From the Lakes of Killarney to the Golden Horn Part 20

And this will be the end of a dominion that for centuries was the terror of Europe. It is four hundred and twenty years since the Turks crossed the Bosphorus and took Constantinople. Since then they have risen to such power that at one time they threatened to overrun Europe. It is not two hundred years since they laid siege to Vienna.

But within two centuries Turkey has greatly declined. The rise of a colossal power in the North has completely overshadowed her, till now she is kept from becoming the easy prey of Russia only by the protection of those Christian powers to which the Turk was once, like Attila, the Scourge of G.o.d.

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

That their exodus is approaching, is felt by the more sagacious Turks themselves. The government is taking every precaution against its overthrow. Dreading the least popular movement, it does not dare to trust its Christian populations. It will not permit them to bear arms, lest the weapons might be turned against itself. _No one but a Mohammedan is allowed to enter the army._ There may be some European officers left from the time of the Crimean war, whose services are too valuable to be spared, but in the ranks not a man is received who is not a "true believer." This conscription weighs very heavily on the Mussulmans, who are but a small minority in European Turkey, and who are thus decimated from year to year. It is a terrible blood-tax which they have to pay as the price of continued dominion. But even this the government is willing to pay rather than that arms should be in the hands of those who, as the subject races, are their traditional enemies, and who, in the event of what might become a religious war, would turn upon them, and seek a b.l.o.o.d.y revenge for ages of oppression and cruelty.

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

With such fears and forebodings on one side, and such hopes and expectations on the other, we leave this Eastern Question just where we found it. Anybody can state it; n.o.body can resolve it. It is the great political problem in Europe at this hour, which no statesman, however sagacious--not Bismarck, nor Thiers, nor Andra.s.sy, nor Gortchakoff--has yet been able to resolve. But man proposes and G.o.d disposes. This is one of those mysteries of the future which Divine intelligence alone can penetrate, and Divine Providence alone can reveal. We must not a.s.sume to be over-wise--although there are some signs which we see clearly written on the face of the sky--but "watch and wait," which we do in the full confidence that we shall not have to wait long, but that the curtain will rise on great events in the East before the close of the present century.

FOOTNOTE:

[10] Italy, it will be remembered, joined the Allies against Russia in the latter part of the Crimean war.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

THE SULTAN IS DEPOSED AND COMMITS SUICIDE.--THE WAR IN SERVIA.--Ma.s.sACRES IN BULGARIA.--HOW WILL IT ALL END?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Sultan had had his suspicions excited, and had sought for safety by a vigilant watch on Murad Effendi, who was kept under strict surveillance, and almost under guard, like a state prisoner.

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

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

Was there ever such an overthrow? The humiliation was too great to be borne by a weak mind, which could find no rest but in the grave. Five days after he shut himself up in his room, and when the attendants opened the door he was found weltering in his blood. Scissors by his side revealed the weapon by which had been wrought the b.l.o.o.d.y deed.

Suspicions were freely expressed that he had not died by his own hand, but by a.s.sa.s.sination. But a council of physicians gave a verdict in support of the theory of suicide. The next day a long procession wound through the streets of old Stamboul, following the dead monarch to his tomb, where at last he found the rest he could not find in life.

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

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

I said also that "the curtain might rise on great events in the East before the close of the present century." _It has already begun to rise._ The death of the Sultan relieved the State of a terrible incubus, but it failed to restore public tranquillity and prosperity.

Some had supposed that it alone would allay discontent and quell insurrection. But instead of this, his deposition and death seemed to produce a contrary effect. It relaxed the bonds of authority. It spread more widely the feeling that the empire was in a state of hopeless decay and dissolution, and that the time had come for different provinces to seek their independence. Instead of the Montenegrins laying down their arms, those brave mountaineers became more determined than ever, and the insurrection, instead of dying out, spread to other provinces.

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

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

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

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

Her troops are not mere militia, they are trained soldiers. Those that we saw in the streets of Constantinople were men of splendid physique, powerful and athletic, just the stuff for war. They are capable of much greater endurance than even English soldiers, who must have their roast beef and other luxuries of the camp, while the Turks will live on the coa.r.s.est food, sleep on the ground, and march gayly to battle.

Such men are not to be despised in a great conflict. In its raw material, therefore, the Turkish army is probably equal to any in Europe. If as well disciplined and as well _commanded_, it might be equal to the best troops of Germany.

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

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

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

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

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

The report, coming from such a source, and accompanied by the fullest evidence, created a profound sensation in England. Meetings were held in all parts of the country to express the public indignation; and not only at the brutal Turks, but at their own government for the light and flippant way in which it had treated such horrors: the more so that among the powers of Europe, England was the supporter of Turkey, and thus might be considered as herself guilty, unless she uttered her indignant protest in the name of humanity and civilization.

But why should the people of Christian England wonder at these things, or at any act of violence and blood done by such hands? The Turk has not changed his nature in the four hundred years that he has lived, or rather _camped_, in Europe. He is still a Tartar and half a savage.

Here and there may be found a n.o.ble specimen of the race, in some old sheik, who rules a tribe, and exercises hospitality in a rude but generous fashion, and who looks like an ancient patriarch as he sits at his tent door in the cool of the day. Enthusiastic travellers may tell us of some grand old Turk who is like "a fine old English gentleman," but such cases are exceptional. The ma.s.s of the people are Tartars, as much as when they roamed the deserts of Central Asia. The wild blood is in them still, with every brutal instinct intensified by religion. All Mussulmans are nursed in such contempt and scorn of the rest of mankind, that when once their pa.s.sions are aroused, it is impossible for them to exercise either justice or mercy. No tie of a common humanity binds them to the rest of the human race. The followers of the Prophet are lifted to such a height above those who are not believers, that the sufferings of others are nothing to them.

If called to "rise and slay," they obey the command without the slightest feeling of pity or remorse.

With such a people it is impossible to deal as with other nations.

There is no common ground to stand upon. They care no more for "Christian dogs," nor so much, as they do for the dogs that howl and yelp in the streets of Constantinople. Their religious fanaticism extinguishes every feeling of a common nature. Has not Europe a right to put some restraint on pa.s.sions so lawless and violent, and thus to stop such frightful ma.s.sacres as have this very year deluged her soil with innocent blood?

The campaign in Servia is now over. An armistice has been agreed upon for six weeks, and as the winter is at hand, hostilities cannot be resumed before spring. Meanwhile European diplomacy will be at work to settle the conflict without another resort to arms. Russia appears as the protector and supporter of Servia. She asks for a conference of the six powers--England, France, Italy, Germany, Austria, and Russia--a conference to decide on the fate of Turkey, yet _from which Turkey shall be excluded_. Already intimations are given out of the nature of the terms which Russia will propose. Turkey has promised reform for the protection and safety of her Christian populations. But experience has proved that her promises are good for nothing. Either they are made in bad faith, and are not intended to be kept, or she has no power to enforce them in the face of a fanatical Mohammedan population. It is now demanded, in order to secure the Christian population absolute protection, that these reforms shall be carried out under the eye of foreign commissioners in the different provinces, _supported by an armed force_. This is indeed an entering wedge, with a very sharp edge too, and driven home with tremendous power. If Turkey grants this, she may as well abdicate her authority over her revolted provinces. But Europe can be contented with nothing less, for without this there is absolutely no safety for Christians in any lands cursed by the rule of the Turk.

It is quite probable that the negotiations will issue in some sort of autonomy for the disaffected provinces. This has been already granted to Wallachia and Moldavia (which have been united under the name of Roumania), the result of which has been to bring quietness and peace.

It has been granted to Servia. Their connection with the Porte is only nominal, being limited to the payment of an annual tribute; while even this nominal dependence has the good effect of warning off other powers, such as Austria and Russia, from taking possession. If this same degree of independence could be extended to Bulgaria and to Bosnia and Herzegovina, there would be a belt of Christian states, which would be virtually independent, drawn around Turkey, which would confine within smaller s.p.a.ce the range of Moslem domination in Europe.

And yet even that is not the end, nor will it be the final settlement of the Eastern question. That will not be reached until some other power, or joint powers, hold Constantinople. That is the eye of the East; that is the jewel of the world; and so long as it remains in the hands of the Turks, it will be an object of envy, of ambition, and of war.

The late Charles Sumner used to say that "a question is never _settled_ until it is settled _right_;" and it cannot be right that a position which is the most central and regal in all the earth should be held forever by a barbarian power.

There is a saying in the East that "where the Turk comes the gra.s.s never grows." Is it not time that these Tartar hordes, that have so long held dominion in Europe, should return into the deserts from which they came, leaving the gra.s.s to spring up from under their departing feet?

But some Christian people and missionaries dread such an issue, because they think that it is a struggle between the Russian and the Turk, and that if the Turk goes out the Russian must come in. But is there no other alternative? Is there not political wisdom enough in all Europe to make another settlement, and power enough to enforce their will? England holds Malta and Gibraltar, and France holds Algeria: cannot both hold Constantinople? Their combined fleets could sweep every Russian ship out of the Black Sea, as they did in the Crimean war. Drawn up in the Bosphorus, they could so guard that strait that no Russian flag should fly on the Seraskier or Galata towers. Why may not Constantinople be placed under the protection of all nations for the common benefit of all? But for this, the first necessity is that the Turk should take himself out of the way.

This, I believe, will come; but it will not come without a struggle.

The Turks are not going to depart out of Europe at the first invitation of Russia, or of all Europe combined. They have shown that they are a formidable foe. When this war began, some who had been looking and longing for the destruction of Turkey thought this was the beginning of the end; enthusiastic students of prophecy saw in it "the drying up of the Euphrates." All these had better moderate their expectations. Admitting that the _final end_ will be the overthrow of the Mohammedan power in Europe, yet this end may be many years in coming. "The sick man" is _not dead_, and he will not die quietly and peacefully, as an old man breathes his last. He will not gather up his feet into his bed, and turn his face to the wall, and give up the ghost. He will die on the field of battle, and his death-struggles will be tremendous. The Turk came into Europe on horseback, waving his scimitar over his head, and he will not depart like a fugitive, "as men flee away in battle," but will make his last stand on the sh.o.r.es of the Bosphorus, and fall fighting to the last. I commend this sober view to those whose minds may be inflamed by reading of the atrocities of the present war, and who may antic.i.p.ate the march of events. The end will come; but we cannot dictate or even know, the time of its coming.

That end, I firmly believe, will be the exodus of the Turks from Europe. Not that the people as a body will depart. There is not likely to be another national migration. The expulsion of a hundred thousand of the conquering race of the Osmanlis--or of half that number--may suffice to remove that imperious element that has so long kept the rule in Turkey, and by its command of a warlike people, been for centuries the terror of Europe. But the Turkish power--the power to oppress and to persecute, to kill and destroy, to perpetrate such ma.s.sacres as now thrill the world with horror--must, and _will_, come to an end.