CHAPTER VIII
EMOTIONS AND IMPRESSIONS—“ON THE WAY.”—NOWHERE TO HOUSE THE POOR PEOPLE
It was, indeed, a kindly Providence that led the cheik to accompany us upon this stage of my tour. No one could have been more polite and thoughtful, more ready to gratify my every wish at great personal sacrifice, than the officer from Smyrna. But he had not been at Oxford; he could not speak our language with the distinguished accent of that University; above all, he had not the vast culture of this man of God. His information would have been conveyed in German, a language I speak with no pleasure.
The cheik has large brown eyes, a dusky skin, and a face which, though stamped with suffering, is kindness itself. He wore a long grey coat and turban, and appeared to me at that moment years older than his actual age. Maybe my inborn veneration for Oxford professors misled me; and no doubt I was also influenced by the obvious respect of the many hoary-headed disciples who came to the station to bid their “Master” farewell, bending to kiss his hand and receive his blessing. Great erudition, again, must always add to a man’s appearance of age, and his allusions to varied experiences in many a Moslem land did certainly suggest the passing of years.
Like myself, however, he was going to Angora for the first time, venturing behind the long line of bayonets which still separates that troubled land from the rest of the world.
In complete sympathy with my admiration for these men who had suffered and been victorious, he was eager to learn a little of the tribulation through which they had fought their way to liberty and freedom.
“It seems to me,” I began, “that were I the British High Commissioner, I should have found some means of, at least, paying a visit to Angora. What do our legislators yet know about this land under their charge, for which they have been made responsible? They can have no idea of the people’s aims, their faults and their virtues. You might as well take charge of some province in heaven of which you only know that it exists.”
“There is not a Turk to-day who would not welcome you as British High Commissioner,” was the gallant reply. “We are, indeed, deeply grateful for your trust. You have found the key to unlock Moslem hearts—to trust us.”
“Surely it is with nations as with individuals, the man who trusts and is deceived will yet prevail over his deceiver, whatever temporary profits that traitor may grasp. There can be no final conquest over truth. That was my late father’s teaching, and if it has sometimes left me an easy prey to liars and thieves, it has not killed my faith in human nature or hurt my pride. Self-respect will always compel me to treat every man as my friend.”