The Ottomans in Europe

  “IT WAS 1867, AND as princes under my uncle’s absolute authority, we were grateful to be alive, that none of us had been killed. Even though in our family the killing of princes to preserve ‘the order of the world’ was lawful. My ancestor Sultan Mehmet enacted this law not out of cruelty but so that the empire wouldn’t be torn apart by rival heirs, as had happened when Genghis Khan died. To tell the truth, I have difficulty understanding the sultan who had nineteen of his infant brothers strangled, but I suppose things were done differently then. But we were approaching the twentieth century, we couldn’t do things like that anymore. Europe would not look kindly on such acts.

  “We used to look down on Europe, but it had gained strength and substance. We began to follow developments there more closely, and we were astounded by what we heard. For the first time in history, what they thought of us began to matter. In the old days, we didn’t pay any attention to the infidels’ ideas, and we laughed when they called us barbarians. Everyone knew that the real barbarians were the Crusaders who had come to the East. The Latin barbarians had even ransacked Constantinople. My late ancestor spent years rebuilding the city. However, as we followed recent developments, we realized that Europe had become a completely different place, and we grew curious.

  “It was at just about this time that my uncle received an invitation from Napoleon III. His Majesty the emperor had invited the Ottoman sultan Abdülaziz to Paris to attend the opening of a world fair. I can’t even begin to tell you how much excitement this invitation caused. Foreign ambassadors filled the palace corridors and waiting rooms and whispered among themselves. The Russian tsar was more opposed to this trip than anyone, but it was assumed my uncle wouldn’t go to Paris. It had been centuries since an Ottoman sultan had stepped foot outside the empire. Indeed they hadn’t even visited Jerusalem or taken the hajj to Mecca, both of which were imperial territories. Therefore no one believed my uncle would break this tradition and go to Paris. But then the impossible happened. Whether Ali Pasha and Fuad Pasha convinced him or whether he wanted to see the wonders he’d heard about for himself, news that His Imperial Majesty would visit France fell like a bomb on the Ottoman Empire. When my brother Murad heard the news he said, ‘Oh, what is the wrestler going to do there, what kind of gaffes will he commit?’

  “We were both certain our uncle would not take us and we were saddened that we would not see Europe, but we were in for a surprise. The next day we received the good news from the palace that we were to be included. Murat, myself, and my uncle’s son Yusuf Izzeddin were to accompany my uncle. We were thrilled and surprised. It was only later that we learned Ali Pasha had convinced my uncle to bring us along, and we prayed for him. To tell the truth, it would never have occurred to us to replace our uncle on the throne. After centuries of sultans being overthrown or killed, no one trusted anyone. Sometimes when my brother and I talked about our family’s bloody history we would say, ‘Who needs the throne and all the trouble that comes with it. Let’s just enjoy life…’

  “We thought we should live as modern, secular people according to the changing mentality of the nineteenth century. As two princes who knew that in the past our destinies would be either the throne or the silk cord, we were honest with each other and spoke our minds. We both felt that the throne was dangerous.

  “I was twenty-four years old and I had the opportunity to see Europe; it was unbelievable, it was a miracle. As I said before, Europe had been seen as ‘the land of the infidels,’ their economy was seen as weak and their currency worthless. Sultans would frequently wage war against ‘the heathens’; they conquered vast territories as far as Vienna and returned to Istanbul in glory. An envoy once left his post in Europe and returned to Istanbul in anger at how he had been treated. This ill treatment consisted of making the envoy listen to a chamber orchestra and serving him seafood. The envoy was offended and called his hosts impudent. ‘They shamelessly serve me bugs and sweepings, they make me listen to this infidel fiddle, I’m going to go home, eat lamb and listen to proper music.’ However, everything changed over time, news from Europe and the sumptuous illustrations in publications such as The Illustrated London News and Le Monde illustré began to shake Ottoman confidence and European fashion became an irresistible wind. French fashion reigned supreme, particularly in Istanbul. And the ladies of the palace were more impressed than anyone by the new fashion.

  “When the journey was announced, there was a great deal of excitement in both Europe and Istanbul. A number of large companies competed to benefit as much as they could from this trip, taking advantage of lobbying opportunities and receiving contracts for the lavish receptions that would be held in Paris. The only reception my uncle agreed to honor with his presence was the Valle de Cristal. Ambassadors and religious leaders prayed for the sultan to have a safe journey and return. The Greek patriarch expressed sadness that the sultan would be absent, but found solace in the thought of the benefits of this trip, which he had no doubt would be successful. The chief rabbi of the Jewish community, who was very attached to the sultan, consulted the stars and predicted that everything would be well as long as the monarch didn’t eat from the forbidden fruit during his visit to Europe. This prediction led the sultan’s mother to worry. Fortunately Fuad Pasha was able to reassure her; he told her that forbidden fruit referred to political matters that might upset the sultan, but that she should not worry because he would always be by His Excellency’s side.

  “The Ministry of Foreign Affairs announced that His Imperial Majesty would set out on June 21 and disembark at Toulon on June 28. I’ll never forget that day. Friday prayers were held at the beautiful mosque on the shore in Ortaköy. My uncle arrived on a gray horse, medals glistening on his chest, greeted the throngs of people who’d come to see him, then returned to the palace after the prayers were concluded. We were ready and impatient to board the ship. But my uncle was late. The Russian tsar’s son Alexei had arrived in Istanbul on the steamship Olga. The sultan was meeting him and General Ignatiev, and the meeting dragged on longer than expected.

  “Finally, at four o’clock, cannon salutes were heard on both sides of the Bosphorus. This cannon fire from the frigates anchored off the palace announced that His Imperial Majesty had boarded the imperial caique and was about to leave Istanbul. We had long since settled into our cabins. My uncle arrived on the gilded imperial caique and boarded the magnificent yacht Sultaniye. The Sultaniye, which swayed gently in the breeze on the dark blue waters of the Bosphorus, would host the sultan and his retinue. The yacht Pertevniyal would house the servants and the provisions. The convoy also included two steam frigates, the Osmaniye and the Orhaniye, and the yacht Fobin, which would carry the French ambassador Monsieur Bure.

  “But now I have to tell you about another aspect of this. It may or may not seem strange to you. My uncle hadn’t wanted to be the first sultan to set foot in unconquered territories. He’d had no intention of doing any such thing. But there was increasing unrest in territories such as the Balkans, Egypt, and Crete, which were struggling for independence. And he had received reliable intelligence that the great powers were stirring up this turbulence. Under these circumstances, it made sense to use Napoleon III’s invitation as an excuse to visit France and England, reach new agreements with them, and seek their help against Russia. However the ulema, who stuck their noses into everything and were quick to issue judgments, insisted that the sultan could not step foot in what they called ‘the house of war.’ If this obstacle were not overcome, the public would be adversely affected. In the end, the crafty chamberlains at the palace found a solution. Another layer would be added to the soles of his boots, creating a compartment that would be filled with the soil of Istanbul. Thus the great empire avoided a serious problem. The sultan would not step foot on infidel soil. There would always be Ottoman soil beneath his feet. Murad just laughed at this nonsense. The things they concerned themselves with!

  “I can’t begin to describe the sound of the crowds cheering on both sides of the Bosphorus and the deafening roar of the cannons firing from the frigates and the castles as the convoy left Istanbul. I knew my uncle was worried about undertaking this adventure, but he didn’t let this show, and like a great sultan saluted the people.

  “There was another loud celebration as we passed through the Dardanelles. Then, within two days, a storm blew up. Gamiz Hasan Bey, the captain of the Sultaniye, had failed to convince the palace that they should set sail before the Mediterranean storms began. And the poor captain’s fears proved correct, the convoy was caught in a storm. The Sultaniye was being tossed about like a walnut shell, waves were washing over the deck, everyone was seasick, some were vomiting and others were hanging on to the rails. We saw my uncle stride out onto the deck, walk up to the captain, and look him in the eye. Then we heard him say, ‘Stop this at once! Stop this rocking immediately. Or else!’

  “The poor captain turned completely white and collapsed on the deck in terror. Just then a large wave crashed and everyone, including the sultan, got wet; my uncle was holding on to the captain and we feared he might throw him into the sea. Then our cleverest statesman, Foreign Minister Fuad Pasha, convinced him to return to the imperial cabin. The palace doctors gave the sultan an elixir to calm his nerves and it put him to sleep for quite some time. When my uncle woke the next morning, the storm had passed and the sea was completely still. The danger was past and the sultan, believing that the captain had obeyed his order, decided to spare his life.

  “The rest of the trip passed without incident. We stopped in Naples for three days, but we didn’t go ashore.

  “When we reached Toulon a week later, there was an incident that would put Fuad Pasha in a difficult position. At the port of Toulon, the French held a magnificent ceremony to welcome the sultan. All of the noble men and women in the city had put on their finest clothes and gathered at the harbor. The women came with colorful umbrellas to protect themselves from the sun. We were surprised to see men and women mingling, but we’d heard that Europe was like this and didn’t give it much thought. A large triumphal arch had been erected in the harbor, and it made our hearts swell with pride to see Ottoman flags flying everywhere. A hundred ships came to greet my uncle. There was one cannon salute after another. The infernal roar of a hundred ships firing cannons created a sense of doomsday horror, it was enough to wake the dead. My uncle waited for the cannon fire to end before disembarking, and we lined up behind him. The cannon fire didn’t end, my uncle waited and waited, then frowned and looked at Fuad Pasha. None of us had expected anything like this. My uncle was already suspicious of Europe and expected something bad might happen at any moment, he got it into his head that he was being mocked, his face turned red with anger and he ordered Fuad Pasha to sail the convoy back to Istanbul. Everyone on deck froze. Murad and I looked at each other anxiously. My brother was biting his lip. How could they snub such a magnificent welcome and sail away? But the sultan was trembling in anger. Fuad Pasha was facing the second crisis of the journey. The poor man already had a weak heart. Thankfully he was a clever and cultured man, and he found a solution right away. He told the sultan that Toulon held a very special place in our history, and that’s why the welcoming ceremony was at the highest level. We didn’t know this. According to what Fuad Pasha said on the deck and the details he related to us later, when King Francis I of France lost his wars against the Holy Roman Empire, Charles V imprisoned him in Madrid. Francis found a way to contact our illustrious ancestor Sultan Süleyman and ask him for help and protection. He accepted this request and sent a fleet under the command of Barbaros Hayreddin Pasha. When our fleet rescued Francis and brought him to Toulon, it was greeted with great fanfare, and the thirty thousand men of the fleet spent the winter there. Toulon cathedral was converted into a mosque, and the city began using Ottoman currency. This was why there was so much excitement in Toulon at seeing Ottoman ships after three hundred and twenty-four years. After listening to Fuad Pasha, the sultan calmed down a bit, meanwhile the cannon fire ended and an orchestra on the shore began playing pieces my uncle had composed. This was a pleasant surprise for all of us, but I think my uncle was more pleased than anyone. Because when his ten-year-old son Yusuf Izzeddin turned and asked, ‘Father, aren’t these your compositions?’ he said, ‘Yes, my son’ and a big smile spread across his face.

  “Everyone was clean, stylish, and well cared for. The people who had gathered seemed to be the city’s most prominent citizens. My uncle was wearing his large uniform. We were behind him. Fuad Pasha spoke fluent French and was interpreting. I was pleased by this because it meant I wasn’t obliged to speak French. Murad’s French was much better than mine. At Toulon we boarded the imperial train, which had been decorated with laurel branches and red and white flowers. We traveled to Paris through beautiful plains, vineyards, and cities and towns with interesting architecture and splendid cathedrals. Throughout the journey, crowds of people lined the tracks to greet us.

  “The Gare de Lyon was completely packed, if you threw a needle into the crowd it wouldn’t fall to the ground. My uncle stepped off the train, and Napoleon III rushed to greet him. The sultan of the East and caliph of all Muslims shook hands with the emperor. The dream that was to last forty-seven days began at that moment. The two emperors boarded an open carriage. All of Paris was out in the streets, shouting ‘Vive le sultan!’ The whole city had come out to see us. They were curious to see what Ottomans looked like. There was a constant cheering. We didn’t know where to look. The tall buildings, broad avenues, double lines of chestnut trees, and men and women mingling together in cafés made us feel as if we were in a fairy-tale world. Our convoy reached the Tuileries, where we were greeted by Empress Eugénie. She was a beautiful young woman, and she was wearing an elegant dress that accentuated her figure. We’d seen illustrations in French magazines of her wearing outfits that were more daring, that indeed to us seemed defiant, but she’d chosen to dress more modestly for the occasion. She greeted my uncle with an elegant courtesy and we were all enchanted by her. Then my uncle amazed us by bringing her hand to his lips like a French gentleman. He didn’t actually kiss the empress’s hand, but he came very close. Indeed among the infidels this was how it was done. But we had different customs and didn’t know this. Or rather Murad would have known, but in any event he was more like a European prince than an Ottoman prince.

  “What was I saying. Hmm. We were going to have lunch at the palace, then we would go to Élysée Palace, where we would be staying. We were invited to a long table where butlers in frock coats stood waiting, and as we made our way my uncle said something to Fuad Pasha, who then translated the comment for the emperor and empress. The emperor was clearly surprised, but we heard him say, ‘Bien sûr, bien sûr, absolument.’ My uncle nodded his head, and the chief muezzin of the palace, dressed in robes and a turban, stepped forward and began reciting the call to prayer. Everyone stood. The call to prayer echoed off the walls of palace. After the call to prayer the chamberlains spread prayer rugs to face Mecca and we all performed our prayers. As we prayed, we could feel the French dignitaries watching us. Since we were traveling, my uncle could have skipped the prayers, but I think he did this as a diplomatic show of force, and the French imperial family and all the dignitaries saw fit to remain standing during the prayers.

  “Excuse me, this cough just won’t go away. I get frequent fits of coughing. Just like this one. No, no, there’s no blood. Could I ask you to prescribe a new medication? Müşfika Hanım suffers a great deal of pain at night. How can I explain, she’s the best woman in the world. I would be pleased if you could treat her. Would you be able to see her today as well? But under no circumstances are you to give her morphine, I’m terrified of morphine, the doctors gave morphine to one of my wives and the poor thing died that night.

  “Anyway, what was I saying, we were in France, but now I want to tell you about something else. It will be important in helping you to understand me. As you know, nine years after the trip to France they dethroned the mighty sultan, locked him in a room, and insulted him. Two courtiers even had a picture taken of themselves with their elbows on his broad shoulders and vengeful grins on their faces. Then they killed him by cutting his wrists. That’s how the throne is, the people who prostate themselves before you and swear to die for you won’t hesitate to take revenge the moment they can. That day, as he left the Tuileries as a proud Oriental sultan, the poor man would never have imagined his life would end like this.

  “Power brings death, and absolute power brings absolute death. Particularly in these parts. You know that only seventeen people attended our Prophet’s funeral prayers, only the people from his household were present. Because the struggle for succession had already begun. Those who had come with him from Mecca insisted that one of them should be the caliph. The men of Medina insisted the caliph should be one of them. The sword of Umar cut through Islam’s first knot. Umar, who was as tall as two men, pulled out his sword and said, ‘I swear allegiance to Abu Bakr.’ No one could say anything. When Abu Bakr died one year later, Umar took over from him and ended up being killed. He was replaced by Osman, who was also killed. Then his successor, Ali, was wounded by a poisoned sword in the mosque. He died not by the sword but of poison. Don’t ask me to tell you what happened after that, doctor. The Prophet’s descendants were killed, and very few of the caliphs who came after them died in their beds. The caliphs from whom I am descended were killed in Istanbul. Do you understand now, doctor? To be on the throne and to be the caliph is to face death at every moment. Day and night you wonder where death will come from, how you’ll be attacked, will it be a dagger, poison, a bullet, or the silk cord? There’s no knowing. Which seemingly faithful grand vizier is a traitor, which minister has been bought, which janitor is secretly working for whom? What is being talked about in the palace corridors, what murder plots are being whispered, when I go to bed at night will I be able to get up in the morning, who’s going to try to bomb me when I go to Friday prayers? I was haunted by this for thirty-three years and it has worn me out.