wealth, power, and education. Turkish freedom fighters hardly enjoyed similar support. Turkey's economic development is still rudimentary. Agricultural conditions are extremely primitive. True, there are a few well-to-do and educated agrarians in Macedonia and Rumelia, but they are unable to win acceptance for new ways even on their own properties. Christian subjects—farmers, and tenant farmers—still have not exchanged their wooden plows for iron ones. In Anatolia, machine manufacturers are now trying to enlist railway station managers as agents, but with little success as yet. There is not a trace of industry in the entire Empire, because the few foreign factories that exist have had hardly any effect on the population at large. Trade is largely in the hands of Greeks, Armenians, and Jews. The Turkish wholesale trade is mostly in the hands of donmes, who are not Moslem by race. To that extent, the Young Turk movement lacked both economic and general cultural underpinnings. Several hundred young men—mostly from the better classes, who had been educated abroad or influenced by foreign teachers and books—had gained access to the enlightened, radical, and modern ideas that gave the Young Turk movement its intellectual content. However, that movement, with its clandestine organizations, leaflets, and newspapers, always remained an intellectual movement, numbering at most a few thousand committed adherents in the entire empire. And still the Committee had been able to push through its program because it had been able to bring the most disparate social elements together with its own members. Macedonian landowners, all Christian inhabitants of the Ottoman Empire, and key factions of the army united to push aside the old order and to build a new one. The motivations of these elements were not at all homogeneous; however, they worked in the same direction. Over the past few years the situation of Macedonian landowners had worsened. The battle between Greek and Bulgarian bands, which had become increasingly bitter, had far-reaching effects on the economic life of Macedonia. Turkish landowners often couldn't even visit their holdings because a robber band had set up its headquarters there. The leader prevented the tenant farmers from paying their taxes, and anyone who went against these orders was

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cunningly tormented to death. Other bands forbade plowing and seeding. In whole districts all economic activity was interrupted. And there was no remedy to these incursions, because as soon as the military appeared the bands disappeared into the mountains. Given such tribulations, it is not surprising that the landowners gave their support to changes that promised peace among nations, thereby bringing an end to the bands. However, peace among nations could only be brought about by equal rights among nations, that is, by a constitution. And this is why the big Macedonian landowners gave the Salonika Committee both monetary and moral support. This may well represent the first instance in which agrarian interests promoted liberal revolutionary activity. Far more genuine was a support given by the various nations. Of course, Greeks and Bulgarians, Armenians and Serbs had the greatest interest in achieving equal rights. There are a number of peculiarities to the situation of non-Moslems in the Ottoman Empire, and we will have occasion to come back to them later. Nevertheless, their stand on the constitutional movement was absolutely united. A clandestine Turkish organization was working toward a constitution. It is only reasonable that the foundation of this constitution would be equal rights for all subjects of the Ottoman Empire. As long as it fought for this idea, the Committee could count on the support of the Christians. However, the Committee's real power came from its support within the military. The Salonika Corps had been won over to the Constitution, and the soldiers demanded it loud and clear. But we would be in error if we believed that these sons of Rumelian and Albanian peasants had a clear concept of the rights of man and provincial autonomy, or even of better tax laws and railway projects. Nonetheless, their officers had been won over, and large numbers of them belonged to the clandestine organization. These officers were generally younger men who had graduated from the war college and had been trained by German instructors. They exhibited the intelligence, spirit of sacrifice, and fanaticism that is characteristic of extraordinary times. Truly, the Young Turk officers played a magnificent role. They worked for years among their soldiers, teaching them the slogans that prepared them for insurrection. The officers led marches at night, and they and their companies bivouacked in fields in secluded areas. Here, they talked to their men about freedom, about the impossible conditions that currently prevailed, and about their hopes for the future. They told their men about the glorious past of the Ottoman Empire, and emphasized that only a constitution could ensure a better future. The word

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"Constitution" came to have an almost magical quality in the slumbering souls of the simple soldiers, and they came to think of it as a magic charm that would bring about better times in which the Ottoman Empire would be mighty again, and the soldiers would receive their pay. Clear, short leaflets were prepared specifically for the army, and great numbers of them were distributed despite the presence of spies. This history is replete with peculiar analogies. The clandestine organization in Salonika with its military co-conspirators exhibited a notable similarity to the clandestine Russian associations that prepared the ground for the first Russian freedom movement during the last years of the reign of Czar Alexander I. This revolt, generally known as the Decembrist Uprising, also united bourgeois and military elements. The Russian aristocrats and young officers of the guards had become intoxicated with the ideas of a Great Revolution, and they tried to change the form of government. They were radicals and republicans in an empire in which the preconditions for radical and republican ideas simply did not exist. They, too, recruited among the army, and they even won over several regiments, which remained loyal to them—and shared their fate at the critical hour. But how tragic the irony when we learned that those poor fanaticized soldiers proclaimed the Constitution in the belief that she was the wife of Grand Duke Constantine, the rightful heir to the throne and the most reactionary representative of ancient Russian tradition. The clandestine organization, nationalist propaganda, economic interests, and the parts of the army that had been won over combined to foster a ripening revolutionary mood in Macedonia. The center of this region, Salonika, a Greek and Jewish city with an extraordinary commercial life, became a bulwark of the movement. When the revolt broke out, all political tendencies and groups came together around the new movement. The dissatisfaction abroad in the Empire as a whole now found an easy outlet. The great masses took up the new slogans with enthusiasm, and the army of Macedonia, which was prepared to advance, suppressed all resistance for the moment. The cause for which the Decembrists bled had now succeeded. A great Empire in which cultural and economic development had barely begun, let alone been completed, was given a new organizational form by a group of intellectuals. And enthusiastic observers were full of admiration for the bloodless revolution that had brought it all about.

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n The Constitution had been proclaimed. The new Parliament had met and elected as its first President, Ahmed Riza, who had been the leader of the Young Turk group in Paris and editor of its clandestine newspaper, Meshveret. The people cheered him and his colleagues. The Committee worked with all means at its disposal to create a more permanent organization. It opened offices throughout the Empire. Large sums of money were raised for the purpose of securing freedom. Both committees, the one from Paris and the one from Salonika, united in Constantinople and formed a common organization called "Union and Progress," which soon developed a secretive and all-powerful reputation. In short, it appeared that the Young Turks had assumed complete control. But it is a natural law of every revolution that after a certain time public opinion views its benefits and shortcomings differently than during the initial frenzy of enthusiasm that first accompanied it. It is human nature to overestimate the present ill and to underestimate the present good. After great revolutions even the most resolute classes make audible their complaints about the negative consequences that they, in their enthusiasm and idealism, had failed to foresee. After the July revolution in France, the classes that had staked their lives on the Charte grumbled loudly under the Citizen King. The masses that had forced through the English reform bill, threw themselves into the arms of Chartism only a few years later. The estate owners who had placed William III on the English throne shortly became fanatical Jacobites. And yet in all these movements, the end result was in complete harmony with the spirit in which it had triumphed. But it was different in Turkey. We have seen the various elements that united in their desire for a constitution. However, each of these individual elements had a completely different program in the name of the Constitution. The Greeks, the Armenians, and the Bulgarians understood this concept to mean that they could continue to work undisturbed toward national unity. The members of the "Union and Progress" Committee talked in terms of an Ottoman national consciousness that would absorb all particularistic tendencies. For years, the soldiers had heard that the glorious traditions of the past could only be resurrected by a constitution. The landowners had supported the Constitution in order to achieve peace. No wonder the paper authority of the Constitution could not satisfy all the various demands made of it. A new development began to be clearly observable during the winter months. Until July 1908, the idem nolle of the

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various groups and interests had woven a strong bond between them. But the time for negative programs was over, and it was only to be expected that particularistic programs would increasingly tend to dissolve the alliance. The key factors in this dissolution were the following: first, the Young Turks split. Then, at least for a time, the people lost trust in the leaders of the Committee. The individual nations came forward with their particularistic demands and formed the first actual opposition to the new government. All this took place within the framework that the constitutional movement had created. However, outside this framework there were other powers that had been condemned to inactivity during the past several months, but which now began to stir. One of these powers was the Yildiz kiosk. Sultan Abdul Hamid had prevented the advance of troops from Salonika by declaring himself for the Constitution. He may have told himself that on occasion "time is life," and he waited in apparent calm for the right moment to use the enormous means at his disposal to snatch power back again. For their part, the adherents of the old Turkish tradition, particularly the clerics, waited for an opportunity to begin the battle against the abomination of modernism. The entire Empire was in ferment, particularly the capital city. The situation came to a head quickly. We have stated that disunity had broken out among the Young Turk group. By Young Turk group we do not mean the organized Committee, but rather all intellectuals who had by study and conviction made Western European ideas their own. This group was and is relatively small and should not have allowed itself the luxury of personal differences, because in fact these differences were purely personal. The socalled "liberal" press tried to detect principled differences, but the entire development of constitutionalism had been much too short for real, principled contradictions to emerge. The press's claims were thus dubious. The truth is much simpler. Several Young Turks had in effect been locked out of state affairs. They had not been elected to Parliament, nor did they find positions in the government bureaucracy or diplomatic service. From the perspective of what unfolded it hardly matters whether this neglect was the result of a lack of positions or personal motives. The fact remains that these men, mainly journalists, soon exhibited the peculiar hatred that so often follows the friendships of former comrades-in-arms. The Committee began to be attacked. It was claimed and written that the great revolution had been a purely personal one. The only difference was that a visible tyrant, the Sultan, had been replaced by an invisible one, the Committee, which was just as despotic. Rumors were spread about blackmail and extortion in the name and at the

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behest of the Committee. In this overheated atmosphere, fund raising that would normally be viewed as a matter of course began to look enormously suspect. The proud and self-confident demeanor of Committee leaders was bitterly criticized. They were accused of arrogance, self-importance, and conceit. It was said that Ahmed Riza had long been in the pay of the Sultan. He had (allegedly) received a palace as a gift. His sister was (allegedly) already in the sovereign's harem. The Sultan had (allegedly) staled that he particularly trusted Ahmed Riza. The leaders of this discontented coterie called their group the Liberal Union, and they tried to form a party. They used precisely the same methods used by the Committee from Salonika. Their only important goal was the downfall of Union and Progress. Accordingly, they tried to win over all opponents of the existing system. The leaders of the Albanian, Greek, and Armenian nations soon showed some sympathy for this opposition. Although the government had not yet introduced any centralist measures, the strong Turkish nationalism of several of the Committee papers had caused some concern. Young Turk leaders had outlined an educational program in which Turkish was to be the language of instruction. Nationalist concerns had been awakened, and the Albanians delegates in particular went into opposition. The Liberal Union soon won over a number of members of Parliament w h o viewed the government's actions with growing mistrust. For quite a long time the government itself had had no consistent program. The first Grand Vizier under the Constitution, Kamil Pasha, had little sympathy for the Young Turks. After a failed attempt to fill his cabinet with reactionaries, he was replaced by the competent and forceful Hilmi Pasha, the former Inspector General for Macedonia, whose views and past linked him closely with the Committee in Salonika. Military measures that he planned provoked the Liberals, whose press became the increasingly vehement, and personal attacks became a daily feature. The masses, unaccustomed to such literary amusements, became intoxicated with the suspicions that were leveled daily against the President of Parliament, the Cabinet, and the Committee. The popularity of the Liberal leaders grew during the final days of March in a manner that was almost incomprehensible even to them. Because, as they explained with confidence, not only had they gained the support of the representatives of the nations and modernist Young Turks, the broad masses and the hodjas and ulema, the custodians of ancient Turkish tradition, had joined forces with them as well.

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COUNTERREVOLUTION

"It is a wonder," Ali Kemal, one of the leaders of the Liberals and editor of Ikdam, told me, "it is a wonder how we managed to unite the most suspicious Christians with the most suspicious Moslems." Unfortunately, during this period the Liberals actually believed that they were leading and steering events. And this was their fateful error, because at the very moment they gave themselves over to the intoxicating enjoyment of their momentary popularity, they had already become the unwitting instrument of a different political force, one whose goals were completely at odds with their own.

in While the Liberal Union attempted to organize the Young Turk intelligentsia against the Committee, another organization was beginning to work among the people. A "Mohammedan Committee" had been founded, and signs of its activity were soon clearly visible. It is unlikely that the clandestine threads leading to its foundation will ever be completely unraveled. Events in Turkey occur with great rapidity, and the unsolved problems of the present hardly allow one to clarify precisely those of the past. And so we will perhaps never learn precisely who Abdul Hamid's agents were when he founded the "Mohammedan Committee." This much, however, seems clear: the founding of this Committee was either directly or indirectly the work of Yildiz. Of course, the person of the Sultan remained hidden in the background. The actual leader of this Moslem counteraction was the well-known Murad Bey, one of those interesting and peculiar personages who sprung up from the ground of the Hamidic system of government. Murad Bey is an example the Young Turks of whom one Orient expert said that it is hard to tell whether they are conspirators or extortionists. Along with his undeniable scholarly talents, Murad Bey appears to a large extent to have united both of these qualities. He began his career as a conspirator, then fled to Paris where he founded the clandestine organization. He was particularly active in sending out clandestine newspapers and drafts of a constitution. At that time, Murad Bey represented the Young Turk ideal. However, after conducting this fruitful revolutionary activity for some time, he made peace with the Sultan. His enemies claimed that flight and conspiracy were merely tactics enabling him to sell himself high to Yildiz, and that

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"It is a wonder," Ali Kemal, one of the leaders of the Liberals and editor of Ikdam, told me, "it is a wonder how we managed to unite the most suspicious Christians with the most suspicious Moslems." Unfortunately, during this period the Liberals actually believed that they were leading and steering events. And this was their fateful error, because at the very moment they gave themselves over to the intoxicating enjoyment of their momentary popularity, they had already become the unwitting instrument of a different political force, one whose goals were completely at odds with their own.

in While the Liberal Union attempted to organize the Young Turk intelligentsia against the Committee, another organization was beginning to work among the people. A "Mohammedan Committee" had been founded, and signs of its activity were soon clearly visible. It is unlikely that the clandestine threads leading to its foundation will ever be completely unraveled. Events in Turkey occur with great rapidity, and the unsolved problems of the present hardly allow one to clarify precisely those of the past. And so we will perhaps never learn precisely who Abdul Hamid's agents were when he founded the "Mohammedan Committee." This much, however, seems clear: the founding of this Committee was either directly or indirectly the work of Yildiz. Of course, the person of the Sultan remained hidden in the background. The actual leader of this Moslem counteraction was the well-known Murad Bey, one of those interesting and peculiar personages who sprung up from the ground of the Hamidic system of government. Murad Bey is an example the Young Turks of whom one Orient expert said that it is hard to tell whether they are conspirators or extortionists. Along with his undeniable scholarly talents, Murad Bey appears to a large extent to have united both of these qualities. He began his career as a conspirator, then fled to Paris where he founded the clandestine organization. He was particularly active in sending out clandestine newspapers and drafts of a constitution. At that time, Murad Bey represented the Young Turk ideal. However, after conducting this fruitful revolutionary activity for some time, he made peace with the Sultan. His enemies claimed that flight and conspiracy were merely tactics enabling him to sell himself high to Yildiz, and that

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Murad Bey had ever taken either the Constitution or freedom seriously. His friends excused his defection by poverty and love of family. But even though the motives f o r his defection are interpreted differently, the facts are undeniable. Murad Bey returned to Constantinople, became a member of the state council, and enjoyed the trust of the Sultan. Then c a m e the July revolution. The comrades whom Murad had deserted and betrayed returned. N o wonder that the new régime viewed him with particular distrust. He was kept under surveillance for a time, and then he fled abroad for several months. He seems to have notified the Sultan in advance of his return. From then on his main motive seems to have been pure revenge against the Committee, and it is probable that among the intellectual leaders of the reactionary movement his opinions held sway. H e founded the newspaper Mizan (Balance] and became a champion of ancient Moslem traditions. The readers of his paper were reminded daily that the efforts of the Young Turks were in utter contradiction to Sharia law, and that transgression of the law would not merely result in the ruin of religion, but in the ruin of the state as well. In other words, "Constitution" was set in opposition to "Sharia." The Mohammedan Committee could count on the help of the ulema, all students of theology, and all manual laborers and tradesmen who had been influenced by them. The students of theology, the so-called softas, and the lay brothers, the hodjas, crisscrossed the Empire, whipping u p the people. The call for Sharia was particularly loud in the capital, where these elements are particularly numerous. The beauty of the Moslem religious system was praised to the skies. Both the Turkish newspapers in Stamboul and the French newspapers in Pera began a campaign to make the concepts of Sharia palatable to Western Europeans. It is hard to say how much honest conviction and how much golden argument f r o m Yildiz contributed to winning over the editors to this opinion. But the fact remains that during this time the public read lovely and extraordinary things about Sharia. The claim was made that Moslem scholars invented a system one thousand years before Rousseau that had predicted all the doctrines of the great revolution. Suras from the Koran, which had heretofore been rather obscure, were now constantly cited. The verse in Sura 3, "O you who believe, do not befriend outsiders," was never mentioned. On the other hand, the words of the Prophet, "Your rights are the same as ours; your obligations are the same as ours," were emphasized. The verse from Sura 2, "To G O D belongs the east and the west; He guides whoever wills in a straight path," suddenly took on special significance. Members of the Liberal Union stressed at every opportunity that Sharia was absolutely consistent with liberal ideas, and Stamboul stated with great satisfaction that the words uttered

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COUNTERREVOLUTION

by members of the Liberal Committee were an expression of doctrines that had been taught more than a thousand years earlier by scholars in Baghdad, Kufah, Medina, and Samarkand. The Liberal Union and the Mohammedan Committee now began to work together. The basis for their cooperation was apparently to make the principles of the Constitution consistent with those of Sharia. Those Turks who joined the Mohammedan Committee gave assurances that they were not in the least anti-liberal, but that they would not tolerate infringements by Union and Progress. The leaders of the Liberals spoke with admiration of the "constitutional" spirit of the ulema and the softas, and they regretted that these outstanding men had been provoked by unfortunate measures. The people, always susceptible to slogans, now became just as enthusiastic about Sharia as they had recently been about the Constitution. They had expected fundamental change to result from the Constitution. Among the less educated classes, such expectations are generally bound up with personal hopes and aspirations. They had expected lower taxes and food prices as well as better sources of income. These hopes had proven vain. Sharia offered new hopes, and so the cry for Sharia law became ever louder. It is generally believed that the conspiracy against the Constitution was carried out in accordance with a well thought out plan. After parliamentary opposition had been mounted, the Young Turks split, and nationalist jealousies inflamed, the next and most important step was to win over the military. The Young Turks had carried out their plans with the help of the army, and its government was backed by armed might. Most of the officers believed in modern ideas. Therefore, two things were very clear to the clandestine leaders of the conspiracy. First, a counterrevolution would need the help of the military, and second, such help was not to be expected from the majority of the officer corps. To the contrary, these officers would presumably do everything in their power to block such efforts. For this reason, organizing the military would have to be done in secret. This work was carried out by members of the Mohammedan Committee. Every evening, hodjas and softas descended on the garrisons and proselytized. They generally used the same methods as had the Young Turks, but in different form and with different ideas. However, certain strong similarities are undeniable. Now as then, the soldiers were told that the sacred

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traditions of the Empire were in danger. But whereas then the Constitution was the savior, now it was Sharia law. The clerics adjured their beloved military brothers to adhere faithfully to the tenets of the Koran. They pointed to the European clothing worn by men, to unveiled women, and to Christians who had gained power and high standing, and they warned that all this would certainly lead the Empire to ruin. The Young Turk officers and the members of Union and Progress were heaped with abuse. They were called blasphemers, atheists, and "Freemasons," and it is hardly surprising that this last, incomprehensible designation would make a particularly deep and terrifying impression on these ignorant men. Of course, the officers had noticed these suspicious symptoms, but they underestimated the influence of the clerics and overestimated the power of military discipline. In addition, many of the troops in Constantinople appeared to be completely reliable. The Yildiz garrison had been changed. Rifle battalions from Salonika had arrived, and the Young Turk officers believed them to be absolutely trustworthy. The navy was thought to be secure. Nevertheless, the newly named corps commander for Constantinople, Mohammed Muktar Pasha, tried to enforce a number of rules to counter these outside agitators. The soldiers were forbidden to read certain particularly inflammatory newspapers—those of the Mohammedan Committee—and it should come as no surprise that this prohibition only increased general tensions. This was how matters stood during the first days of April, when a tragic event accelerated developments.

IV Late on the evening of 8 April, Hassan Fehmi, the editor of Serbesti, was murdered on the Galata Bridge. The person of Hassan Fehmi is of little importance. He was a third-, at most second-rate journalist whose writings lacked even the grace and insight that characterize the journalists who inhabit the newspaper quarter of Stamboul in perhaps too great a number. Serbesti was notable for the stridency and maliciousness of its personal attacks, which were directed above all against the president of Parliament, Ahmed Riza. Nor were others spared, and Hassan Fehmi had made himself a number of enemies, whose antipathy in return perhaps lent him importance that his talents were

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traditions of the Empire were in danger. But whereas then the Constitution was the savior, now it was Sharia law. The clerics adjured their beloved military brothers to adhere faithfully to the tenets of the Koran. They pointed to the European clothing worn by men, to unveiled women, and to Christians who had gained power and high standing, and they warned that all this would certainly lead the Empire to ruin. The Young Turk officers and the members of Union and Progress were heaped with abuse. They were called blasphemers, atheists, and "Freemasons," and it is hardly surprising that this last, incomprehensible designation would make a particularly deep and terrifying impression on these ignorant men. Of course, the officers had noticed these suspicious symptoms, but they underestimated the influence of the clerics and overestimated the power of military discipline. In addition, many of the troops in Constantinople appeared to be completely reliable. The Yildiz garrison had been changed. Rifle battalions from Salonika had arrived, and the Young Turk officers believed them to be absolutely trustworthy. The navy was thought to be secure. Nevertheless, the newly named corps commander for Constantinople, Mohammed Muktar Pasha, tried to enforce a number of rules to counter these outside agitators. The soldiers were forbidden to read certain particularly inflammatory newspapers—those of the Mohammedan Committee—and it should come as no surprise that this prohibition only increased general tensions. This was how matters stood during the first days of April, when a tragic event accelerated developments.

IV Late on the evening of 8 April, Hassan Fehmi, the editor of Serbesti, was murdered on the Galata Bridge. The person of Hassan Fehmi is of little importance. He was a third-, at most second-rate journalist whose writings lacked even the grace and insight that characterize the journalists who inhabit the newspaper quarter of Stamboul in perhaps too great a number. Serbesti was notable for the stridency and maliciousness of its personal attacks, which were directed above all against the president of Parliament, Ahmed Riza. Nor were others spared, and Hassan Fehmi had made himself a number of enemies, whose antipathy in return perhaps lent him importance that his talents were

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unable to achieve. During the night of 8 April, the rumor was spread that an officer had shot Hassan Fehmi, and had severely wounded a colleague of his. The news proved to be true. Hassan Fehmi was on his way from Stamboul to Pera on the famous Galata Bridge, when he was shot by an unknown officer. A friend, who was accompanying him, was hit by a bullet but survived. When interrogated, the severely wounded man stated that the attack had occurred without any exchange of words, and had apparently been well planned. The perpetrator escaped in the darkness, and soldiers were unable to find him. In all probability a boat was waiting for him beneath the bridge, and then conveyed him to some point on shore. Partisan propaganda immediately seized on this event. Hassan Fehmi, the unknown and nameless journalist, was solemnly declared the "first martyr to freedom," and public opinion loudly accused the Young Turk Committee of having authored the deed. Opposition newspapers boiled with anger. The Liberals declared that their lives were in danger. Ali Kemal, a professor at the university and a Liberal candidate for Constantinople, dashed into his classroom and addressed the young people, telling his students that he too was in danger of being murdered. A rebellious spirit had been awakened in the university, and demonstrations against the government began to take place. During this period, the newspapers of the Committee did not evince such felicitous tact as the political press is so much in need of. In their eagerness to deny the importance of the murder, they failed to express such words of human compassion as would have been appropriate over the coffin of a murdered colleague. The behavior of the president of Parliament was also not above reproach. True, he pointed out the consequences of personal attacks at such turbulent times, but in doing so he merely incited already heated fantasies to new conclusions. Murad Bey, taking the situation in hand, said that for the time being he would not accuse anyone, and that the government must be given time to find the perpetrator. However, if the perpetrator had not been found by the end of the week, the people should take matters into their own hands. As we will see, the deadline set by Murad Bey was in fact kept. Hassan Fehmi's funeral was turned into an impressive demonstration against the government and the Committee. Thousands followed behind his coffin. The Mohammedan Committee had mobilized the clerics. This obscure journalist was taken to his grave, a martyr for Sharia, freedom, and the Constitution. And the grave itself was an extraordinary one. Sultan Abdul Hamid had said kind words about the young man's achievements, and decreed that his mortal remains be interred in the mausoleum of Mahmud. This

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magnificent mausoleum, where Sultan Mahmud, the reformer, and Abdul Aziz, the magnificent, rest beneath ornaments of silver and mother-of-pearl would now be the final resting place of Hassan Fehmi. The solemnity of the act, the invisible participation of the Sultan, and the unusual burial site further excited the mood of the populace. The leaders of the Liberals had triumphed, and the uninvolved observer would have had to admit that public opinion had turned strongly against the Young Turk Committee. The murder of Hassan Fehmi has yet to be solved. The initial investigations were fruitless, and the events of succeeding days diverted people's interest. The unknown perpetrator is still unknown. But a man currently incarcerated in Salonika might perhaps shed some light on this dark deed. Sultan Abdul Hamid had permitted Hassan Fehmi to be buried in the tomb of an Ottoman ruler, and truly, the tragic death of that young man served the Sultan's plans very well. Blood was shed, and the voice of the people accused the Young Turk Committee of the murder. During the military revolution, many soldiers said that they revolted against the government because it committed murders, and Sharia law forbade murder. It seems that this argument was widely used by the hodjas who had given religious speeches of a particular sort before the garrison gates. The Mohammedan Committee made use of this murder in its propaganda, and it would soon become evident that this propaganda could be traced back to Yildiz. This knowledge raises another question. Certainly, the Committee could have had no interest in elevating an unimportant journalist to the status of martyr for freedom, or in provoking public opinion with blood-drenched tragedies. Only the conspiracy headquartered in Yildiz, using the Mohammedan Committee as its conscious instrument and the Liberal Union as its oblivious one, could have had an interest in such events. Sultan Abdul Hamid is not a man whose conscience is much stirred by human life. And so it does not sound particularly improbable when members of the Committee in a time of great persecution claim that Hassan Fehmi's murderer took his orders from Yildiz.

V

The next several days were particularly sweltering and oppressive. The situation had come to such a head that everyone who had followed events thought that a revolt was imminent. The Young Turk Committee expected a continuation of the parliamentary campaign, supported by mass

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magnificent mausoleum, where Sultan Mahmud, the reformer, and Abdul Aziz, the magnificent, rest beneath ornaments of silver and mother-of-pearl would now be the final resting place of Hassan Fehmi. The solemnity of the act, the invisible participation of the Sultan, and the unusual burial site further excited the mood of the populace. The leaders of the Liberals had triumphed, and the uninvolved observer would have had to admit that public opinion had turned strongly against the Young Turk Committee. The murder of Hassan Fehmi has yet to be solved. The initial investigations were fruitless, and the events of succeeding days diverted people's interest. The unknown perpetrator is still unknown. But a man currently incarcerated in Salonika might perhaps shed some light on this dark deed. Sultan Abdul Hamid had permitted Hassan Fehmi to be buried in the tomb of an Ottoman ruler, and truly, the tragic death of that young man served the Sultan's plans very well. Blood was shed, and the voice of the people accused the Young Turk Committee of the murder. During the military revolution, many soldiers said that they revolted against the government because it committed murders, and Sharia law forbade murder. It seems that this argument was widely used by the hodjas who had given religious speeches of a particular sort before the garrison gates. The Mohammedan Committee made use of this murder in its propaganda, and it would soon become evident that this propaganda could be traced back to Yildiz. This knowledge raises another question. Certainly, the Committee could have had no interest in elevating an unimportant journalist to the status of martyr for freedom, or in provoking public opinion with blood-drenched tragedies. Only the conspiracy headquartered in Yildiz, using the Mohammedan Committee as its conscious instrument and the Liberal Union as its oblivious one, could have had an interest in such events. Sultan Abdul Hamid is not a man whose conscience is much stirred by human life. And so it does not sound particularly improbable when members of the Committee in a time of great persecution claim that Hassan Fehmi's murderer took his orders from Yildiz.

V

The next several days were particularly sweltering and oppressive. The situation had come to such a head that everyone who had followed events thought that a revolt was imminent. The Young Turk Committee expected a continuation of the parliamentary campaign, supported by mass

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demonstrations and press attacks. It also believed that a popular uprising was possible, and the Committee informed its military associates abroad, Enver Bey in Berlin and Haki Bey in Vienna to that effect. Adroit measures were taken to assuage public opinion. Talat Bey, the vice president of Parliament, one of the best and most beloved members of the Committee, brought forward a motion to dissolve the Committee and transform it into a political party. This motion was accepted, but did not lead to the hoped-for result. The masses became increasingly bitter with the Young Turks because the murder had gone unpunished. The Liberal press regretted, with rather transparent scorn, that police investigations had been completely futile. Other papers claimed, with great certainty, that several high functionaries in the Empire had precise information to give concerning the person of the murderer, if and when they in their own personal interest decided to break their silence. It was repeated over and over again that Sharia law forbade murder, and this repetition had the logical effect of linking the death of Hassan Fehmi to the reformist spirit of the Young Turks. People who possessed an understanding of Moslem history smiled with bitter irony whenever they heard that the spirit of that religion, whose past is so full of the slaughter of nonbelievers, made it impossible to murder a fellow human being. And yet, this was the argument used to win over the soldiers. Their spiritual advisors proved to them that rule by atheists, renegades, and freemasons undermined their personal safety. All Moslems were in unremitting danger if Sharia law was not returned to its former authority. The soldiers became increasingly disoriented. And their confusion was soon fed by another circumstance. High-ranking officers fraternized with their men and sought to convince them that the Padishah also yearned for the return of Sharia, but that the Young Turks were confounding his devout efforts by force. It was therefore the duty of each good soldier to free both the Padishah and Sharia from their oppressor. The role played by these officers was much discussed later, and the officers were commonly described as instruments of Abdul Hamid. After the failure of the counterrevolution, many of them paid for their pernicious activities with an ignominious death. Even though their actions, the loosening of military discipline, and the incitement of simple soldiers against their own officers is to be condemned, several factors make their actions understandable, and in a certain sense even excusable. Most of these officers were older men who had worked their way up in the ranks with great difficulty and effort, and the cadets with their German instructors always stood in their way. Their educated comrades, who had learned tactics and strategy and were able to use the knowledge they had gained in war college, felt alien and

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unfriendly to them, if not downright contemptuous. The elderly, gray-bearded major, who had never heard of ballistics or gunnery often felt that the youngblood artillery lieutenant considered himself much his elder's superior. The antipathy between these two elements in the Turkish officer corps contributed greatly to Abdul Hamid's ability to find willing instruments even among high-ranking officers. In the meantime, the university had become the scene of turbulent activity. Ali Kemal, the editor of Ikdam, who had lectured in constitutional law at the university, used Hassan Fchmi's murder to inflame tempers for his own purposes. There were a variety of matters of disagreement between himself and the government, and his bitterness had become even more personal as a result of his two-time failure to be elected to Parliament. He told his listeners that because his life was in danger he would be unable to continue lecturing. The young people, always prone to the same reaction in such circumstances, felt strong sympathy for their imperiled teacher and began to demonstrate against the government. With more justification than good sense professors Mehmed, Djavid, and Tewfik Riza, who belonged to the Committee, declared that they could not possibly continue to work with such an inciter of youth. The resignation of Ali Kemal from his chair occasioned tumultuous scenes. The students then sent a delegation to him to express their sympathies, and threatened a general strike if Ali Kemal did not return. The softas joined these demonstrations, and excited groups of students could be seen constantly around Yeni Djami, reading out loud articles from the popular papers. However, there were street gatherings of a more ominous sort as well. Ever since the July revolution, a new spectacle could be seen on the streets: unveiled Turkish women. Women of the Turkish intelligentsia quickly availed themselves of the general human rights that were offered them by the movement, so that they might begin to enjoy a more dignified existence than had previously been their lot. The number of women who dared take this step was still fairly small —the proportion of males constituting the Young Turk intelligentsia is rather small, and the female proportion even smaller. In addition, these women in no way possess the level of education of Western European women. They don't have associations, don't hold public meetings, and probably have not even read Ellen Key and Nellie Russel. Their ambitions generally do not exceed those of a Western European, middle-class housewife. Pierre Loti wrote a very witty book on this subject, which unfortunately exhibits the usual drawbacks of too great wit: too great superficiality. Turkish

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women of the intelligentsia are neither literary heroines nor the subjects of magazine articles. Until now they have been held more or less captive, and they are striving to free themselves from the intellectually and physically numbing life of the harem. The first step was to wear the raised veil; the second was to go out onto the street unveiled. They soon found themselves the object of fierce and violent confrontation. Unveiled women became a symbol of the new, anti-Islamic government. The hodjas angrily railed against the shameless ones. Some women were accosted and cursed on the street; others were chased to their doorways amid threats and canings. In short, they were subject to all the attacks of which a fanatic mob is capable. All this fed the inchoate spirit of the uprising. In the dark alleys of Stamboul, men who a few months earlier would gladly have sacrificed their lives for the Constitution now cursed all friends and all successes of that Constitution. The streets were full of hodjas and softas. Wearing fantastic garments, they gesticulated wildly in the air with emaciated arms and long sinewy hands. Figures generally only seen lazing about in the shade of the mosque had now sprung to life, their hitherto sluggish blood brought to a boil by religious fanaticism. In other words, the general atmosphere was particularly favorable for a Staatsstreich. And during the night of 13 April that is what happened, although it will probably remain a mystery whether the immediate eruption occurred with or without the active participation of the highest authority. There is evidence that the inflamed spirits of the soldiers caused an explosion earlier than needed for the plan to succeed. There are several ways to read the causes of the military uprising. Some claim that prohibiting the troops from reading certain newspapers provoked them; others claim to know that the military authorities were preparing to introduce a new schedule that was not consistent with ritual washing. It was said that the corps commander of Constantinople had issued orders to the troops that in case of mass demonstrations no one, least of all clerics, was to be spared. It was said that the name of the Sultan had been stricken from the evening prayer. The fact remains that in the night of 13 April the rifle battalion from Salonika gagged their officers, and then sent messengers to the other battalions with the news that a glorious deed was to be carried out. The Fatherland must be freed of its enemies, the atheists and traitors. Ahmed Riza and Hilmi Pasha must be overthrown. Sharia must be returned to its old standing. Several regiments declared themselves ready to move. Inflammatory speeches and amply distributed medjidjes had done their work. Late strollers still on the streets

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early on the morning of 13 April became witnesses to a wild scene. Entire regiments flew across to Stamboul after their officers, who had tried to prevent them from marching, had been neutralized.

VI

And so the events of bygone centuries were repeated once again in Constantinople. Only the relentless firing of Mauser rifles lent the event a modern touch. But other than that one might well believe oneself transported back to the limes of Ahmed III and Mahmud II. And the janissaries of Halil Patrona were once again encamped in Atmeidan Square, demanding the heads of the Empire's highest officials, killing their victims with ghastly cruelty, and loudly proclaiming that all this was being done in the defense of religion. Volleys fired by drunken soldiers at signs and windowsills reverberated in alleys; the wailing of frightened women was heard throughout Pera, the foreign quarter. This was the scene in Constantinople on Tuesday. There had been absolute calm the day before. On Monday evening, for example, a small group had gathered together at Janni's Restaurant; the list of invitees demonstrated that the political disagreements had not yet become completely personal. A young Arab Deputy, Emir Mohammed Arslan, had invited the guests. Emir M o h a m m e d was a m e m b e r of the C o m m i t t e e and chairman of the parliamentary committee on foreign affairs. But his guests also included Mifid Bey, the Albanian leader and a founder of the Liberal Union; Adil Bey, the city prefect; Zia Bey, editor of Yeni Gazetta\ two relatives of the host; and myself. It was a high-spirited occasion. W e laughed at the ripostes of the representatives of the Turkish, Arab, and Albanian nations, but other than that we really did not discuss politics. But before we departed, our host again brought up the Arab question. "You will see," he said to Adil Bey, "the next Parliament will have an Arab majority. Until now we have been giving you a free hand. But Yemen will be heard from at the next election. You really don't understand Yemen. Once they've saddled you with forty deputies you will think twice about suppressing the Arab language. And they'll send them. You can be sure that there will be at least forty deputies f r o m Yemen." Adil Bey is a quiet, dignified man. He wears a pince-nez and looks more like a German professor

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early on the morning of 13 April became witnesses to a wild scene. Entire regiments flew across to Stamboul after their officers, who had tried to prevent them from marching, had been neutralized.

VI

And so the events of bygone centuries were repeated once again in Constantinople. Only the relentless firing of Mauser rifles lent the event a modern touch. But other than that one might well believe oneself transported back to the limes of Ahmed III and Mahmud II. And the janissaries of Halil Patrona were once again encamped in Atmeidan Square, demanding the heads of the Empire's highest officials, killing their victims with ghastly cruelty, and loudly proclaiming that all this was being done in the defense of religion. Volleys fired by drunken soldiers at signs and windowsills reverberated in alleys; the wailing of frightened women was heard throughout Pera, the foreign quarter. This was the scene in Constantinople on Tuesday. There had been absolute calm the day before. On Monday evening, for example, a small group had gathered together at Janni's Restaurant; the list of invitees demonstrated that the political disagreements had not yet become completely personal. A young Arab Deputy, Emir Mohammed Arslan, had invited the guests. Emir M o h a m m e d was a m e m b e r of the C o m m i t t e e and chairman of the parliamentary committee on foreign affairs. But his guests also included Mifid Bey, the Albanian leader and a founder of the Liberal Union; Adil Bey, the city prefect; Zia Bey, editor of Yeni Gazetta\ two relatives of the host; and myself. It was a high-spirited occasion. W e laughed at the ripostes of the representatives of the Turkish, Arab, and Albanian nations, but other than that we really did not discuss politics. But before we departed, our host again brought up the Arab question. "You will see," he said to Adil Bey, "the next Parliament will have an Arab majority. Until now we have been giving you a free hand. But Yemen will be heard from at the next election. You really don't understand Yemen. Once they've saddled you with forty deputies you will think twice about suppressing the Arab language. And they'll send them. You can be sure that there will be at least forty deputies f r o m Yemen." Adil Bey is a quiet, dignified man. He wears a pince-nez and looks more like a German professor

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than a Young Turk conspirator. And yet he was a leading member of the Committee from Salonika, and as mayor of Salonika it was he who proclaimed the new Constitution. But he was now not in the mood for an argument. "I hope that you will then become Foreign Minister," he said smiling. We all lifted our glasses: "To his Excellency's health!" Poor Mohammed Arslan. On Monday at midnight we toasted his health; on Tuesday afternoon at 4 o'clock he was dead. Soldiers, believing him to be the editor-in-chief of the hated newspaper Tanin, murdered him in the most bestial fashion. The Arab deputies gathered in speechless bitterness in the lobby of the Pera Palace Hotel, and hardly talked to the Turkish deputies who surrounded them. An elderly, white-bearded gentleman wept openly. It was said that he was an intimate friend of the murdered man's father, and that he had promised Arslan's father that he would take care of his son in Stamboul. Now all he could do was wring his hands and murmur the same words over and over again. Shots were fired again outside. And then a group of excited people burst into the room. "They've shot a Greek priest. He was dressed as a cleric and going to help a dying man when he was shot." A Greek deputy came over to us. He was completely beside himself and almost screamed. "This is the second Greek who has fallen this afternoon. The first was a young officer. Supposedly he was shot by accident as well. Believe me, gentlemen; they are going to slaughter Christians tonight. These wild beasts are waiting only for nightfall." A Hungarian journalist who has been living here for some time and knows the Balkans thoroughly, a serious and educated men, now approached me. "I'm going over to Stamboul and try to get to the Parliament building. Would like to join me? I don't think they will do anything to foreigners." I shrugged. "We could certainly try." We walked down to Galata. This part of the city is usually loud with the sounds of haggling merchants. But now it was dead silent behind drawn blinds. Greeks and Armenians don't venture onto the streets at such times, but retreat to their churches.

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W e reached the bridge. An enormous jostling crowd surrounded the stairs to the bridge, which made it almost impossible to get through. W e managed to do so only with great effort. However, soldiers were guarding the bridge and prevented people f r o m walking across. T o underscore the prohibition, they had set up a machine gun that was directed against the city. "We need the bridge so the troops can get over to Stamboul," a soldier who did not seem particularly enthusiastic about the revolution, explained. "Fresh troops cross every half-hour. The entire garrison has already joined the revolutionaries. Listen—another group is approaching." And in fact we could now hear military music coming f r o m Galata. And then an entire regiment marched past us in military formation. In military formation, but without a single officer. The battalion was commanded by corporals. They marched in double time, perhaps regretting that they had missed so much of the revolution. "Well, we're not going to get over the bridge," my companion said to me. "We'll have to find a boat." On this afternoon there was a bull market in boats. Usually it costs 1 piaster to get across; now they were cold-bloodedly demanding 10. And even so, the kajakdji let it be known that we were personally beholden to him.

The alleys leading to the Hagia Sofia were guarded by a military cordon. We reached the cordon without mishap, but there we were stopped. The soldiers showed us the tips of their bayonets and gave us to understand that passage was forbidden. Then my companion had a bright idea. " D o you have a pass to the morning session?" he asked me. I said yes. "Take it out, and I'll do the same." Passes to sessions of the Turkish Parliament are rather imposing documents, embellished with a half moon and a n u m b e r of mystical inscriptions. The soldiers seemed impressed by them. "Irade?" they asked. W e nodded earnestly. "Yes, of course it's an irade." And then they courteously let us pass. And now we found ourselves at the center of the revolution. And we saw something that is perhaps unique in history.

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In the square in front Hagia Sofia ten thousand men roared, gesticulated, and screamed. But these were ten thousand men in uniform, with bayoneted rifles in hand and a military fez atop their heads. Ten thousand soldiers who had been transformed into a mob, and in particular into a Turkish mob. A mass insurrection made up exclusively of armed soldiers. This tableau had nothing in common with the usual image of a revolution. We know of cases in which the broad masses have risen up in revolutionary fervor. We know of cases in which the military has carried out a coup. Wc know of cases in which soldiers have gone over to the revolution. But this case was different from all of them. Here the military was doing its business alone, but without military order or discipline. To all outward appearances it had become an undisciplined mass. Only the janissary revolutions might have been similar, but at least the janissaries didn't have Mausers. We stood in the center of the square. Soldiers ran by in every direction screaming at the top of their lungs. "Death to the Committee! Death to Ahmed Riza! Death to Hussein Djahit! Death to Mehmed Djavid! Death to Nazim!" These were all well-known names. But there were also many lesserknown candidates for death. Every now and then one of the soldiers yelled out the name of one of these, and soon found likeminded comrades-in-murder. And this infernal roar was only intensified by continuous shooting, drum-beating, and trumpeting. The shooting was decidedly life threatening, as the soldiers fired wildly without any cause, even shooting down several hodjas who had ventured too precipitously into the crowd. The hodjas represented the only civilian element amid the mass of soldiers. Once upon a time the priests of Begtash had incited the janissaries to revolt; now the city's hodjas took over this important assignment. The watchword was of course Sharia. Along with Sharia, "Long live the Padishah" was heard with increasing ardor. The name of Abdul Hamid resounded from the mouths of soldiers, and toward evening the enthusiasm of his loyalists broke all bounds. There must have been only a few foreigners in the square on 13 April. In any case, we didn't see any. But whoever was up there will never be able to forget that extraordinary and harrowing spectacle.

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We stood in the middle of the square as waves of people rushed by us. We saw the faces of the hodjas, contorted by fanaticism as they hoarsely gave wild speeches from small, hastily erected platforms. It was a scene from the distant past, a scene that we had often conjured up, reading about the hordes of Tariq and Musa and the triumphal processions of Bayazid and Suleyman. And this imagined and dreamed of image now came to life. The magnificent cupola of Hagia Sofia provided the scene with an extraordinary backdrop, and we felt that the ancient traditions of this square had come to dominate the present. It began to grow dark, and so we left. But once he had the military cordon at our backs we glanced at each other. We both felt that although the spectacle had been worth the risk, the risk itself had perhaps been greater than either of us perceived at the time. We walked silently toward the sea. Greeks with terrified faces crept past us, and above us we could hear the clatter of gunfire ever louder, although the staircase to the bridge was now open. We got onto the bridge and began to walk, but we recoiled almost immediately: the body of a murdered officer lay in our path. Thus passed the first day of the first janissary revolt of constitutional Turkey.

VII

Evening fell on a tense Constantinople on 13 April. Those who were in the city will never forget the night that followed that memorable day. English history has its "Irish Night," during which the populace of London apprehensively awaited attack by Irish plunderers. Eyewitness accounts give us a sense of the panicked terror that seized the metropolis threatened by unknown dangers. Irish Night was now repeated in Constantinople. From dusk to dawn no one could predict what the next hours would bring. The few certainties were mixed with the wildest rumors. What was certain was that the Justice Minister had been murdered and the Minister of the Marine wounded, that the known leaders of the Young Turk Committee had fled or gone into hiding, that Grand Vizier Hilmi Pasha and Chamber of Deputies President Ahmed Riza, had resigned, that a rump Parliament had elected the Liberal leader Ismael Kemal as President, and that the Sultan had given his approval

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We stood in the middle of the square as waves of people rushed by us. We saw the faces of the hodjas, contorted by fanaticism as they hoarsely gave wild speeches from small, hastily erected platforms. It was a scene from the distant past, a scene that we had often conjured up, reading about the hordes of Tariq and Musa and the triumphal processions of Bayazid and Suleyman. And this imagined and dreamed of image now came to life. The magnificent cupola of Hagia Sofia provided the scene with an extraordinary backdrop, and we felt that the ancient traditions of this square had come to dominate the present. It began to grow dark, and so we left. But once he had the military cordon at our backs we glanced at each other. We both felt that although the spectacle had been worth the risk, the risk itself had perhaps been greater than either of us perceived at the time. We walked silently toward the sea. Greeks with terrified faces crept past us, and above us we could hear the clatter of gunfire ever louder, although the staircase to the bridge was now open. We got onto the bridge and began to walk, but we recoiled almost immediately: the body of a murdered officer lay in our path. Thus passed the first day of the first janissary revolt of constitutional Turkey.

VII

Evening fell on a tense Constantinople on 13 April. Those who were in the city will never forget the night that followed that memorable day. English history has its "Irish Night," during which the populace of London apprehensively awaited attack by Irish plunderers. Eyewitness accounts give us a sense of the panicked terror that seized the metropolis threatened by unknown dangers. Irish Night was now repeated in Constantinople. From dusk to dawn no one could predict what the next hours would bring. The few certainties were mixed with the wildest rumors. What was certain was that the Justice Minister had been murdered and the Minister of the Marine wounded, that the known leaders of the Young Turk Committee had fled or gone into hiding, that Grand Vizier Hilmi Pasha and Chamber of Deputies President Ahmed Riza, had resigned, that a rump Parliament had elected the Liberal leader Ismael Kemal as President, and that the Sultan had given his approval

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to events and granted the soldiers a general amnesty. It was also certain that the soldiers had killed or wounded a number of officers and civilians. Everything else was conjecture, and these conjectures were soon combined into outrages. In the meantime, the entire garrison of Constantinople passed through the streets, blindly firing salvo upon salvo. The bullets tore holes into walls, hit roofs, and claimed increasing numbers of victims. These labors were accompanied by a hideous victory cry that proclaimed the triumph of the revolution and cheered the Sultan. Abdul Hamid once again seemed to have become absolute master of the situation. The evening of 13 April and the next day gave the illusion of complete success of a long-prepared plan. His opponents, the Young Turks, were in danger of being torn to shreds whenever they ventured out onto the streets. The Grand Vizier, whom he hated, had resigned. The President of the Chamber of Deputies was holed up in some hiding place. The people and the military echoed only his name. He now felt himself to be master, and continued to play the game as before. Over the past several years, the person of Abdul Hamid has been of great interest to the general public. Invective has been heaped on him, and he has been labeled an executioner, crook, and murderer—the worst evildoer in history. English statesmen and orators have used their rhetorical power in Parliament to an attack the murder of Armenian Christians. The aged Gladstone's fierce oratory blazed anew when he spoke against Abdul Hamid. Young Turks living abroad accused him of repulsive crimes that even the strong language of the Old Testament hints at only obliquely. Extortionists and paid sycophants, on the other hand, expressed only the deepest admiration for Abdul Hamid. And diplomatic interests and even some with honest, personal convictions claimed to detect better and more humane qualities in him. But it is impossible to use Western European standards to judge Abdul Hamid. According to our way of thinking he is certainly a scoundrel who is guilty of horrible cold-blooded murders, extensive theft, and extortion on a large-scale. He had the Armenians slaughtered. He skimmed enormous sums from the building of the Mecca railway and other projects. He persecuted, banished, and executed the best men of the Empire. He suppressed all free movement and obstructed all cultural and material development. He was an

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Oriental despot as they appear in the world of fairy tales, and the strangest thing about him is that he actually accomplished the things that w e read about evil sultans only in the fairy tales of past centuries. He accomplished these things because he had the power to do so, and it is in this unlimited and terrible power that w e must seek to understand his terrible and loathsome deeds. The power of A b d u l Hamid in his Empire was absolute. But A b d u l A z i z also had such absolute power when a conspiracy toppled him from the throne and had him murdered; and Murad had also possessed absolute power when another conspiracy removed him from the throne, and transformed him into a living dead man. T w o sultans had been brought d o w n in short succession just before Abdul Hamid was at E y u b girded with the sword of the Prophet. This absolute power of monarchs had a terrible and invisible counterweight in the secret conspiracies that undermined their palaces and changed the person of the sovereign overnight. Abdul Hamid has taken up the challenge of these invisible forces, and he became a fanatic, a maniac, a servant, and a victim of this struggle. A colossal network of spies surrounded him as well, and the acts of violence with which he first sought to protect himself and later used in this struggle against his enemies made him the instrument of his own instruments. The enormous sums that he expended on his bodyguards, spies, and counterspies forced him into ever-new acts of extortion. Each new extortion made him new enemies; each new enemy needed a new spy; each new spy required more money. A sinister perpetuum

mobile

was at work in Y i l d i z , one whose wheels ground up its very owner first and foremost. W h o can possibly j u d g e what A b d u l H a m i d ' s character w a s originally? W e are told that as a young man he was an amiable and engaging sort, amenable and responsive to good and noble ideas. What is certain is that even during his final days he worked tirelessly on the affairs of state. He was his own secretary, drew up his own documents. A telegraph o f f i c e in Y i l d i z instantly brought him news from all parts of the Empire. A s sovereign of a constitutional Empire he might have done great things for his country. A s an enlightened and strong and fearless despot he might possibly have opened up new possibilities for his Empire. But he was a despot with all the fantastic might of the Orient, and with all the quailing, pallid fear of a w e a k and enervated man. A n d so all of his abilities and talents merely became the instruments of evil.

The July revolution found him a cowardly and fearful man. The troop advance robbed him of the ability to make concessions. He swore an oath on the Constitution without putting up any resistance. He named Y o u n g Turk high functionaries and treated them with particular friendliness. But whereas

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cowardice regulated his external tactics, keen perception and resolve guided his secret plans. We have already seen how he made use of the Mohammedan Committee and the Liberals. We also have proof that the uprising in Constantinople had not been an isolated plan. During the early days of April Yusuf Pasha, a confidant of the Sultan, traveled among the Albanian tribes in order to stir up a general uprising. We will deal with the role of the Albanians later, but in any case the Sultan had cause to assume that a general revolt would actually break out. In the Asiatic vilayets, the old Turkish leaders received deliberate instructions, and as we will see, these deliberate instructions were also followed. The dissatisfaction of the Arabs was whipped up. The pre-constitutional regime had numerous Arab high functionaries. The Sultan's confidants, in particular the hated Izzet Pasha and Nedsib Melhame Pasha, were Arabs as well. They were unscrupulous and bad officials, but they were possessed of that patriotic feeling that even very evil men often exhibit. While they sucked dry the other parts of the Empire, they treated the Arab vilayets with devotion and care. Damascus owed buildings and streets to Izzet Pasha. The Mecca railway was his doing. The line that connects Damascus with Haifa via el-Muzerib will one day prove a great boon to the inhabitants of the region. Beirut enjoyed the particular attention of Nedsib Pasha. The severe measures that the Young Turks used against them caused great bitterness in Lebanon and in the valleys of Hermon. And others shared their fate. Many Arab officials were dismissed from the new government under the pretense that Turkish hatred of Arabs had gained the upper hand. The emirs learned that their friend Izzet Pasha had escaped with his life only by disguising himself because the Turkish mob wanted to tear him limb from limb, and that their friend Nedsib Pasha had been taken prisoner and was awaiting his fate. By a peculiar coincidence the trial date for Nedsib Pasha had been set for 12 April. Agitation was initiated throughout the Arab vilayets with the aim of influencing the judges. On the evening before the trial, the members of the tribunal received threatening dispatches that told of terrible reprisals should the Arab Pasha be found guilty. It is not hard to connect Yildiz to this agitation. Abdul Hamid's plan was fairly broadly conceived. While the army was seizing control of government in Constantinople, an Albanian uprising was to keep the Macedonian army in check, and an Arab uprising destroy Young Turk interests in the East. Foreign governments should be made to realize that the Sultan was the only power in Turkey with whom they could negotiate. The hopes of Yildiz were particularly focused on the German legation, which viewed the Young Turk government with some mistrust. A strong personal friendship

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had developed between Kaiser William and Abdul Hamid, and the Sultan had done much to further German interests. The Young Turk Committee was well aware of this personal relationship and feared German influence. This fear, in turn, only increased the nervousness of the German legation. Abdul Hamid anticipated solid help from his German friends. The first part of the plan had succeeded. The revolution in Constantinople was a complete success. It was now for the Sultan to decide whether to name his former confidant, Kucsuk Said Pasha, as Grand Vizier, or Kamil Pasha, the most implacable enemy of the Young Turks. And while the streets of Constantinople resounded with gunfire and cries of triumph and lamentation, several members of the Young Turk Committee sat in the lobby of the Pera Palace Hotel weeping in anger and pain. Because in the night of 14 April they too were convinced that the Sultan's victory was total.

VIII

Military anarchy had reached a high point on Wednesday, 14 April. The Turkish Empire had no government, and Constantinople had no authorities in a position to put an end to the rowdiness of the soldiers. The wild shooting of the military bands continued all day. The city was all but dead. All shops were closed, and the inhabitants dared not go out lest they become targets. Newspapers appeared only in part because several of the Young Turk presses and editorial offices had been completely demolished. The mob had completely destroyed the press of the official party organ, Surei Umet, and workers were beaten up and stabbed with bayonets. Nothing was spared in the offices of Tanin. The censorial spirit of the mutinous soldiers even applied to newspapers that had already appeared. Some lines in Sabach that did not express proper admiration for the heroism of the brave garrison occasioned a minor shoot-up in the editorial office. The Liberal papers, on the other hand, were triumphal, lkdam, Ali Kemal's organ, sought in vain the right words to express its unbridled admiration for the stoutheartedness and valor of the soldiers. The language of Murad B e y ' s newspaper, Mizan, and the Mohammedan Committee's organ, Volkan, surpassed even this plump flattery. While in all of Constantinople not a person could leave his quarters for fear of death, and not even those quarters were safe from bullets, these newspapers congratulated the new order that had put an end to the tyranny of the Committee. They congratulated the soldiers for their military conduct and assured all who took part in the Staatsstreich that with the general amnesty no one would be held answerable.

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had developed between Kaiser William and Abdul Hamid, and the Sultan had done much to further German interests. The Young Turk Committee was well aware of this personal relationship and feared German influence. This fear, in turn, only increased the nervousness of the German legation. Abdul Hamid anticipated solid help from his German friends. The first part of the plan had succeeded. The revolution in Constantinople was a complete success. It was now for the Sultan to decide whether to name his former confidant, Kucsuk Said Pasha, as Grand Vizier, or Kamil Pasha, the most implacable enemy of the Young Turks. And while the streets of Constantinople resounded with gunfire and cries of triumph and lamentation, several members of the Young Turk Committee sat in the lobby of the Pera Palace Hotel weeping in anger and pain. Because in the night of 14 April they too were convinced that the Sultan's victory was total.

VIII

Military anarchy had reached a high point on Wednesday, 14 April. The Turkish Empire had no government, and Constantinople had no authorities in a position to put an end to the rowdiness of the soldiers. The wild shooting of the military bands continued all day. The city was all but dead. All shops were closed, and the inhabitants dared not go out lest they become targets. Newspapers appeared only in part because several of the Young Turk presses and editorial offices had been completely demolished. The mob had completely destroyed the press of the official party organ, Surei Umet, and workers were beaten up and stabbed with bayonets. Nothing was spared in the offices of Tanin. The censorial spirit of the mutinous soldiers even applied to newspapers that had already appeared. Some lines in Sabach that did not express proper admiration for the heroism of the brave garrison occasioned a minor shoot-up in the editorial office. The Liberal papers, on the other hand, were triumphal, lkdam, Ali Kemal's organ, sought in vain the right words to express its unbridled admiration for the stoutheartedness and valor of the soldiers. The language of Murad B e y ' s newspaper, Mizan, and the Mohammedan Committee's organ, Volkan, surpassed even this plump flattery. While in all of Constantinople not a person could leave his quarters for fear of death, and not even those quarters were safe from bullets, these newspapers congratulated the new order that had put an end to the tyranny of the Committee. They congratulated the soldiers for their military conduct and assured all who took part in the Staatsstreich that with the general amnesty no one would be held answerable.

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However, although the Liberal papers expressed only joy and triumph, the actual members and followers of this group felt much less certain. True, their enemies had either been toppled or killed, or had fled. The power of the Committee had apparently been broken. The parliamentary majority was threatened with firearms and bayonets. But most of those in the minority did not feel particularly heartened by this turn of events. Their popular leaders, the ones who had spoken at Hassan Fehmi's funeral procession—Ismael Kemal, Ali Kemal, Murad, Fazli, and others—gave assurances that the Constitution was not in the least endangered, and that the military uprising had been a great success. But these assurances failed to convince, and in fact after only a few hours public opinion began to shift as people realized that a lesser evil had been replaced by a greater one, and that the Committee's transgressions were still better than those of the Sultan. New and terrible news soon strengthened these fears. As early as 13 April rumors had spread that the main goal had not so much been the elimination of Young Turk parliamentary leaders, but rather of Young Turk officers. These rumors were soon confirmed. On the afternoon of 14 April, a deathly pale young man, Lieutenant in the 2nd Cavalry Regiment, sought protection in the Pera Palace Hotel. The grisly details are as follows. All other officers in his Regiment had been murdered the previous night. A few hours later the catastrophe that befell another officer corps became known. Soldiers of the Ertogrul Cavalry Regiment had dragged all of their officers into a hall, where they proceeded to hold a sort of military court. The ulema and the hodjas took part in this act. They demanded that their captives swear a new oath on Sharia law. But the stubbornly courageous officers refused to be humiliated by the rebels. They rejected all oaths, whereupon they were dragged out to a nearby parade ground and murdered. The murder of officers now became the general practice. Some were sought out in their own living quarters; some were attacked on the street; some were shot down in the barracks square. It seems that the Sultan's real plan had been the complete elimination of the Young Turk officers. The plan was horrible, but logical. Abdul Hamid understood correctly who the dynamic elements in the freedom movement were. He was well aware that the Young Turks could only realize their plans with the help of the army, and that the army represented the government's real backbone. He also understood that the great masses of Anatolian and Rumelian peasant sons understood nothing about the Constitution. The Young Turk officers were the only element he had to fear. It was the officers who had sown revolutionary ideas among the

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troops. The officers had led their troops against Constantinople. This influence underpinned cach new demand made by the Young Turks. The work done by the Mohammedan Committee had now greatly lessened this influence. But that could easily change. Some troops still remained loyal to the Young Turk Committee as late as 17 April. Several thousand soldiers waited until late that evening in the square of Seraskeriat Prison for orders to march against the rebels. Only if the Sultan secured the army could he regain absolute control of the situation. And the army would only be completely loyal to him if the suspect Young Turk officers were removed. The only sure way of doing this, however, was death, and so all those whose life and influence threatened the Sultan had to die. As it happens, Abdul Hamid has a particular predilection for such radical solutions. Thirteen years earlier he had resolved the Armenian question in the same way, and the blood of the thousands he murdered did not in the least disturb his peace of mind. What then was the death of a few hundred officers? His calculation was cool and simple. As soon as the officers who held modern ideas disappeared, the old discipline would reemerge, a discipline that would be disturbed at most by mutinies for back pay. This parliamentary nonsense would last a bit longer. The Liberals could be permitted to view themselves as masters of the situation, confer on legislation, and become intoxicated by their apparent power. But as soon as the army is in the trusted hands of the agents of Yildiz all this will cease on it own. And then the liberal and other Young Turks will be treated to the same radical cure as the officers are now getting. There were visible signs of this trend. While the parliamentary leaders of the Committee were not persecuted with particular vehemence, a systematic campaign was undertaken against high-ranking officers. The death of the corps commander of Constantinople, Mahmud Mouktar, seemed particularly desirable to the rebels. The general's palace was in Moda, a fashionable suburb on the Asiatic shore. A large number of soldiers encircled the garden and demanded that Mahmud Mouktar be handed over. But the general had already escaped in a yacht, and so the soldiers had to make do with their usual target practice. They shot holes into the walls and then returned home, their mission unaccomplished. The paroxysm of military violence increased to an almost pathological state. Incitement and money, amnesty and the fear of punishment all combined to potentiate the violence. Increasing numbers of officers were accosted on the

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street and roughed up. Others were brutally executed. A mob of sailors beat with clubs the commander of the warship Assar i Tewfik as they drove him before them to Yildiz, and accused the unfortunate officer of having pointed his cannons at the city. Sultan Abdul Hamid appeared before his loyalists, expressed his indignation at the intended crime, and ordered that they take the unhappy man to the guardroom and sentence him in accordance with Sharia law. The adherents of ancient Mohammedan tradition often assure us that Sharia law forbids murder. However, the ritual sentence of the commander demonstrates a decidedly more bloodthirsty interpretation of religious law. The poor man was beaten and kicked until he finally gave up the ghost. But even as this brutal act was taking place, there were signs that the intoxicant of mutiny had not affected all soldiers. A simple, noncommissioned naval officer, who until the last moment had tried to protect his commander, walked beside his captain's corpse. He had implored his comrades not to besmirch themselves with this criminal deed, and in so doing had endangered his own life. But to the end he did what duty demanded. He stood by the dying man and received his last words and requests. Then he left, and even this fanatic military mob dared not lay a hand on him. In Arnatkoi, a suburb of Constantinople, two young officers were shot on the street. A large crowd gathered around their bodies and stared at them with a numbed indifference that has nothing in common with revolutionary zeal. The guns of the soldiers were still smoking when an old, gray-bearded noncommissioned officer of the regiment approached the dead men. He paid military tribute to them and said a prayer in a loud and audible voice. And not a single murderer dared stop him.

IX

The power of the Young Turk Committee seemed to have been broken. The secretive organization that for eight months had been stronger and more influential than the Sultan or the government seemed to have dissolved. The entire European press confirmed this reversal and editorialized on it at length. The visible leadership of the Committee had disappeared. No one knew where Ahmed Riza, Dr. Nazim, Talaat Bey, or Mehmed Djavid had fled. The Sultan was told that the enemies of absolute rule had been scattered in all directions, and for 24 hours the public was convinced that the days of the Committee were over.

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street and roughed up. Others were brutally executed. A mob of sailors beat with clubs the commander of the warship Assar i Tewfik as they drove him before them to Yildiz, and accused the unfortunate officer of having pointed his cannons at the city. Sultan Abdul Hamid appeared before his loyalists, expressed his indignation at the intended crime, and ordered that they take the unhappy man to the guardroom and sentence him in accordance with Sharia law. The adherents of ancient Mohammedan tradition often assure us that Sharia law forbids murder. However, the ritual sentence of the commander demonstrates a decidedly more bloodthirsty interpretation of religious law. The poor man was beaten and kicked until he finally gave up the ghost. But even as this brutal act was taking place, there were signs that the intoxicant of mutiny had not affected all soldiers. A simple, noncommissioned naval officer, who until the last moment had tried to protect his commander, walked beside his captain's corpse. He had implored his comrades not to besmirch themselves with this criminal deed, and in so doing had endangered his own life. But to the end he did what duty demanded. He stood by the dying man and received his last words and requests. Then he left, and even this fanatic military mob dared not lay a hand on him. In Arnatkoi, a suburb of Constantinople, two young officers were shot on the street. A large crowd gathered around their bodies and stared at them with a numbed indifference that has nothing in common with revolutionary zeal. The guns of the soldiers were still smoking when an old, gray-bearded noncommissioned officer of the regiment approached the dead men. He paid military tribute to them and said a prayer in a loud and audible voice. And not a single murderer dared stop him.

IX

The power of the Young Turk Committee seemed to have been broken. The secretive organization that for eight months had been stronger and more influential than the Sultan or the government seemed to have dissolved. The entire European press confirmed this reversal and editorialized on it at length. The visible leadership of the Committee had disappeared. No one knew where Ahmed Riza, Dr. Nazim, Talaat Bey, or Mehmed Djavid had fled. The Sultan was told that the enemies of absolute rule had been scattered in all directions, and for 24 hours the public was convinced that the days of the Committee were over.

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It is now time to take a closer look at the association that came to be called the "Committee." The Union and Progress Committee had been formed out of the merger of groups in Paris and Salonika. However, this merger was not seamless. The Young Turk conspirators who lived in Paris differed f r o m the men f r o m Salonika and Monastir in a number of important respects. In some ways, the Young Turk living in Paris had things easier. His life was not in danger. He lived in a free country, could associate freely, and could build his clandestine organization and print his leaflets and newspapers without interference. His banishment gave him the sort of romantic cachet that opens all doors in radical circles. He was seen as a victim, hero, and martyr for freedom. At home his name was spoken with reverence. Abroad he was heaped with sympathy. However, this apparent good life had its dark side. The émigrés rarely had large sums of money at their disposal. They were mired in poverty, which only fed their bitterness. Their sources of funding were sometimes rather bizarre and probably not always above reproach. Some of the more prominent ones were accused of having accepted tainted money. Older women were said to have been particularly zealous in their enthusiasm for Turkish freedom. Be that as it may, apart from some remarkable talents, the Parisian Young Turk was always surrounded by an aura of adventurism more suited to a conspirator than to a statesman. The Committee members from Salonika were of a completely different cut. The men who worked for freedom on Turkey's soil had nothing of the aura of the professional conspirator. They were active in public life and in the professions. Some of them were lawyers or professors or physicians. A f e w owned large companies. Others were officers in the army or navy. Again others had high positions and large fortunes. The Parisians claimed with a certain shrug of the shoulders that it was fine to be enthusiastic about freedom, but that this enthusiasm didn't stand for anything. The Salonikans answered with some irritation that the distribution of clandestine writings under the eyes of watchful local police was by far more dangerous than all the lovely speeches given in Paris restaurants, and that activities that might lead at any moment to arrest, banishment, or even worse were far less enviable than having to tolerate the adoration of the French demimonde. Thus, Salonika and Paris were never on completely friendly terms. When we speak of Salonika, we are not speaking merely of the city of Salonika proper, but rather the entire region of Turkey in Europe, whose clandestine strivings for freedom were centered in Salonika.

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The revolution was the work of the Salonika committee, but the fruits of the revolution were claimed primarily by the Parisians. They were much more comfortable as representatives than were the quiet businessmen and lawyers who labored in secret for so many years. A comparison of Ahmed Riza, the later president of the Chamber of Deputies, and Niazy Bey, the actual hero of the freedom movement, is illuminating in this regard. Ahmed Riza published the Young Turk organ Meshveret in Paris. Some have said that he lived a life of poverty; others claim that his poverty was more a legend, and they tell of extravagant banquets complete with champagne to which the martyr helped himself freely. For a time Liberal and Young Turk journalists gorged on these claims and counterclaims. However, whether Ahmed Riza was rich or poor is really beside the point. The fact remains that Ahmed Riza was living a quiet life in his Paris apartment while the freedom movement was taking place, that he spoke openly in favor of the movement, and that he returned to his homeland a hero after its success and garnered a considerable amount of public favor. He became President of Parliament, and soon exhibited considerable dignity in carrying out his office. Attacks on the Committee found ready material in his person. His imposing mien, supposedly studied posturing, curt responses, and the autocratic way in which he presided made him many enemies among those with strict constitutional ideas, and more than a few members of the former Salonika Committee spoke openly against his arrogance and presumption. Niazy Bey, on the other hand, was the first major to desert to the mountains with his battalion. This daring act could easily have had a tragic end. For days, his life and future hung on a thread. True, part of the Salonika corps was prepared to rise up, but they had had to carry out their plans prematurely. Only a chain of fortunate circumstances gave victory to the revolution. The revolutionaries took power, became ministers, delegates, and high functionaries. They received honors and salaries. But Niazy Bey's strict military cast of mind resisted all honors and advantage. He stayed at home in Macedonia and did not go to Constantinople to be cheered and acclaimed. He remained with his garrison in Monastir with the knowledge that he had done his duty. No inducements, no promises could lure him from his mountains, until that fateful day when he decided to step in for his Fatherland and begin anew the fight for liberation. Persons with intimate knowledge of the relationships among Committee members often claimed that the visible leaders of the country were merely straw men and that the real power lay in other hands. This claim seems

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completely correct. When the committees were merged the Parisians were given many public positions; but the men from Salonika continued to work silently behind the scenes. Some of them stayed in Salonika, where they organized strong support for the Young Turks. Others, mostly young officials, deputies, and officers who continued to build their secret organization, came to Constantinople. The high officials who were generally seen as the leaders of the Committee knew very little about these secret associations. A central executive committee made up of ten members headed this organization, which had branches in all provincial cities. Only the initiated knew their names, and the liberal press never learned who they were. As a result, at the very moment that the Young Turk Committee appeared defeated and its visible leaders neutralized, the central executive committee was able to continue working at the epicenter of the mutiny.

X

Recent developments in the Turkish Empire have been remarkable. The interests and political tendencies that came to the fore were so heterogeneous that the laws of action and reaction worked with extraordinary force. Each new situation brought with it a coalition of the discontented, and this coalition gained in strength until it toppled the old order. But the moment the victorious coalition created a new situation, the erstwhile allies faced off as opponents. The ground was particularly well suited to the Staatsstreich of 13 April. The Committee had a large number of bitter enemies, all of whom wanted to see it toppled. The liberal Young Turks were supported equally by Orthodox Moslems and local Christians, and the Sultan found support among all the discontented. His plan was based on this discontented, and the initial successes seemed to confirm his calculations. But as soon as the outlines of the new direction emerged, a close observer could already perceived great changes. The coalition of the first days of April had completely disappeared 48 hours after the Staatsstreich. And even the peculiar strokes of fate had so often worked against the cause of the Young Turks over the past several months now began to favor their cause. The first important victim to lose his life at the hands of the mutineers was Emir Mohammed Arslan, the deputy from Latakia and chairman of the parliamentary committee on foreign affairs. In spite of insistent pleas from his friends, he nonetheless made his way to Parliament on the afternoon of 13

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completely correct. When the committees were merged the Parisians were given many public positions; but the men from Salonika continued to work silently behind the scenes. Some of them stayed in Salonika, where they organized strong support for the Young Turks. Others, mostly young officials, deputies, and officers who continued to build their secret organization, came to Constantinople. The high officials who were generally seen as the leaders of the Committee knew very little about these secret associations. A central executive committee made up of ten members headed this organization, which had branches in all provincial cities. Only the initiated knew their names, and the liberal press never learned who they were. As a result, at the very moment that the Young Turk Committee appeared defeated and its visible leaders neutralized, the central executive committee was able to continue working at the epicenter of the mutiny.

X

Recent developments in the Turkish Empire have been remarkable. The interests and political tendencies that came to the fore were so heterogeneous that the laws of action and reaction worked with extraordinary force. Each new situation brought with it a coalition of the discontented, and this coalition gained in strength until it toppled the old order. But the moment the victorious coalition created a new situation, the erstwhile allies faced off as opponents. The ground was particularly well suited to the Staatsstreich of 13 April. The Committee had a large number of bitter enemies, all of whom wanted to see it toppled. The liberal Young Turks were supported equally by Orthodox Moslems and local Christians, and the Sultan found support among all the discontented. His plan was based on this discontented, and the initial successes seemed to confirm his calculations. But as soon as the outlines of the new direction emerged, a close observer could already perceived great changes. The coalition of the first days of April had completely disappeared 48 hours after the Staatsstreich. And even the peculiar strokes of fate had so often worked against the cause of the Young Turks over the past several months now began to favor their cause. The first important victim to lose his life at the hands of the mutineers was Emir Mohammed Arslan, the deputy from Latakia and chairman of the parliamentary committee on foreign affairs. In spite of insistent pleas from his friends, he nonetheless made his way to Parliament on the afternoon of 13

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April. A number of courageous deputies of the Committee had gathered there and tried to gain control of the revolution. But they soon realized that this was impossible. The majority of the Committee didn't dare even to go out that afternoon, as they faced certain death at the hands of the enraged soldiers. Only the liberal deputies were there in great numbers, and they congratulated themselves on their triumph at the e x p e n s e of their enemies. T h e y immediately attempted to take over the government. Ahmed Riza had resigned, and even though they lacked a quorum those present elected the elderly Ismael Kemal president. This old, crafty Albanian had been one of the Sultan's most intimate advisors, and together they had planned the events of the last several days. He showed great emotion, spoke of his duties to the Fatherland, and accepted the results of the invalid election. At this point, the Committee's deputies left. They were just crossing the square in front of Hagia Sophia in their coaches, when they were stopped by the mob. The police inspector tried to maintain order, but he was driven back with rifle butts. The soldiers sought out Hussein Djahit, the editor of Tanin. Someone pointed at M o h a m m e d Arslan. This was all it took for the frenzied mob, which tore him out of his coach, threw him to the ground, and stabbed him with their bayonets. The coup de grace was delivered by a salvo of shots. A few moments later he was dead. Emir Mohammed Arslan was a member of the Committee, but even more than that he was an Arab. His abilities and previous diplomatic experience gave him a prominent role in a party to which the majority of his compatriots did not belong. A r a b particularism and the nationalist antagonisms between Turks and Arabs had largely driven the A r a b deputies into the hands of the Liberals. The severe measures taken against former Arab f u n c t i o n a r i e s had injured their national pride. But all this was now insignificant. Something terrible had happened: the son of one of the most prominent A r a b families, a man of great talent and austerity had been cut down by a Turkish mob. The Arabs felt rage at the murderers and their instigators. Attempts to make them understand that this had been a terrible misunderstanding were in vain. The blood of their murdered friend taught the deputies from the East a different lesson. The Liberal leaders received only curt and hostile replies. M e m b e r s of the C o m m i t t e e who expressed their condolences were received with the tenderness reserved for the closest friends of the departed. The Arab deputies declared that evil and reckless people would no longer succeed in sowing disunity and bloodshed among Moslems. They held a meeting, notified the father of the murdered man, and requested his instructions. They soon received their answer. The family requested that his

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embalmed body the brought to Beirut. This was an extremely uncomfortable demand for Yildiz. It was obvious that the body would cause much unrest in Beirut. Arab demonstrations had been planned for and expected, but not of this sort. Telegrams coming in from Arab cities reported much anger. As a result, the government attempted to thwart the return of the body. They created difficulties both in the hospital and during embalming. In the end they wanted to bar completely the transport of the body. The Arab deputies, already upset, became even more embittered by this chicanery. They declared that if Emir M o h a m m e d ' s body were not conveyed to Beirut, they would all leave Constantinople. The government was forced to give in to this threat. But they could now no longer depend on the Arabs, and in fact any movement that sought to avenge the events of 13 April could count on Arab support. Greeks and Armenians had also taken part in the attacks on the Committee. The spirit of Turkish patriotism seemed dangerous to them, because the planned educational reforms imperiled their own cultural development. During the great press campaign against the Committee that followed the murder of Hassan Fehmi, their newspapers had observed a rather equivocal position. The government's mistakes and blunders were tallied up with a zeal that swayed public opinion exactly the way Yildiz intended. The role of money was important as well. Many rich Greeks and Armenians were forced by the clandestine organization of the Committee to hand over sums of money for the purpose of continued agitation. It is probable that inappropriate methods that even bordered on blackmail were used to collect the money. Those who were taxed in this way complained loudly and publicly about their losses, and yearned for the return of the old government, which delivered tangible titles, orders, and railroad concessions in exchange for certain sums, and not such vague commodities as freedom and equality. During the first hours of the military revolution, a great sense of relief was felt in these circles. Respected Greeks could be seen congratulating each other on the toppling of those robbers and blackmailers. But this j o y was rather fleeting. In the Grande Rue de Pera a young Greek officer was murdered by the soldiers, and shortly thereafter a priest in full clerical garb. Punctured was the trust that public security would be guaranteed. They could get over the loss of a few hundred pounds, but a bullet from a Mauser was a different matter. By now a terrible panic gripped the Christian quarter. The soldiers had killed or wounded the number of people, and even greater acts of violence were feared. A day or so earlier, the Greek patriarch had come out against the Committee, and suspicions were rife that he was now in contact with Yildiz. But for now he could only counsel Christian humility and faith. Members of the Committee began to ask aloud whether this new order really was better than that of the last months. The Armenians vacillated as well, and fresh news soon plunged them into deepest despair.

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On 14 April, several short telegrams announced that riots had broken out in Adana. Apparently, brawls between Turks and Armenians had taken place, in which several of the latter had been killed. But these official reports soon gave way to unvarnished facts. These brawls had suddenly turned into a horrific bloodbath. The Turkish population, inflamed by unknown forces, had attacked the Armenians and slaughtered them mercilessly. The terrors of 1896 were now being repeated at the foot of the Taurus Mountains. The harbor of Mersinas was full of Armenian bodies that had been washed down the Tarsus a distance of more than 60 kilometers. European warships rushed to the tragic scene. Each new dispatch brought fresh details of horrible tragedy. The Armenians in Constantinople were numb. Elderly people were seen weeping openly on the street. The Osmanische Lloyd, a newspaper founded by Germans, was the first to express the disgust felt by all educated and wellmeaning people. Yeni Gazette and Parguie showed the same courage. And Greeks and Armenians cursed aloud those who had advised them to go against the Committee. During the last days of April, the Committee was isolated from the public, but no one dared to raise his voice, because everyone feared the army. After the first few days of the Staatsstreich, the public began to blame Yildiz for all these sad events, but fear kept them silent. All they could do was to deplore their own mistakes, which had allowed the Sultan to take absolute power once again, and to declare themselves prepared to seize the first opportunity to shake off his yoke.

XI

16 April was a Friday, the day of the selamlik. This time, only a few foreigners came to observe this weekly drama from the diplomats' terrace. An Austrian group wanted to see the Sultan at the height of his regained power, and so I joined them. Among them were deputies Count Kolowrat and Sylvester, Professor Norden, and the president of the Galician school board. To all appearances, the selamlik was conducted as usual: the Sultan rode to the Hamidieh Mosque, said his prayer, and returned along the same route. The adjacent fields where filled with people, and the number of clerics was notable. The route was teeming with ulemas, hodjas, dervishes, and softas of every sort. The Mohammedan Committee attended the triumph of its master. The prayers were said with particular fervor, and the acclaim of the people was loud

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On 14 April, several short telegrams announced that riots had broken out in Adana. Apparently, brawls between Turks and Armenians had taken place, in which several of the latter had been killed. But these official reports soon gave way to unvarnished facts. These brawls had suddenly turned into a horrific bloodbath. The Turkish population, inflamed by unknown forces, had attacked the Armenians and slaughtered them mercilessly. The terrors of 1896 were now being repeated at the foot of the Taurus Mountains. The harbor of Mersinas was full of Armenian bodies that had been washed down the Tarsus a distance of more than 60 kilometers. European warships rushed to the tragic scene. Each new dispatch brought fresh details of horrible tragedy. The Armenians in Constantinople were numb. Elderly people were seen weeping openly on the street. The Osmanische Lloyd, a newspaper founded by Germans, was the first to express the disgust felt by all educated and wellmeaning people. Yeni Gazette and Parguie showed the same courage. And Greeks and Armenians cursed aloud those who had advised them to go against the Committee. During the last days of April, the Committee was isolated from the public, but no one dared to raise his voice, because everyone feared the army. After the first few days of the Staatsstreich, the public began to blame Yildiz for all these sad events, but fear kept them silent. All they could do was to deplore their own mistakes, which had allowed the Sultan to take absolute power once again, and to declare themselves prepared to seize the first opportunity to shake off his yoke.

XI

16 April was a Friday, the day of the selamlik. This time, only a few foreigners came to observe this weekly drama from the diplomats' terrace. An Austrian group wanted to see the Sultan at the height of his regained power, and so I joined them. Among them were deputies Count Kolowrat and Sylvester, Professor Norden, and the president of the Galician school board. To all appearances, the selamlik was conducted as usual: the Sultan rode to the Hamidieh Mosque, said his prayer, and returned along the same route. The adjacent fields where filled with people, and the number of clerics was notable. The route was teeming with ulemas, hodjas, dervishes, and softas of every sort. The Mohammedan Committee attended the triumph of its master. The prayers were said with particular fervor, and the acclaim of the people was loud

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and enthusiastic. Then the troops marched past The entire garrison was there, but very few officers. The rifle battalion from Salonika was led exclusively by noncommissioned officers, and all in attendance noted that the Padishah lavished much attention on these troops. We all came away from Yildiz with the distinct impression that Abdul Hamid was once again absolute master of his empire. Twenty-four hours after this opulent procession, a very different ceremony took place in the courtyard of Giil Hane Hospital. The coffin containing Mohammed Arslan's earthly remains was being readied for his final journey home. A large group of deputies and members of the Committee had gathered under the acacia trees in the courtyard; many who had not dared leave their hiding places for days had come to pay tribute to the deceased. Great adversity and the prospect of total ruin had imbued many of these souls with a firmness of purpose that is often lacking in happier times. The proximity of death dispelled the fear of death. Parliament had demanded a military guard of honor for its fallen member. With transparent irony, the government sent a company from the rifle battalion of Salonika, which had been considered the most reliable supporter of the Committee, but which was the first to take up weapons against it. The hands that now presented arms may well have inflicted the fatal wounds. Under other circumstances the threatening faces of these fanaticized soldiers should have intimidated those present, but now neither threats nor the ominous presence of the coffin elicited a reaction. The burial ccremony was conducted with the utmost dignity. Sheik Abdullah, a deputy from Syria, gave a eulogy that made a particularly deep impression. The speaker was himself a ulema, and was dressed in the dignified garb of a Mohammedan priest. The rifle battalion from Salonika now listened to grave words that damned their actions. They heard him say that Allah looked with displeasure on bloodletting, and that his vengeful hand would seek out all those who had shed the blood of this innocent man. The entire gathering was moved. Each passionate sentence was followed by an Amen. The soldiers stood there and stared at the ground. Three days earlier they would have cut down the speaker without hesitation. But by now they, too, had heard rumors that must have filled them with a premonition of approaching retribution. And in fact, as we accompanied the funeral procession down the narrow twisting alleyways of Stamboul to the harbor these rumors became certainties. Members of the Committee assured us in whispered tones that Sheik Abdullah's words were not mere generalities. Avenging forces were actually on the march. Troops from Salonika had reached £atalca that morning, and the Young Turk army would soon be encamped before Constantinople.

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The previous day, a Friday, Adil Bey, the prefect of the city, had disclosed similar news. He had received a telegram to the effect that the troops had left Salonika. On Saturday morning all the Pera and Stamboul newspapers were full of this news. Several hundred soldiers had in fact begun to march on the capital, but had apparently turned back, so this new turn of events was particularly astonishing. Word spread that 16 battalions had converged on f atalca. Assurances were given that the entire Salonika corps was on the march. And another piece of news now alarmed the lower classes and simple soldiers. Niazy B e y ' s name was mentioned with increasing frequency. Members of the Committee whispered among themselves that their best man had left Monastir at the head of a new liberation movement. Simple soldiers could be seen with serious faces passing on this news. After the funeral procession for Mohammed Arslan, a young student shouted at the rifle battalion from Salonika that Niazy Bey was already in (Jatalca, and that they would soon see his familiar face. And then he added a bold question: "And what will you answer him when he asks where your officers are? What are you going to tell him?" All of us were concerned for the young man's life, but the members of the rifle battalion seemed to have lost their lust for blood. They marched off, but almost certainly many of them repeated his question as they returned to their barracks. Great selflessness combined with great moral rectitude have always had an effect on the imagination of the broad masses. Niazy Bey was legendary in a way that none of his comrades were. It was well known that he had gladly risked his life, and that after the victory was won he had claimed no political spoils. Neither shopkeepers in Stamboul, nor boatmen on the Golden Horn, nor water carriers in Pera had any real interest in the Sultan or Ahmed Riza, in the Liberals or the Unionists, in the Young Turk or the Mohammedan Committee. They understood little about politics and paid even less attention to it. But the name Niazy Bey filled them with the same emotions that uneducated citizens feel for Garibaldi, Washington, and Kossuth in their respective lands. True, no one had ever actually seen him, but the great Macedonian revolution was his work. Afterward he had refused to leave his beloved mountains. And now he was on the march once again. He was coming to right an injustice and to avenge the blood of innocent men. What good Moslem could resist such a mission? This mass psychology must not be underestimated.

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Historical materialism sheds light on various phases of development. It is certain that different national groups were influenced by their own interests as recent events were unfolding. But it is equally certain that the great masses of Moslems were impelled by vague motives that were surely more ethical than material. The Constitution and Sharia law, the Padishah and Niazy Bey— all were embodiments of immaterial currents, and it is peculiar that the course of events intensified these currents rather than weakened them. 17 April came to an end amid conflicting rumors, but the renewed courage of the Young Turks was unmistakable. Parliament had met that afternoon and taken a presidential vote. Ismael Kemal had been elected President only three days earlier by the rump Parliament, but now on Saturday even the l i b e r a l s admitted that this election had been invalid. Mustafa Effendi and Nail Bey, the Young Turk candidates, won a majority in the new elections. There were other signs at this session that must have seemed ominous at Yildiz. A number of telegrams were read aloud. The dispatch f r o m Janina caused a particular stir. This Albanian mountain town had been a stronghold of the Liberal Union, whose influence over southern Albania was supposedly solid. But the message f r o m Janina gave little evidence of this influence. The telegram had been signed by virtually all district functionaries, the committees of all the national groups, the clerics and priests of all religions. It was short and to the point. The population of Janina believed the Constitution to be in danger and they threatened a mass revolt against the government. Similar telegrams poured in f r o m Monastir, Uskiib, and Salonika. Erzerum, a solid bulwark of old Turkish tradition protested the rape of the Constitution. The Armenians of A d a n a sent messages of extreme anguish that greatly upset the Armenian deputies. But the most significant news was that of the advancing troops. Parliament now knew that the troops had actually reached (."atalca.

XII

The first military trains had departed Salonika on the day of the selamlik. By the time Mohammed Arslan's coffin was carried to the harbor, barely 60 kilometers separated the advance forces f r o m the capital. That distance would soon decrease significantly.

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Historical materialism sheds light on various phases of development. It is certain that different national groups were influenced by their own interests as recent events were unfolding. But it is equally certain that the great masses of Moslems were impelled by vague motives that were surely more ethical than material. The Constitution and Sharia law, the Padishah and Niazy Bey— all were embodiments of immaterial currents, and it is peculiar that the course of events intensified these currents rather than weakened them. 17 April came to an end amid conflicting rumors, but the renewed courage of the Young Turks was unmistakable. Parliament had met that afternoon and taken a presidential vote. Ismael Kemal had been elected President only three days earlier by the rump Parliament, but now on Saturday even the l i b e r a l s admitted that this election had been invalid. Mustafa Effendi and Nail Bey, the Young Turk candidates, won a majority in the new elections. There were other signs at this session that must have seemed ominous at Yildiz. A number of telegrams were read aloud. The dispatch f r o m Janina caused a particular stir. This Albanian mountain town had been a stronghold of the Liberal Union, whose influence over southern Albania was supposedly solid. But the message f r o m Janina gave little evidence of this influence. The telegram had been signed by virtually all district functionaries, the committees of all the national groups, the clerics and priests of all religions. It was short and to the point. The population of Janina believed the Constitution to be in danger and they threatened a mass revolt against the government. Similar telegrams poured in f r o m Monastir, Uskiib, and Salonika. Erzerum, a solid bulwark of old Turkish tradition protested the rape of the Constitution. The Armenians of A d a n a sent messages of extreme anguish that greatly upset the Armenian deputies. But the most significant news was that of the advancing troops. Parliament now knew that the troops had actually reached (."atalca.

XII

The first military trains had departed Salonika on the day of the selamlik. By the time Mohammed Arslan's coffin was carried to the harbor, barely 60 kilometers separated the advance forces f r o m the capital. That distance would soon decrease significantly.

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Even during the darkest days, when the despotism of the Sultan seemed renewed and rock-solid, members of the Committee kept repeating that there was at least one final hope. That haven of salvation was Salonika. The glorious revolution had begun in Macedonia, and Macedonia would not now abandon the cause of freedom. The first sketchy telegrams from Salonika confirmed this hope. The events in the capital had deeply shocked the residents of Salonika. The mayor immediately met with the governor-general of the vilayet and in measured but earnest words expressed the deep concern of the residents. Telegraph communications with Salonika were soon cut, and so news between Macedonia and the capital had to take a roundabout route. Telegraph censorship was one of the first countermeasures taken after the Staatsstreich. Dispatches of a political nature could not be sent abroad or within the empire. This absurd situation lasted for almost forty-eight hours. The stated motive was to prevent Turkish government bonds held abroad from losing value as a result of alarmist reports. But that was not the main reason. The government, or rather Yildiz, wanted to prevent communication between Constantinople and threatening points in the Empire, Salonika in particular. If remnants of the central committee still existed, Yildiz wanted to make it impossible for them to send orders to provincial cells. Telegraph communications to Europe were reopened two days later, but censorship for Salonika was tightened. People who otherwise communicated frequently with Salonika were now unable to send messages home for four or five days. These rather transparent measures were designed to cut off all contact with the Committee. The fear of Salonika was based on the distinctive spirit of the city. Salonika was the only place in the entire Ottoman Empire where expressions of freedom were not just empty phrases, but were deeply rooted in the spirits and minds of its residents. The city played a role in the development of the Turkish middle-class similar to that of the Rhineland in Germany, Lancashire and Yorkshire in England, and the Piedmont in Italy. We have stressed that a middle-class and a liberal economic order with liberal ideas has not yet developed in Turkey. Only in Salonika has the past and present created such conditions. The Turks are a minority in the city. One portion of these Turks, in fact the more capable portion, is the descendents of Spanish Jews who converted to Islam at a time of religious discord. But the great majority of the population still consists of pure Spanish Jews, the so-called Spanioles.

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Numerically, Greeks and Bulgarians far outnumber the Turks as well. Trade and industry were already flourishing in Salonika when the Turkish armies marched victoriously northward. The crescent moon did not yet gleam over the ramparts of Buda when thousands of Jewish exiles from Spain sought refuge behind the safe walls of Salonika. The traditions of a culture that had once made rich and powerful the cities of Andalusia were now continued within sight of snow-capped Olympus. The cotton industry and silk weaving were transplanted from Granada to Salonika. None of the upheavals that shook the Ottoman Empire impeded the city's development. Its harbor has always welcomed foreign and domestic shipping. More than four thousand vehicles ply its roads annually, and its export trade rises continually. Cotton and silk, tobacco and other Macedonian products make their way through its storehouses to East and West. The city's inhabitants are wealthy and educated. There is a rivalry of high purpose between Greeks and Jews in the construction of public buildings, schools, and hospitals. Salonika is the center of Greek nationalist strivings; it is also the center of Bulgarian propaganda. It is the protector of a Jewish spirit that has nothing in common with that of Galicia or Russia. And it is the only place in the Ottoman Empire in which middle-class prosperity has produced the sort of solidarity that characterized the merchants of Lyon, Cologne, or Manchester. In all countries the bourgeoisie has at it developed always availed itself of the ancient and secret rites of freemasonry. This has been true of Salonika as well, where freemason lodges were the meeting places of freethinkers. These lodges were under Italian and French protection, but they had many Turkish, Jewish, Greek, and Bulgarian members. The Young Turk Committee of Salonika found its staunchest allies among the freemasons. Even during the blackest days of absolutist rule, people could speak and deliberate openly in these lodges. The Italian and French lodges provided both material and moral assistance. The Young Turk Committee was in active communication with the lodges, even though their fundamental principles did not completely agree. The majority of Salonika's residents, both European and Spaniole, are cosmopolitan in their outlook, favoring the sort of freedom and human rights that generally run counter to the narrow ideas of nationalism. The Young Turk Committee, on the other hand, stands for Turkish nationalism. However, their common misery and suppression had brought them together. Committed Young Turks, who had learned by heart the verses of Kemal Bey's play, Vatan (Fatherland), and noble Spanioles, who had often repeated the Marquis of Posa's impassioned speeches about cosmopolitanism, found that they had ideals in common. The concept of freedom, which the Spanioles interpreted as

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a universal human right, and the Young Turks as a national good, was important to both of them. And so they found themselves fighting side by side for the cause of freedom. The government of the United "Union and Progress" Committee had also been sharply criticized in Salonika. The nationalist Turkish element in this government was too conspicuous for their taste. The brothers of the Salonika lodge objected to the chauvinism they heard expressed, which was foreign to their way of thinking. Hotter heads accused the Committee of reneging on its former ideals. Abdul Hamid was well informed about these developments, and he hoped that the fall of the Committee would at least be met with mixed feelings in Salonika. However, this hope would be completely frustrated. The initial reports of the events of 13 April complete the silenced all displeasure. The various clandestine organizations in Salonika, the Committee cells, and the freemason lodges met immediately. All disunity vanished. Representatives of the various groups declared that the Constitution, freedom, and the most important rights of citizens were threatened. Given the situation, they demonstrated a sharpness and clarity of vision that was almost completely lacking in the liberal Young Turks in the capital. Couriers sent by the central committee in Constantinople were told that the population of Salonika would not abandon the cause of freedom. It was decided that the Salonika army corps would immediately march on the capital to restore the Constitution. However, it did not appear that the available military forces would be adequate. It was also unclear how the Adrianople corps would respond. And so it was decided that Christian volunteers could also join. All Christians were asked to furnish volunteers. Enthusiasm for the cause grew by the hour. All social classes took part in the preparations. The Salonika Committee immediately ordered that all brave fighters of the July revolution should proceed at once to Salonika. And the news soon arrived that Enver Bey was on his way from Berlin, Hakki Bey from Vienna, and the redoubtable Niazy Bey from Monastir. At least the Salonika corps was loyal to the Young Turks, given that most of its officers were members of the clandestine organizations. They were proud of the role they had played in the great revolution, and over the past several months they had laid plans for the rejuvenation of the Ottoman Empire. They wanted to go to war with Bulgaria and retake South Rumelia. The Staatsstreich of 13 April filled them with rage. Most of them voiced regrets about the imprudent forbearance with which the Sultan had been treated

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that summer. Weak half measures had allowed Abdul Hamid to remain on the throne, and the consequences of this forbearance or now obvious. But the hour of reckoning was at hand, and this time no chicanery and no pleas would prevent the army from concluding its mission. The same spirit soon animated the simple soldiers. We may not ascribe much authority to moral force, but in extraordinary times it should not be underestimated. The officers told their men that Providence had chosen them for special service. The Fatherland was threatened. The Sultan had broken his oath and together with a small band of rogues had conspired against the Constitution. The blood of outstanding and innocent officers whose only crime had been their love for the Fatherland had been shed. But the good cause could not be permitted to die, and the army of Salonika would accept the role of avenger. Ulemas told the soldiers that Allah demanded retribution for the murder of the men, and this was their sacred duty. The simple soldiers were deeply moved. By nature, Turkish peasants are open to noble impulses; loyalty, hospitality, and charity have always characterized the Ottoman Turks. Turkish clerics are not very influential in Salonika, and so the hodjas had little success in Macedonia. The first military trains left Salonika on 16 April full of excited soldiers. But tremendous obstacles were still to be overcome. The Adrianople corps had never been friendly toward the Young Turks, and it was feared that the Salonikans would be unable to approach the capital. False rumors were spread that the Salonika troops had been attacked and defeated by the Adrianople corps. This belief was widespread in Constantinople early on Sunday morning. The foreign press made a to-do about supposed differences within the army that seems almost peculiar in hindsight. The papers reported on a battle near Kuleli-Burgay, even citing the names of fallen officers. In fact, the Adrianople corps had not been won over to the Young Turk cause. The July revolution had been carried out by the Macedonian army, and a rather natural jealousy had developed in Adrianople. The Committee had only few members among the officers of the Adrianople garrison. The spirit that reigns in Salonika is foreign to Adrianople. The Turkish element predominates there. In Edirne, the former seat of the Sultan, old Turkish tradition is held particularly sacred. Clerical influence is strong, and the fact that a portion of the garrison had wanted to march on Constantinople to protect the Sultan from his supposed enemies during the July revolution may be attributed to that influence.

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And the officers of the Adrianople were little interested in parliamentary change. They reacted with indifference to the flight of Ahmed Riza, and they would probably have preferred Tewfik Pasha as Grand Vizier to Hilmi Pasha, the friend of the Macedonian army. There's probably no real value in hindsight, but it is nonetheless probable that a purely parliamentary revolution would have left the Adrianople garrison cold. But something very different happened in Constantinople. Murdered officers lay on the streets. All officers who had graduated from the war college were threatened. The old hatred between officers who had begun there service as simple soldiers and those who had been trained in war college had now become an agent of the reaction. It was well known that apart from noncommissioned officers, active officers, including colonels, majors, and captains, had incited the troops against their own comrades. And old major in the Salonika rifle battalion had played a key role in the murders of Nazim Pasha and Mohammed Arslan. These events caused consternation and uncertainty in Adrianople. They may not have been members of the Committee, and they may have criticized it, but they were intelligent men and officers. They expected better times from the Constitution, and particularly from the army. And with the Bulgarian war in mind, the loosening of military discipline could not be a matter is indifference. Their comrades from Salonika now called on them to make common cause against the reaction. At the same time, the old jealousies and old antipathies made such collaboration difficult. The news from the capital was extremely contradictory. Official telegrams from the government and from Parliament gave assurances that the Constitution was intact. But messages from private sources claimed the opposite. The newspapers were completely unreliable. Under the circumstances the Adrianople garrison vacillated for several days. It seems that they tried as best they could to get more definitive information. We know that several disguised officers from the Adrianople garrison went to Constantinople on Thursday and Friday. They were eyewitnesses to the military anarchy. They observed simple sailors insulting their officers on the street. They heard the jubilation of the mob as the unfortunate captain of the Assar i Tewfik was dragged to his death. They also spoke to their comrades who weren't hiding, impatiently awaiting the arrival of the liberating army. With these experiences freshly stamped in their minds they sought out the central leadership of Committee and made peace with them. Then they returned home. The report they gave their comrades was short and to the point. What was happening in Parliament was secondary, but the military anarchy had to be dealt with. Each Turkish officer to whom feelings of comradeship are still sacred has a matter of personal honor to settle with Abdul Hamid. And so they joined forces with the Salonika corps.

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XIII

Even as the Constantinople press was spreading contradictory and false rumors about the advancing troops, the government and the Yildiz conspirators soon realized that a threat was rapidly approaching. The government, which had been named on 14 April, was characterized by a peculiar colorlessness. Tewfik Pasha, the former confidant of the Sultan, had been named Grand Vizier. The Sultan had commanded that he take this post, and Tewfik Pasha, who had been trained in the traditions of absolutism, could not refuse this command. He became Grand Vizier, but without inner conviction. True, he had no particular sympathies for the Young Turks, but he was a farsighted, enlightened man to whom despotism was loathsome, and who perhaps undertook in his quiet way not to further Abdul Hamid's dark plans. As foreign minister for many years, he had a good name in Europe, and he would certainly have understood that Abdul Hamid was using his name as a cover. One of his first orders created quite a stir. Nazim Pasha was named commandant of the capital. Nazim was generally well trusted by the officers. He was no friend of Committee either, and he had given strict orders that no officer was to participate in secret associations of any sort. On the other hand, he was an educated and modern officer, who had shown deep pain at the loosening of discipline and the murder of officers. The officers who were hiding in hotels in the capital congratulated themselves on this naming, and told themselves that the Salonikans had nothing to fear from Nazim Pasha. Another point of interest was that Tewfik Pasha had to coax most of the members of the old cabinet to stay at their posts. These members were mostly not unprotected people whom the Young Turks supported only because they were not strong personalities. However, it was significant that Rifaat Pasha, the Foreign Minister was, after refusing vehemently, nonetheless convinced that the interests of the state required that he remain. Members of the Committee early on stated that Tewfik Pasha's comportment was worthy of a man of honor, and that even the Grand Vizier impatiently awaited the army from Salonika. It is probable that, given its provisional character, the entire government was clear about how matters stood, and that Yildiz no longer trusted the government it to carry out its plans. However, a heavy pessimism weighed on these circles during the first days of the Staatsstreich, and all of their efforts went into winning time. The ministers believed that the Sultan had regained power, and the capital, to all external appearances, only underscored this belief. And that is why none of them dared to oppose the Sultan.

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For his part, Abdul Hamid did not wish to foster any conspicuous changes, at least not initially. The revolution was to appear as if it had only been directed against the intolerable tyranny of the Committee. Everything else could follow later. This is why he selected Tewfik Pasha and approved the retention of the old ministers. Only the War Ministry received a new leader, Edhem Pasha, the victor at Larissa and a man on whom Abdul Hamid could depend. As a result, the government was virtually passive. All the more active were the leaders of the Liberals who had, as a result of the logic of events, become the tools of Yildiz. A disinterested observer must find this transformation depressing. Some of these men deserved to have lived in better times and to work for a better cause. Some of them had enjoyed a European education, had enthusiastically embraced European ideals, and had for many years been proponents of modern ideas in their Fatherland. Ali Kemal, the editor-in-chief of Ikdam, was a competent writer, an excellent lawyer, and until recently a man of blameless integrity. But personal hatred and perceived offenses had turned him into a bitter enemy of the Committee, and this enmity soon blinded him to all else. He came to have only one overarching goal: the toppling of the Committee. Whoever wanted the same was his ally; whoever opposed it was his enemy. Any means that could achieve this end were right and good. It seems almost inconceivable that a man who spent years in exile from absolutism now sent written recommendations to Yildiz on how to win over the Salonika rifle battalion. But Ali Kemal, once a Young Turk, now viewed with glee the anarchy of the soldiers. But soon these Liberal learned that an army was approaching Constantinople, and that hundreds of officers had taken a solemn oath not to return to their garrisons until those who were guilty of fomenting the Staatsstreich had received their just punishment. Upon receiving this news, they began to do whatever they could to convince the troops to turn around. Abdul Hamid was equally concerned. Cowardice, a fundamental part of his character, now took hold, filling him with despair. He had almost succeeded in carrying out his far-reaching plan. But unforeseen events had transpired, and his calculations had proven either to be wrong or faulty. The various measures that he tried only made matters worse. Once again the Sultan was transformed into a trembling despot just as he had been in July, ready to swear any oath, even though he still disposed over considerable forces. The capital was his. Here a great army obeyed his orders. He heavily influenced

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57 vilayets.

But he completely lacked courage and decisiveness. By nature he was best suited to devising audacious plans in the in the secrecy afforded by Yildiz—but actually carrying them out was another matter entirely. He was like a chess play who is well versed in theory but becomes hopelessly confused by the first unexpected countermove. He could have sent a superior force out to meet the vanguard of the Salonikans, and he almost certainly would have won. But he didn't trust his officers, and so he turned to peaceful negotiation. Parliament had repeatedly met in session and adopted a variety of resolutions. The Liberals had forced through a resolution stating that the Constitution was intact. All officials in the Empire were telegrammed to that effect. Then they had a new idea. Civil war was imminent, and it was the duty of all good patriots to prevent it. Party rivalries were counterproductive when ruin was threatening the Empire. Ottoman soldiers were approaching the capital to threaten Parliament and Padishah, and other Ottoman soldiers were prepared to advance against them. Many thousands of lives could well be lost. And as Macedonia's troops advanced southward, the borders of the Empire were left unguarded. The Turkish-Bulgarian conflict had come to a head over the past several months, and it was more than probable that the Bulgarians would use the opportunity to attack. The blood shed in Adana had upset the great powers. Foreign warships crisscrossed Turkish waters, and the English fleet was now anchored off Tenedos. Under these circumstances further party wrangling would amount to national suicide. All parties and groups must unite to ward off external and internal threats. It was therefore suggested that all parties and committees unite and issue a joint appeal to the people. It cannot be denied that this approach has great legitimacy. However, it is peculiar when men who until now have been animated by the most violent and extreme party hatred suddenly express patriotism of a wise and dignified sort. Their words were nonetheless correct. Even the Young Turks could give no satisfactory reason for refusing to sign once their patriotic feelings were appealed to. And so a joint proclamation was issued solemnly declaring that Parliament would protect the Constitution, and that the government and Parliament would guarantee the Constitution with their lives. In addition, it appealed for the calm support of the populace. All the committees had affixed their names to this document—the signature of Union and Progress appeared below that of the Committee of Ulemas and that of the Liberal Union.

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Next day the central leadership of Union and Progress protested the signature, claiming that no one had been given authority to use the Committee's name. In all probability several less well-know members had been approached, and these signatures were then simply called "the Committee." It is obvious that a committee of Christian subjects could not well refuse their signatures under such circumstances. However, the proclamation had only an illusory value because none of the signatories took it seriously. Only the Liberals seemed to see in it an appropriate basis for negotiations with the Salonika troops. A number of speakers at the Saturday afternoon session declared that the dignity of the nation should be raised with the mutinous troops. A delegation of members of Parliament should ride out to Qatalca, they said, and in the name of the united parties convince them to turn back. The ulemas declared that they, too, wanted to take part in this valiant effort, and they would have a thing or two to tell the soldiers about Sharia law. But there were also demurring voices. One deputy asked for a guarantee that he would not be murdered by the soldiers. The selected delegation accepted their honorable task with notable pallor. The robust spirit of the Roman Senate was nowhere in evidence. The members of the Committee kept stony silence, but some claim to have heard several young deputies talk about the severe penalties that would bring the traitors to reason. In any case, the proclamation had been signed and the delegation set out for ("atalca to pacify the troops in the name of the Fatherland.

XIV

The Saturday afternoon session of 17 April was not without military interruption. While the deputies discussed the possibility of a rapprochement with the troops, they were terrified by news of troops approaching. Almost two thousand soldiers marched to the front of the Parliament building. They were led by a few officers and a larger number on noncommissioned officers, and they urgently wanted to talk to the President. This made the President somewhat uneasy. He surely remembered the fate of the recently murdered members of Parliament. But, it would probably be unwise to deny a request from two thousand soldiers, and so he went down to meet with them.

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Next day the central leadership of Union and Progress protested the signature, claiming that no one had been given authority to use the Committee's name. In all probability several less well-know members had been approached, and these signatures were then simply called "the Committee." It is obvious that a committee of Christian subjects could not well refuse their signatures under such circumstances. However, the proclamation had only an illusory value because none of the signatories took it seriously. Only the Liberals seemed to see in it an appropriate basis for negotiations with the Salonika troops. A number of speakers at the Saturday afternoon session declared that the dignity of the nation should be raised with the mutinous troops. A delegation of members of Parliament should ride out to Qatalca, they said, and in the name of the united parties convince them to turn back. The ulemas declared that they, too, wanted to take part in this valiant effort, and they would have a thing or two to tell the soldiers about Sharia law. But there were also demurring voices. One deputy asked for a guarantee that he would not be murdered by the soldiers. The selected delegation accepted their honorable task with notable pallor. The robust spirit of the Roman Senate was nowhere in evidence. The members of the Committee kept stony silence, but some claim to have heard several young deputies talk about the severe penalties that would bring the traitors to reason. In any case, the proclamation had been signed and the delegation set out for ("atalca to pacify the troops in the name of the Fatherland.

XIV

The Saturday afternoon session of 17 April was not without military interruption. While the deputies discussed the possibility of a rapprochement with the troops, they were terrified by news of troops approaching. Almost two thousand soldiers marched to the front of the Parliament building. They were led by a few officers and a larger number on noncommissioned officers, and they urgently wanted to talk to the President. This made the President somewhat uneasy. He surely remembered the fate of the recently murdered members of Parliament. But, it would probably be unwise to deny a request from two thousand soldiers, and so he went down to meet with them.

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However, killing and mayhem were not on their minds. Their spokesman, a major, assured the President of their great respect for Parliament and the Constitution, and he went on to explain that the Hademkoi garrison was here to inquire into the well-being of the Constitution. They had been told that the Constitution was endangered, and they wished at all costs to obstruct that danger. By now the President had regained his composure, and he thanked them for their concern. He told them that the leaders of the Fatherland were buoyed by the love of its treasured children, and he sought to reassure them about the well-being of the Constitution. The soldiers listened quietly, and then cheered the President, the Parliament, the Sultan, and the Constitution before marching off again. The visit of the Hademkoi garrison became the subject of general conversation and comment in the city. The Liberals expressed great satisfaction. In their opinion, the Hademkoi garrison had demonstrated once again that in the eyes of the soldiers Parliament was the only sovereign authority, and they congratulated the army on its exemplary clearness of vision. The members of the Committee, on the other hand, were dismayed at the renewed signs of military anarchy. It was absolutely inconceivable that an entire garrison should suddenly leave its post to take part in a completely purposeless political demonstration. In the meantime, the soldiers f r o m Hademkoi were milling about the train station, and their presence troubled the inhabitants of the capital. No one had any idea what they were up to. No one knew what was still keeping them in the city. All businesses closed shop. Traffic came to a standstill. Many predicted another bloodbath that night, and the general sense of agitation grew. Only later did people learn the real reason for this peculiar military outing. In all probability, the Hademkoi garrison would never on its own have hit upon the idea of paying a visit to Parliament. This idea had been urged upon the soldiers, and strangely, their own officers had then confirmed them in their desire. Hademkoi is approximately thirty kilometers from Constantinople. It is a small town, but with a rather sizable garrison. The spacious barracks were built to house several thousand soldiers. The commanders from Salonika had chosen Hademkoi —along with f a t a l c a — a s an assembly point and headquarters. However, the garrison consisted of troops f r o m t h e Constantinople corps, and it was unlikely that these troops would yield voluntarily. In addition, the Salonika officers did not want their troops to mix

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with the undisciplined and fanaticized elements of the First Corps. So for a time they halted in ("atalca, which was why the initial telegrams reported that their headquarters were in that town. However, this halt lasted only a few hours. In the afternoon, the Hademkoi garrison left for Constantinople, and shortly thereafter the Salonikans took possession. Two versions have been spread about the withdrawal of the garrison. Many claim that the brave Hademkoi soldiers simply had no desire to battle their comrades from Salonika. Word of the Salonikans' determination preceded their arrival, and this may have dampened the resolve of the garrison. In this version, they simply collapsed and prettified their lack of courage by visiting Parliament and expressing their concern for the Constitution. The other version, which sounds like the plot of an operetta, seems more probable nonetheless. In to this version, the Hademkoi officers impatiently awaited the troops from Salonika. Scouts reported that their vanguard had already reached £atalca. At this point, the officers employed a rather bold tactic to get rid of their own people. They told their men that it was sad that they had been unable to take part in the glorious battle for the Constitution and for Sharia. Their brothers in Constantinople had carried the day. For three days they had ruled the city, toppled the government, received medjidjes, destroyed the Committee, and by numerous other extraordinary deeds had covered themselves with undying fame and glory. Only the soldiers of Hademkoi had been left empty-handed. This certainly made sense to the soldiers, but they did not know what to do. The officers then suggested that they quickly march on Parliament to demonstrate their concern for the Constitution. After all, the Constitution is a very fragile thing that could be harmed at any moment, and the presence of brave and determined soldiers at such a moment would be invaluable. The soldiers followed this suggestion immediately; they commandeered a Convention train, attached their railway cars, and off they went to Constantinople. When they were ready to return, they were told that the Salonikans had already occupied their barracks and that their presence was not desired at the moment. As of Sunday, 18 April, all the Stamboul newspapers were still convinced that the manifesto of the united parties was valid. They headlined the proclamation, and assured their readers that the soldiers would not defy these powerful arguments. There was no word yet on the success of the delegation to £atalca, but the general opinion was that their mission had succeeded. During a public audience, the Grand Vizier expressed the hope that

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calm would soon be restored. The impression made by the proclamation was so powerful that the representatives of various European banks sent their head offices reassuring telegrams. But news of a reversal came only a few hours later. Travelers, who arrived in Constantinople after considerable delays, reported that the Salonika troops had already reached Kugiikcekmcce, a scant twenty kilometers from the capital. According to their reports signs of mobilization could be seen along the entire stretch of track. One military train after another was converging on Hademkoi. And some details about the success of the parliamentary delegation also became known. It was learned that the reception of the deputies had been something less than friendly. Many officers wanted nothing to do with them. Others accused them of cowardice. The commander of the advance forces is said to have asked a single question: whether they had brought the head of the Sultan with them. And when the deputies, terrified by this question, lifted their hands toward the heavens, he is said to have curtly turned his back on them. Of course, there was much exaggeration in these rumors. But certain facts are undeniable. The parliamentary intervention had failed completely, and the Liberals' peace plan had proved worthless. The corps of both Salonika and Adrianople were completely mobilized. The Orient railroads cooperated willingly. High railroad officials personally operated the trains. It was noted that the railroads had taken a large material risk, because if the counterrevolution failed they would not be remunerated for their expenses. To this the railway directors answered that they knew nothing of a counterrevolution, that the advance was being conducted in accordance with mobilization plans, and that they received their orders from officers who were authorized to give such orders by the secret instructions that they had received. These details demonstrate conclusively that the counterrevolution was led right from the beginning by the top leadership of the Macedonian and Rumelian corps. The deployment went flawlessly. During that time I rode from Constantinople to the border and was impressed by the selflessness and high purpose of the troops. There was no grumbling about poor or inadequate food. The officers did not need to use coercion, as officers and troops did their duty as brothers. Many of the officers had put on the uniform of the simple soldier to better enable them to influence their troops. Outpost duty was done almost exclusively by officers. Hodjas and softas had tried several times to infiltrate the Hademkoi camp. But they didn't succeed. Some of them received rather thorough thrashings by the soldiers; others were arrested and tried before a

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military court. Others again were sent back to the city with the message that anyone attempting to interfere would be executed on the order of a courtmartial. Late on Sunday evening the Hademkoi railroad station was the scene of a deeply moving event. A large number of officers gathered in front of the station building and impatiently awaited the Convention train that leaves Constantinople at 8 o'clock. The most popular member of the Young Turk Committee, Taalat Bey, the Vice-president of Parliament, had let it be known that he would leave his refuge and ride out to join them. People thought that he had already been killed, and as his tall figure emerged from the train a solemn sense of anticipation seemed to pulse through the crowd. Simple soldiers pressed forward to kiss him. Several officers whose names were also on the casualty list had accompanied him. This was the first meeting between the members of the Committee and the officers of the army that had come to restore them to power. It was a historical moment. Many officers wept openly. Even the foreign travelers on the train were moved. I observed an Italian man shaking hands and giving money to soldiers. Just before the train pulled out of the station, a young major made a short speech in French to the travelers. He urged them not to report ill of the army, which had assumed the role of avenger, and which was about the restore the Constitution. He concluded by acclaiming the Constitution, and all those present answered with a rousing cheer.

XV Now, six days after the Staatsstreich, Constantinople was militarily encircled, and this encirclement became tighter by the hour. Headquarters in Hademkoi ordered its advance forces ever closer to the city. By 19 April, no one in Constantinople doubted that the troops were really at hand. And it was remarkable that this certainty was greeted with such joy, not merely by the Young Turks or the Christians and Europeans, but also by many members of the Mohammedan community, who only a few weeks earlier had been among the most enthusiastic proponents of Sharia. In large part, this was because the military anarchy had enraged this community. It is already clear that Abdul Hamid had not with no purpose in mind expended more than a million and a half rounds of ammunition. He wanted to spread a wholesome terror, a terror that would make the population amenable to his future plans. But cruel

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military court. Others again were sent back to the city with the message that anyone attempting to interfere would be executed on the order of a courtmartial. Late on Sunday evening the Hademkoi railroad station was the scene of a deeply moving event. A large number of officers gathered in front of the station building and impatiently awaited the Convention train that leaves Constantinople at 8 o'clock. The most popular member of the Young Turk Committee, Taalat Bey, the Vice-president of Parliament, had let it be known that he would leave his refuge and ride out to join them. People thought that he had already been killed, and as his tall figure emerged from the train a solemn sense of anticipation seemed to pulse through the crowd. Simple soldiers pressed forward to kiss him. Several officers whose names were also on the casualty list had accompanied him. This was the first meeting between the members of the Committee and the officers of the army that had come to restore them to power. It was a historical moment. Many officers wept openly. Even the foreign travelers on the train were moved. I observed an Italian man shaking hands and giving money to soldiers. Just before the train pulled out of the station, a young major made a short speech in French to the travelers. He urged them not to report ill of the army, which had assumed the role of avenger, and which was about the restore the Constitution. He concluded by acclaiming the Constitution, and all those present answered with a rousing cheer.

XV Now, six days after the Staatsstreich, Constantinople was militarily encircled, and this encirclement became tighter by the hour. Headquarters in Hademkoi ordered its advance forces ever closer to the city. By 19 April, no one in Constantinople doubted that the troops were really at hand. And it was remarkable that this certainty was greeted with such joy, not merely by the Young Turks or the Christians and Europeans, but also by many members of the Mohammedan community, who only a few weeks earlier had been among the most enthusiastic proponents of Sharia. In large part, this was because the military anarchy had enraged this community. It is already clear that Abdul Hamid had not with no purpose in mind expended more than a million and a half rounds of ammunition. He wanted to spread a wholesome terror, a terror that would make the population amenable to his future plans. But cruel

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fortune dogged his conspiracy, and each measure that he set in motion turned back on him. The senseless shooting had alienated his most loyal followers because most of its victims belonged to the poorer classes. A large number of children playing on rooftops had been wounded or killed. Bitterness was only fed by the general amnesty. In Stamboul's trade quarter, in the bazaar and in the port, people condemned openly the killing of his own subjects. Young Turks and traditionalists, Constitution and Sharia, all these are generalities, but the death of a beloved relative is a sad and incontrovertible fact. And so the news that the troops were on the march was the cause of some rejoicing. One thing noticed by many was that the poorest classes in particular were buying larger than usual amounts of food. Port workers and boatmen bought bread, chcese, and fruit. When asked why they were making these purchases, the answer invariably given was that it was for the good soldiers f r o m Salonika, who had come such a long-distance to carry out Allah's justice. By now Abdul Hamid must have understood that he had lost the game. Over the next several days he continually received news underscoring that fact. On Sunday, the leaders of the Liberals still showed some constancy, but this disappeared overnight. It soon became known that Murad Bey, the notorious editor of Mizan, had fled. Ismael Kemal and Mufid Bey, the leaders of the parliamentary opposition, followed his example, fleeing to southern Albania, presumably to hatch an insurrection there. Ali Kemal, the editor of Ikdam, had also disappeared. T h e army now occupied San Stefano and invited the members of Parliament to continue their deliberations under its protection. Many deputies took this opportunity to leave the city. Deputies, officers, members of the Committee, refugees, and people returning from hiding came together in the clear summer air of the Sea of Marmara, in a place whose name is identified with the darkest defeat of the Ottoman Empire. The headquarters at Hademkoi grew daily in size. The corps f r o m Adrianople had begun a general mobilization on 18 April, and on 20 April Mahmud Sefket, the corps commander from Salonika, arrived in (patalea and took command. Military trains continued to pour in. Meanwhile an uncanny silence reigned in Yildiz, where the Sultan appeared to have lulled himself into a false sense of security. Sultan Abdul Hamid ended his long and dreary rule in a manner that completely lacked dignity. This old despot, who had in cold blood ordered the killing of thousands, now trembled before death. Even now there were ways out. H e could have placed himself at the head of the troops who remained loyal and wagered all on the field of battle. Nothing could have prevented him f r o m

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turning toward Asia and seeking refuge among the native tribes of the East. But terror paralyzed him. He attempted neither resistance nor flight. His followers were given contradictory orders. They were told to allow the troops from Salonika to enter the city unimpeded. Shortly thereafter orders were given to defend the city at all cost. People awaited a miracle. Perhaps the Albanians would revolt. Perhaps the Great Powers would get involved. But all these hope drained away, and all the while the noose around the capital was growing tighter. Constantinople's press began to regain its voice. Military censorship, which had expressed its displeasure in the form of bullets, was now silent, and the newspapers did their best to make up for the forced silence of the past several days. The soldiers were interned in their barracks and uncomfortably awaited their fates. The giddiness of the revolution was gone, and the fiery speeches of the hodjas now had as little effect as the medjidjes from Yildiz. Deep despair overcame the troops of Constantinople; a sense of guilt mixed with a fear of punishment without mercy. Many of the rebels sought out their officers and begged forgiveness. Bad men had incited them, and they were merely powerless agents. They wanted to be good and honorable soldiers again. They did not want to fight their brothers from Salonika. For their part the officers maintained a calculated reserve and appealed to the consciences of their repentant men and strengthened them in their resolve. Half of the Constantinople garrison was in this frame of mind—and the other half was making plans to follow suit. By this time the members of Parliament had met to deliberate in San Stefano. The members of the Committee had retaken their positions. Ahmed Riza had left his hiding place and graced the assembly with his usual calm. But he had lost much of his respect. He was told in no uncertain terms that a high position brings with it high obligations, and that under some circumstances death is more desirable than overzealous concern for personal safety. Many members considered his resignation final and wanted to elect a new President. But that was not the general view. It was stressed that personal questions must not be permitted to rule. The Constitution had been breached on 13 April. The President, whom the majority had freely elected, had been forced by events to resign. The Grand Vezir, who had also enjoyed the trust of Parliament, had been removed by the same events. Only the complete reestablishment of the old parliamentary order could right this outrage. This was not a personal matter. Ahmed Riza the person was beside the point; the President of Parliament must be restored to all his old rights. The great

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majority agreed, and so Ahmed Riza again assumed the position for which he had proven himself unequal at the critical moment. Another, far more important question was the fate of the Sultan. This question occasioned a long and fierce debate that lasted for several days. The great majority of officers were in favor of summary execution. They pointed out that it would be a flagrant injustice to punish the agents and to let the instigator go scot-free. The young officers maintained that their oath imposed on them the duty to execute the old tyrant. They had sworn an oath to avenge their brothers, and any vengeance that did not strike the Sultan was only a half-measure. The members of the Committee, and in particular the leaders of the freemasons, spoke in vehement opposition to this plan. According to popular Mohammedan belief, the head of the Caliph is inviolable. His death would only harm the cause—he could easily come to be seen as a martyr who had been murdered for his beliefs. Danger threatened f r o m all sides. The slaughters in Adana had not yet ceased, and opposition was growing in the mountains of Albania. The leaders of the southern Albanians, Ismael Kemal and M u f i d , were preparing for a revolt in Valona. T h e A r a b s were discontented, and the death of Mohammed Arslan had done nothing to calm them. Under such circumstances, the murder of the Padishah would be a criminal act against the security of the Fatherland. Abdul Hamid's life should be spared, but he should be held in strict confinement to prevent fresh intrigues. His death could have far more serious consequences than a distant shadowy existence. Even though the controversy was long and hard-fought, no public disunity could be discerned. The members of the Committee criticized the officers for potentially endangering the Fatherland with their blind zeal. The officers replied, and rightly so, that they were not concerned with politics, and that they had not undertaken their march for the sake of the Young Turks. Their purpose had been the restoration of military discipline, and the punishment of all those who had transgressed against it. Judgment was in the hands of the court-martial, and no one should predict its decisions. But in any case, it would be preposterous not to force the prime culprit to face trial. After lengthy discussions the officers finally relented. It was decided that Sultan Abdul Hamid be taken to Salonika, where the garrison would guard him. Once this was agreed and a sufficient number of troops had been assembled there were no further obstacles to the occupation of the city.

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N o sooner had the Y o u n g T u r k troops reached the walls of Constantinople than alarming rumors came down from the north. Monastir and Uskiib reported major unrest among the Albanian tribes. Telegrams flooded the European press with reports of terrifying occurrences. Ten thousand Albanians had supposedly attacked Monastir, murdered the Young Turk officers, and unfurled the banner of the Padishah. These rumors proved false; they had been regular fare since the events of mid-April. In general, the loyalty of the Albanians has been a favorite topic of the sort of pretentious articles that treat questions of the Ottoman Empire with an astonishing lack of understanding. The self-sacrificing loyalty of these rough mountain dwellers warmed the hearts of admirers in French and English editorial offices, and in turn these admirers added to public confusion about the Albanian question. The Albanian question doubtless involves difficult issues arising f r o m Turkish history, and these will continue to make themselves felt in the future. T h e unresolved problems of the A l b a n i a n s — o r Shqiptars, as they call themselves—will

sorely test the strength and determination of

any

government. For this reason we must examine this question in greater detail. Although the Albanian movement has certain homogeneous aspects, it would be a great mistake to imagine the movement itself as united. T h e concept of the Albanian nation is very elastic. In 1848, an Italian Albanian, Vincenzo Dossa, wrote a book, which he dedicated to his divided and scattered, but nonetheless united, nation ["Alia mia nazione divisa e dispersa, ma una"]. It must be noted that "scattered" and "divided" are much more apt in this dedication than "united." T h e Albanian nation is divided into two major groups, who can barely understand each other. The Geghs live in northern and central Albania, and the Tosks, whose tongue is apparently related to ancient Illyrian and Thracian, live in the south. What is certain is that their tongue is Turanian rather than Indo-Germanic. But even more powerful than the linguistic split is the religious one, in which certain economic motives also come into play. The landowning class, which has almost all wealth and power in its hands, is overwhelmingly Mohammedan Albanian.. The tenant farmers and peasants in the north belong mostly to the Roman Catholic Church, those in the south to the Greek Orthodox. Because of this split, the Greeks to the south, the Italians to the west, and the Bulgarians to the north have all used religious propaganda to try to influence political developments. There is also

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an Albanian nationalist propaganda that seeks to unite the country and that harks back to the tradition of George Kastrioti, the legendary Skanderbeg. Albanian irredentists have recently found a pretender to the throne, Prince Ghika, and have graced international peace conferences with all manner of propagandistic leaflets. But even with these centrifugal tendencies, the land of Albania has one local peculiarity that gives it a certain cohesion. Albania is the only remaining geographical region on the Continent that still retains the old tribal order with all that that implies. Albania is the only country where large and small groups of people living in isolated mountain valleys still follow the ancient patriarchal customs that are characteristic of primitive economic and social orders. The Albanian tribes are not unprecedented in history; we may find an exact likeness in the clans of the Scottish Highlands, which led the same sort of existence until the middle of the 18th century. The bonding force, the organic law of the Albanian tribes, is personal loyalty, which links the members of the tribe to its chiefs and to each other, and f r o m which arose the terrible system of blood vengeance. The modern sociologist, who is always looking for peculiar social structures, class formations, and material interests, views with a certain astonishment this strange relationship which, though at an extremely low developmental level, is nonetheless pervaded by ethical concepts of the highest degree. This tribal order has n o concept of nationalism; its most sacred concept is that of the blood bond. Transgressions against this bond are answered by recourse to weapons. The Albanian tribes have lived in the mountains for centuries, and have always maintained their fierce independence. Their natural occupations were plunder, murder and arson, and cattle theft, and they were proud of these sources of wealth, much as were the Macintoshes, Macdonalds, and Camerons of their raids. Over the past several years the ill-informed press has attributed a special loyalty to the Albanians. But in truth the history of the 19th century is replete with fierce and bitter Albanian revolts against the power of the Padishah. The century had barely dawned when Ali of Tepelen, the powerful Pasha of Janina, took up arms against the Sultan. No sooner was his whitened skull displayed to the populace before the serail than Mustapha Pasha unfurled the banner of revolt. The Albanian revolt of 1843 raged f r o m Bulgaria to Rumelia. In 1847 the Turkish government smothered a fresh rebellion in blood. In 1879 the northern Albanian tribes, basing their actions on the Berlin Treaty, took to arms; in 1887 the cause of rebellion was land taxes. The authority of the Caliph opposed them throughout, but no one can claim that they gave this fact even the slightest consideration.

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However, even during the early weeks of the July revolution news stories began to circulate about the loyalty of the Albanian tribes. All of a sudden the authority of the Sultan was said to be precious to these men of the mountains, who until then had tried to kill whatever representatives of that authority had ventured into their domain. And here we begin to perceive a peculiar analogy between the legitimism of the Scottish clans and the loyalty of the Albanians. England's Glorious Revolution had banished the Stuarts to Versailles. The revolution was applauded by the nation, and the island empire experienced a period of economic boom. The consequences of the revolution were palpable in Scotland as well. The Scottish government of the Stuarts was filled with the same sort of somber despotism which the French kings had tried to force on a dark and fanatic populace. The covenanters of the west, the citizens of Glasgow and Edinburgh, cheered the tyrant's fall. But not for long. At Inverness, Lord Dundee unfurled the banner of the Stuarts, and soon the powerful Cameron, Macdonald, Macpherson, and Macintosh clans gathered about him. These developments lasted for more than half a century. One Highland revolt led the Old Pretender to Holyrood, and the Young Pretender to the border of Derbyshire. The clans remained loyal to the Stuarts even as the last traces of English Jacobinism were f a d i n g . Great bravery, great devotedness, and a penchant for cruel vengeance, which finally destroyed the entire clan order, have fixed in us an image of clan loyalty to the King. But in truth, they had previously chased all the King's officials f r o m their mountain redoubts, and during the Stuart reign they had never shown the slightest affection for the dynasty. The Scottish clans declared their allegiance to the Stuarts at the very instant that a new and consolidated order threatened the unbridled freedom of their clans. Likewise, the Albanian tribes only began to favor Abdul Hamid when the Young Turks started to exert a new order on the affairs of the Empire. Seen f r o m this perspective we must, I think, differentiate sharply between the Arab, Armenian, Greek, and Bulgarian movements and that of the Albanians. Those former movements are all based on venerable national cultures, and they have brought forth intellectual and material currents that they wish to develop further. But only a tiny minority of Albanians has given voice to an Albanian culture or Albanian nationalism. It has been barely thirty years since the future Grand Vizier, who at the time went by the simple name Ferid Bey-Vlona, founded the first Albanian National Society. The main work of this society was to establish an Albanian alphabet. In spite of its efforts,

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the Albanians, or Shqiptars, today still use two different alphabets. The founding of the first Albanian newspaper, Drita [Light] can also be traced back to the society. It soon moved to Bucharest. In 1905 a high-school teacher named Bajo Topulli founded the Committee for Albanian Freedom in the vilayet of Monastir. However, there is absolutely no connection between this cultural manifestation and the actions of the tribes. The crux of the Albanian question today is the conservative attempt of the mountain dwellers to preserve at all costs their tribal order. Sultan Abdul Hamid drew his bodyguards from among these tribes and never touched their privileges. But the fact that thousands of armed men roam the northern borderlands of the Empire in unrestrained independence cannot be tolerated by a strong central government. It simply cannot be a matter of indifference that hundreds and hundreds of towers erected in the mountains facilitate the military operations of the tribes; logically, any central government must destroy these fortresses. Even during the July revolution the Albanian and the Young Turk troops faced each other as enemies. At the time the Sultan tried to improve his position by inciting a revolt in Albania. However, faced with modern weaponry the valor of the mountain dwellers proved inadequate. Bitterness grew over the next several months and Yusouf Pasha was sent on a mission to channel this bitterness onto the proper path. However, the Albanians delayed. An attack on Salonika and Monastir might have dashed the Young Turk army's plans. But this attack never came. Another great similarity between the Albanians and the Highland Scots, which Lord Byron had already noted, became evident. Neither the Scots nor the Albanians liked to fight in the lowlands, and the Albanians avoided leaving their secure mountain hideaways if at all possible. Rumors of later revolts all proved false. Abdul Hamid awaited in vain the advance of his loyalists; the tribes harbored resentment in their valleys, but nothing was ever done that would give this resentment positive expression. The Albanian question remains one of the problems of the Ottoman Empire. The ancient family and economic system of the tribes is untenable in the long term, but its dissolution can hardly be achieved without grave upheavals. And these upheavals are made even more dangerous by the various national and religious aspirations. In any case, the central authority in Constantinople will have to summon all the authority at its disposal to resolve these problems peacefully.

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XVII

And then it was all over, and Abdul Hamid was left no choice but to seek an end that was worthy of a successor of Suleiyman II or Mohammed II. He might have recalled those Padishahs who after lives of errors and failings had gone to meet their deaths with heads raised high. But Abdul Hamid's soul was not open to such reflections. The fear of death obsessed and tormented him. The monarch's entourage tried in vain to bolster his flagging courage, but he had neither the strength and energy nor the will. All the agents who had taken part in the grand conspiracy, who had carried out his plans and bribed troops, all the eunuchs, palace officials, and officers were left to their fates, even though there were many among them of high standing. They waited in vain for orders to advance against the troops from Salonika. They eventually realized that nothing more would be forthcoming from the Sultan. Courage born of desperation drove them to continue along the old, well-worn path. They rushed to the barracks, where they again incited the troops and tried to prevent the Salonikans from entering the city. These men defended the Taxim, Tas-Kisla, and Selim barracks, which for a time were the site of bitter fighting. This defense against a superior force was worthy of a better cause. Abdul Hamid's final days were pitiful and petty. There was none of the tragic pathos that often accompanies the fall of wealthy men or rulers. The formalities of his end are generally known, and so I will not repeat them in detail. Parliament had in secret session decided to dethrone him, and the Sheik iil Islam had prepared the appropriate fatwa. The troops entered Yildiz on 26 April, and Hosni Pasha appeared before the trembling Sultan and announced that he was now prisoner of the nation. But even this scene lacked any aura of grandeur. A cowardly old man tottered out of his chambers, his only concern whether they would end his life then and there. Even the officers from Salonika felt a certain disappointment. They had taken to the field against a bloody tyrant, and what they found was a whimpering, senile old man. No one laid a hand on him. At about midnight a military train departed for Salonika with the dethroned Abdul Hamid. No successor to the house of Osman had ever met such a pitiful end. The Young Turk counterrevolution had actually already succeeded as soon as the corps from Salonika and Adrianople united. The position of the Young Turks was secure at that point, and subsequent events developed with a certain logic. The details of the wives Abdul Hamid took with him from the

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harem, or the simple-minded statements of the new ruler are completely insignificant. Their restoration to power places the Young Turks at the center, and they will dominate the near future. For this reason we will now turn our attention to them. The liberating army had successfully done its work. Both the authority of Parliament and military discipline had been restored. Generalissimo Mahmud Sefket, the stern, silent, and implacable corps commander from Salonika, was wildly cheered when he entered the city, and these cheers burst all bounds when the populace glimpsed its beloved heroes Niazy Bey and Enver Bey. Opposition activities ceased for the moment as the Liberals dared not make a move and members of the Mohammedan Committee felt unsafe. Its leaders had either fled or been captured. Court-martials began immediately. An accession to the throne has always occasioned popular amusements of all sorts, but this time the masses had to make do with the gallows used to punish those who incited the massacres. A state of siege was immediately declared in the capital and was ruthlessly enforced. The old high dignitaries returned to their posts. Grand Vizier Tewfik Pasha, whose honorable deportment was gratefully acknowledged, made way for the old Grand Vizier, Hilmi Pasha. Union and Progress again took control of Parliament, and its authority was increased by the fact that its most determined opponents had either fled or been neutralized. And yet the position of the Young Turks is not an enviable one. The army had restored it to power and it was able to continue its work. However, this work is difficult, perhaps even impossible. The peculiarities of Turkish history have come to the fore and with them perils of all sort. Only those with detailed knowledge of the Ottoman Empire's past and present can grasp the difficulties that lie ahead. The nation of Orkhan and Ertogrul, which swept out of the Anatolian lowlands with its military might, conquered all in its path. The cohesive, governing force of the new Empire was military might. One after another, the Ottomans subjugated the Arabs, Armenians, Greeks, Rumanians, Bulgarians, Croatians, and Hungarians. They subjugated most of the peoples living below mounts Elbrus and Ararat, among the mountains of the Tigris, along the banks of the Jordan, and beside Lake Van and the Lake of Urmia. These conquests had certain consequences. The small tribes and the loose groupings of the East had not yet achieved national consciousness; nor could such consciousness have developed under their new rulers. Kurds and Druses value

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highly the customs and traditions of their peoples, but they do not feel the solidarity that comes from belonging to a nation. The overwhelming majority of Arabs is still bound by this tribal order. The tribes of the Great Desert and of Yemen wage war against each other, pursue their narrow interests, and know little or nothing of the glorious past to which educated Arabs f r o m Damascus, Cairo, or Beirut give such importance. The remnants of the mighty culture of the Arab nation live on only in a few cities in the East, and all attempts over the past several years to rekindle a feeling of A r a b nationhood among the inhabitants of the Hauran and the Bedouin steppes have come to nothing, the assurances of propagandists notwithstanding. Only the Armenians retain memories of a once mighty empire, and they proudly revel in their ancient Christianity, their national culture, and their national aspirations. And so it is that the only real feeling of nationhood in Asian Turkey is that of a Christian nation, whose members hate Islam and who are hated even more intensely in return. The situation is very different in European Turkey. Under Turkish rule the Christian peoples of the Balkans never lost their sense of nationhood. The Janissaries may have conquered Constantinople and Athens, but they were never able to extinguish the traditions of the acropolis and of the Byzantine Empire. By the sword they suppressed the Serbs, Bulgarians, and Rumanians, but national heroes like Tzar Stefan Dusan and memories of a onceindependent Serbia, Bulgaria, and R u m a n i a lived on in the popular imagination. They had unfurled the half-moon before the walls of Vienna, and the fortress of Buda was theirs for a hundred-and-fifty years, but the Magyar nation continued. For a time the military pressure exerted by the central authority in Constantinople was stronger than these national forces. And as long as their military forces were strong the borders of the Ottoman Empire remained inviolate. But as soon as their military hegemony showed signs of weakening, new forces began to develop in both the East and the West. The nations of the West wanted to resume the national existence that had been condemned to dormancy for a time by a foreign power. The tribes and other ethnic groups of the East, although they have not yet achieved national consciousness, nonetheless want the return of their material independence. And given these developments, the national movements are gaining in strength, while tribal revolts sap the attentions of the central authority. The Ottoman Empire stood at the height of its power between 1400 and 1600. The period during which it was progressively pushed back began over the next two centuries. The more powerful the national unity before they

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were suppressed by Ottoman military forces, the more rapidly did they regain their independence. The Sublime Porte's possessions in Hungary were lost fairly quickly, but the entire Balkan region was still under their control in 1800. And then there followed a number of significant events. The next revolt did not occur in territorially remote Serbia, Bosnia, or Herzegovina, but in Greece. T h e Greeks living close to Constantinople organized the first clandestine league, and the entire Balkan was swept up by it. This Greek initiative is entirely appropriate given the intensity of national feeling that flared most powerfully in Greece at the beginning of the 19th century. Panslavic propaganda had not yet begun, and the national aspirations of the Serbs and Bulgarians still smoldered beneath the ashes. The only strong national movement in the Balkans was the one that drew on the traditions of Marathon and Thermopylae. And so the Greek nation was the first to regain its independence. Developments in the 19th century are generally well understood by the public. W e know about the f r e e d o m struggles that with increasing force established nation states in the northern and central Balkans in the wake of the Greek revolt. This process continued undisturbed until the regions created were in the uncontested possession of a single nation, as they still are today. It was incontestable that Nish should be the possession of the Serbian nation, Tirnova of the Bulgarian, and Jassy of the Rumanian. H o w e v e r the populations of Macedonia and Rumelia are not homogeneous. The vilayets of Uskiib. Monastir, and Salonika, for example, have approximately 2,655,000 inhabitants. Of these, 1,853,500 are Albanian, 600,000 Bulgarian, 120,000 Greek, 180,000 R u m a n i a n , 65,000 Turkish, and 15,000 Serbian, etc. Accordingly, the Albanians, Bulgarians, and Greeks all demand Macedonia for themselves. Hatreds fueled by nationalism are on the rise. Racial antagonisms have led to bitter conflicts, and there is now a long list of violent acts perpetrated by Bulgarian and Greek bands. A n d it is precisely these antagonisms between the Christian subjects of the Sultan that constitute the strongest force sustaining Mohammedan rule. W e must differentiate between two periods of Turkish military retreat. The first restored the ancient independence of nation states, and the Sublime Porte cannot stem this national force. It has been compelled to retreat to the border region where mixed nationalities are found. This region still belongs to the Porte, but less because of its military forces than because of racial and religious antagonisms among the Christian nations. The questions regarding the western parts of the Empire that require resolution must therefore be

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divided into two groups. First, it is questionable whether constitutional Turkey will be able to create a central authority that can call another sort of solidarity into being among these parts and nations of the Empire, other than one based on military hegemony or communal hatred. The other question relates to the future development of these national groups. Will they seek refuge in mutual federative cooperation, or in union with larger national entities? The fact remains that to date the Young Turk movement has received its strongest support from the Empire's Christian nations. Bulgarians and Greeks may hate each other as much as do Serbs and Rumanians, but they are all united in their devotion to the Constitution. The enthusiasm of July and the resolve shown in April seem to indicate that the various groups will seek a peaceful resolution of their differences within a constitutional Ottoman Empire. This much is logical. Union with a national state must ineluctably provoke and harm all other nations in the same region. Except that until now Turkey was never a real nation state, and the equality granted its Christian subjects gave the Ottoman Empire more the character of a federation, which seemed desirable to the individual nations. And so the hope was that the Young Turk government would expand this federal system so that the Ottoman Empire might come to resemble a Switzerland of the East, but on a grand scale.

XVIII

The Christian nations of the West expected that the Young Turk government would institute a federal system. However, this concept is foreign to the great majority of Young Turks. To them the Young Turk cause has more in common with "Giovane Italia," which rallied Italian patriots to unite around fervent love of the Fatherland and a fervent desire for freedom. Educated Turks who identify with modern ideas are nothing less than cosmopolitan. They look to their Fatherland to be free and modernized, so that the Turkish people may flourish once again. They are not prone to religious fanaticism, but they love Islam as a characteristic of their race. There are, of course, free thinkers in the European sense among the Young Turks; there are even proponents of ultramodern ideas among them, whose imprudent statements and cultural posturing made easier the work of the Mohammedan Committee. Such gentlemen are a tiny minority, most often associated with the French

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divided into two groups. First, it is questionable whether constitutional Turkey will be able to create a central authority that can call another sort of solidarity into being among these parts and nations of the Empire, other than one based on military hegemony or communal hatred. The other question relates to the future development of these national groups. Will they seek refuge in mutual federative cooperation, or in union with larger national entities? The fact remains that to date the Young Turk movement has received its strongest support from the Empire's Christian nations. Bulgarians and Greeks may hate each other as much as do Serbs and Rumanians, but they are all united in their devotion to the Constitution. The enthusiasm of July and the resolve shown in April seem to indicate that the various groups will seek a peaceful resolution of their differences within a constitutional Ottoman Empire. This much is logical. Union with a national state must ineluctably provoke and harm all other nations in the same region. Except that until now Turkey was never a real nation state, and the equality granted its Christian subjects gave the Ottoman Empire more the character of a federation, which seemed desirable to the individual nations. And so the hope was that the Young Turk government would expand this federal system so that the Ottoman Empire might come to resemble a Switzerland of the East, but on a grand scale.

XVIII

The Christian nations of the West expected that the Young Turk government would institute a federal system. However, this concept is foreign to the great majority of Young Turks. To them the Young Turk cause has more in common with "Giovane Italia," which rallied Italian patriots to unite around fervent love of the Fatherland and a fervent desire for freedom. Educated Turks who identify with modern ideas are nothing less than cosmopolitan. They look to their Fatherland to be free and modernized, so that the Turkish people may flourish once again. They are not prone to religious fanaticism, but they love Islam as a characteristic of their race. There are, of course, free thinkers in the European sense among the Young Turks; there are even proponents of ultramodern ideas among them, whose imprudent statements and cultural posturing made easier the work of the Mohammedan Committee. Such gentlemen are a tiny minority, most often associated with the French

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published in Pera. Most Y o u n g Turk lawyers, professors, and

officers adhere to the teachings of the Koran without showing signs of fanaticism. Most of the members of Union and Progress are of this kind. They are very aware of the difficulties involved in making Turkey a modern national state. But they have drawn up an ambitious plan and believe that they can carry it out successfully. The principles underlying this plan, which may not even be completely clear to them, are the following. First, the Young Turks want to secure the Constitution. Because the Empire's Christian subjects have just as great an interest in the Constitution as they, and because they were the Young Turks' most reliable supporters they were granted equal rights. With their assistance the Constitution has been preserved f r o m the c o n s e q u e n c e s of the Staatsstreich. Turkey has thus become a constitutional state whose central authority is in the hands of the Young Turks. And in their view their task is now to transform the military hegemony of the Turkish people into cultural hegemony.. This transformation must be based on culture and commerce. The prime desideratum must be a thorough education for the people. Each vilayet is to receive its own teacher training college. The children of the tribes of the East are to be educated in Turkish national consciousness. The great masses of Mohammedans must be convinced that the future of Islam can only be ensured by a strong and united Turkish empire. Sooner or later these efforts will allow the East to influence the West. The Empire, whose focus was once the military superiority of the East, will reassume its old place within a new culture of the East. And once that happens, the central authority will dispose over real power that will enable it to protect the borders of the Empire against attacks from the north and west. In other words, the Y o u n g T u r k s count on support f r o m the M o h a m m e d a n East. Their e c o n o m i c program aims to open up these previously inaccessible reaches of the Empire to modern culture and trade. To this end they plan a rail line to Trebizond and another line to Sivas. The Baghdad railway is scheduled to cross the Taurus Mountains this year. The old cotton industry in the Adana region is to be revived. An English engineer has been sent to Mesopotamia to draw up plans to restore the old network of channels. The Anatolian railways are to purchase new rolling stock. Plans to lift up the East are being implemented with fevered speed, and everyone who knows the great resources of this land, the as yet unopened mines and the vast agricultural potential, must admit that these plans are based on actual prospects.

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However, something stands in the way of these plans: the very population in whose interests all this is to be done. The Mohammedan masses of the East view the Young Turk rulers with indignation and loathing. Their alliance with the Christian nations and the equal status granted to Christians, especially to the despised Armenians, created a storm of rage among those elements who, with their love of Islam and its traditions, might otherwise have been the agents of a Mohammedan renaissance. As a result the Young Turks have gotten themselves into a very dangerous situation. They must have the support of the Christians if they are to remain in power. But this support is only to be had by making concessions, and each concession increasingly splits the Young Turks from their natural allies, the Mohammedans. And both parts of the country look upon them with suspicion and mistrust. Greek, Bulgarian, and Albanian leaders openly accuse them of dangerous chauvinism! The Young Turks are told that the idea of a Turkish national state is impossible, because all moves toward Turkish nationalism endanger the existence of the Empire, and that only autonomy for the nationalities along with complete decentralization can guarantee the future. Even before the days of April they were accused by these same people of betraying the Constitution, and the backing the Christians gave the Young Turks after the Staatsstreich was given in the hope that such betrayals would not be repeated. On the other hand, the people of the East are enraged by these signs of opportunism and threaten defiance. And the Young Turks are forced to let all of these accusations and threats wash over them in virtual silence, because any attempt at explanation would merely worsen their situation. As a result they are seen in Kosovo and Salonika as conservatives and reactionaries, as chauvinistic provocateurs, and in Damascus and Konia as renegades, atheists, and betrayers of Islam and the Mohammedan past. Still, they must persevere even though their only reliable support comes from a small group of like-minded followers. Something of the historically tragic seems to haunt the Young Turks and their cause. They are caught between nationalist tendencies that are well established and determined, but alien, and the primitive and tangled historical development of their own nation. They have elaborated an alternative plan that undoubtedly contains a good deal of wisdom and power. But what is not in doubt is that they will encounter the same problems in the East as in the West as they attempt to implement it. The clear-sighted nations of the West will attempt to thwart their plans because they understand that any development that reestablishes the importance of the East will threaten their own national existence. And the tribes of the East will continue to create serious problems

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for the Young Turks, because they do not understand that it is for their own benefit. Each of the nations in the western half of the Empire will fight for complete autonomy; each tribe in the East will seek to weaken the central authority. A s a result, the grand scheme that inspires the Young Turks can only be implemented in one way. They must be able to work undisturbed for at least two decades until the first fruits of their economic and educational policies ripen. They must be permitted to exercise power in the East and the West for at least two decades before the good emanating f r o m that power becomes manifest. Only the army can secure that power. Armed might, which is so frequently the tool of reaction, is in the East the guarantor of progress. And this miracle may come to pass if the army remains under the control and influence of Young Turk officers, and then the last few years of military hegemony may serve the transition to cultural hegemony of the Turkish people. Every advocate of peaceful development must uphold this solution and the methods to achieve it. The efforts of von der Goltz Pasha, who continues to work on the organization of the Turkish army, can only be applauded. Today the Young Turk Committee is again master of the situation because the army has restored it to power. But even this military restoration carries with it the potential for deep tragedy, because the revolution of the spirit that this unhappy group wishes to inaugurate can only be achieved by means of the bayonet. Time will tell whether this victory was one of people or of ideals. The future will show us the new difficulties and contradictions that the Young Turks must still struggle against. But every expert in the affairs of the Ottoman Empire will follow these events with heartfelt sympathy for the men who, unsupported, subject to suspicions and accusations, and threatened with death, undertake this work of national and human progress. And every friend of those ideals must feel sincere sympathy for their work.