From the Lakes of Killarney to the Golden Horn

Thus there is in Turkey not a single element of hope; there is no internal force which may be a cause of political regeneration. It is as impossible to infuse life into this moribund state as it would be to raise the dead. I have met a great many Europeans in Constantinople – some of whom have lived here ten, twenty, thirty, or even forty years – and have not found one who did not consider the condition of Turkey absolutely hopeless, and its disappearance from the map of Europe only a question of time.

But if for purely economical reasons Turkey has to be given up as utterly rotten and going to decay, how much darker does the picture appear when we consider the tyranny and corruption, the impossibility of obtaining justice, and the oppression of the Christian populations. A horde of officials is quartered on the country, that eat out the substance of the land, and set no bounds to their rapacity; who plunder the people so that they are reduced to the extreme point of misery. The taxation is so heavy that it drains the very life-blood out of a poor and wretched people – and this is often aggravated by the most wanton oppression and cruelty. Such stories have moved, as they justly may, the indignation of Europe.

Such is the present state of Turkey – universal corruption and oppression, and things going all the time from bad to worse.

And yet this wretched Government rules over the fairest portion of the globe. The Turkish Empire is territorially the finest in the world. Half in Europe and half in Asia, it extends over many degrees of latitude and longitude, including many countries and many climates, "spanning the vast arch from Bagdad to Belgrade."

Can such things continue, and such a power be allowed to hold the fairest portion of the earth's surface, for all time to come?

It seems impossible. The position of Turkey is certainly an anomaly. It is an Asiatic power planted in Europe. It is a Mohammedan power ruling over millions of Christians. It is a government of Turks – that is of Tartars – over men of a better race as well as a purer religion. It is a government of a minority over a majority. The Mohammedans, the ruling caste, are only about one-quarter of the population of European Turkey – some estimates make it much less, but where there is no accurate census, it must be a matter of conjecture. It is a power occupying the finest situation in the world, where two continents touch, and two great seas mingle their waters, yet sitting there on the Bosphorus only to hold the gates of Europe and Asia, and oppose a fixed and immovable barrier to the progress of the nations.

What then shall be done with the Grand Turk? The feeling is becoming universal that he must be driven out of Europe, back into Asia from which he came. This would solve the Eastern Question in part, but only in part, for after he is gone what power is to take his place?

The solution would be comparatively easy, if there were any independent State near at hand to succeed to the vacant sceptre. When a rich man dies, there are always plenty of heirs ready to step in and take possession of the property. The Greeks would willingly transfer their capital from Athena to Constantinople. The Armenians think themselves numerous enough to form a State, but the Greeks and the Armenians hate each other more even than their common oppressor. Russia has not a doubt on the subject, that she is the proper and rightful heir to the throne of the Sultan. The possession of European Turkey would just "round out" her territory, so that her Empire should be bounded only by the seas – the Baltic and the White Sea on the North, and the Black Sea and the Mediterranean on the South. But that is just the solution of the question which all the rest of Europe is determined to prevent. Austria, driven out of Germany, thinks it would be highly proper that she should be indemnified by an addition to her territory on the south; while the Danubian principalities, Moldavia and Wallachia (now united under the title of Roumania) and Servia, which are taking their first lessons in independence, think that they will soon be sufficiently educated in the difficult art of government to take possession of the whole Ottoman Empire. Among so many rival claimants who shall decide? Perhaps if it were put to vote, they would all prefer to remain under the Turk, rather than that the coveted prize should go to a rival.

Herein lies the difficulty of the Eastern Question, which no European statesman is wise enough to resolve. There is still another solution possible: that Turkey should be divided as Poland was, giving a province or two on the Danube to Austria; and another on the Black Sea to Russia; and Syria to Egypt; while the Sultan took up his residence in Asia Minor; and making Constantinople a free city (as Hamburg was), under the protection of all Europe, which should hold the position simply to protect the passage of the Bosphorus and the Dardanelles, and thus keep open the Black Sea to the commerce of the world.

But however these remoter questions may perplex the minds of statesmen, they cannot prevent, nor long delay, the first necessity, viz., that the Turk should retire from Europe. It cannot be permitted in the interests of civilization, that a half-barbarous power should keep forever the finest position in the world, the point of contact between Europe and Asia, only to be a barrier between them – an obstacle to commerce and to civilization. This obstruction must be removed. The Turks themselves may remain, but they will no longer be the governing race, but subject, like other races, to whatever power may succeed; the Sultan may transfer his capital to Brousa, the ancient capital of the Ottoman Empire; but Turkey will thenceforth be wholly an Asiatic, and no longer an European power.

And this will be the end of a dominion that for centuries was the terror of Europe. It is four hundred and twenty years since the Turks crossed the Bosphorus and took Constantinople. Since then they have risen to such power that at one time they threatened to overrun Europe. It is not two hundred years since they laid siege to Vienna. But within two centuries Turkey has greatly declined. The rise of a colossal power in the North has completely overshadowed her, till now she is kept from becoming the easy prey of Russia only by the protection of those Christian powers to which the Turk was once, like Attila, the Scourge of God.

From the moment that the Turks ceased to conquer, they began to decline. They came into Europe as a race of warriors, and have never made any progress except by the sword. And so they have really never taken root as one of the family of civilized nations, but have always lived as in a camp, a vast Asiatic horde, that, while conquering civilized countries, retained the habits and instincts of nomadic tribes, that were only living in tents, and might at any time recross the Bosphorus and return to their native deserts.

That their exodus is approaching, is felt by the more sagacious Turks themselves. The government is taking every precaution against its overthrow. Dreading the least popular movement, it does not dare to trust its Christian populations. It will not permit them to bear arms, lest the weapons might be turned against itself. No one but a Mohammedan is allowed to enter the army. There may be some European officers left from the time of the Crimean war, whose services are too valuable to be spared, but in the ranks not a man is received who is not a "true believer." This conscription weighs very heavily on the Mussulmans, who are but a small minority in European Turkey, and who are thus decimated from year to year. It is a terrible blood-tax which they have to pay as the price of continued dominion. But even this the government is willing to pay rather than that arms should be in the hands of those who, as the subject races, are their traditional enemies, and who, in the event of what might become a religious war, would turn upon them, and seek a bloody revenge for ages of oppression and cruelty.

Seeing these things, many even of the Turks themselves anticipate their speedy departure from the Promised Land which they have so long occupied, and are beginning to set their houses in order for it. Aged Turks in dying often leave this last request, that they may be buried at Scutari, on the other side of the Bosphorus, so that if their people are driven across into Asia, their bodies at least may rest in peace under the cypress groves which darken the Asiatic shore.

With such fears and forebodings on one side, and such hopes and expectations on the other, we leave this Eastern Question just where we found it. Anybody can state it; nobody can resolve it. It is the great political problem in Europe at this hour, which no statesman, however sagacious – not Bismarck, nor Thiers, nor Andrassy, nor Gortchakoff – has yet been able to resolve. But man proposes and God disposes. This is one of those mysteries of the future which Divine intelligence alone can penetrate, and Divine Providence alone can reveal. We must not assume to be over-wise – although there are some signs which we see clearly written on the face of the sky – but "watch and wait," which we do in the full confidence that we shall not have to wait long, but that the curtain will rise on great events in the East before the close of the present century.

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE SULTAN IS DEPOSED AND COMMITS SUICIDE. – THE WAR IN SERVIA. – MASSACRES IN BULGARIA. – HOW WILL IT ALL END?

The last three chapters were written in Constantinople, near the close of 1875. Since then a year has passed – and yet I do not need to change a single word. All that was then said of the wretched character of the Sultan, and of the hopeless decay of the empire, has proved literally true. Indeed if I were to draw the picture again, I should paint it in still darker colors. The best commentary upon it, and the best proof of its truth, is that which has been furnished by subsequent events. A rapid review of these will complete this political sketch up to the present hour.

At the close of the chapter on Abdul Aziz, I suggested, as a possible event in the near future, that the Turks might be driven out of Europe into Asia, and their capital be removed from Constantinople back to Broussa, (where it was four hundred and twenty years ago,) or even to the banks of the Tigris, and that the Sultan might end his days as the Caliph of Bagdad.

Was this a gloomy future to predict for a sovereign at the height of power and glory? Alas for human ambition! Happy would it have been for him if he could have found a refuge, in Broussa or in Bagdad, from the troubles that were gathering around him. But a fate worse than exile was reserved for this unhappy monarch. In six months from that time he was deposed and dead, dying by his own hand. It is a short story, but forms one of the most melancholy tragedies of modern times.

During the winter things went from bad to worse, till even Moslem patience and stoicism were exhausted. There was great suffering in the capital, which the sovereign was unable to relieve, or to which rather he was utterly indifferent. Murmurs began to be heard, and not from his Christian subjects, but from faithful Moslems. Employés of the government, civil and military, were not paid. Yet even in this extremity every caprice of the Sultan must be supplied. If money came into the treasury, it was said that he seized it for his own use.

Feeling the pressure from without, the ministers, who had been accustomed to approach their master like slaves, cowed and cringing in his presence, grew bolder, and presumed to speak a little more plainly. Reminding him as gently as possible of the public distress, and especially of the fact that the army was not paid, they ventured to hint that if his august majesty would, out of his serene and benevolent wisdom and condescension, apply a little of his own private resources (for it was well known that he had vast treasures hoarded in the palace), it would allay the growing discontent. But to all such intimations he listened with ill-concealed vexation and disgust. What cared he for the sufferings of his soldiers or people? Not a pound would he give out of his full coffers, even to put an end to mutiny in the camp or famine in the capital. Dismissing the impertinent ministers, he retired into the harem to forget amid its languishing beauties the unwelcome intrusion.

But there is a point beyond which even Mohammedan fatalism cannot bow in submission. Finding all attempts to move the Sultan hopeless, his ministers began to look in each other's faces, and to take courage from their despair. There was but one resource left – they must strike at the head of the state. The Sultan himself must be put out of the way.

But how can any popular movement be inaugurated under an absolute rule? Despotism indeed is sometimes "tempered by assassination"! But here a sovereign was to be removed without that resort. Strange as it may seem, there is such a thing as public opinion even in Constantinople. Though it is a Mohammedan state, there is a power above Sultans and Caliphs; it is that of the Koran itself. The government is a Theocracy as much as that of the Jews, and the law of the state is the Koran, of which the priestly class, the Ulemas and the Mollahs and the Softas, are the representatives. Mohammedanism has its Pope in the Sheik-al-Islam, who is the authorized interpreter of the sacred law, and who, like other interpreters, knows how to make the most inflexible creed bend to the necessities of the state. His opinion was asked if, in a condition of things so extreme as that which now existed, the sovereign might be lawfully deposed? He answered in the affirmative. Thus armed with a spiritual sanction, the conspirators proceeded to obtain the proper civil authority and military support.

The Sultan had had his suspicions excited, and had sought for safety by a vigilant watch on Murad Effendi, who was kept under strict surveillance, and almost under guard, like a state prisoner. Suspecting the fidelity of the Minister of War, he sent to demand his immediate presence at the palace. But as the latter was deep in the plot, he pleaded illness as an excuse for his non-appearance. But this alarm hastened the decisive blow. The ministers met at the war office, and thither Murad Effendi was brought secretly in the night of Monday, May 29th, and received by them as Sultan, and made to issue an order for the immediate arrest of his predecessor, Abdul Aziz, an order which was entrusted to Redif Pasha, a soldier of experience and nerve, for execution. Troops were already under arms, and were now drawn around the palace, while the officer entered to demand the person of the Sultan. Passing through the attendants, he came to the chief of the eunuchs, who kept guard over the sacred person of the Padishah, and demanded to be led instantly to his master. This black major-domo was not accustomed to such a tone, and, amazed at such audacity, laughed in the face of the intruder. But the old soldier was not to be trifled with. Forcing his way into the apartments of the Sultan, he announced to him that he had ceased to reign, and must immediately quit his palace. Then the terrible truth began to dawn upon him that he was no longer a god, before whom men trembled. He was beside himself with fury. He raved and stormed like a madman, and cursed the unwelcome guest in the name of the Prophet. His mother rushed into the room, and added her cries and imprecations. But he could not yet believe that any insolent official had the power to remove him from his palace. He told the Pasha that he was a liar! The only answer was, Look out of the window! One glance was enough. There in thick ranks stood the soldiers that had so long guarded his person and his throne, and would have guarded him still, if his own folly had not driven them to turn their arms against him. Then he changed his tone, and promised to yield everything, if he might be spared. He was told it was too late, and was warned to make haste. Time was precious. The boats were waiting below. The Sultan had often descended there to his splendid caïque to go to the mosque, when all the ships in the harbor fired salutes in honor of his majesty. Now not a gun spoke. Silently he embarked with his mother and sons, and fifty-three boats soon followed with his wives and servants. And thus in the gray of the morning they moved across the waters to Seraglio Point, where Abdul Aziz, but an hour ago a sovereign, now found himself a prisoner.

The same forenoon another retinue of barges conveyed Murad Effendi across the same waters to the vacant palace, and the ships of war thundered their salutes to the new Sultan.

Was there ever such an overthrow? The humiliation was too great to be borne by a weak mind, which could find no rest but in the grave. Five days after he shut himself up in his room, and when the attendants opened the door he was found weltering in his blood. Scissors by his side revealed the weapon by which had been wrought the bloody deed. Suspicions were freely expressed that he had not died by his own hand, but by assassination. But a council of physicians gave a verdict in support of the theory of suicide. The next day a long procession wound through the streets of old Stamboul, following the dead monarch to his tomb, where at last he found the rest he could not find in life.

Such was the end of Abdul Aziz, who passed almost in the same hour from his throne and from life. Was there ever a more mournful sight under the sun? As we stand over that poor body covered with blood, we think of that brilliant scene when he rode to the mosque, surrounded by his officers of state, and indignation at his selfish life is almost forgotten in pity for his end. We are appalled at the sudden contrast of that exalted height and that tremendous fall. He fell as lightning from heaven. Did ever so bright a day end in so black a night? With such solemn thoughts we turn away, with footsteps sad and slow, from that royal tomb, and leave the wretched sleeper to the judgment of history and of God.

His successor had not a long or brilliant reign. Calamity brooded over the land, and weighed like a pall on an enfeebled body and a weak mind, and after a few months he too was removed, to give place to a younger brother, who had more physical vigor and more mental capacity, and who now fills that troubled throne.

I said also that "the curtain might rise on great events in the East before the close of the present century." It has already begun to rise. The death of the Sultan relieved the State of a terrible incubus, but it failed to restore public tranquillity and prosperity. Some had supposed that it alone would allay discontent and quell insurrection. But instead of this, his deposition and death seemed to produce a contrary effect. It relaxed the bonds of authority. It spread more widely the feeling that the empire was in a state of hopeless decay and dissolution, and that the time had come for different provinces to seek their independence. Instead of the Montenegrins laying down their arms, those brave mountaineers became more determined than ever, and the insurrection, instead of dying out, spread to other provinces.

Servia had long been chafing with impatience. This province was already independent in everything but the name. Though still a part of the Turkish Empire, and paying an annual tribute to the Sultan, it had its own separate government. But such was the sympathy of the people with the other Christian populations of European Turkey, who were groaning under the oppression of their masters, that the government could not withstand the popular excitement, and at the opening of summer rushed into war.

It was a rash step. Servia has less than a million and a half of souls; and its army is very small, although, by calling out all the militia, it mustered into the field a hundred thousand men. It hoped to anticipate success by a rapid movement. A large force at once crossed the frontier into Turkey, in order to make that country the battle-ground of the hostile armies. The movement was well planned, and if carried out by veteran troops, might have been successful. But the raw Servian levies were no match for the Turkish regular army; and as soon as the latter could be moved up from Constantinople, the former were sacrificed. In the series of battles which followed, the Turks were almost uniformly successful; forcing back the Servians over the border, and into their own country, where they had every advantage for resistance; where there were rivers to be crossed, and passes in the hills, and fortresses that might be defended. But with all these advantages the Turkish troops pressed on. Their advance was marked by wasted fields and burning villages, yet nothing could resist their onward march, and but for the delay caused by the interposition of other powers, it seemed probable that the campaign would end by the Turks entering in triumph the capital of Servia and dictating terms of peace, or rather of submission, within the walls of Belgrade.

This is a terrible disappointment to those sanguine spirits who were so eager to urge Servia into war, and who apparently thought that her raw recruits could defeat any Turkish army that could be brought against them. The result is a lesson to the other discontented provinces, and a warning to all Europe, that Turkey, though she may be dying, is not dead, and that she will die hard.

This proof of her remaining vitality will not surprise one who has seen the Turks at home. Misgoverned and ruined financially as Turkey is, she is yet a very formidable military power – not, indeed, as against Russia, or Germany, or Austria, but as against any second-rate power, and especially as against any of her revolted provinces.

Her troops are not mere militia, they are trained soldiers. Those that we saw in the streets of Constantinople were men of splendid physique, powerful and athletic, just the stuff for war. They are capable of much greater endurance than even English soldiers, who must have their roast beef and other luxuries of the camp, while the Turks will live on the coarsest food, sleep on the ground, and march gayly to battle. Such men are not to be despised in a great conflict. In its raw material, therefore, the Turkish army is probably equal to any in Europe. If as well disciplined and as well commanded, it might be equal to the best troops of Germany.

So far as equipment is concerned, it has little to desire. A great part of the extravagance of the late Sultan was in the purchase of the most approved weapons of war, which seemed needless, but have now come into play. His ironclads, no doubt, were a costly folly, but his Krupp cannon and breech-loading rifles (the greater part made in America) may turn the scale of battle on many a bloody field.

Further, these men are not only physically strong and brave; not only are they well disciplined and well armed; but they are inflamed with a religious zeal that heightens their courage and kindles their enthusiasm. That such an army should be victorious, however much we may regret it, cannot be a matter of surprise.

As the result of this campaign, however calamitous, was merely the fortune of war, gained in honorable battle; whatever sorrow it might have caused throughout Europe, it could not have created any stronger feeling, had not events occurred in another province, which kindled a flame of popular indignation.

Before the war began, indeed before the death of the Sultan, fearing an outbreak in other provinces, an attempt had been made to strike terror into the disaffected people. Irregular troops – the Circassians and Bashi Bazouks – were marched into Bulgaria, and commenced a series of massacres that have thrilled Europe with horror, as it has not been since the massacre of Scio in the Greek revolution. The events were some time in coming to the knowledge of the world, so that weeks after, when inquiry was made in the British Parliament, Mr. Disraeli replied that the government had no knowledge of any atrocities; that probably the reports were exaggerated; that it was a kind of irregular warfare, in which, no doubt, there were outrages on both sides.

Since then the facts have come to light. Mr. Eugene Schuyler, lately the American Secretary of Legation at St. Petersburg, and now Consul in Constantinople, has visited the province, and, as the result of a careful inquiry, finds that not less than twelve thousand men, women, and children (he thinks fifteen thousand) have been massacred. Women have been outraged, villages have been burnt, little children thrown into the flames. That peaceful province has been laid waste with fire and slaughter.