Chapter X: The Social Side of Constantinople (1)

The Senate confirmed my appointment as Ambassador to Turkey on September 4, 1913. Soon afterward I went to Washington to familiarize myself with the duties of my office and to receive my instructions. A new Ambassador is allowed thirty days for this purpose. Usually, he spends them in the State Department, taking a sort of course of intensive training. I did not take the full month allowed me. The Chief of the Division of Near Eastern Affairs took me in hand, and in a series of conversations outlined to me, first, the duties, prerogatives, and privileges of an Ambassador; and, second, a general survey of existing relations between Turkey and the United States. Then several hours were occupied in studying the methods of keeping the accounts of the Embassy, and of handling its funds.

I found this period of preparation intensely interesting. It was to be crowned in October, upon a second visit to Washington, by an official call on the Secretary of State. I looked forward to this visit with great expectations. Alas for the illusions which a day can wreck! William Jennings Bryan was the Secretary of State. He knew no more about our relations with Turkey than I did. The long-looked-for instructions were an anti-climax. They were, in full, as follows:

“Ambassador,” he said, “when I made my trip through the Holy Land, I had great difficulty in finding Mount Beatitude. I wish you would try to persuade the Turkish Government to grant a concession to some Americans to build a macadam road up to it, so that other pilgrims may not suffer the inconvenience which I did in attempting to find it.”

Thus fortified by the Secretary’s complete programme for my Ambassadorial task, I set forward to the White House for a farewell call upon President Wilson. He bade me a hearty God-speed, and in parting gave me an injunction which enabled me to save many lives in the next three years. “Remember,” he said, “that anything you can do to improve the lot of your co-religionists is an act that will reflect credit upon America, and you may count on the full power of the Administration to back you up.”

Fortunately for the success of my mission, I had a most enlightening conference in New York before I left. At the suggestion of Mr. Alfred E. Marling, who was one of the trustees of the Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions, I had an interview at that great centre of missionary activity, 156 Fifth Avenue, with a large group of earnest and able men, who could speak with authority on the problems I should confront in the East. I learned that five of these men were to cross the Atlantic at the same time I should be crossing. These were Doctors Arthur Judson Brown, James L. Barton, Charles Roger Watson, Dr. Mackaye, and Bishop Arthur Selden Lloyd. These men were the leaders of the Foreign Mission Boards of the Presbyterian, Congregational, United Presbyterian, Methodist, and Protestant Episcopal Churches. One of them, Doctor Barton, had himself been a missionary in Turkey, and had also acted as President of the Protestant College at Harpoot. Another, Doctor Watson, had been a missionary in the Turkish Protectorate of Egypt, and his parents had been missionaries for half a century at Cairo.

I had engaged passage for Europe on the _Imperator_, but when I learned that these five men were sailing at nearly the same time on the _George Washington_ (later to become famous as President Wilson’s “peace ship”) to attend a world missionary conference at The Hague, I asked them to change their reservations and go with me. They were limited in their expense accounts and could not change, so, emulating Mohammed, I “went to the mountain” and changed to their ship. The voyage gave me an opportunity to gain from them a fuller picture of the work of the mission boards, which was very helpful to me in my new task.

The conversations I had with these men on shipboard were a revelation to me. I had hitherto had a hazy notion that missionaries were sort of over-zealous advance agents of sectarian religion, and that their principal activity was the proselyting of believers in other faiths. To my surprise and gratification, these men gave me a very different picture. In the first place, their cordial coöperation with one another was evidence of the disappearance of the old sectarian zeal. They were, to be sure, profoundly concerned in converting as many people as they could to what they sincerely believed to be the true faith. But I found that, along with this ambition, Christian missionaries in Turkey were carrying forward a magnificent work of social service, education, philanthropy, sanitation, medical healing, and moral uplift. They were, I discovered, in reality advance agents of civilization. As representatives of the denominations which supported them, they were maintaining several hundred American schools in the Levant, and several full-fledged colleges, of which three, at least, deserve to rank with the best of the smaller institutions of higher learning in the United States. They maintained, also, several important hospitals. And, as a part of their purely religious function, they were bringing a higher conception of Christianity to the millions of submerged Christians in the Turkish Empire, who, but for them, would have been left to practise their religion without the inspiration of the modern thought of the West, which has so vastly widened its spiritual significance.

As my wife and youngest daughter, Ruth, could not accompany me, I took with me my daughter Helen, her husband, Mr. Mortimer J. Fox, and their two sons Henry and Mortimer. We Visited London, Paris, and Vienna on our way to Constantinople, and at each of these capitals I paid my respects not only to the American Ambassador, but to the resident Turkish plenipotentiary as well. In doing this I had in mind two things: first, to accustom myself to the looks of an embassy from within, as I had to that date never been in an embassy building in any country; and second, to secure some hints upon the character of the government to which I was accredited, in advance of my first formal contact with it. At last, on November 27, 1913, we rolled into the railroad station at Constantinople.

My first impression of the famous old capital of Asia-in-Europe was of a moving sea of silk hats. The station platform seemed populated entirely with frock-coated gentlemen buried under these chimney-like black headpieces. After some confusion, human personalities began to emerge from under them, and to individualize themselves as real people with proper names, and a rational relationship to myself as another human being. The first to greet me was Mr. Hoffman Phillip, who as Conseiller and First Secretary of the Embassy had acted as chargé d’affaires during Mr. Rockhill’s visit to the United States.

He introduced me to the others, and after a somewhat bewildering round of handshakings, Phillip, the Foxes, and I stepped into a carriage and were driven to the Pera Palace Hotel, where Phillip gave us a Thanksgiving dinner.

The Embassy at Constantinople is a handsome, marble, three-story structure, set in a garden surrounded by a high wall, and overlooking the Golden Horn. Often during my first days there I would find myself humming the old refrain, “I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls.” There were, to be sure, no “vassals and serfs by my side”; but I had more useful assistants in my official staff. Besides Mr. Phillip, there were second and third secretaries, and A. K. Schmavonian, the Turkish legal adviser of the Embassy. He was the permanent attaché--the interpreter--and was, besides, the custodian of the Embassy’s traditions. He knew every American interest in Turkey, had carried on for years the correspondence with the consuls and the missionaries, and hence was an invaluable storehouse of information. He knew, also, all the Turkish officials; the ramifications of the Turkish governmental departments; the names and characteristics of the leaders of the recent revolution; and, of course, he was versed in the niceties of diplomatic custom.

Soon after my arrival I observed a curious phenomenon concerning the position of an ambassador. The instinctive ambition of the attachés led them to try to keep the Ambassador from taking an active hand in the work of the Chancery. It was explained to me with great solemnity, that the business office of the Embassy was not like other business offices; that its operations were so involved in delicacies of diplomatic usage that none but old hands, trained in all their niceties, were competent to handle the transaction of its intricate affairs. All details, I was informed, should be left to those accustomed to handling them. I made short work of this mysterious nonsense. Business is business, and details are the substance of larger concerns. Therefore, I promptly acquainted myself with the records of the Embassy for several years preceding, and took absolute charge of its functions, as I was in duty bound to do. The mysteries faded instantly. Common sense, judgment, and energy are the desiderata of all business relationships, and I found no barrier in these affairs, because of their so-called diplomatic nature.

Other American ambassadors have complained to me that their subordinates usurped their functions in this fashion; and I know of some who have occupied the most exalted posts in Europe and never penetrated the mysteries of their Chanceries, and, consequently, never really functioned as ambassadors at all.

As my wife and Ruth had not accompanied me, their absence relieved me, for the moment, of social duties, and gave me time for a considered survey of the society in which I would soon be projected as an active member. I realized that much depended upon the first associations I should make in that society, and I needed just such an opportunity to learn by indirection the composition of it, the factions into which it was divided, and the cross currents of personality and interest that disturbed it.

The “diplomatic set” at Constantinople was a little world apart. At most, its members numbered a scant hundred. It comprised the Grand Vizier, the Premier and his Cabinet, and the ambassadors and ministers of other governments, with their principal attachés. Occasionally, there were added to this intimate circle a few leading international bankers and merchants and distinguished tourists. But chiefly we consorted with ourselves. Our intercourse was a continuous succession of luncheons, teas, dinners, and formal state functions. In such a constricted society, thrown into such intense communication, the personal equation was naturally of paramount importance. Ere long, I had occasion to use every resource, from social gifts to business experience, to maintain myself in this society of shrewd and cultivated men, all of whom had the advantage of a life-long training in diplomacy and in the intricacies of European statecraft.

My first concern, therefore, was to appraise their personalities. I recalled a piece of wise advice from James Stillman the elder, who was one of the cleverest American financiers. He told me that when a man confronted a new situation, and was not yet sure of his ground, his safest course was to impress his adversaries by mystifying them. I adapted this advice to the present occasion. I realized that the diplomatic corps at Constantinople knew much more about me than I knew about any of them, because I was the one stranger to them, and they were many and all strange to me. I resolved to do, as nearly as I could, directly the opposite of what they expected of me. For one thing, they had fallen into the European habit of imagining that all successful Americans are men of fabulous wealth, and they credited certain absurd stories about my supposed intention to conduct the Embassy on a scale of lavish expenditure, designed to make a great social impression. Accordingly, I went to the other extreme and managed the Embassy very modestly. For some weeks after my arrival I did not even use an automobile, contenting myself with a carriage and a pair of Arabian ponies.

Further to play the rôle of mystifier, I obeyed only the letter of the custom which prescribes that a new Ambassador shall call upon the other ambassadors after he has been presented to the Sovereign. They are supposed to return this call, and thereafter the newcomer is expected to make the advances to his elders toward a more intimate and workable acquaintance. Instead, I remained at the Embassy and devoted myself to the business of the Chancery and did some watchful waiting.

These tactics were rewarded by an opportunity to enter the society of the diplomatic corps under circumstances that gave me the advantage. One day the local correspondent of the _Frankfürter Zeitung_ called upon me at the Embassy. This was Dr. Paul Weitz, who had been a resident of Turkey for more than twenty-five years, knew all the officials, spoke the language, and understood the subtleties of Turkish psychology. He was, in reality, an unofficial attaché of the Embassy and a secret agent of the German Government. Dr. Weitz opened the conversation.

“Mr. Ambassador,” he said, “I have gotten the impression that you are a man of direct methods. For this reason I, too, shall use the direct method. Frankly, I have come as the emissary of the German Ambassador and the Austrian Ambassador, with whom I had luncheon this very day. You were the principal topic of conversation. These gentlemen are puzzled by your attitude and they are curious to learn your true character. They have commissioned me to find out these things for them, and I have preferred to come and ask you bluntly rather than to follow my usual method of finding out by indirection. What is your real attitude? Are you by preference a recluse, or are you playing a game?”

“I am glad,” I replied, “that you have come to me personally with these questions, especially because it gives me the opportunity to send a direct message to your principals. Please be good enough to tell them for me that I have made it a life-long practice never to make the first advances. I have always waited for the advances to come from the other side. Therefore, you may tell “Their Excellencies” that it is for them to decide whether they wish their relationship with me to continue to be one of formal diplomatic exchanges, or a frank, man-to-man friendship. If they prefer the latter, I shall be delighted to meet them halfway, but they must cover the first half.”

Dr. Weitz readily agreed to carry this message, and he was so pleased with the frankness of my conversation that he made no concealment of his own position. He went on to tell me that he was a confidential adviser to the German ambassadors, and frequently was commissioned to carry on unofficial negotiations in which, for reasons of delicacy or of policy, it was not advisable either that the Ambassador should appear in person, or that he should make use of one of his official family. He explained to me that the reason he was used in this capacity was his intimate acquaintance with Turkish life and officials, and he offered to undertake similar commissions for me at any time I might care to make use of him. For obvious reasons, I never availed myself of the offer.

Dr. Weitz faithfully repeated my message to the German and Austrian ambassadors who afterward told me that they were greatly delighted with it. The very next afternoon, Baron Wangenheim paid me a call; and the following morning, his Austrian colleague, Marquis Pallavicini, arrived to improve my acquaintance. They both greeted me in the spirit of my message, and we entered at once upon an acquaintanceship which removed the formality of an official relation. Both of them were very useful to me during my first weeks in Constantinople. The Marquis was the doyen of the diplomatic corps. He was a nobleman of ancient family, had grown old in the diplomatic service, and was an authority on every point of diplomatic usage, from the most subtle phrasing of a threat of war to the refinements of precedence in placing guests at table at a diplomatic dinner. In this latter direction, indeed, he was invaluable to me in teaching me the relative rank of the bewildering array of officers and title holders among my visitors.

Baron Wangenheim I have described at great length in my earlier volume, “Ambassador Morgenthau’s Story.” Unlike Pallavicini, who was quiet, formal, conventional, and a typical diplomat of the old school, Wangenheim was a perfect representative of Prussia. He was not a native of Prussia--but his bearing was that of an excitable Hindenburg. He was a man of great stature, in the prime of life, overflowing with physical vitality, energetic in person, opinionated and positive in manner, voluble and aggressive in conversation, somewhat flirtatious, proud, overbearing--he was Prussia and modern Germany embodied.

After Pallavicini and Wangenheim had broken the ice, I speedily made the acquaintance of the other members of the diplomatic corps, and their characters emerged in my mind in sharp definition. Sir Louis Mallet, the British Ambassador, was a fine type of English gentleman. He exhibited the quiet force and cultivation which one naturally expects from a member of the English upper classes. Though a bachelor, his establishment was one of the most magnificent in Constantinople. Turkey has always been a vital point in British policy, and the British Government has spared no pains to make its public appearance there correspond with the splendour and importance of the British Empire.

The French Ambassador was M. Bompard, the Russian was Michel de Giers. These men also adequately embodied their respective countries, the one in its ideals of polished politeness and clear intellectual grasp, the other in its ideals of imperial pride and the sense of power.

Meeting these men at luncheon; dining with them and their ladies at gorgeous evening functions, where the splendour of the men’s uniforms, the brightness of the women’s costumes, and the gayety of the young couples made a lively scene of light-hearted inconsequentiality; it was hard to realize that they were, in truth, acting the part of expectant legatees of a friendless dying man--sitting at tea in his parlour, and waiting for his last gasp as a signal for a scramble to divide his property among themselves. They frankly told me (though of course not in these words) that this was their position. In their eyes the Sick Man of Europe, so long the diseased invalid among the nations, was now really dying. They had no hesitation in discussing their ambitions regarding his property. Giers comported himself already as if Russia had actually attained her age-old vision of capturing Constantinople--as if he were the Governor of Russia’s new capital city. Sir Louis Mallet did not conceal the interest which his government had in everything that tended to insure the safety of the Suez Canal. Bompard was deeply concerned to secure more concessions for French capital in Turkey. Even the Greek Minister talked with confidence of an approaching Hellenic confederation which should embrace Smyrna and part of the Asian hinterland.

There was, indeed, considerable reason for their hopes. The revolutionary party in Turkey, under the name of the Union and Progress Party, had overthrown the Government and had taken possession of the country in the name of the people. Abdul Hamid, whom Gladstone, for his atrocious crimes, had dubbed “Abdul the Damned,” was now shorn of his power, and was a prisoner in a palace, almost within sight of the American Embassy. His throne was now occupied by a nominal successor, his brother, Mohammed V. This good-humoured weakling, however, enjoyed only the shadow of power and none of its substance. His brother, fearful of a plot to overthrow him, had caused his successor to be reared in a manner that totally unfitted him for the exercise of authority. He had kept him secluded from society, had not permitted him to learn even the rudiments of history and statecraft, and had enfeebled his intellect and character by constantly exposing him to the temptations of self-indulgence. He had placed before the Heir Apparent all the pleasures of life; had supplied him with countless wives, luxurious food, rich wines, and all the other ministers of sensual enjoyment. Reared in such atmosphere, he had grown up and passed the prime of life, ignorant of Government affairs and without any chance to develop his character. Socially, of course, he was a charming gentleman, but as a ruler, he was hopelessly incompetent.

He was, indeed, merely the figurehead of a government whose substantial ministers were the aggressive, self-made leaders of the Committee of Union and Progress. These were men of native shrewdness, character, and courage. Their political leader was Talaat Bey, a great hulk of a man, who had begun life in the humble capacity of porter in a village railroad station, and who had advanced to the limits of his social prospects when he had achieved the dignity of a telegraph operator in the same station. By sheer force of natural genius, however, he had become a political power, and after the revolutionists had sprung their coup d’état, he soon rose to be their leader. With their success, he had leaped immediately to the dazzling eminence of a Cabinet position, and was then the chief of the Cabal that was the real ruler of the Empire.

The military head of the Young Turks was Enver Bey, a handsome and dashing young officer, who had studied his profession and cultivated the social graces as military attaché of the Turkish Embassy at Berlin. He was now minister of War and in control of the Turkish Army--a necessary weapon in the hands of Talaat to maintain the Young Turk party in power. Some of my foreign colleagues of the diplomatic corps assured me that these two men were the real power in Turkey. They had seven associates, all men of great influence, and all members of the Committee of Union and Progress.

The personalities of these men, and the drama of their conflicting ambitions and intrigues, gradually unfolded themselves before my eyes. It was like sitting at the performance of a fascinating play, only this was more interesting because it was the reality of life. The actors were the representatives of great nations, and upon the issue of this dramatic situation rested the fate of millions of people.

The experiences of my first few weeks at Constantinople and the intensely interesting sensations they aroused in me can best be conveyed to my readers by reproducing a few of the letters which I wrote home to America in the excitement of these moments. The first I shall quote was dated December 23, 1913, and was addressed to my wife and youngest daughter:

I have been so very busy that I have not written for a few days--so
I will tell you briefly what has happened since. On December 20th
we had our reception, of which I enclose you an account--it was
really splendid--no one can describe the sensations and thrills. I
had to be told and made to feel that I was the head and responsible
man for the property of those great institutions, managed by such
soulful, disinterested, and altruistic people--it makes our small
efforts in New York appear insignificant. Think of a small
determined “band” of Americans revolutionizing with educational
means the Balkan States--the drops of water they kept a-going for
forty or more years had the result of wearing away the indifference
of the Bulgar and roused him. Everybody who is well-informed admits
that Robert College deserves the credit for the education that has
spread there.

At 9:30 Mort and I went to the _Scorpion_ (the gunboat detailed to
guard the Embassy) and had a royal reception and inspected the
boat. On Sunday I then went alone to the college--but I feel as
though I wrote you all this so I’ll skip it--if I didn’t write it,
I’ll tell you about it when you are here. We had intended to go on
the _Scorpion_, but instead we drove to the Seven Towers of Jedi
Kulet, and walked on top of the ramparts and then for one hour
along the old wall--it was a bewitching sight--the sun was shining
brightly, the Marmora made up the background, and the twenty or
thirty towers along the wall in various stages of decay, with the
moat alongside, made a never-to-be-forgotten impression on us all.
As usual, Mortie took a number of pictures and Abdullah guarded us
most carefully. It takes this kind of absorption of the history of
a country to teach one what these people really are. This city is
unquestionably the most favoured by nature of any I have ever seen.
It excels New York and San Francisco.

On our way home, we stopped to inspect the Kahri Jeh Janisi
Mosque--the oldest in C.--it was formerly a Greek Church and the
paintings of Christ, Saint Mark, the old Bible heroes, and angels,
etc., are still here in mosaic--much finer than in the San Marco in
Venice. We were shown through by an old Turk who could give
half-intelligent descriptions of the mosaics, etc., in English and
German. We wended through many narrow little streets, inhabited
largely by Greeks, and it was a most interesting sight. It was
nearly two when we sat down to dinner and none of us complained.

On Monday I had a great day. In the morning, representatives of the
Austrian _Kultur Gemeinde_ called to invite me to attend their
synagogue and visit their school; they instruct about 300 children.
I agreed to do so. I took my first meal away from the house at
Tokatlian’s--the best restaurant here--had Schmavonian with me. At
two, we were at the Finance Office for an interview with Talaat
Bey--who is acting Secretary of Finance as well as Secretary of the
Interior, and the strongest and most powerful man in Turkey at
present. I am already on good terms with the men in power. We had
coffee and cigarettes four times that P.M. We next called on
General Izzett--he wore a shabby uniform, spoke German, and was
really disconsolate--they are very frank people if they talk at
all--he made some very confidential communications to me. The
rumour or hope has gotten around that I may prove their Moses who
will lead them out of their difficulties. Let us hope so; I’ll try
anyhow. Next we called on Colonel Djemal, the newly appointed
Minister of Public Works. I tried to dodge the coffee--but he said
a call in Turkey without coffee is no call. He was of a hopeful
temper and rather dapper. Then we called on Osman Mardighian, the
Postmaster General. He speaks good English and is very
able--devotes his time to administrative works. When I got to the
office, I had to dictate a few despatches and say good-bye to Mr.
Phillip, who is going on a four weeks’ leave of absence. At 5
o’clock, the Grand Rabbi and his Secretary came--he is a very
intelligent, nice, youngish man of forty or so--he thinks he has
the Red ticket settled, but has not and I shall have to help in
disposing of it. While he was upstairs, Helen discussed the White
Slave traffic--babies in the Hospitals, etc., etc. She really does
well at the tea table. It is a picture to see one of those tea
scenes. Helen, Chief Rabbi (addressed as His Eminence, as he ranks
with the Church dignitaries of the rank of Cardinal), Sir Edwin
Pears, Sir Henry Woods Pasha, Rev. Mr. Frew, the Rabbi’s Secretary,
Schmavonian, Mort, and I; and I have to listen to French and
fortunately am beginning to understand it. They left at 7--I worked
at those telegrams until 7:30--then went to bed for a nap and
over-slept, not wakening until 8:25, so that we reached the British
Embassy at 8:40, the last of the guests! You can’t imagine my
feelings as I was ushered into that room in which were thirty other
guests including the Grand Vizier, Talaat Bey and three other
Cabinet Ministers, the Wangenheims, D’Ankerswaerd and other Sirs
and Ladies, and had them all look me over--when

“The American Ambassador”

was announced. I felt, “is it I or not?” Then, “Mr. and Mrs. Fox”
were announced. And then, “_Diner est servi_.” I took in Madame
D’Ankerswaerd. Escorted her to her seat and then went to the other
side of the table where I was seated next to Baroness Wangenheim, a
fine, good looking, typically aristocratic German--a charming
conversationalist. She is W.’s second wife--he divorced his first.
W. is a great personal friend of the Emperor. Sir Louis Mallet, the
English Ambassador, sat on the other side of Baroness W. After
dinner we smoked and drank coffee and talked to others than our
table companions, while fifty or sixty others gathered for a dance.
Such a sight! And to think that we are part of it--Young Princes,
Barons, Sirs, and Americans from the Embassies, etc., and lots of
Turks and Egyptians, etc. I shall never forget it. Helen sat right
opposite me--between Baron Wangenheim, all be-decorated, and
Colonel Djemal (Turk) in full uniform. I talked with Baroness
Moncheur--we have struck up a nice friendship--with Marquis
Pallavicini--Talaat Bey, and Miss Wangenheim, etc., etc., until
about 12, when Wangenheim asked me to play bridge with him, a Turk,
and a Greek banker--which I did until 1:30, when the dancing was
over and they all went in for supper, etc. (I went home) and then
they danced again until 2:30 or so. I thoroughly enjoyed it, I am
not overstating when I repeat what I said in a previous letter--I
am _very glad_ I came.

To-day--at 11--a call from the Bulgarian Minister. In the afternoon
I finished my official calls on the Cabinet Ministers--called on
Mahmoud Pasha of the Marine, Ibrahim Bey--Secretary of Justice, the
Dutch Minister, and Mrs. McCauley (the wife of the commander of the
_Scorpion_).

Mesdames Pallavicini, Bompard, Moncheur, Wangenheim, and Willebois
are the popular and fine women here, and they are out of the
ordinary--you will like all of them and they will like you. Pierre
Loti is wrong, so far as this winter is concerned--we have had no
cold weather. Yesterday and to-day were delightful--the thermometer
has not been below 45°.

On the same day as the foregoing, my daughter Helen (Mrs. Fox) also wrote her mother a letter which adds new touches of colour to some of the scenes described in mine. She wrote as follows:

So much to write about! Yesterday afternoon I had Mme. de Willebois
and Mme. Eliasco to tea, and after they left (Mme. de Willebois is
the Dutch Minister’s wife), papa sent up word that “His Eminence”
the Chief Rabbi and his Secretary were here and would like tea.
They trotted up, and His Eminence is an awfully nice soul, garbed
in a flowing black _gouri_ and a fez, be-turbaned in white,
something like a combination of a Greek priest and a Hadja. He is
very learned, especially about archæology as related to the Jews,
and was interesting. In the meantime, Woods Pasha, Sir Edwin Pears
(a marvellously interesting man and English lawyer here), and Mr.
Frew (a Scottish minister who was pastor of the English Church in
Constantinople) arrived. I kept thinking how interesting they all
were, but would they leave me any time to dress for dinner! I had
been to Scutari in the morning, sightseeing with some of the
College faculty, and had brought them home to luncheon. Mr. Frew
left at 7:30, and I was so busy trying to make myself gorgeous that
I completely forgot papa who fell asleep and did not wake up until
8:15. The dinner was at 8:30. Of course, we were all blaming each
other and not ourselves and tearing around, whistling for coats,
servants, etc. We finally tore up to the English Embassy at twenty
minutes to nine. Never in my life have I experienced anything so
wonderful. The Embassy is very large and imposing. Two
marvellously uniformed _cavasses_ stood at the door inside, where
powdered footmen in knee breeches, about twenty of them, were also
stationed. As we came to the stairs, the second Secretary received
us and assured us we were not late. However, we were the last! We
then took off our coats and were ushered into the drawing room,
outside of which stood a little coloured page dressed like an
Egyptian slave. Sir Louis Mallet seems awfully nice. He is a
bachelor, rather nice looking, and very shy and diffident, and
wears a monocle. So many people came up to greet us. Then dinner
was announced. I went down with a Turkish member of the Cabinet,
and sat in the next to the place of honour. Baron von Wangenheim
sat on the other side of me. I think he likes to flirt. At any rate
we chatted in German and had quite a gay time together. The table
had quantities of roses (all from Nice) on it. The only light in
the whole room was from huge, massive, silver candelabra, standing
on mirrors all along the table. We had silver dishes and soup
plates. The meal was served in the usual rapid-fire English style.
Papa sat between Lady Crawford and Baroness Wangenheim. Everyone
goes in according to rank, and consequently, usually husbands and
wives sit with each other’s better halves. The Turk ate most
heartily and told me afterward he didn’t know whether he’d get any
dinner the next night or not. At dinner it was funny--on the other
side of the Turk sat Mrs. Nicholson (née Sackville-West), a beauty,
and with the most gorgeous emeralds! She afterward played poker
with five Turks, as her husband informed me. My partner told me he
hated formal dinners, it was so uncomfortable eating in a uniform.
After dinner there was dancing, and heaps of people were asked for
that. I danced quite a bit, but was so tired from my terribly busy
day that we left at twelve o’clock. Papa played bridge and didn’t
get home until 1:30. The English Embassy is lighted entirely by
candles and really the effect is wonderfully beautiful.

Next day--This morning Mme. Elise, the children, and I, accompanied
by the ever-present Abdullah (the body guard), went to Therepia in
a motor to find a house for the summer. It is just heavenly. You
simply cannot imagine how perfect it is. The houses have the most
beautiful gardens and are right down on the Bosphorus, which is so
blue; and from one’s windows one looks across at Asia. Papa is
going some time to decide finally, as this was just a preliminary
survey. We picked violets and a rose, just think of it, on
December 22nd! But it is quite cold at times. The gardens are so
inviting, and I can just imagine tea parties and all kinds of
thrilling things happening in them. This afternoon I had two
Turkish ladies to tea--Halide Edi Hanum and her mother. They came
in their _yashmaks_ and we had Mme. Elise serve the tea. Halide is
a graduate of the College and a real beauty. She is tall and dark,
with almond-shaped eyes, and has a beautiful complexion; and she is
so gentle and soft and charming. She speaks in the sweetest voice,
and what do you think she is doing? Translating Oscar Wilde into
Turkish! Her mother is the daughter of the sixth wife of a very
great Pasha, and her grandmother was a Circassian slave girl. The
mother cannot speak anything but Turkish, and she smoked all the
time she was here. I gave her some candy and a box of American
cigarettes to take home. Halide doesn’t smoke, and anyway, if she
went into a ball-room at home she’d create a sensation, she is so
charming. You simply cannot imagine how lovely it is here and I
just relish and cherish every moment. Baron von Wangenheim hopes
you will take a house right next to him this summer. He wants to
ride with Ruth. Beware, Ruth!

A rather amusing incident occurred late in January, 1914, when upon receiving word that my wife had left Vienna for Constantinople, I communicated at once with Talaat and told him I wished him to facilitate my intention of meeting Mrs. Morgenthau at the boundary of Turkey. I told him I proposed to go to Adrianople, the point at which her train would enter Turkey, to meet her. Talaat’s reply was characteristically Turkish:

“What!” he exclaimed, “going to all that trouble to meet one’s wife! I never heard of such a thing.”

“I cannot imagine an American,” I replied, “failing to do it. In my country, our wives share all their husbands’ interests, and I should certainly consider myself lacking in both respect and affection if I failed to show my wife this attention.”

Talaat was frankly bewildered.

“In Turkey,” he said, “we let our wives come to us, we do not go to them.”

As a last resort, he interposed what he intended to be an unanswerable objection.

“Adrianople!” he exclaimed. “It’s out of the question. There is not even a hotel in the whole city.”

“Very well then,” I replied, “I shall find accommodations in a private residence. But to Adrianople I am going.”

With this retort, I left him.

Mr. Schmavonian later went to Talaat and told him that I was quite serious in my intention. Talaat then sent me word that he would arrange with the Governor of Adrianople to entertain me, and that I could dismiss all thought of other preparations from my mind. I therefore contented myself with arranging to arrive in Adrianople in the morning, planning to spend a day there sightseeing, and then joining my wife on the train, which was due to come through the following morning at 3:30 o’clock. Imagine my astonishment, therefore, upon arriving at Adrianople, to find that the Governor, acting on Talaat’s orders, had transformed part of the City Hall into a hotel for my reception. The office furniture had been removed and a suite of bedrooms for myself, my son Henry (who had now joined me), and a member of my staff, had been freshly furnished, with comfortable beds and bedding specially bought for this occasion. One room had been fitted up as a kitchen; another as a dining room. Talaat’s attentions had gone so far as even to see that we were provided with pyjamas, bedroom slippers, and toothbrushes.

When I arrived at Adrianople, the Governor was at the station to meet me, accompanied by a military guard of honour. He at once took us in his automobile for a sightseeing tour of the city. I found him a man of great intelligence--some months later he became a member of the Turkish Cabinet at Constantinople. He was especially interested in the answers that my son was able to make to his numerous questions about American farm machinery, which he wished to import for use on his large estate.

After a very pleasant day we returned to the City Hall and there we were tendered a splendid dinner and reception. The Governor then told me that the express train on which my wife was travelling was reported to be several hours late, and that I had as well make myself comfortable by going to bed and resting. He promised to have me aroused in plenty of time to meet the train on its arrival. Accordingly, I made my way to my improvised bedroom and was soon asleep. At three o’clock in the morning the Governor himself awakened me. He urged me to hurry, as he said the train had now made up most of its lost time and was due any minute. We were soon driving through the chilly streets of Adrianople to the railroad station. Arriving there, we found that the report was erroneous and that the train was still two hours late. The waiting room was small, very dirty, and unheated. It was useless, however, to return to the City Hall, so we waited for those two hours in the dimly lighted and evil-smelling waiting room, beguiling the time with conversation and cups of Persian tea. He was greatly interested to find out from me the practical workings of the American system of government. Most of our time was spent in questions and answers regarding our elections, with their, to him, almost incomprehensible peaceful transitions from one group of rulers to another.

At length the express drew into the station, the military guard was mounted, and the Governor with great ceremony escorted me to the train platform. I thanked him most heartily for a day unique in my experience. Having undertaken with reluctance to facilitate this meeting of my wife, Talaat had gone to the other extreme and had given it an almost royal setting. Through his kindness I was enabled to escort my wife properly to her new home in Constantinople.

Arriving there, she entered at once into the spirit of my mission and became of invaluable assistance to me. She had looked forward to it as a dreary exile from home and friends in a dull and uncivilized community. Instead, she soon found, as I had already, that the diplomatic circle was a group of charming people, intellectually stimulating, and engaged in the fascinating game of high politics. She shared as well my intense interest in the work of the missionaries, just as she had shared in New York my interest in the Bronx House and other works of social betterment. She enjoyed, besides, a most unusual opportunity that was denied to me, namely, the opportunity to study, under the most favourable circumstances, the strangely interesting life of the Oriental woman. This life was not only very different from the life of Western women but was also very different from our preconceived ideas of it. Mrs. Morgenthau found, to be sure, that the exclusion of Turkish women from masculine society was a reality, but she was astonished on the other hand to learn the extent to which the more ambitious ones among them had been able to achieve contact with Western thought. The plight of these intelligent women was really tragical. They were the pioneers of an epochal social change in Turkey, and they were suffering the usual martyrdom of pioneering. They had been allowed to acquire the education and ideas, which have so broadened the mental outlook of Western women, but the social barrier of custom still prevented them from enjoying in practice the advantage of its possession. Their husbands sought their intellectual companions entirely among other men, and continued to regard their women as playthings of the harem. They were thus denied the stimulation and enjoyment of contact with masculine thought and were cut off of course from all active participation in practical works, where the mind exercises its acquired talents. Doubtless in the course of time women in Turkey will be freed from these ancient restrictions of custom and will join their Western sisters in a full freedom to take an active part in the life of the world, but their position during the transition period is truly pathetic.

Mrs. Morgenthau came across many cases of this anomalous condition. One of the most striking was in the home of the Persian Ambassador. He had married a very cultivated French woman. Notwithstanding the liberality of thought which had permitted him to marry a European, he had done so only on the agreement that she should become a Mohammedan; and having done so, he insisted that she live the life of a Mohammedan woman. She had thus stepped from that stirring French society of which one of the most outstanding characteristics is the almost abnormally important influence exerted by women, both in the intellectual life and in public affairs, into a society where she was debarred entirely from association with men and cut off from all practical relations with outside affairs. When Mrs. Morgenthau entertained her, or any of the native Turkish ladies, at the Embassy, even the male servants were kept below stairs and luncheon was served by the house-maids.

So much for the colour of life at the Embassy during the first months after my arrival. On the sober business side, there was much of equal interest. When the Young Turks succeeded to power they had brought with them great hope of permanent progress for their country. This hope was shared by Liberals not only in Turkey but everywhere. The Christian world without felt that at last there was a prospect that Moslem government might succeed in treating a Christian population justly. The total failure of this party proved again the impossibility of true reform among the Turks. This was evident to careful observers long before my arrival at Constantinople, but I was so ardent in my desire to help them that it took me nearly a year to become wholly disillusioned.

The Young Turks from their accession to power failed in every serious task they undertook. They made war on the Albanians, with whom the Sultans had compromised for more than four hundred years. Having been trained as professional soldiers they were accustomed to the use of force only. They had not the slightest notion of democratic political methods or of peaceful conciliation, though it was obvious that among the various peoples of Turkey peaceful conciliation was the only way of beginning a united national life. The Young Turks brought the dispute with Greece concerning the possession of Crete to a crisis. Instead of recognizing the accomplished fact in Tripoli they insisted upon retaining control of that province, and Italy declared war. Against the Armenians the massacres at Adana were conducted with all the horrors of the past. The guilty, instead of being punished by the Central Government, were exonerated. But the greatest failure of all on the part of the so-called Committee of Union and Progress was in connection with the national legislature. The revolution led the Greeks and Armenians to think that a democratic government would be established. But the Young Turks “selected” (not “elected”) the members of the Chamber of Deputies from among their own adherents.

The Committee of Union and Progress was, in truth, a desperate set of men confronted by desperate conditions. Therefore they were willing to take the most desperate means to retain “Turkey for the Turks,” and especially Turkey for themselves. Their subsequent actions were all in keeping with this resolve. I was told by my colleagues that business had to be transacted with the Grand Vizier. But I found that I could obtain the quickest results through Talaat and Enver. My somewhat democratic, business-like methods seemed to appeal to them. There were occasions on which I even went so far as to deal directly with lesser officials. Some of my experiences would, I am sure, fill a professional diplomat with dismay as regards the future of his calling.

As I became better acquainted with Talaat, who was the real head of the Government, meeting him very often at my house and sometimes at the house of the Grand Rabbi, he confided to me the great disappointment which he and his fellow revolutionists felt with their people. Having lived for so many years in a state of subjection, the masses seemed completely cowed and did not respond in the least to any suggestion of progress or improvement. He also blamed the Sheikhs and feudal chiefs who were still extorting tributes and using most exasperating methods in collecting taxes. The right to collect taxes was, in many districts, farmed out to the state bank or to the richer inhabitants. They were entitled by law to collect in kind 10 per cent. of the crops, but were never satisfied with this portion. They would go and measure the crop and leave the farms without collecting the taxes. Whereupon the poor people, not being permitted to use their food and forage, and knowing that they were in the power of the tax collector, would implore him for a prompt settlement. Often, to prevent starvation, the farmers would submit to an exaction of one third of their crop. Talaat thought that nothing less than the hanging of a number of these men would ever stop the evil practice. He seemed to have no notion that a better system of collecting the taxes could be instituted.

During the winter of 1913-14, Talaat and Enver, especially the former, came to me repeatedly for advice. Inexperienced as they were, their problems were such as to test the strength of the ablest statesman of any country. The only reason I can give for the fact that they drew close to me in the matter of asking advice was that they felt that America alone of the larger foreign nations had no private axe to grind as regards her relations with Turkey. Feeling the deepest sympathy for all efforts to forward the welfare of backward peoples, I did all I could to aid them with the best counsel I could offer.

One opportunity for such assistance presented itself on the occasion of the dinner given by the American Chamber of Commerce for the Levant, on February 22, 1914, at which I was invited to make the principal address of the evening. Talaat and some of his colleagues were to be guests of honour. I felt I could point out to them in my address, by indirection, the path along which they might lead Turkey to regeneration. To do this, I recapitulated the story of America’s great moral and material advancement, interpreting the events in the way which I thought would be most intelligible to the Turkish intelligence, and suggesting that the Turkish leaders be guided in their policy by the lessons of our history. As this speech had a considerable effect upon the Turkish Government, and as it is, I think, not without interest to Americans themselves, I take the liberty of quoting the substance of it:

What an achievement it would be if the Young Giant of the West, who
by strictly attending to his own business has developed into one of
the greatest and richest nations of the world, could make others
see the advantages and wisdom of following his example. We
recognize the difficulty which confronts everyone who tries to
prevail upon another to benefit by his experience, but perhaps
nations, which are guided by disinterested patriots who have only
the good of the people at heart and none of the selfish motives or
petty vanities of an individual, may be willing, not only to study
the history of a successful nation, but also to profit by its
experiences, and thus save the expense and spare the waste caused
by experimenting.

As a diplomat I am “directed by my Government especially to refrain
from public expressions of opinion upon local political or other
questions arising within my jurisdiction.” These are the exact
words contained in my Instruction Book, and I am obliged to follow
them conscientiously. But that does not prevent me, however, from
telling you what we have done at home to establish and increase our
commerce and what we are doing to improve it and the conditions of
our people; and it is for this country, the Balkan States, and
Persia to determine how much of it can be adopted by them.