Certain European papers have published a report that Camerad Areloff has been admitted to the Cabinet Councils of New Turkey. When an Ambassador from Angora was asked why her Government did not contradict the obvious falsehood, he retorted: “If any paper, in any country, announced that your British Ambassador was taking part in the Councils of the French Cabinet, would your Government protest?” It was readily acknowledged that we should consider such a statement to be entirely beneath our notice.
“Of course you would,” said the Turk; “and we take precisely the same view.”
When I arrived at the Assembly one afternoon the band was playing in the gardens—a strange accompaniment, I thought, to the serious business of Parliament. I asked one of the deputies whether this was a national holiday, or a day of thanksgiving for the arrival of the ex-Khalif at Malta? It was lucky for me that the rather dangerous little joke only raised a smile, while he explained that, as the Imperial Band had fled from Constantinople with the Nationalists, its loyalty must be acknowledged and its services utilised. It did, in fact, play here for a short time every day. Now I remembered that I had heard bands also in Smyrna and Constantinople.
It was graciously suggested that I should choose something myself for the band to play, and I asked that we might have some Turkish music. One of the deputies, it appeared, had written an opera; and after listening with great pleasure to some selections from his work, I was introduced to the composer. The opera, naturally written round the cause, is full of a pathos that brings tears to the eyes of an understanding audience. They also gave me a patriotic love song—the reunion of two lovers (Anatolia and Roumelia) after long years of separation—which I should like to have heard again and brought away with me. Its beauty was haunting, though not quite easy to follow at a first hearing.
For Roumelia, we know, her share in the horrors of war is over. Now it is Anatolia who must suffer. Trouble was even fomented among the tribes. First, the rebellion of the Roums, who were encouraged to stand for private independence; then the hostility of the Alewites, and the rebellion of Armenians in Cilicia; finally a rising of Circassian tribes—Durdje, Khandeke, Adabazar. Naturally again, the men to whom Abdul Medjid had given the villayet of Sivas, after the horrible massacres of 1864, were loyal to the Khalif’s successor and furious at any idea of Nationalist interference.
The course of true love between these two nations had not run smoothly. No wonder their reunion should be celebrated with such appealing remorse!
The President of the Assembly, Mustapha Kemal Pasha, was talking to me one day of the French Revolution, and compared what he called his own “very elegant” beginning with the poor little Assembly in which Michelet had to work, with its single table and just a couple of chairs!
Here, in addition to the large ante-room and M. Kemal’s bureau, the Vice-President, Adnan Bey, husband of Halidé Edib Hanoum—has his bureau; and the actual Assembly Hall (built for concerts) is a fine room, with its Strangers’ and Press Galleries, its platform, and Speaker’s desk.