The life of Midhat Pasha; a record of his services, political reforms, banishment, and judicial murder

Besides the retention of their portfolios by all the Ministers, Kemal Bey (the best known and most distinguished poet and litterateur of Turkey) and Zia Bey (equally celebrated as a poet and patriot) were appointed as his private secretaries, and Sadullah Bey (well known for his liberal sympathies and opinions) made chief of the Sultan’s secretariat—important guarantees for the smooth working of the machinery of State, and security against the revival of the old pernicious intrigues of the Palace against the Ministers of the Porte. Murad had, moreover, undertaken to promulgate the Constitution prepared by Midhat and his colleagues at the earliest date compatible with the despatch of urgent public business.

So far everything seemed to favour the Reformers. A revolution of the most fundamental character, involving the destruction of autocratic power in Turkey, and carrying the promise of a Constitution which would lay the foundations at any rate of stable government in the country, effected not only without bloodshed or disturbance of any kind, but with the assent and approval of all classes and creeds in the land, and with a new sovereign on the throne known sincerely to share the views of his Ministers and the aspirations of his people, all this seemed to ensure the prospect of healing the wounds of the much afflicted land of the Osmanli, and of opening up a new era of progress and prosperity in the East.

But suddenly a cloud, not bigger than a man’s hand, lowered over the destinies of the country, and from this time the stars in their courses fought against Turkey, and violently set back the date of the promised era of prosperity.

On the eventful night of the 30th‐31st May, during the drive with Murad to the Seraskierat, Hussein Avni had perceived that the Prince was suffering from violent nervous excitement, and these symptoms were still further accentuated in the return journey to the Palace of Dolma‐Bagtche after the ceremony of investiture was over—so much so that Midhat Pasha, who accompanied him, thought it prudent to remain in the Palace, without quitting it, for three days. The physicians called in consultation did not at first take a grave view of the case, and sanguine hopes were entertained that, in a short time, by pursuing the regimen of repose and hygiene recommended by these authorities, Sultan Murad would rapidly recover his health and be able to discharge the duties incumbent on him. Dr Lamsdorf of Vienna, the celebrated specialist, made a very favourable diagnosis of the case. A happy issue of this most unfortunate and inopportune malady was now generally hoped for and expected, when two startling events occurred in rapid succession, each seriously aggravating and affecting the Sultan Murad’s nervous condition of health, and together fatally compromising the hope of rapid recovery.

The first of these tragedies referred to was enacted in the Palace of Tcheragan, five days after the dethronement of the late Sultan. Abdul Aziz, whose imperious temper could ill brook the change of destiny that had overtaken him, had already made one or two unsuccessful attempts, which were with difficulty thwarted, to throw himself out of the windows of the Palace. On the morning of the 5th June, he asked for a pair of scissors with which to trim his beard. On the attendants demurring to comply with this request, the Valide Sultan ordered the scissors to be given to her son. Shortly after this, the ladies of her suite, looking out of a window of a corridor that commanded a view on the room occupied by the late Sultan, saw him sitting quietly in an armchair with his back turned to the window; but shortly afterwards, perceiving that his head had dropped on his lap, they ran to the door and tried to open it. Finding it locked, and fearing a catastrophe, they ran screaming to the Valide Sultan and informed her of what they suspected. Orders being given to break into the room, they found Abdul Aziz sitting in the posture already described, and in a pool of blood flowing from two wounds in his arms, evidently caused by the scissors, which had fallen beside him on the floor. The physicians, who were hastily summoned, could only confirm the apprehension that life was extinct, and the Ministers, immediately apprised of the fact of the tragedy, ordered an immediate examination of the body to be made by all the available medical men in Constantinople, hastily summoned to draw up an official report on the subject. Seventeen medical men of all nationalities, comprising all the most distinguished in the city and in the Embassies of the great Powers, signed a unanimous report to the effect that death was undoubtedly due to suicide, and handed the following certificate:—

The body was transferred to Top‐Kapou and buried in the mausoleum of Sultan Mahmoud.

Ten days after the tragedy at the Palace of Tcheragan the news of which had deeply affected Sultan Murad, another quickly followed, in some respects of a still more startling character, and calculated to prostrate still further a mind already unhinged.

A Circassian captain, formerly aide‐de‐camp of the Sultan Abdul Aziz, one Hassan by name, on whom certain suspicion of violent intentions rested, had been ordered to Bagdad, and on his showing signs of recalcitrancy, he was imprisoned for insubordination by orders of Hussein Avni, the Minister of War. Feigning submission, he was released after two days’ detention. On the 15th June, during a Cabinet Council which was being held at the house of Midhat Pasha, and at which all the Ministers were present, Tcherkess Hassan, armed with no less than six revolvers, forcing the consigne without much difficulty, managed to penetrate into the room where the Council was sitting, and advancing straight up to Hussein Avni, discharged a barrel of a revolver at him, and turning sharply on Reshid Pasha, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, shot him dead on the spot. The Minister of Marine, Kaisserli Ahmed, threw himself on the assassin and tried to disarm him, but he was immediately stabbed with a poniard that Hassan carried in his left hand. Hussein Avni, although severely wounded, managed to make his way to the staircase, but Hassan, following him, struck at him furiously in the neck with his dagger and despatched him. Returning to the Council room he discharged his revolvers promiscuously all around him, smashing the chandelier suspended in the middle of the room, and consequently plunging the room into darkness. It was this that probably saved the lives of the remaining Ministers, for Kaisserli Ahmed, though wounded, and Mehemet Rushdi, and Halid succeeded in escaping into an adjoining boudoir, where they barricaded the door against their furious assailant, who, having despatched the War Minister, seemed chiefly bent on wreaking vengeance on the Minister of Marine. Midhat escaped by a miracle, and by slipping off his coat, the sleeve of which he left in the hand of Hassan who had seized it in the darkness. One of Midhat’s servants, Ahmed Aga, on hearing the firing, had rushed into the room and tried to seize the assassin from behind, but Hassan turned sharply on him and shot him dead. The same fate attended Chukri Bey, the aide‐de‐camp of the Minister of Marine, who also rushed in to the rescue. At last a guard of gendarmerie appeared on the scene, and a regular fusillade ensued between the Circassian at bay and the gendarmes reinforced by a picket of soldiers; it was only then, after a regular pitched battle, that this determined criminal was at length overpowered and seized.

He was very soon afterwards tried, and hanged in due course, stoutly denying to the last that he had any accomplices.

The effect of these compound tragedies on the mind of the Sultan Murad was disastrous. His recovery, sanguine hopes of which had been held out by Dr Lamsdorf, the famous specialist summoned from Vienna to give his opinion on the state of the Sultan’s health, seemed destined to be indefinitely postponed. Two parties, holding distinct views on the situation and the manner it should be dealt with, now showed themselves among the Ministers and the high Court officials. Mehemet Rushdi especially, the old experienced vizier and the majority of Ministers well aware of the favourable disposition of Sultan Murad towards the cause of reform, and very averse to taking a plunge in the dark, leant to the opinion that patience should be exercised and reasonable time given for the recovery of the Sultan’s health.

But another and very active party had in the meantime been formed, of which Damad Mahmoud Djelaleddin Pasha (the Sultan’s brother‐in‐law) was the moving spirit, and which included, together with some high Palace officials, one or two of the influential marshals, such as Redif Pasha, the commander of the Constantinople corps d’armée and under the influence of Damad Mahmoud Djelaleddin. This party—as far as it could be said to have been based on any particular political opinions, and not on the simple ground of ambition and the desire to exercise a preponderating influence in the future régime—consisted of the men who had acquiesced, and even participated, in the dethronement of the late Sultan, but did not share, and some of them were even bitterly opposed to, the constitutional views advocated by Midhat and the reforming party. Borne along by the current of events which they would have been impotent to resist, they would have constituted a helpless minority in the State without power or influence, if they had had to do with a reforming Sultan on the throne, a palace where men like Zia Bey, and Kemal Bey were the guiding spirits, and the party of reform in strong possession of the Porte. The prospect, however, of being able to change the occupant of the throne and place their own candidate upon it afforded them the precious opportunity of upsetting the whole edifice of reform, of themselves seizing the chief power of the State, and turning the revolution that had been accomplished to their own exclusive advantage. It was less a victory of reaction than a triumph of ambition.

Damad Mahmoud Djelaleddin was a very ignorant and uncultivated man, and though careless and without a conviction in respect to political opinions, he enjoyed the reputation of being neither careless nor indifferent with respect to matters of personal or pecuniary concern to himself. On the other hand, he was endowed with great, almost brutal, determination of character, and was utterly reckless as to the means of carrying out his ends. His position of Damad (brother‐in‐law to the Sultan) gave him great influence in the Palace, and at the same time secured him weight in the Councils of the State. He was the very soul of the anti‐reform conspiracy.

Having described Damad Mahmoud Djelaleddin, the character of his lieutenant, Redif Pasha, can be described in a sentence: he was Damad Mahmoud in petto. Whatever qualities distinguished the master were conspicuous in the lieutenant, and only in a less degree, inasmuch as he was physically of a somewhat less robust nature. He had, like Mahmoud, lent himself with all the weight of his military position to the dethronement of Abdul Aziz, but he viewed with an evil eye the advance of reform, and still more the triumph of the reformers.

These two men practically constituted the central power of the conspiracy, for those who co‐operated with them were scarcely admitted into the inner councils or secret plans of the Duumvirate, although themselves the willing participators in the conspiracy.

Among them was Djevdet Pasha, Minister of Justice, who, during all the stirring events of the Vizierate of Mehemet Rushdi, had been lying low in the Cabinet waiting for the opportune moment to show his colours and take part in the overthrow of the ministry.

Whilst enumerating the instruments of Mahmoud’s ambition, it would be impossible to omit the names of two other men who, although they had not yet emerged into the notoriety which they were soon to enjoy, were indispensable tools of Mahmoud’s ambition, and powerfully contributed to the success of his plans. These were the two Saïds. The one was brother‐in‐law of Mahmoud, and destined for the important post of first aide‐de‐camp to the Sultan Abdul Hamid. He was generally known as “Ingless Saïd Pasha,” for his having been educated at Woolwich, and though entirely wanting in initiative or political convictions, was naturally of a frank and loyal disposition, not deficient in energy, and an invaluable coadjutor in carrying out the views of his brother‐in‐law. With Redif Pasha he formed the third member of the Triumvirate, which Mahmoud intended should, during the succeeding reign, govern the country. The other Saïd, of whom a great deal more will have to be said hereafter, was known, on account of his small stature, as “Saïd Kutchouk” (small), and when he reaches the dignity of Pasha, it will be necessary to distinguish him from the other Saïd by this appellation. He was supposed to be the âme damnée of Mahmoud, especially by Mahmoud himself, who destined him for the important confidential post of First Secretary to the Sultan.

Without any doubt, Damad’s plans were well conceived, and his net was well spread. The post of Vice‐Sultan he reserved for himself.

Behind these were marshalled the whole phalanx of Reaction, and the Konak of Mahmoud become the Cave of Adullam of all the malcontents.

The means of action were not wanting to the conspirators in this respect; indeed, the material to their hand was only too abundant. A sovereign of unsound mind is not recognised by the Ottoman Constitution. The girding of the Padishah with the sword of Osman, as an essential part of the ceremony of investiture, was to the Ottoman sovereigns what the sacred oil of Rheims was to the kings of France, and this ceremony had not taken place.

No Sultan, moreover, had ever before absented himself from attendance at the mosque on Friday, and the Selamlik that follows. The public anxiety and excitement on the subject were genuine and universal. Public affairs, too, were suffering: the Constitution was, in a double sense, suspended; the new Constitution could not be promulgated, and the old Constitution, such as it was, could not be worked; the mainspring of the machinery of State was deranged. Foreign diplomacy, too, was beginning to take an active part in the matter. The ambassadors and envoys from foreign States were asking to whom, and when, they could present their credentials. The Russian Embassy—that seemed to have better information relative to Prince Hamid’s character than Ministers themselves—was particularly persistent and active in this respect. It was evident that the crisis could not be indefinitely prolonged.

In these circumstances, it was resolved by Ministers that Midhat should go to Muslou‐Oglou, where Prince Hamid, heir presumptive to the throne, resided, in order to ascertain by a personal interview with him whether Ministers could rely on his co‐operation to carry out the important reforms that they had in hand, should it become absolutely necessary to remove Murad from the throne, and in that event, to agree to certain clear and definite stipulations with the Prince as conditions of their support.

These stipulations were the following:—

1. To promulgate without delay the new Constitution.

2. To act in matters of State only with the advice of his responsible advisers.

3. To appoint Zia Bey and Kemal Bey his private secretaries, and to make Sadullah Bey the head of the Palace Secretariat.

The importance attached by Midhat and Rushdi to this last condition was very great. It afforded a guarantee against those intrigues of the Palace which had ship‐wrecked so many schemes of reform, and prevented, so far as was possible, a renewal of that mute opposition between the Palace and the Porte which had existed for centuries, and had paralysed the efforts of so many Ministers.

At this historical interview at Muslou‐Oglou Prince Hamid evidently “played a deep game” with Midhat Pasha. He promised all and more than all that was asked of him. He pretended to opinions more advanced than the most advanced of his Ministers, and in favour of even a more democratic Constitution than the one elaborated. The other condition he accepted without demur.

On receiving these clear and emphatic declarations, Midhat returned to Stamboul and reported the result of his interview to the assembled Ministers, who thereupon resolved to take the decisive step and put Prince Hamid on the throne in the place of his brother Murad.

As on the occasion of the dethronement of the Sultan Abdul Aziz, it was necessary to obtain a Fetva from the Sheik‐ul‐Islam to the effect that the contemplated step was in accordance with the Sacred Law. Mehemet Rushdi thereupon demanded an official report from six principal physicians in Constantinople—of whom four belonged to the Embassies of the Great Powers—who, after examination of Murad, handed to him the following certificates:—

Thereupon Mehemet Rushdi made a speech to the people gathered together to hear the report of these physicians at the Palace of Top‐Kapou.

The assembled crowd expressed its sense of the justice of these words, and the Sheik‐ul‐Islam, Hassan Hairullah, gave the following Fetva:—

CHAPTER IV

ABDUL HAMID SULTAN

The act of dethronement of Sultan Murad V. was now accomplished. On Thursday, 1st September 1876, Prince Hamid, surrounded by all the great Civil and Military dignitaries of the State, descended the Grand Rue of Pera on horseback, on his way to Top‐Kapou at Stamboul. The people thronged in large crowds to see the procession, but dazed by the series of dramatic events that were so rapidly succeeding one another, they viewed the spectacle with silence and without enthusiasm. There seemed a feeling of anxiety in the air as of the prescience of future evils.

From Stamboul the Prince passed in a State caïque to the Palace of Dolma‐Bagtche. Monday, the 15th of the month Chaban, was fixed for the reception of the Biat (first ceremony of the investiture), and on that day a deputation of notabilities of Finance, accompanied by the chiefs of the five non‐Mussulman communities, headed by Jean Lorando, presented the Sultan elect with an address of congratulation in the name of the city of Galata, and to this the Sultan made the following reply:—

To his Ministers he made a short speech, counselling union and agreement among themselves as the condition and symbol of union among all the subjects of the empire, and “counselled and ordered” them to prove their union by their acts.

The following Thursday, 18th of the month Chaban, was fixed for the great ceremony of investiture. On the morning of that day Abdul Hamid embarked in a caïque for Eyoub, the suburb on the Golden Horn, where the sword of Osman and the other sacred relics are kept, and on his passage thither he was saluted by the guns of the fleet anchored there, and the shout of the sailors manning the yards, “Padishahim tchok Yasha!”

After the important ceremony here was over, and the investiture of the new Padishah was thus completed, he proceeded, according to usage, to the mausoleum of Selim I., the founder of the Ottoman Caliphate, and thence to the mausoleum of Abdul Medjid, his father and the father of Murad, and lastly to the Palace of Top‐Kapou, where the mantle of the Prophet and the sacred Banner are deposited; and at night, the ceremony of this important day being over, he returned to the Palace of Dolma‐Bagtche, where the ceremony of the investiture was completed.

Girt with the sword of Osman, Hamid II. reigned over Turkey, and the dark gloom of the Hamidian epoch was now about to settle over the land of the Osmanli.

On leaving the Palace of Dolma‐Bagtche that night old Mehemet Rushdi, turning to his colleagues, said to them: “We have been in a great hurry to get rid of Murad. May we never have cause to repent what we have done.”

With these quasi‐prophetic words on his lips, feeling no doubt that a new era of struggles was about to open for which younger men were required, the veteran Grand Vizier, who had piloted the country through one coup d’état, and had very unwillingly assisted at a second dethronement, in consideration of his great age and feeble state of health, requested to be relieved of the duties of Grand Vizier. His request was granted, but three months after, Midhat, universally designated for the post, was nominated as his successor. These three months were passed under the Grand Vizierate of Mehemet Rushdi Pasha, but it was Midhat who was leader of the Cabinet, and Mehemet Rushdi was only the mouthpiece of Midhat, until the latter finally replaced him on the 16th December 1876.

The first audience accorded by the new sovereign to foreign envoys was to Count Zichy, the Austro‐Hungarian Ambassador, accompanied by the Secretary of his Embassy. Safvet Pasha, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, was present. The audience lasted one hour, and turned exclusively on the affairs of Herzegovina, the ambassador laying stress on the gravity of the events passing there, the anxiety and expenses that disturbances on its borders caused the Dual Empire, and exhortations to the new sovereign to listen to the advice of the friendly Powers. All this was, as we have seen, in the strictest conformity with the rôle that Austria had been playing for two years. Having set light to the gunpowder in her neighbour’s house, she quoted to that neighbour the familiar proverb, “Proximus ardet Ucalegon,” and warned him of the consequences.

The next audience was granted to the Russian Ambassador, General Ignatieff, recently returned from St Petersburg with the last instructions from his Court. The tone that the ambassador and envoys of Russia, the Strogonoffs, and Mentchikoffs, and Ignatieffs, had rendered familiar to the Porte on its communications on critical occasions, was not absent on this occasion:

To this speech the Sultan made answer in a few appropriate words:

Hardly had Abdul Hamid mounted the throne than the conflict between the two parties already described, commenced. The first act of the new reign was to appoint the personnel of the Imperial Household. Damad Mahmoud Djelaleddin Pasha was named Grand Marshal of the Palace, and Saïd (Ingless) Pasha, first aide‐de‐camp to the Sultan. To these no objections had been raised or conditions imposed. Their duties had reference to what might be considered the more strictly household functions of the Palace, and their appointment lay within the exclusive domain of the sovereign’s personal choice. But it was very different with the office of First Secretary to the Sultan (or his successor) inasmuch as this important functionary has always been the right hand and mouthpiece of the sovereign, and the person by whom and through whom all communications pass between Ministers and the Sultan; and through the confidential character of his office, and his ready and continual access to the person of the sovereign, has always enjoyed a position of exceptional importance, hardly second to that of the Grand Vizier himself. It was for this reason that Midhat, attaching such importance to the worthy occupancy of this post, had not only laid stress on the necessity of its being filled by a functionary in harmony with the views of Ministers, but had actually laid down as one of the three conditions to which Prince Hamid was required to subscribe at the interview at Muslou‐Oglou, that Sadullah Bey, Zia Bey and Kemal Bey should be chosen as occupants of the post of Secretary respectively. In spite of his formal acceptance of this condition, the Sultan informed Midhat Pasha on his very first visit to the Palace, that he had appointed Saïd Bey (Mahmoud’s man) as his First Secretary. Astounded at this breach of faith, and aware of its significance—although perhaps not recognizing the full import of it—Midhat strongly remonstrated with the Sultan and urged a reconsideration of the appointment; but in spite of the remonstrances and prayers of his Ministers, the Sultan remained unmoved, and Midhat eventually acquiesced.

It is easy enough to be wise after the event and to see that Midhat ought to have put his foot down on this question and accepted the decisive battle thus offered him by the Sultan; that it ought to have been clear to him that this was only the first contest in a campaign that would decide the fate of Turkey during the whole of the coming reign, and that the first blow would probably decide the issue in the campaign. But our perspective of things is of course better than was Midhat’s. By the light of all the subsequent events that have unrolled themselves before our eyes, we now know the character of all the actors in the drama which was commencing, especially of the principal actor, and of this very First Secretary, who was the appropriate subject of the first contention. We can now appreciate the character of Damad Mahmoud Djelaleddin, the backbone and arm of the reaction; of some of the Ministers who had been feigning for months past to support Midhat’s views and were only waiting the moment to betray him; and can recognise the existence of a matured and carefully laid plot to upset reform by crushing the reformers—all these things are palpable and clear to us in the broad daylight of subsequent events; but they were scarcely surmised or imagined at the time we are now dealing with. The important citadel of the Palace was delivered, with all its defences, into the hands of the conspirators, and the Palace as a whole was organised for the express purposes of the reformers. This strong position being once firmly secured, the new Sultan could afford to show his hand with little disguise. He could not yet afford to treat with Midhat; it would have been clumsy to do so at once, for Midhat in opposition would have been a force with which he would have had to reckon, and, moreover, he and the Constitution were both necessary as a means of combating the conference that was assembling; but short of a rupture with his Grand Vizier, which was to be studiously avoided, he could afford to emphasize more and more his opposition to the policy of Midhat, so that when the moment arrived he could strike a decisive blow with effect, and with less fear of the consequences.

Subjects of contention between them were not far to seek. The speech from the throne, written by Midhat, which was a pronunciamento of the policy of a new reign inaugurated under such exceptional circumstances, and looked for with great eagerness, was revised by the Sultan beyond recognition; the essential sentences were omitted, others of quite incomprehensive character substituted in their place. The keynote of the original was “a new Regime, the Constitution, and Reform”; this was changed, and meaningless colourless phrases took its place.

In order to give the reader an exact idea of the art displayed in this transformation, the speech actually delivered on this occasion is here appended, and the omitted sentences of the original, placed in parentheses:

“HATTI HUMAYUN.

“On ascending the Throne.

The points of contention between the Palace, or the Sultan (which now become synonymous expressions), and Midhat were all contained in germ in the foregoing variations in the first speech from the throne.

(1) In the very first sentence of the Hatti Humayun of inauguration the Sultan had cut out a passage which would have introduced a change to which Midhat attached some importance—“my Grand Vizier with the title of Prime Minister.” Midhat desired to abolish the title of Grand Vizier and to substitute for it that of Prime Minister, a change which would have entailed as a consequence the collective, instead of the individual, responsibility of Ministers. What the first Minister would lose in dignity and personal influence would be acquired by the Ministry collectively, and would thus consolidate the component parts of the Constitution. Midhat was well aware that this post of Prime Minister would require strengthening and developing for some time in Turkey, in view of the power and influence which the Throne derived from the very nature of the traditions and sentiments of the Ottomans, and the position of Islam in the world.

The purport and tendency of the proposal did not escape the new sovereign, and, faithful to his own views and interests, he simply cancelled the sentence and rejected the proposal.

(2) Midhat had placed in the mouth of the Sultan the following phrase: “As the Constitutional system is one of the principal causes of the progress of nations, we hereby declare this system of government to be adopted by Us, whilst holding, etc.”—instead of which, after some colourless commonplace sentences about the non‐observance of laws and regulations and pursuing the noble object of assuring the happiness of our subjects, he speaks of the necessity of convoking “a general Assembly compatible with the habits and customs and capacity of our population” (which might mean anything or nothing according to the estimate of their capacity), and he orders his Ministers carefully and minutely to study this question (which they had done for a year past), and submit the report to his sanction.

(3) In connection with the same important subject Midhat had proposed, for the purpose of elaborating the Constitutional laws, the convention of a Grand Council composed of the Ministers of State, the Doctors of the Law, and all those whose knowledge and experience entitled them to a voice in the country, to express their opinion on the subject, and that on their report being revised by the Council of Ministers it should be submitted to the approbation of the Sultan.

This proposal evidently meant business, and would not only have fixed a limit of time for the inauguration of the new Constitution, but would have given it the imprimatur of all that was enlightened and worthy of respect and attention in the empire. The Sultan rejected the sentence in toto.

(4) Midhat, who was deeply concerned by the actual condition of Turkish Finances, and thoroughly convinced that the first step in setting this right must be the exercise of rigid economy in all branches of the administration, and who, moreover, had experience of all that had taken place in the reign of Abdul Aziz, did not hesitate to propound to Abdul Hamid what his predecessor Murad had unhesitatingly accepted, viz., that the expenses of the household and of the Imperial Palace should be diminished and reduced to what was strictly necessary, and the Civil list of the princes of the Imperial family should be in like manner reduced, and their amount paid directly by the Minister of Finance, and he left it to the sovereign to make over a sum that he should fix himself for the monthly expenses of the Palace.

The Sultan omitted the whole paragraph.

(5) Midhat attached the greatest importance to the question of mixed schools in the provinces where Christians and Mussulmans lived together. The reader will recollect (p. 40) that when Governor of the provinces of the Danube he desired to establish this system in Bulgaria, and it was this very proposal which excited the anxiety and stirred the energies of the vigilant Ignatieff to defeat the proposal and obtain the dismissal of the Vali.

The Governor of Bulgaria—who now became for the second time the Grand Vizier of the empire—desired to make this cherished scheme general in all the provinces of the empire, and in the inaugural speech he had placed in the Sultan’s mouth words that signified the adoption of this measure and its inauguration in the empire, “in order that the progress of the country may produce the happiness of all its subjects alike; and in order to inculcate these ideas, We decree the foundation of these schools, in which instruction and education shall be common to all.”

Instead of this categorical declaration the Sultan substituted the colourless proposal: “We desire that all Our subjects, without distinction of classes, shall be able to profit by the benefits of knowledge, each according to his personal capacity,” which will bear the exact sense that anybody may choose to attribute to it.

We shall very shortly see what practical sense the Sultan himself attributed to it.

(6) Midhat desired to abolish the slave trade, which he considered a scandal and a disgrace to the empire, and incompatible with its pretensions to a high place in the ranks of civilised nations. He proposed, therefore, in this inaugural speech to proclaim its abolition, and that the Sultan should inaugurate the change by enfranchising all the slaves in the Palace. The Sultan cut out the whole paragraph.

With such a radical difference in the whole point of view from which the Palace clique and the new Grand Vizier regarded the situation, it was clear that occasions for serious conflict would not be wanting, nor would be long in manifesting themselves. They arose indeed at once, and it will be seen that each subject of contention was implicitly contained in the divergence of views manifested with reference to the speech from the throne that has just been analysed.

The question of the Constitution naturally occupied the foreground in these disputes. The Sultan, as has been seen, refused to submit its provisions to a Grand Council to be summoned ad hoc, lest it should receive, as it undoubtedly would have received, this important sanction. He preferred that Ministers should be its sole sponsors, which would leave him free to deny subsequently that its details had been stamped with the seal of national approval. From the very first days of his accession he had shown the greatest anxiety on this subject of the Constitution, and no wonder: it was what the Magna Charta was to John of England—the curb and limit of arbitrary power and exaction.

Knowing that Midhat was its chief champion, it was with him that he entered into negotiations on the subject, even before the actual resignation of Mehemet Rushdi Pasha. The following significant letter signed with his own name (instead of through the usual vehicle of the First Secretary’s signature) was the warning shot fired across the enemy’s bows:—

Letter addressed by the Sultan to Midhat Pasha on the eve of his Grand Vizierate.12

“To my illustrious Vizier, Midhat Pasha.