THE SULTAN OF TURKEY.

Stratford Evening Post, Volume XXXIV, Issue 90, 11 December 1912, Page 7

THE SULTAN OF TURKEY.

INTERVIEWED BY JOURNALIST

A war correspondent who had the good fortune to secure an interview with the Sultan of Turkey on the outbreak of war is Mr G. Ward Price. The golden autumn sun was struggling with the cold rain showers of the hastening winter as 1 drove to the palace, he writes. The day might have been trying to mimic the ceaseless alternation of hope and fear, dread and confidence, that have filled the political atmosphere through the seemingly age-long crisis of more than a fortnight past. At such a moment, while the heating of the wings of the angel of destruction is filling the air with tremors of unrest, it would he impossible on soil so charged with history for the mind not to lose itself in tracing stories of the resplendent past. The very road down which the carriage went was built of stones over which Mahomet the Conqueror dragged his ships on wheels from the Bosphorus to the Golden Horn to aid in the last grand assault on the Eastern capital of the ancient world. From that the Turks went on to ienna, half a continent away. And now one more war is being added to that series of world-struggles that began five centuries ago.

The white palace of Dolmabaghtche is lapped by the little waves of the Bosphorus. I waited in the gatehouse for slippered porters to go and announce my arrival. Then I walked across a wide garden, where a fountain plays, and the Bosphorus, with its medley of ships of all time, gleams through the railing. At the top of the broad white marble steps leading to the palace silent and slowmoving servants, bearded and grave, were waiting, and led me to the room of the Sultan’s First' Chamberlain, Halid Hourchid Bay. There was some conversation there while in the hospitable way of the Turks, thick coffee was brought by a servant in a small egg-shell cup encased in gold filigree. Then word came from the Sultan. At the top of a broad double staircase hung with gleaming chandeliers, two palace guards in blue stood rigidly at the salute before the entrance of the Imperial apartments. We passed into a room empty but for a screen at the far end, from behind which black servants came nith silent steps. For a moment we waited while attendants whispered my name to a frock-coated Court official, who opened an inner door. Then we passed on into a simple, sunny room looking down on the fair Bosphorus, where the Sultan Mehmed Reshad was standing.

A man of middle height, with a very stout white beard, white moustache, red fez, dark blue, double breasted frock coat, buttoned up, and bright, patent leather shoes—such was the figure of the Sultan. He gave me his hand and motioned me, with a word in Turkish, to sit down while lie himself sat on one of the gilt chairs along the wall of the room. 'I he First Chamberlain tcok a chair, between us, and translated the Sultan’s words from Turkish into French. The Padaishah spoke in a deep voice, giving full value to words already dignified, tie sat motionless as he talked, with his hands bn his lap, hut his eyes had in them an alert interest that gave life to Ids passive attitude. Hdnrchid Tsey interpreted in a low tone, his hands clasped before him in the Turkish posture of respect. There was a calmness and dignity about the conversation which were due to no external circumstance, for the Caliph of three hundred million Mussulmans and the ruler of an empire stretching from the frontiers of Austria to the shores of the Persian Gulf chooses apartments more sumptuous than those of any well-furnish-ed Turkish konak. His Majesty spoke of the prospects of war and referred in the kindliest way to my own intention to accompany the Turkish Army. The favours of princes expose those who have experienced them to the suspicion of bias, but J speak frankly in saying that the Sultan made upon me exactly the impression of real benevolence of disposition with which luis credited by all those who stand near to him. A journalist is not long at his trade before he develops, through continual contact with now people, a certain subconscious perception—an instinct for personality.

The Sultan is a man whose youth and early manhood held little of the ordinary joy of life. For thirty years he was a political prisoner at the mercy of his brother, Abdul Hamid. But his nature was not soured by the shadow that dimmed the best years of his life, and his goodness of heart remains to exercise its influence on those who come in contact with him. The actual interview was brief and

unimportant. “Kiamil Pasha told me yesterday,” said His .Majesty, “that in England public sympathy is on our side in this war in which we have become engaged. “1 greatly appreciate the goad wishes of the British people, and thank them From my heart. “The war in which we arc engaged has been forced upon us. “Turkey would never have attacked if she had been left at peace. “We have grasped the sword solely to defend our territory and our own just rights.” The Sultan was silent for a moment, as if in reflection. Then he resumed slo.vlv, but with greater emphasis:— “The English race is proud, calm and conscious of what is due to its dignity. We Turks esteem greatly the sympathy of such a people.”