Not only in Turkey, but throughout Islam, which includes India, there is no institution so sacred as the Khalifate, yet the term is meaningless if the Khalif loses Arabia. Next in sanctity to Mecca, in Moslem eyes, comes Jerusalem, for all the prophets of that Holy City are sacred to Islam, though her prophets have no honour in Judea or among Christians. Should we not tremble when Christian Powers attempt to tamper with lands of pilgrimage like Hedjaz, and when they trample upon the traditions of the Khalifate?
At Rome, Osman Nyzami Pasha represented Constantinople, while Djelaleddine Arif Bey was Minister for Angora. The former did not, indeed, go into exile with the Nationalists; but his varied experience as soldier, statesman, and ambassador has given him a rare knowledge of Europe that makes him popular and useful in diplomacy. Alas, now, however, his career ends.
Ten years ago in Constantinople he greeted me with, “Dear child, what for did you do this dreadful thing,” as I was returning from the Persian Mouharrem, the anniversary of the assassination of Hussein, son of the Prophet. The Spanish Minister, who was with us, had fainted outright, although familiar with bull-fights. His wife, Mme. M., a Swede, had more courage than either of us; but I almost fell into the Ambassador’s arms as I reached my hotel.
In a ring formed round a centre of blazing torches, white-robed men wail and mourn for the holy martyr, slashing their heads with swords. They dip their hands in the flowing blood, and sprinkle it all over their faces. I was haunted for weeks by the ghastly spectacle, which I shall never be able to forget, of those stained robes and faces, amidst the wild fanatical shrieks. When, as often happens, a man thus kills himself in the fury of exaltation, he is acclaimed a martyr, and his family are pensioned for life.
When I asked why such awful ceremonies were permitted, I was reminded of Turkey’s “non-interference” with every creed and all the “pieties” of all peoples.
At Rome, I lodged in a quiet convent, which closed at 7.30. But the Ambassador called at eight and was followed by a succession of Turkish friends, until Mihrinour and her husband arrived at 10.30. I apologised next morning to the Mother Superior for such unseemly interruptions of her ordered life; explaining, in a fifteen minutes’ lecture, how anxious a Turk would always feel for the comfort of any friend. “You are perfectly right,” she said, “I know them well. I lived eighteen years on the shores of the Bosphorus!”
Djelaleddine Arif Bey gave me a right royal welcome to Rome, and allowed me to trouble him with all sorts of questions. In Constantinople he had been what we call Dean of the Faculty of Law, and one day, on an official visit to the Sultan, wearing a frock-coat and patent-leather shoes, he had just time to escape to Angora, dressed as he was. His knowledge of both the Cheriat and European Laws was invaluable to the Assembly, and it is a delight to hear from his own lips that Turkey is going to establish her own Constitution, not a poor imitation of ours.
“Our justice has been paralysed by capitulations,” he said; and told me of an Italian murderer who had found sanctuary in his Consulate, because the Kavass would not give him up. “We have been bound and fettered all these years, but it cannot go on.”