Once the people were fully convinced of Murad’s madness, there was another important matter to attend to. This was to eliminate an influential figure known as Mithat Pasha. His throne was in danger as long as this man was alive. But times had changed. In former times, in England and France as well as in the Ottoman Empire, anyone the monarch wanted to do away with was executed at once. Like Cromwell, or the poor Anne Boleyn. But things weren’t done this way anymore. So after thinking about it for nights on end, he found the perfect solution. He would put those who had killed his uncle Abdülaziz on trial, and make sure that Mithat Pasha was named as the leader of the conspiracy. He had tents erected in the palace gardens. He had his judges convict Mithat Pasha and his friends, who had nothing to do with the incident, and sentence them to death. One of the judges was Christos Foridis, a sworn enemy of Mithat Pasha. When he interrupted the pasha while he was making his defense and tried to silence him, the defendant said, “Only the opening blessing and the date of the indictment are correct.”

  But of what use were these words in a society where orders were followed without question? Abdülhamid’s unique style began to emerge after this trial. While Istanbul waited in horror for the execution of the former grand vizier, the great Mithat Pasha, the sultan announced that he had forgiven him and his friends and commuted their sentences to exile and imprisonment. Everyone then admired the sultan’s compassion and sense of justice. The pasha was sent to a remote corner of Yemen and left in prison there to be forgotten. But even if everyone else in the world forgot, there was one person who would never forget. And that was the sultan himself. One day Mithat Pasha and his friend Mahmud Celaleddin Pasha were found dead in their cells. Word was put out that this cursed deed had been carried out by the prison warden, but even children didn’t believe that a former grand vizier could be killed without a direct order from the sultan.

  Abdülhamid never admitted that he’d given the order for this frightful execution. “He’d already been sentenced to death. If I wanted him dead, would I have commuted his sentence? There’s something wrong with this story,” he insisted. But everyone knew that he’d sent the pasha far away to be strangled to avoid any turmoil in Istanbul.

  A dark sky—A dead man’s hands

  AFTER THAT SINISTER OWL of a doctor had given him the news about Halley’s comet, the sultan convinced himself that such a thing could never happen, and he found peace by reading the Quran into the night. But the newspapers the doctor showed him the next day were enough to resurrect his apprehensions. In the evening, after eating some zucchini stew and yogurt, he retired to his room, took out his amber prayer beads, and began reciting the name of God, but he was unable to concentrate, he had terrifying visions of the fires of hell engulfing the mansion. At one point he lay on his bed, pulled the quilt over himself, and tried to find peace. In the darkness, his imagination began to run wild; when he couldn’t stand this he got out of bed and went over to the window. He looked out at the night sky and smoked one cigarette after another. His pulse was racing. He searched for any sign that the disaster would occur that night. Perhaps there would be a bright light, perhaps some kind of aurora. That enormous comet would have to give off some kind of light. But the sky was completely dark. There was nothing visible but a few stars. He suddenly realized he was perspiring; his undershirt, his hair, and his neck were completely wet. This was one of the things that frightened him most. God forbid, but if his sweat got cold he would get ill, so ill that he would be confined to bed. He’d seen many men die from colds. At times like this he would have his butler rub the willow-and-yogurt mixture on his body. For a moment he thought of summoning his servant. Then he changed his mind because he couldn’t tear himself away from watching the sky. Was he going to worry about catching cold on judgment day? Who could catch a cold while fire was raining from the sky? He thought about the tens of thousands of hands that would cling to him on judgment day, denouncing him and beseeching God for justice. He began to feel these hands closing around his neck. These severed hands began to move around the room. Like the thousands of hands that had been sent to the King of Belgium to reassure him that a rebellion had been put down.

  He was barely able to breathe. He rubbed his congested chest and tried to mutter a prayer but found himself unable to speak. He could sense the hands moving around in the dark. The room was completely filled with these hands. White hands, black hands, children’s hands, peasants’ hands, clerks’ hands, viziers’ hands, innocent hands, pashas’ hands, pashas’ hands, pashas’ hands, elegant hands with slender fingers, long fingers wearing a grand vizier’s ring. Suddenly the rustling of the hands he sensed moving in the dark stopped. There was a deep and unsettling silence. The sultan tried to calm himself and slow his breathing. He tried to slow his pulse by thinking of happier times. Rowing on the cool waters of the Bosphorus, racing the wind on the back of a thoroughbred, the harems, the beautiful girls who had been given to the palace. He had almost managed to calm down when he was startled to feel two hands around his throat. They squeezed so hard he could no longer breathe. As he struggled to free himself from these hands he fell out of bed and onto his back. He tried to pull the hands away from his neck. The hands were so cold they could have been made of ice or cold iron. He pulled at them as hard as he could but he couldn’t move them at all. What do you want from me? Who are you, whose hands are you? He kept asking these questions but the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth. It was as if the hands heard what he was thinking. These are the hands of a dead person. These hands have come from the grave. From a grave far, far away, in the desert of Yemen. Mithat, he thought, Mithat, these are Mithat’s hands, they’ve come from the grave to strangle me. He pulled with all his strength to free himself from these iron hands, but to no avail. It was impossible to move them a millimeter. I’m dying, he thought, so I’m going to die by Mithat’s hand. As a devout Muslim and the Caliph of Islam, it broke his heart that he could not profess his faith aloud before surrendering his soul. He started reciting prayers silently. Just then there was a knock at the door and he heard his chamberlain calling to ask if anything was wrong. Then the man opened the door, saw him lying on the floor with his hands around his neck, and asked in a panicked voice, “What happened, Your Majesty? Did you fall?” He took the sultan by the arm and helped him up. He sat him in the armchair and brought him a glass of water. Then he asked permission to call the doctor. After the sultan had calmed down a bit, he asked the man what had happened and why he’d come. When the chamberlain explained that he’d heard a noise, followed by the sultan professing his faith three times, he slowly began to understand. He sent the chamberlain away and lit a cigarette. He paced the room a bit, then turned out the light and sat in the armchair by the window. He began watching the sky. He calmed himself by taking refuge in his faith, he repeated to himself that Halley’s comet would not collide with the earth, that the very idea contradicted the Quran, but he continued to watch the sky until morning, just in case. In the morning, after he’d bathed and performed his prayers, he felt better. When the doctor arrived he said, “Your scholars appear to have been mistaken, doctor. It is God who created the heavens, the earth, the stars, and the moon, judgment day belongs to Him and nothing can happen until He gives the word. Look, by the grace of God, the world is still intact.”

  He felt pleased at having defeated the doctor for the first time; he lit a cigarette, squinted his eyes, and looked at his adversary in satisfaction.

  The palace ladies’ frayed nerves

  THE SULTAN’S ROUTINES IN the mansion had now become fixed. He got up early in the morning, bathed in cold water, performed his prayers, drank his coffee from two different cups, then started walking up and down the main hall; every day he walked for half an hour to try to free himself from the dark thoughts that swarmed through his mind. A respectful silence reigned in the mansion, as it had at the palace. His family and staff tried to be as quiet as possible; if they wanted an audience they informed him in advance, and when they spoke to him they addressed him by one of his many elaborate titles. Even though he had been dethroned, he was still the sultan in the mansion. No one prostrated themselves on the floor before him anymore, but the men bowed and the women curtseyed.

  One day as the sultan was pacing the hall and agonizing over his plans to write his memoirs, he was startled by an unexpected noise. There was a crash on the top floor, followed by the sound running feet and women shouting, then the noise stopped abruptly and the mansion was once again silent. The sultan was curious and called to the chamberlain to go find out what had happened. The chamberlain rushed off, and when he returned he told the sultan that his youngest son, Abid Efendi, had bumped into a chair and knocked it over, but hadn’t been injured in any way. His Majesty could be assured that there was nothing to worry about. The sultan listened to the chamberlain with an expression of doubt, then asked that his son be brought to his room. He never believed anything the first time he heard it. Abid came to his room and kissed his hand, and the sultan asked him what had happened and if he’d been hurt.

  His son said, “No, father. I’m fine, nothing happened.”

  It was clear from the boy’s expression and demeanor that he was reluctantly telling a lie he’d been forced into, so the sultan interrogated the prince until he told the truth. Şadiye Sultan and Ayşe Sultan had never gotten along. In the freedom of the palace, where they had so many activities, it had never come to a head, but in the confinement of the mansion, where they shared the same sleeping quarters and couldn’t avoid each other, they’d reached the point of a nervous breakdown and, despite the sedatives the doctor prescribed them, they were constantly at each other, and this time Ayşe Sultan had grabbed a plate from a nightstand and smashed it on the floor, then the other ladies had all rushed to get the situation under control.

  After he heard this, the sultan remained alone in his room to think. He’d been aware of this tension for some time, and had guessed that it would come to a head sooner or later. It wasn’t just his daughters; the other ladies, who used to have their own palaces and woods they could retreat to, were on the verge of a nervous breakdown after spending nearly a year in such cramped quarters. They weren’t even allowed onto the balcony, let alone into the garden, and all of their jealousies, resentments, and hatreds came out into the open. His daughters were in a particularly bad state. They missed their fiancés in Istanbul; they feared that their dreams of establishing homes with them might never come true, that their fiancés would abandon them because their father had been deposed, and they had frequent crying fits that they did their best to conceal from their father.

  He had to solve these problems within his family in the same manner that he had once solved important matters of state. Because, even if he has been deposed, a sultan must always behave like a sultan.

  After thinking and blowing smoke rings for a long time, he called for his chamberlain and asked him to send word to the commander that he wished to speak to him if possible. When he received word that the commander was busy that day but would drop by the following day, he laughed bitterly. Rasim Bey, the new commander, wasn’t understanding, tolerant, and compassionate like the former commander. He wasn’t like that strange doctor either. He was faultlessly respectful, but he was a stern soldier. When the commander came the following day he refused the offer of coffee and a cigarette and asked the sultan what he wanted. In a persuasive tone, the sultan reiterated his devotion to his brother Sultan Reşad and the new government, said that he prayed every day for their success, but that he wished for the granting of a small request that had now become urgent. He had already asked that his daughters be allowed to return to Istanbul so they could marry, but he had received no reply. He requested that the commander take the matter up with his superiors. It was also known that his son Abid, who was of school age, needed to attend a school in Thessaloniki. He would be grateful if a solution could be found. After all, his daughters and sons were His Majesty Sultan Reşad’s nieces and nephews. He was certain his brother would want to be merciful to them. Then he said, “Commander, will you allow me to make one final request for myself? We’ve been closed up in this house for almost a year. I can understand why I’m not allowed into the garden, but if I could at least be allowed onto the balcony that overlooks the garden so my aging body can get some sun and fresh air.”

  Rasim Bey replied in a respectful but serious manner. “Fine,” he said, “I will inform the highest authorities of your requests.” Then he gave him a military salute and left.

  That evening the sultan asked that his family gather for a meeting on the ground floor. Only family members were to be present. His wives, daughters, and sons kissed his hand respectfully.

  The sultan was sitting in his armchair fingering his worry beads. His family stood waiting in front of him.

  “It gives me great joy to see you all in such good health and spirits,” he began, then continued in a sonorous voice: “We may have lost the sultanate, we may have been removed from the throne, our dignity and happiness may have suffered. All of this is the will of Almighty God. We know that everything comes from Him, we consent to our destiny with resignation. However, we are members of one of the most important dynasties in the history of the world, indeed perhaps the most important. No family but the Ottoman dynasty can boast of six centuries of uninterrupted rule. Rome and Byzantium were ruled by several different families, and the same is true of France and England. The Ottomans have ruled longer than any other family. God willing, it will continue to rule for centuries. Even if we are no longer on the throne, the responsibility of being members of this glorious family rests on our shoulders. Together we must show the world that we can carry this burden with dignity. I am not incapable of understanding the state of mind our young people are in after being confined to this mansion for so long. I am doing my best to resolve this issue as quickly as I can. Until that moment comes, I want you to accept the situation with patience and fortitude, and to avoid rebellious behavior. Remember that judgment belongs to God.”

  Ayşe Sultan and Şadiye Sultan listened with their heads bowed. Although they were aware of what their father was speaking of they felt it incumbent on them to remain silent, and when the sultan said, “May God comfort you all,” they backed away bashfully.

  The joy of returning to Istanbul—A shadow falls across the joy—The socialist prince

  THE GOOD NEWS THEY awaited arrived ten days later. The government, either because it had become merciful or because it no longer perceived the former sultan as a threat, had decided to allow some family members and their servants to return to Istanbul. On the ground floor of the Alatini mansion this news was received with cautious satisfaction, and on the top floor with joy and excitement. The destiny of at least part of the family had been altered. The children would get married, and they would be able to give Abdülhamid grandchildren who would continue his lineage forever.

  His three daughters, his eldest son, and three of his wives began preparing to return to Istanbul, but his wives Müşfika and Naciye had decided they could not bring themselves to leave the sultan there by himself. Indeed Müşfika Hanım couldn’t even imagine living apart from her husband. She would not part from him until death. His wives were much younger than him, they were Circassian beauties with blue or green eyes. They had been specially selected for the palace, and had received extensive education in poetry, music, and foreign languages. The aging sultan loved all of his wives, but Müşfika had a special place in his heart. He wanted to draw his last breath in her arms. She stayed with him throughout the years he spent at the Alatini mansion.

  The ladies who wanted to return to Istanbul made it clear that they wanted to take their children with them. And the sultan agreed to this. In fact Müşfika’s daughter was among those returning to Istanbul. Despite this, and even though she was still young, Müşfika had decided to sacrifice her chance to witness her daughter’s success in order to stay in Thessaloniki with her aging husband. She was perhaps the only one of the many women who’d entered the harem who fell in love with the sultan. She’d been born in an Abkhaz village in the Caucasus; when her father was killed in battle she was given to the palace as a concubine, and at the age of fourteen she married the sultan, who’d developed an infatuation for her. Her original name was Ayşe, which had been changed in accordance with palace customs, but the name lived on with her daughter, Ayşe Sultan. Because she herself had originally been a concubine and her daughter was the sultan’s child, she was extremely respectful to her daughter and stood whenever she entered the room. This was how she had been trained at the palace. When they received permission to return to Istanbul, Ayşe begged her mother, insisted that she come with her, but Müşfika couldn’t bring herself to leave her husband after he’d suffered so much misfortune. All she would say was, “He needs me.” Everyone in the palace knew that the sultan was deeply attached to her. Once, Abdülhamid became convinced that all of his doctors were conspiring to kill him, and even though he was ill he refused to take the medicine they’d given him. Indeed he fired all the doctors. The only person who was able to calm him down and get him to take the medication was Müşfika Hanım. There was a deep bond of trust and tenderness between them.

  The news that they’d been given permission to return to Istanbul was celebrated on the top floor of the mansion. The princesses clapped their hands, danced, played cheerful pieces on the piano, hugged each other, and danced the rondo despite the tensions among them. They prayed for their uncle Sultan Reşad for granting them permission to return. They were going to leave this prison in Thessaloniki, be reunited with their fiancés, and establish their own families. They were already dreaming of the palace weddings their compassionate uncle would hold for them. It did not even occur to them that the main reason these handsome gentlemen and high-raking officers wanted to marry them when their omnipotent father was on the throne was for the opportunity to gain power and wealth. The young men had fallen in love with the princesses, there was no other explanation. But now, poisonous doubts began to gnaw at them. “What if he doesn’t want to marry the daughter of a man everyone curses?” Questions like this planted themselves in their minds, causing them to lose their appetites and weep silently into their handkerchiefs at night. It would soon be clear that the poor princesses’ doubts were not unfounded.