FOOTNOTE:

FOOTNOTE:[1]SeeAppendix III.

[1]SeeAppendix III.

At the English Court

In proportion as my works found consideration in the most obscure parts of the Old and of the New World, their effect in Europe was felt even in the highest Government circles, and it is not surprising that the travelling staff and the pen brought the obscure author into contact with sovereigns and princes. In England, where, in spite of the strict rules of Court etiquette, the genealogical relations of the self-made man are not considered of such great importance, my ardent defence of British interests could not be overlooked.

After the appearance of my book,The Coming Struggle for India, I was invited by Queen Victoria, whom I had already met on the occasion of my stay at Sandringham with the Prince of Wales, to visit her at Windsor, and the reception this rare sovereign accorded me was as great a surprise to the world in general as it was to me.

It was in the year 1889, on the occasion of mystay in London, that I received a card bearing the following invitation.—

The Lord Stewardhas received her Majesty's command to inviteProfessor Vambéryto dinner at Windsor Castle on Monday, the 6thMay, and to remain until the following day.Windsor Castle,5th May, 1889.

I had already been informed of the intended invitation by telegram, and as, for political reasons, it was not thought wise to invite and do honour to the anti-Russian author without further reason—it would have seemed like a direct challenge to the Court at St. Petersburg—the telegram bore the further message: "To see the library and the sights of the Castle." When I read these words I reflected that if the Czar, Alexander III., could receive and mark out for distinction the pro-Russian author, Stead, without further ado, this excuse was almost superfluous, and Queen Victoria could very well receive the representative of the opposite party. However, I paid no further heed to these needless precautions, but went down to Windsor. A royal carriage awaited me at the station, and I drove to the Castle, where I was received by the Lord Steward, Sir Henry Ponsonby, an amiable and noble-minded man, who greeted mewarmly and conducted me to the apartment prepared for me. I had hardly got rid of the dust of the journey when Sir Henry Ponsonby re-entered the room and, according to the custom at Court, brought me the royal birthday book, requesting me to enter my name, with the day and year of my birth.

It was a noble company in whose ranks my name was to figure, for the book was full of signatures of crowned heads, princes, great artists, learned men, and noted soldiers of the day. As I prepared to comply with the request the uncertainty of the date of my birth suddenly occurred to me, and as I gazed hesitatingly before me Sir Henry asked me with a pleasant smile the reason of my embarrassment.

"Sir," I said, "I do not know the exact date of my birth, and I should not like to enter a lie in the royal book."

When I had told him the circumstances written on the first page of these Memoirs he took me by the hand, remarking pleasantly, "You need not be ashamed of that. Her Majesty lays less weight upon the birth of her guests than upon their actions and merits."

So I entered the conventional date of the 19th of March, 1832, and am quite sure that among the many guests at Windsor there was never another to whom the day and year of his entry into this world were unknown.

With the exception of this rather unpleasant, but otherwise comical, episode my stay at Windsor was a most pleasant one. The Court officials, whose acquaintance I made at lunch, vied with each other in their amiability to the foreign defender of British interests in Asia, and this was especially the case among the military officers, who soon struck up a political conversation with me. An Englishman, be he courtier, soldier, or an ordinary mortal, speaks unreservedly of his political opinions without any consideration for the party in office, and I was much surprised to hear one of the higher Court officials, an ardent admirer of Mr. Gladstone, speak in very sharp terms of the politics of the Conservative, Lord Salisbury, even drawing me into the criticism.

My apartments were in one of the round towers of the Castle, so full of historical memories, and as I gazed at the lovely landscape, with the Thames winding in and out among the trees, and remembered the ideas I had formed of this royal castle when I read Shakespeare, I was deeply moved at the wonderful change in my position. If some one had told me in the days gone by that I, who was then living in the poorest circumstances, and even suffering hunger, should one day be the honoured guest of the Queen of England and Empress of India at Windsor, that men in high position would lead me through the ancient halls, show me the royal treasures, and that I should sit next but two to theQueen at table, I should, in spite of my lively imagination, have thought him a fool and have laughed in his face. The crown jewels never dazzled me to such an extent as to force me to worship their wearer. But every one must agree that the natural simplicity of Queen Victoria's manner, her rare amiability and kindness of heart, and the way in which she knew how to honour Art and Science, had a most fascinating effect on those who came into contact with her. It is a great mistake to imagine that this princess, placed at the head of the monarchical republic, as England may be called on account of its constitution, was only the symbolical leader of the mighty State, having no influence on its wonderful machinery. Queen Victoria had a remarkable memory; she knew the ins and outs of every question, took a lively interest in everything, and in spite of her earnest mien and conversation, sparks of wit often lighted up the seemingly cold surface and reminded one of the fact that she was a talented princess and a clever, sensible woman.

Queen Victoria has often erroneously been depicted as a woman cold in manner, reserved, and of a gloomy nature, who, with her carefully worded questions and answers made a rather unfavourable impression on her visitor. This idea is quite incorrect. She certainly was a little reserved at first, but as soon as her clever brain had formed an opinion as to the character and disposition of thestranger, her seeming coldness was cast aside, and was replaced by a charming graciousness of manner, and she warmed to her subject as her interest in it grew.

When, at Sandringham, I had the honour of walking in the park next to her little carriage drawn by two donkeys, she seemed at first to be paying scant attention to my conversation with the gentleman-in-waiting who accompanied us, but when I began to speak about my adventures and experiences in Central Asia, her interest visibly increased, and she made inquiries as to the smallest details. What most surprised me was that she not only retained all the strange Oriental names, but pronounced them quite correctly, a rare thing in a European, especially in a lady; she even remembered the features and peculiarities of the various Asiatics who had visited her Court, and the opinions she formed were always correct.

One evening, I think it was at Sandringham, she conversed with me for a long time about the East, chiefly about Turkey. She remembered all the Turkish ambassadors of half a century, and after having spoken for some time about Fuad Pasha, I took courage, and asked her if the following anecdote which I had often heard in the East were true:—

"They say," I began, "that during one of his missions to the English Court, Fuad Pasha brought your Majesty a beautiful brooch as a present fromthe Sultan, Abdul Medjid, and that some years afterwards your Majesty had a pair of earrings made of it. When on another mission Fuad Pasha saw and admired the earrings, your Majesty is said to have remarked: 'N'est ce pas, sa Majesté le Sultan sera bien faché d'entendre, que j'ai gâté la broche dont il m'a fait cadeau?' Fuad Pasha is said to have given the following witty answer: 'Au contraire, Madame, mon souverain sera enchanté d'entendre que votre Majesté prête l'oreille à tout ce qui vient de sa part.'"

The Queen listened silently, then remarked—

"It is a pretty story, but it is not true."

I found that this princess had more sense of the importance of strengthening British power in Asia, than many of her noted ministers; and the Shah of Persia, on the occasion of his visit to Budapest, told me astonishing stories of the Queen's familiarity with Oriental affairs. I was not a little surprised when she, at the age of seventy, told me of her studies in Hindustani, and showed me her written exercises in that tongue. The two Indian servants, with their enormous turbans and wide garments, who waited on the Queen at table and accompanied her on her excursions, were a living proof of the interest the Empress of India took in the establishment of British power in Asia; and when I saw with what devotion and respect these long-bearded Asiatics waited on a woman, and what is more, aChristianwoman, handing her food and drink, andwatching for the least sign from her, I could hardly refrain from expressing my admiration. The knowledge that the most powerful sovereign in the world, who guides the destinies of nearly four hundred million human beings, stands before you in the form of a modest, unassuming woman is overwhelming. And when I saw in the Royal Library at Windsor the numerous addresses and Presentations, and assurances of devotion from the Emir of Afghanistan and other Asiatic potentates, written on scrolls of parchment in large golden letters, or when I admired the crowns, sceptres, and Oriental arms, preserved in the Royal Treasury at Windsor, I could never tire in my admiration of the power and greatness of Britain.

Discretion forbids me to say more of Queen Victoria, and I will only add that the graciousness with which she received me, and the words in which she acknowledged my literary efforts on England's behalf, will always be more precious to me than all the orders and treasures with which sovereigns think to have repaid the author.

After the Queen's death in 1901 her successor, Edward VII., showed me many marks of favour. I had made his acquaintance (as I remarked onp. 248) in 1865, and during all the time he was Prince of Wales he never missed an opportunity of showing his appreciation of my literary efforts. Of all the monarchs of Europe and Asia not one has visited and studied other countries and nationalities of theOld and of the New World as he has done; consequently he is very capable of leading the politics of the giant kingdom he rules over. When, in the course of conversation with him, I touched upon the situation in Turkey, Persia or India, I found him quite familiar with all these subjects, and his opinion was never influenced by differences in race or in religion. Having noticed during his visit to Budapest that the Hungarian aristocracy did not pay the same honour to the man of letters as was done in London, he gave an evening party, and appeared in the drawing-room arm in arm with the present writer, whom he introduced to the assembled guests as "My friend, Professor Vambéry!"

King Edward is at once a clever writer and a good orator, as is proved by the book entitled,Speeches and Addresses of H. R. H. The Prince of Wales, 1863-1888, London, 1889. When I visited him in 1901, shortly after his accession to the throne, I found, greatly to my satisfaction, that the possession of a crown had caused no change in his character. He was as amiable as before, and begged me to visit him as often as I came to England. He also proved his nobleness of mind on the occasion of my seventieth birthday, when I received the following telegram from the King's private secretary, Lord Francis Knollys: "The King commands me to send you his warmest congratulations on the seventieth anniversary of your birthday."

A few days later I received the following communication.—

"Marlborough House,"Pall Mall, S. W.,"March 18, 1902."DearProfessor Vambéry,—I am commanded by the King to inform you, that he has much pleasure in conferring upon you the third class (Commander) of the Victorian Order on your 70th birthday, as a mark of his appreciation of your having always proved so good and constant a friend to England, and as a token of His Majesty's personal regard towards you."I beg to remain, dear Professor Vambéry,"Yours very faithfully,"Francis Knollys."

"Marlborough House,"Pall Mall, S. W.,"March 18, 1902.

"DearProfessor Vambéry,—I am commanded by the King to inform you, that he has much pleasure in conferring upon you the third class (Commander) of the Victorian Order on your 70th birthday, as a mark of his appreciation of your having always proved so good and constant a friend to England, and as a token of His Majesty's personal regard towards you.

"I beg to remain, dear Professor Vambéry,

"Yours very faithfully,"Francis Knollys."

This proof of royal favour naturally caused a sensation abroad, and also at home, where Government had taken but scant notice of my festival, and it was generally highly appreciated. As to why Hungary on this occasion again tried to prove the truth of the adage that no man is a prophet in his own country I have spoken in another part of this book.

All I wish to prove now is that King Edward VII. has always shown a lively appreciation of literary efforts and aspirations, and in spite of his exalted position does not allow himself to be influenced by difference in rank or religion.Directly after his accession he requested the representatives of foreign powers in London to introduce to him all the foreign artists and authors who might come to London, as he wished to make their acquaintance. Thus he proves himself to be a true son of liberal Albion, and filled with the democratic spirit of our century.

As though to prove the truth of the proverb, "The fruit never falls far from the tree," the present Prince of Wales distinguishes himself in the same way, and by his amiability he has already won all hearts. At the time of my visit to Sandringham I lived in the apartments of the late Duke of Clarence, who was absent at the time, and thus I became the neighbour of Prince George, as he was then called. One afternoon, while I was occupied with my correspondence, I received an invitation from the Queen to join her in the garden; as I wished to wash my hands before going down I rang several times for warm water, but no one came. At length the young Prince came to my door, and asked me what I wanted. I told him, and he disappeared, returning in a few minutes with a large jug in his hand, which he placed, smiling, on my washstand.

Not at all bad, I thought, for the poor Jewish beggar-student of former years to be waited upon by a Prince! I have often laughed at the recollection of this incident, and have since dubbed the future sovereign of Great Britain, "The Royal Jug-bearer."

The King's other children also resemble him in this respect, and I often think of the following episode. One evening, at Sandringham, a gala-dinner was given in honour of Queen Victoria, and I was to take Princess Louise in to dinner; the Prince of Wales, now Edward VII., took a glance at the assembled guests, then approached me, saying: "Vambéry, why did you not put on orders?"

I was just going to make some excuse when the Princess (the present Duchess of Fife) remarked: "Why, Papa, Professor Vambéry ought to have pinned some of his books on to his coat; they would be the most suitable decorations."

It was a thoroughly democratic spirit which reigned in the home of the present King when he was Prince of Wales—a spirit which he has introduced into Buckingham Palace to the no small anger of many narrow-minded aristocrats. King Edward VII. understands the spirit of his times better than many of his brother sovereigns, and his popularity in England and America is a very natural result.

My Intercourse with Sultan Abdul Hamid

Speaking of royal appreciation, I cannot leave unmentioned the reception I had from the Sultan of Turkey, a curious contrast indeed to my former life in Constantinople.

My personal acquaintance with Sultan Abdul Hamid dates from the time that I lived in the house of Rifaat Pasha, who was related to Reshid Pasha. The son of the latter, Ghalib Pasha, who had married a daughter of Abdul Medjid, wanted his wife to take French lessons, and I was selected to teach her because it was understood that, being familiar with Turkish customs, I should not infringe upon the strict rules of the harem. Three times a week I had to present myself at the Pasha's palace, situated on the Bay of Bebek, and each time I was conducted by a eunuch into the Mabein,i.e., a room between the harem and the selamlik, where I sat down before a curtain behind which my pupil the princess had placed herself. I never set eyes upon the princess. The methodof instruction I had chosen was the so-called Ahn-system, consisting of learning by heart small sentences, gradually introducing various words and forms. I called through the curtain, "Père—baba; mère—ana; le père est bon—baba eji dir; la mère est bonne—ana eji dir," etc., and the princess on the other side repeated after me, and always took trouble to imitate my pronunciation most carefully. Fatma Sultan, as the princess was called, had a soft, melodious voice, from which I concluded that she had a sweet character, and she was also considerate and kind-hearted, for after the lesson had been going on for some time she told the eunuch by my side, or more correctly, stationed in the room to keep watch over me, to bring me some refreshments, and afterwards she inquired after my condition and private circumstances. It was during these lessons in the Mabein that amongst the visitors who entered from time to time I was particularly struck by a slender, pale-looking boy; he often sat down beside me, fixed his eyes upon me, and seemed interested in my discourse. I asked what his name was, and learned that it was Prince Hamid Effendi, a brother of my pupil, and that he distinguished himself among his brothers and sisters by a particularly lively spirit. In course of time this little episode, like many others, faded from my memory.

After my return from Central Asia, when Ifound other spheres of work, I kept aloof from Turkey, and I only remained in touch with the Ottoman people in so far as my philological and ethnographical studies had reference to the linguistic and ethnical part of this most Westerly branch of the great Turkish family. In my political writings, chiefly taken up with the affairs of inner Asia, the unfortunate fate of the Porte has always continued to touch me very deeply. The land of my youthful dreams, to which I am for ever indebted for its noble hospitality, and where I have felt as much at home as in my own country, could never be indifferent to me. Its troubles and misfortunes were mine, and whenever opportunity offered I have broken a lance for Turkey; without keeping up personal relations with the Porte, I have always considered it a sacred duty with my pen to stand up for the interests of this often unjustly calumniated nation. My Turkophile sympathies could, of course, not remain unknown on the banks of the Bosphorus, and when, after the opening of railway communication with Turkey, I went to Stambul, I received from the Turks and their ruler a quiet, unostentatious, but all the warmer and heartier reception. Our mutual relationship only gradually manifested itself. On my first journey I remained almost unnoticed, for after a space of thirty years only a few of my old acquaintances were left, and theci-devantReshid Effendi, under which name I was known at the Porte, was only remembered bya few. My second visit was already more of a success, and my reappearance in public revived the old memory, for my fluency of speech had lent "the foreigner" a new attraction in Turkish society. Wherever I appeared in public I was looked at somewhat doubtfully, for many who had not known me before imagined from my real Turkish Effendi conversation that I was a Turkish renegade. Thanks to my old connections, the problem was soon solved. The Turkish newspapers gave long columns about my humble person, and extolled the services which, in spite of many years' absence, I had rendered to the country.

Sultan Abdul Hamid, a watchful and enlightened ruler, full of national pride, although perhaps a little too anxious and severely absolute, was certainly not the one to lag behind his people in acknowledging merit; and as an unpleasant incident prevented him from showing me his sympathies on my first visit, I was invited a few months later to pay another visit to the Turkish capital as his special guest. To make up for former neglect I received an almost regal reception. The slope up to Pera which in 1857 I had climbed a destitute young adventurer, I now drove up in a royal equipage accompanied by the court officials who had received me at the station; and when I had been installed in the apartments prepared for me by the Sultan's command, and was soon after welcomed by the Grandmaster of Ceremonies onbehalf of the sovereign, that old fairy-tale-feeling came over me again. My first quarters at Püspöki's, swarming with rats; myrôleof house-dog in the isolated dwelling of Major A., mydébutas singer and reciter in the coffee-houses, and many other reminiscences from the struggling beginning of my career in the East, flitted before my eyes in a cloudy vision of the past.

On the morning after my arrival I could have stood for hours gazing out of the window on the Bosphorus, recalling a hundred different episodes enacted on this spot, but I was wakened out of these sweet dreams by an adjutant of the Sultan who called to conduct me to an audience at the Yildiz Palace. As I passed through the great entrance hall of the Chit-Kiosk, where the Sultan was wont to receive in the morning, marshals, generals, and high court officials rose from their seats to greet me, and on many faces I detected an expression of astonishment, why, how, and for what their imperial master was doing so much honour to this insignificant, limping European, who was not even an ambassador. When I appeared before the Sultan he came a few steps towards me, shook hands, and made me sit down in an easy chair by his side. At the first words I uttered—of course I made my speech as elegant as I could—surprise was depicted on the face of the Ruler of all True Believers, and when I told him that I remembered him as a twelve-year-old boy in the palace of hissister, Fatma Sultan, the wife of Ali Ghalib Pasha, attending the French lesson which I was giving the princess, the ice was broken at once, and the otherwise timid and suspicious monarch treated me as an old acquaintance. At a sign the chamberlain on duty left the hall, and I remained quite alone with Sultan Abdul Hamid—a distinction thus far not vouchsafed to many Europeans, and not likely to be, as the Sultan is not acquainted with European languages, and therefore, according to the rules of court etiquette, cannot hold a face-to-face interview with foreigners. The conversation turned for the greater part upon persons and events of thirty years past, upon his father, Sultan Abdul Medjid, to whom I had once been presented, Reshid Pasha, Lord Stratford Canning, whom the Sultan remembered distinctly, and many other persons, questions, and details of that time. As the conversation progressed the splendour and the nimbus of majesty disappeared before my eyes. I saw merely a Turkish Pasha or Effendi such as I had known many in high Stambul society, only with this difference, that Sultan Abdul Hamid, by his many endowments, a wonderful memory, and a remarkable knowledge of European affairs, far surpasses many of his highly gifted subjects. Of course I became gradually freer in my conversation, and when the Sultan offered me a cigarette and with his own hand struck a match for me to light it, I was quite overcome by the affability of theabsolute Ruler, Padishah, and Representative of Mohammed on earth, or "Shadow of God," as he is also called.

The first audience lasted over half an hour, and when, after being escorted to the door by the Sultan, I again passed through the entrance hall crowded with high dignitaries, the surprise of these men was even greater than before, and for days together the topic of conversation in the circles of the Porte at Stambul, and in the diplomatic circles of Pera, was the extraordinary familiarity existing between the generally timid and reserved Sultan and my humble self. As this intimacy has also been commented upon and explained in various ways in Europe, I will shortly state what was the real motive of the Sultan's attentions to me, and why I have been so anxious to retain his favour.

First of all I must point out that I was the first European known to the Sultan who was equally at home in the East as in the West, familiar with the languages, customs, and political affairs of both parts of the world, and who, in his presence, was not stiff like the Europeans, but pliant, like the Asiatics of the purest water. I always appeared before him with my fez on; I greeted him as an Oriental greets his sovereign; I used the usual bombastic forms of speech in addressing him; I sat, stood, went about, as it becomes an Oriental—in a word I submitted to all the conventionalities which the Westerner never observes in the presenceof the Sultan. Moreover, he was impressed by all my experiences, and in his desire for knowledge he was pleased to be instructed on many points. All these things put together were in themselves enough to attract his attention towards me. The second reason for the friendship and amiability shown me by Sultan Abdul Hamid was my Hungarian nationality, and the Turcophile character of my public activity, of which, however, he did not hear more fully till later. The friendly feelings exhibited by Hungary during the late Russo-Turkish war had touched the Sultan deeply, and his sympathies for the Christian sister-nation of the Magyars were undoubtedly warm and true. Now as to the possible merits of my writings, the Sultan, like the Turks in general, was well aware of my Turcophile journalistic activity, but none of them had the slightest conception of my philological and ethnological studies in connection with Turkey. They had never even heard of them, and when I handed the Sultan a copy of my monograph on the Uiguric linguistic monuments, he said, somewhat perplexed, "We have never heard of the existence of such ancient Turkish philological monuments, and it is really very interesting that our ancestors even before the adoption of Islam were many of them able to write, as would appear from these curious characters." With regard to the skill and tact of Sultan Abdul Hamid I will just mention in connection with the subject of theold Turkish language, that he, recognising at once my keen interest in everything of an old Turkish nature, drew my attention to some pictures in his reception-room, the one of Söyjüt in Asia Minor (the cradle of the Ottoman dynasty), and the other of the Mausoleum of Osman; and he told me with some pride that these pictures were the work of a Turkish artist. He also told me that in the Imperial household, which lives in strict seclusion from the other Osmanli, a considerable number of Turkish words and expressions are used quite unknown to the other Osmanli more accessible to outside influences. The Sultan quoted some specimens, and, as I recognised in them Azerbaidjan,i.e., Turkoman linguistic remains, the Sultan smiled, quite pleased, thinking that with these monuments he could prove the unadulterated Turkish national character of the Osmanli dynasty. This vanity surprised me greatly, as a while ago the Turks were rather ashamed of their Turkish antecedents, and now their monarch actually boasted of them!

The third, and perhaps the most valid, reason for the Sultan's attentions to me lay in the international character of my pen, and more especially in the notice which England had taken of my writings. Sultan Abdul Hamid, a skilful diplomatist and discerner of men, one of the most cunning Orientals I have ever known, attached great importance to the manner in which he was thought and talked of in Europe. Public opinion in the West, scornedby our would-be important highest circles of society—although they cannot hide their chagrin in case of unfavourable criticism—has always seemed of very great moment to the Sultan; and in his endeavours to incline public opinion in his favour this clever Oriental has given the best proof that he has a keener insight into the political and social conditions than many of his Christian fellow-sovereigns. Fully conscious that his ultimate fate depends on Europe, he has always endeavoured to make himself beloved, not at one single court, but by the various people of Europe, and is anxious to avoid all cause of blame and severe criticism. England's opinion he seemed to think a great deal of; for although he simulated indifference and even assumed an air of hostility, in his innermost mind he was firmly convinced that England from motives of self-interest would be compelled to uphold the Ottoman State, and at the critical moment would come to the rescue and lend a helping hand. To hide this last anchor of hope he has often coquetted with France, even with Russia, in order to annoy the English and to make them jealous; but how very different his real inmost feelings and expectations were I have often gathered from his conversations. Sultan Abdul Hamid has always been of a peculiarly nervous, excitable nature; against his will he often flew into a passion, trembled in every limb, and his voice refused speech. On one occasion he told me how he hadbeen brought up with the warmest sympathies for England, how his father had spoken of England as Turkey's best friend, and how now in his reign, through the politics of Gladstone and the occupation of Egypt, he had had to undergo the most painful experiences. Then every appearance of dissimulation vanished, and I could look right down into the heart of this extraordinary man.

It was during a conversation about the advisability of an English alliance in the interests of the Ottoman State, that the Sultan in the fire of his conversation told me the following: "I was six or seven years old when my blessed father commanded my presence, as he was going to send me to one of my aunts. I found him in one of his apartments, sitting on a sofa in intimate conversation with an elderly Christian gentleman. When my father noticed me, he called to me to come nearer and kiss the hand of the stranger seated by his side. At this behest I burst out in tears, for the idea of kissing the hand of a Giaour was to me in my inexperience absolutely revolting. My father, generally so sweet-tempered, became angry and said: 'Do you know who this gentleman is? It is the English Ambassador, the best friend of my house and my country, and the English, although not belonging to our faith, are our most faithful allies.' Upon this I reverently kissed the old gentleman's hand. It was the Böyük Eltchi, Lord Stratford Canning. My father's words were deeply engraved upon my mind, and so Igrew up with the idea that the English are our best friends. How bitterly I was disillusioned when I came to the throne! England left me in the lurch, for the demonstration of the fleet in the Sea of Marmora, as was said in Constantinople, was instigated more by the interests of England than of Turkey, which is not right. Her ambassadors—i.e., Elliot and Layard—have betrayed me, and when I was in want of money and asked for a small loan of £150,000, I received a negative reply. So that is what you in the West call friendship, and thus the beautiful dreams of my youth have come to naught," cried the Sultan with a deep sigh. My explanation that in England, without the consent of Parliament, no large sums of money can be lent or given away did not in the least enlighten the Sultan. Oriental sovereigns do not believe it even now, for to them constitution and Parliament are mere names, invented to mislead the public. To born Asiatics, moreover, the liberal methods of Governments of the West are altogether unreasonable, and Feth Ali Shah said to the English Ambassador, Malcolm, these well-known words: "And you call your sovereign a mighty ruler, who allows himself to be dictated to by six hundred of his subjects (the members of Parliament), whose orders he is bound to follow? A crown like that I would refuse," said this king of all Iran kings; and my friend Max Nordau is much of the same opinion, for in hisConventional Lieshe suggeststhat all genuine constitutional sovereigns of Europe should be sent to the lunatic asylum, because they imagine themselves to be rulers and are ruled over by others.

Like Feth Ali Shah, and even more than he, Sultan Abdul Hamid hated all liberal forms of government. He never made a secret of this opinion, and during the many years of our acquaintance the Sultan repeatedly expressed his views on this matter frankly and without palliation. In one way, as already mentioned, it was my thorough Turkishness in language and behaviour—he always addressed me as Reshid Effendi and also treated me as such—which led him to make these confidences and to overcome his innate timidity and suspicion. Then, again, my relations with the successor to the English throne carried weight with him, and the invitation I had received from Queen Victoria induced him to see in me something more than an ordinary scholar and traveller; in fact, he looked upon me as a confidant of the English court and Government—two ideas which to him were inseparable—to whom he might freely and safely open his heart.

"I am always surrounded by hypocrites and parasites," he said to me one day; "I am weary of these everlasting laudations and this endless sneaking. They all want to take advantage of me, all seek to gratify their private interests; and all that come to my ears are base lies and meandissimulations. Believe me, the truth, be it ever so bitter, would please me better than all these empty compliments to which they feel bound to treat me. I want you to speak frankly and openly to me; you are my superior in years and experience; you are at home both in the East and in the West, and there is much I can learn from you." This candid speech, of a sort not very usual with Oriental potentates, naturally encouraged me still more, and during the hours spent in confidentialtête-à-têtewith Sultan Abdul Hamid I could touch upon the tenderest and most delicate points of the home and foreign politics of his court and the characteristics of his dignitaries. The Sultan always surprised me with his sound remarks. He bitterly complained of the untrustworthiness of his first ministers, called them not very complimentary names, and from the confidences of this apparently mighty autocrat I caught a faint glimmer of his impotence and utter loneliness. Once when I called his attention to the ignoble conduct of his chief courtiers, he appeared to be specially excited, and cried, "Do you think I do not know every one of them, and am not aware of it all? Alas! I know but too well. But whence can I procure other and better people in a society which for centuries has wallowed in this pool of slander? Only time and culture can do salutary work here; nothing else can do it." And, indeed, contrary to all previously conceived notions, the Sultan had admitted into his immediate surroundings such youngpeople as had distinguished themselves in the schools, and were in no way connected with the leading families. His object was to create a circle of his own round him, and like these confidants at home, he wanted me, abroad, to show him my friendship by sending him at least twice a month a report written in Turkish about public opinion in Europe; about the position of the political questions of the day; about the condition of Islam outside Turkey, and to answer the questions he would put to me.

I readily promised my services, but soon realised that with all his apparent frankness, these confessions of a monarch brought up in strictly Oriental principles were not to be taken in real earnest, for when one day, in the heat of conversation, I made some slightly critical remarks, and ventured to question the expediency or the advisability of certain measures and plans of his Majesty, I noticed at once signs of displeasure and surprise on his countenance, and from that time little clouds have darkened the horizon of our mutual intercourse. And how could it be otherwise? Potentates, and above all Orientals, are far too much accustomed to incense; the coarse food of naked truth cannot be to their taste; and when an absolute ruler is superior to his surroundings, not only in actual power but also in intellectual endowments, an adverse opinion, no matter how thickly sugared the pill may be, is not easily swallowed. From the verybeginning of his reign Sultan Abdul Hamid has never tolerated any contradiction; apparently he listened patiently to any proffered advice, but without allowing himself to be shaken in his preconceived opinion; and when some Grand-Vizier or other distinguished himself by steadfastness to his own individual views, as was the case, for instance, with Khaired-din Pasha, Kiamil Pasha, Ahmed Vefik Pasha, and others, they soon have had to retire. True, through his extraordinary acuteness the Sultan has mitigated many mistakes resulting from his defective education. In conversation he hardly ever betrayed his absolute lack of schooling, although he was not even well versed in his own mother-tongue. He said to me frequently, "Please talk ordinary Turkish!" His excellent memory enabled him to turn to good account a thing years after he had heard it, and his flowery language deceived many of his European visitors. But, taking him altogether, he was a great ignoramus and sadly needed to be taught, though in his sovereign dignity and exalted position of "God's Shadow on Earth," he had to fancy himself omniscient. Thoroughly convinced of this, I have, in my subsequent intercourse with the Sultan, exercised a certain amount of reserve; I learned to be ever more careful in my expressions, and when the Sultan noticed this I replied in the words of the Persian poem—

"The nearness of princes is as a burning fire,"

which he took with a gratified smile. In a word, I was a dumb counsellor, and I much regret that the European diplomats on the Bosphorus did not look upon my position in this light, but laid all sorts of political intrigues to my charge; and that my relations to the Sultan, who had me for hours together in his room—and when I was there kept even his most intimate chamberlain at a distance—necessarily gave rise to a good deal of speculation. The long faces, the frowns, the despairing looks which the court officials in the Sultan's immediate vicinity showed me, and the way they measured me when after a long audience I crossed the hall or the park, often startled me and made me feel uncomfortable. These simple folks took me for the devil or some magic spectre personified who had ensnared their sovereign, and was leading him, God only knows whither. There were but few who had a good word for me, and many were quite convinced that at every visit I carried away with me into the land of unbelievers quantities of treasures and gold. When later on through my intercourse with the Moslem scholars and Mollas at court I had made a name as a practical scholar of Islam, and became conspicuous on account of my Persian and Tartar conversational powers, they were still more astonished, and the head-shaking over my enigmatic personality became even more significant. They took me for a deposed Indian prince, a Turkestan scholar exiled by the Russians, but most often for a dangerousperson whom it had been better for the Sultan never to have known. To the European circles of Pera I was likewise a riddle. Sometimes alone, sometimes in company with Hungarian academicians, I used to search in the Imperial treasure-house for remains of the library of King Mathias Corvinus, captured by the Turks in Ofen and brought over to Constantinople. I discovered many things, but I was branded as a political secret agent of England. A well-known diplomatist said, "Ce savant est un homme dangereux, il faut se défaire de lui." But the good man was mistaken. I was neitherdangereuxnor secret agent of any State; for, in the first place, my self-esteem revolted against the assignedrôleof dealer in diplomatic secrets; and, moreover, what Cabinet would think of employing a secret agent outside their Legation, maintained at such great expense? I do not for a moment wish to hide the fact that in my conversations with the Sultan about political questions I always took the side of Austro-Hungary and England; that I was always up in arms against Russia, and launched out against the perfidy, the barbarism, and the insatiable greed for land of the Northern power. More anti-Russian than all Turks and the Sultan himself, I could not well be, and the more I could blacken Russia politically the better service did I fancy I rendered to our European culture. To obviate any suspicion, the Sultan once wanted to invite me to a court dinner togetherwith the Russian Ambassador Nelidoff; however, I begged to be excused. Of the various ambassadors I have only attended a public court dinner with the Persian Ambassador (Prince Maurocordato), the plenipotentiary of Greece, and with Baron Marshal von Bieberstein, and these diplomatists were not a little surprised to notice the attention with which the Sultan treated me.

For several years I thus enjoyed the Sultan's favour and occupied this exceptional position at his court. As long as the Grand Seigneur saw in me a staunch Turcophile and defender of Islam, who, led by fanaticism, palliated all the mistakes and wrong-doings with which Europe charged all Oriental systems of government; as long as I regarded Turkey as an unwarrantably abused State, and European intervention as unjustifiable at all times, he gave me his undivided confidence and astonished me by his unfeigned candour.

Many years of experience in Turkish society had taught me that the Sultan is regarded as an almost Divine being, and consequently this extraordinary affability was all the more surprising. He treated me, so to speak, as a confidential friend, talked with me about State concerns, and the interests of his dynasty, as if I had been an Osmanli and co-regent of the empire. He conferred with me about the most delicate political questions, with a candour, which he never displayed even before his Grand-Vizier and his Ministers; and consequently myletters to him from Budapest were free and unrestrained, and such as this sovereign had probably never received before.

Now, if there had only been questions of purely Turkish interests, internal reforms and improvements, there would have been no occasion to shake the Sultan's confidence in me, but Sultan Abdul Hamid's mind was always busy with foreign politics, and because in regard to these I could not always unconditionally agree with him, this was bound to lead in process of time, if not to an absolute rupture, at any rate to a cooling of our former warm friendship. For some time the Egyptian Question was the chief point of discussion. The Sultan often complained to me about the unlucky star which ruled over his foreign politics; that he had lost so many of the inherited provinces, that the loss of the Nile-land, that precious jewel of his crown, was particularly grievous to him, and that the faithlessness of the English troubled him above all things. As a matter of course he vented his wrath especially upon the English Government; and although he was not particularly enamoured of any of the European Cabinets, nay, I might say, hated and feared them all alike, it was the St. James's Cabinet which, whether Liberal or Conservative, had always to bear the brunt of his ire. He was on very bad terms with the two English Ambassadors who shortly before and shortly after his accession to the throne represented the Cabinet of St. James'sin Constantinople. Once, Lady Layard sent me for presentation to the Sultan, a picture of herself in a very valuable frame, and when I delivered it on the occasion of an evening audience the Grand Seigneur, generally so completely master of himself, became quite excited, and pointing to the portrait he said to me, "For this lady, whom you see there, I have the greatest respect; for during the war she has tended my wounded soldiers with great self-sacrifice, and I shall always feel grateful to her; but as for her husband," he continued, "I have torn him out of my heart, for he has shamefully abused my confidence." Thereupon he tore at his breast as if he would pull something out, and slinging his empty hand to the ground, he tramped excitedly on the floor, as if he were demolishing the heart of the absent delinquent. This act of passionate emotion I have noticed more particularly among Turkish women, and there are many traits in the Sultan's character which speak of the harem life. I tried to pacify the angry monarch by reminding him that Layard, as ambassador, had but done his duty in delivering the message, and that those gentlemen alone were to blame who had allowed such confidential communications to become public property. I quoted, moreover, the Koran passage which says, "La zewal fi'l sefirun" ("The envoy is not to be blamed"); but it was all in vain, the name of this deserving English diplomat had quite upset the Sultan; he was unwilling and unable to distinguishbetween the actions of the statesman and of the private gentleman.

One cannot altogether blame the Sultan either, when we think of the bitter experiences he so often has had to undergo; but in politics, justice and fairness have quite a different meaning from what they have in ordinary life, and Sultan Abdul Hamid most decidedly acted imprudently when, without taking into consideration England's most vital interests, he demanded of this State a policy which, on account of the altered general aspect of affairs, and on account of the growing insular antipathy against Turkey, had become impossible. That the Conservatives, in spite of all Mr. Gladstone's Atrocity-meetings, dared to appear with a fleet in the Sea of Marmora, to prevent Russia from taking Constantinople, has never been appreciated by the Sultan. He had always before his eyes the comedy of Dulcigno and Smyrna, instigated by the Liberal Government of England, and the occupation of Egypt appeared to him more perfidious than the challenge of Russia, and all the injury he had sustained from the Western Power.

In course of time the relations between the Porte and the Cabinet of St. James were bound to become cooler.Inter duos litigantes, Russia was thetertius gaudens; and when in addition to the previous coldness the Armenian difficulties arose, the two great European Powers completely changed places in Asia, for the Russian arch-enemy becamethe bosom friend and confidant of the Turkish court (not of the Turkish nation), and England was looked upon as thediabolus rotæof the Ottoman Empire. With regard to the Armenian troubles Sultan Abdul Hamid's anger against England was not altogether unfounded; for although in London good care was taken to keep aloof publicly from the disturbances in the Armenian mountains, the agitation of English agents in the North of Asia Minor is beyond all doubt. The Sultan was carefully informed of this both foolish and unreasonable movement. Whatever the Hintchakists and other revolutionary committees of the Armenian malcontents brewed in London, Paris, New York, Marseilles, &c., full knowledge of it was received in Yildiz; the Armenians themselves had provided the secret service. As early as the autumn of 1890 the Sultan complained to me about these intrigues, and twelve months later he made use of the expression, "I tell you, I will soon settle those Armenians. I will give them a box on the ear which will make them smart and relinquish their revolutionary ambitions." With this "box on the ear" he meant the massacres which soon after were instituted. The Sultan kept his word. The frightful slaughter in Constantinople and many other places of Asia Minor has not unjustly stirred up the indignation of the Christian world, but on the other hand the fact should not have been lost sight of that Christian Russia and Austria in suppressingrevolutions in their own dominions have acted, perhaps, not quite so severely, but with no less blood-thirstiness. That his drastic measures roused the public opinion of all Europe against the Sultan was no secret to him. He was aware of the beautiful titles given to him, "Great Assassin," "Sultan Rouge," "Abdul the Damned," &c., and once touching upon the Western infatuation against his person, he seemed in the following remark to find a kind of apology for the cruelties perpetrated in his name. "In the face of the everlasting persecutions and hostilities of the Christian world," the Sultan said, "I have been, so to speak, compelled to take these drastic measures. By taking away Rumenia and Greece, Europe has cut off the feet of the Turkish State body. The loss of Bulgaria, Servia, and Egypt has deprived us of our hands, and now by means of this Armenian agitation they want to get at our most vital parts, tear out our very entrails—this would be the beginning of total annihilation, and this we must fight against with all the strength we possess." In truth, notwithstanding all the evident signs of a total downfall the Sultan still nursed high-flown ideas of regeneration and security for his Empire. He often spoke of the cancelling of capitulations and of the certain advantages to be derived from his Alliance schemes. He has always placed great confidence in the Panislamic movement which he inaugurated, and which he certainly directed very skilfully. His agents traverse India,South Russia, Central Asia, China, Java, and Africa; they proclaim everywhere the religious zeal, the power and the greatness of the Khaliph; up to the present, however, they have succeeded only in making the birthday of the Sultan a day of public rejoicing throughout Islamic lands, and in preparing the threads wherewith to weave the bond of unity. One day, as we were talking about these plans, he denied them altogether, and pretended to be very much surprised. These schemes for the future were his particular hobby; he spoke of them only to his most intimate servants and court officials, and to no one besides, not even to his ministers. The latter he called fortune-hunters, who deserve no confidence. "How can I believe my ministers?" he said at one time. "When a while ago I sent for my police minister, he came into my presence quite intoxicated. I drove the swine out of the room and dismissed him next day." That he encouraged the evil, that with his strictly autocratic and absolutist ideas he prevented the growth of capable statesmen, that no clever politicians could possibly thrive under him—all this he would never realise, although I often hinted at it and reminded him of the Prophet's warning, "Ye shall consult one another." He was and always will be an incorrigible Arch-Turk, who in the shadow of his Divine reputation would have free disposal of all things; and when his First Secretary told him that I had been aprotégéof the late Grand-Vizier MahmudNedim Pasha, the friend of Ignatieff, he said, turning to me, "Yes, Mahmud Nedim Pasha was a singularly clever man, a true Turk and Moslem, and a faithful servant to his master."

I soon came to the conclusion that with a sovereign of this kind, there was not much good to be done, and without flatly contradicting him, I quietly adhered to my own political views. As I look at things now, it seems quite natural that I excited his displeasure, and that he looked askance at my English predilections. The Sultan expected of me unconditional approval of his political views; he wanted to have in me a friend, absolutely Turkish in my views, as opposed to the Christian world, and willing, like many a prominent man in Europe, to hold up the East as noble, sublime, humane, and just, and to put down the West as reprobate, crude, and rapacious. No, that was expecting a little too much of my Turkish sympathies! I have always been too much imbued with the high advantages of our Western culture, too fully convinced of the beneficial influences of nineteenth-century ideas, to lend myself to sing the unqualified praises of Asia—rotten, despotic, ready to die—and to exalt the Old World over the New! No, neither imperial favour nor any power on earth could have induced me to do this, and when the Sultan realised that, he began to treat me with indifference; he even told me once that he did not like children who could cling to two mothers,and without actually showing me any hostility or dislike, as my international penmanship was not quite a matter of indifference to him, he dismissed me, to all appearance, graciously. He was undeceived, but I remained what I always have been, a friend of Turkey.

How it came about that, in spite of his ill-will, the Sultan for many years after still showed me favour, and even invited me more than once to visit Constantinople, I can only explain by the fact that, although distrusting everybody, even himself, he did not lose sight of the use my pen could be to him. Sultan Abdul Hamid, as I said before, had an indescribable dread of the public opinion of Europe, which he took into account in all his transactions; he always wanted to act the enlightened, liberal, patriotic, order-loving, and conscientious ruler. He always wanted to show off the very thin and light varnish of culture which a very defective education and a flying visit through Europe (1868) had given him. Without knowing French he would often interlard his Turkish conversation with French words and sayings, to impress the ambassadors and other exalted guests, just as in company with Moslem scholars he made a special point of introducing theological and technical terms, without ever rising above the level of a half-cultured Moslem. Thanks to his remarkable memory, he was never at a loss for such terms, but his actual familiarity with eitherEuropean or Asiatic culture was very slight, since his kind-hearted but far too lenient father had never kept his children to their books. Kemal Effendi, the tutor of the imperial prince, told me in the fifties quite incredible things about the indolence of his imperial pupil. Reshad Effendi, the heir presumptive, had a taste for Persian and Arabic, and had at an early age made some attempts at Persian poetry, but Hamid Effendi, the present Sultan, was not so easily induced to sit on the school bench. Harem intrigues and harem scandal were more to his liking, and if one wanted to know anything about the secrets of individual members of the imperialgynécée, one had but to go to Hamid Effendi for information. It is a great pity that this lively and really talented prince had not received a better education in his youth. Who knows but what he might have made a better sovereign on the throne of the Osmanlis?

My intercourse with this man was to me of exceptional interest, not so much in his capacity of prince, but rather as man and Oriental. When in the evening I was with him alone in the Chalet Kiosk we used to sit still, trying to read each other's thoughts, for the imperial rogue knew his man well enough; and after we had thus contemplated one another for some time, the Sultan would break the silence by some irrelevant remark, or occasionally he would ask me something about my Asiatic or European experiences. As it is notseemly for a Khaliph,i.e., a lawful descendant of Mohammed, to hold intimate conversation with an unbeliever, or, what is worse, to ask his advice, the Sultan used to treat me as an old, experienced, true believer, called me always by my Turkish name, Reshid Effendi, and particularly emphasised the same when at an audience pious or learned Moslems happened to be present. Sultan Abdul Hamid, one of the greatestcharmeursthat ever was, knew always in some way or other how to fascinate his guests. He delighted in paying compliments, lighting the cigarette for his guest, with a civility vainly looked for amongst ordinary civilians.

Of course, his one aim and object was to captivate and charm his visitors with this extreme affability. Sometimes also he was quite theatrical in his demeanour; he could feign anger, joy, surprise, everything at his pleasure, and I shall never forget one scene provoked by a somewhat animated discussion of the Egyptian Question. In order to pacify his anger against England, I ventured to remark that after the settling of the Egyptian State debt the yearly tribute would be paid again. The Sultan misunderstood me, and concluding that I was speaking of redemption money, he jumped up from his seat and cried in a very excited voice, "What! do you think I shall give up for a price the land which my forefathers conquered with the sword?" His thinlegs shook in his wide trousers, his fez fell back on his neck, his hands trembled, and almost ready to faint he leaned back in his seat. And yet all this excitement was pretence, just as when another time in his zeal to persuade me to enter his service and to remain permanently in Stambul, he grasped both my hands, and with assurances of his unalterable favour, promised me a high position and wealth. What induced the sly, suspicious man to this extraordinary display of tenderness was undoubtedly my practical knowledge of Islamic lands and of Turkey in particular. More than once he said to me, "You know our land and our nation better than we do ourselves." My personal acquaintance with all circles of the Porte of former days was not much to his liking, neither did he like my popularity with the Turkish people, the result of many years of friendly intercourse with them; yet he had to take this into account, andnolens volensmust keep on good terms with me. Curiously enough, devoted as he was to his severely despotic principles, this monarch sometimes had fits of singular mildness and gentleness. Once I was sitting with him till far into the night in the great hall of the Chalet Kiosk. It was the height of summer, and in the heat of the conversation his Majesty had become thirsty, and called to the attendant in the ante-room, "Su ghetirin" ("Bring water"). The attendant, who had probably fallen asleep, did not hear. The Sultan called twice,three times, clapped his hands, but all in vain, and when I jumped up and called the man, the Sultan said to him, almost beseechingly, "Three times I have asked for water, and you have not given it me; I am thirsty, very thirsty." With any other Oriental despot the servant would have forfeited his head, but Abdul Hamid's character was the most curious mixture imaginable of good and bad qualities, which he exhibited according to the mood in which he happened to be.

Honestly speaking, thesetête-à-têteswith the Sultan were anything but unmixed pleasure. Notwithstanding his pleasing manners and outward amiability, his sinister and scrutinising look had often a very unpleasant effect upon me. One evening, seated as usual alone with the Sultan in the Chit Kiosk, sipping our tea, I fancied my tea was not quite sweet enough, and while talking I stretched out my hand towards the sugar basin, which stood near the Sultan. He gave a sudden start and drew back on the sofa. The movement suggested that he thought I had intended an attack upon his person. Another time, it was after dinner, I was taking coffee in his company. I noticed that in the ardour of his conversation he was suddenly seized with an attack of shortness of breath. He actually gasped for air. The sight of his oppression was painful, and I could not help thinking what would be my fate if in one of these attacks the Sultan were to choke. One maysay it is foolish, and call me weak, but any one knowing something of life in an Oriental palace will agree with me that the situation was anything but a joke. Apart from this I got my full share of the moodiness of Oriental despotism; sometimes it was almost too much for my much-tried patience. In spite of politely worded invitations I often had to wait for days before I was received in audience. Four, six, eight days together did I wait in an antechamber, until at last I was told, "His Majesty extremely regrets, on account of pressing business, or on account of sudden indisposition, to have to delay the reception till the next day." The next day came, and again the same story, "the next day." I remember once, during a visit to Constantinople, to have packed and unpacked my effects five times, awaiting permission to return home. Complaints, entreaties, expostulations, all were of no avail, for the Muneddjim Bashi (Court Astrologer) regulates his Majesty's actions, and these ordinances are most strictly adhered to. My intercourse with the Sultan was certainly not perfectly harmonious. I did my utmost to preserve my influence over him, but at last I had to realise that all my trouble was in vain, and that my efforts would never bear any fruit.

And it could not well have been otherwise. His policy was partly of a purely personal nature, as with all Oriental despots; such policy, strictly conservative in tendency, was concernedwith the maintenance of an absolutely despoticrégime. Partly, also, it was of necessity influenced by the temporary political constellations of the West. The indecision which characterises his least action is a result of the spirit which prevails in the imperial harem, where no one trusts another, where every one slanders his neighbour, and tries to deceive and annihilate him, where everything turns round the sun of imperial favour. Our diplomatists on the Bosphorus have often had to pay dearly for this characteristic of Abdul Hamid. At the time of the negotiations about the Egyptian Question Lord Dufferin once had to wait with his secretary in the Yildiz Palace for the Sultan's decision from ten o'clock in the morning till after midnight. Six times the draft of the treaty was put before him to sign, and each time it was returned in somewhat altered form until the English Ambassador, wearied to death at last, lost his patience, and at two o'clock in the morning returned with his suite to Therapia. Lord Dufferin had already retired to bed, and was fast asleep when he was roused by the arrival of a special messenger from the Sultan to negotiate about another proposal, but the English patience was exhausted and the fate of Egypt sealed. On other occasions there were similar and often more dramatic scenes, and even with simple dinner invitations it has often occurred that the ambassadors in question received a countermand only after theyhad already starteden grande tenueon the way to Yildiz.

As regards the distrust displayed by the ruler of Turkey, worried as he was on all sides, some excuse may be found for him, for true and unselfish friendships are unknown quantities in diplomatic intercourse. But Sultan Abdul Hamid behaved in the same manner towards his Asiatic subjects. He has always been a pessimist of the most pronounced type; he scented danger and treason wherever he went, and everything had to give way before his personal interests. "The future of Turkey and the well-being of the Ottoman nation are always being discussed, but of me and my dynasty nobody speaks," he said to me one day. To all intents and purposes he always behaved as if he were master and owner of all Turkey, and as nothing in the world could make him see differently, I very soon saw the fruitlessness of my endeavours, and in future I acted only therôleof onlooker and observer.

A sovereign who for well-nigh thirty years has ruled and governed with absolute power, who has succeeded in carrying autocracy and absolutism to their limits, while the greatest as well as the very smallest concerns of the State and of society pass through his hands, such a sovereign runs great danger of becoming conceited and proud, since his servile surroundings continually extol and deify him beyond all measure. Sultan Abdul Hamid imaginesit is owing to his statesmanship that Turkey, after the unfortunate campaign of 1877, has not been completely annihilated, and that at present it not only exists, but is sought after by the Powers as their ally. Laughing roguishly, he said with reference to this, "There is no lack of suitors; I am courted by all, but I am still a virgin, and I shall not give my heart and hand to any of them;" but all the while he was in secret alliance with Russia. What Sultan Abdul Hamid is particularly proud of is his relation to the German Emperor, which is, as a matter of fact, his own work, and not at all approved of by the more cautious portion of his people. The confidentialtête-à-têtebetween the Osmanli and the gifted Hohenzollern is unique in its kind and abounds in interesting incidents. The Emperor William II. admires the talent of the ruler in his friend, which in its autocratic bearing he would like to imitate if it were possible; but he is clever enough to discount the reward for this admiration in various concessional privileges, &c. Well-paid appointments for German officers, consignments of arms, concessions for railway lines, manufactures, &c., the German Emperor has obtained playfully, as it were, and he will get more still, for in the Imperial German the Sultan sees his only disinterested, faithful, and mighty protector, and he is firmly convinced that as long as this friendship continues no one will dare to touch him, although Turkey,stante amicitia, lostCrete after the victorious termination of the war with Greece. The patriotic and progressive Turk, however, thinks otherwise. He has not a good word to say for the German Emperor, for he looks upon him as one of those friends who encourage the Padishah in his arrant absolutism, whose visits diminish the treasures of State, and who has checked the national development of free commercial life, taking all for Germany and leaving Turkey nothing but some high-sounding compliments which flatter the Sultan's pride.

And so this political accomplishment of Abdul Hamid is most severely censured in Turkey itself, and the much extolled alliance with Germany may, in the event of a change on the throne, meet with quite unexpected surprises. With me the Sultan never discussed this relationship, only his favourite son, Burhaneddin, told me of his sympathies for the Kaiser, whose language he was learning. No true friend of Turkey, I think, can have much against an alliance with Germany; it would work very well, only Germany should advise the Sultan to introduce certain reforms in his country to raise the spirit of the nation, and instead of this wild absolutistrégime, to work at the cultivation of capable officials. I have often told the Sultan so in writing, but lately my memoranda have remained without effect, for we have been deceived in one another. I have come to the conclusion that, with all my science and all my ambition, I cannever be of much use to Turkey; and the Sultan has realised that he could not make a willing tool of me, and that therefore I am of no use to him. I must not omit to mention, however, that the greatest obstacle to a mutual understanding between the Sultan and myself lies in the political views we hold as to the most beneficial alliance for Turkey. While the Sultan, by his personal relations with the Emperor William II., thinks to screen himself securely against all possible danger, and as far as appearances go, likes to be exclusively Germanophile, he has not forgotten that the Russian sword of Damocles hangs over his head. He knows but too well that Russia has her thumb on his throat, that Asia Minor from the side of Erzerum is open to the troops of the Czar, that the Russian fleet could sack Constantinople within two or three days, and that this imminent danger, if not entirely warded off, would at any rate be considerably mitigated by submissive humility and feigned friendliness. Hence his peculiar complaisance and amenableness towards the court of St. Petersburg, and his behaviour altogether as if he were a vassal already of the "White Padishah on the Neva." Considering this state of affairs, it is not very astonishing that the rumour spread in Europe of a secret treaty between Turkey and Russia—a treaty according to which the Sultan had engaged himself not to fortify the Bosphorus at the entrance of the Black Sea, andnot to erect new fortifications in the north of Asia Minor, and other similar concessions. This treaty is said to bear the date 1893, and when the matter was discussed by the European Press, and I asked for information from the First Secretary of the Sultan, Sureja Pasha, the latter wrote me in a letter dated September 3, 1893, as follows:—

"Very honoured Friend!—His Imperial Majesty, my sublime Master, has always held in high esteem your feelings of friendship in the interests of Turkey, and your attacks on Russia, which has done so much harm to Turkey, have not remained unnoticed. But you know full well that nothing in this world happens without cause, and that the war Russia waged against us was also founded on certain causes. All this belongs to the past. To-day the Sublime Porte is on the best of terms withallthe Powers; there is no necessity for any private treaties, and when the newspapers speak of a private treaty between Turkey and Russia, this is nothing more or less than a groundless and idle invention. In case such a treaty had been necessary, Turkey, being in no way restricted in its movements, would have notified and published the facts."

Later on I also touched upon this subject in conversation with the Sultan. We were speaking about the comments made in Europe regarding thenegligence in the fortifications at the entrance to the Black Sea, when the Sultan interrupted me and said, "Why should Europe criticise this? I have a house with two doors; what does it matter to anybody if I choose to close the one and open the other?" In a word, the Sultan has given me several irrefutable proofs that the persistent anti-Russian tendency of my publications was inconvenient to him, and that he would be better pleased if I attacked England or kept quiet altogether. Of course he would like best of all to banish pen and ink altogether from the world, and as it was impossible for me to support him in his absolute autocratic principles, a cooling of our mutual relationship was unavoidable.

The breach between us was made still wider by the publication of my pamphletLa Turquie d'aujourd'hui et d'avant quarante ans, Paris, 1898, in which I tried to refute the thesis—so constantly and erroneously advanced in Europe—that the Turks as a nation are incapable of being civilised, by comparing the state of their culture as it is now and as it was forty years ago. Naturally in a study of this kind I had to draw the connection between the progress of culture and the political decline of the land, and the question why, if the Turks are really advancing in culture, they should politically be overtaken by Rumania, Servia, Bulgaria, and Greece, I could only answer by pointing to the autocratic and absolutist tendencies of theSultan. Only the court and the unconscionable clique reigning there are to blame for the present decline of Turkey. With this article I increased my popularity in Turkey, but at court they were, of course, anything but pleased. Nevertheless the Sultan invited me to pay him a visit; I did so, and the reception I had was highly characteristic. While the Padishah thanked me for the service I had rendered to the Turkish nation, the offended autocrat took my measure with angry looks, without, however, betraying his anger. It was interesting to watch the internal struggle of the offended tyrant, and I consider it only reasonable that henceforth he would have no more to do with me.

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