1921, November 2nd, Wednesday.
The morning of November second arrived with a palpable weight in the air of Constantinople, a city acutely aware that its new, young Sultan and his hastily assembled government were about to face their first direct test from the true masters of the occupied capital. Ahmed Tevfik Pasha, the newly appointed Grand Vizier, a man whose frail shoulders now bore the hopes of a dying empire, was scheduled to meet General Sir Charles Harington, Commander-in-Chief of the Allied Army of Occupation and the de facto ruler of the city, at the British High Commission at ten o'clock.
Murad had met with Tevfik Pasha at dawn in his private study. The old statesman, though visibly aged by the immense pressures of the last two days, was dressed with his usual quiet dignity in a dark Stambouline coat. His expression was grave but resolute. "Your Imperial Majesty," Tevfik said, accepting a small cup of unsweetened coffee, "I have reviewed our agreed position. I will be courteous, I will reiterate our commitment to legitimate international obligations, and I will firmly assert your sovereign prerogative in appointing your own government. I will not be drawn into debates about Damat Ferid Pasha's merits, nor will I offer any new concessions." "That is the correct stance, Pasha," Murad affirmed, his youthful face set with a seriousness that belied his eighteen years. "General Harington is a soldier accustomed to command and obedience. He will attempt to intimidate you, to make demands. Remember that you speak not just for yourself, but for the Ottoman Sultan and Caliph. There is a dignity in that which even he must, however grudgingly, acknowledge. Buy us time, Pasha. That is the most precious commodity we lack." "I will endeavor to do so, Your Majesty," Tevfik replied. He finished his coffee, rose, and bowed. "With Allah's grace."
As Tevfik Pasha's modest carriage departed Yıldız Palace for Pera, where the imposing edifice of the British High Commission stood like a fortress, Murad felt a knot of tension tighten within him. He had every confidence in Tevfik's experience and integrity, but General Harington was a formidable opponent, backed by the might of the British Empire. A misstep, a perceived weakness, could bring down disastrous consequences.
To occupy himself, and to continue the vital work of internal consolidation, Murad had summoned Ferik Fevzi Pasha, his new Minister of War. The soldier arrived, as always, punctual and direct. "Your Majesty," Fevzi began, after a crisp salute, "per your instructions, I have begun the preliminary loyalty assessments within the Constantinople garrison. It is… a mixed picture, as anticipated. Many officers are simply time-servers, concerned with their pay and position. Some are openly defeatist. But there are also good men, younger officers particularly, who are patriots, ashamed of our current predicament, and who might respond to strong, principled leadership." "Identify them, Fevzi Pasha," Murad instructed. "Quietly. We need a cadre of utterly reliable men for this new Hassa Ordusu. What of the arsenals?" "The initial audit of the Tophane Arsenal is underway, under the guise of a routine inventory check," Fevzi reported. "My men are looking for serviceable weapons and ammunition that may have been overlooked or deliberately concealed from Allied inspectors. It will take time. The place is vast, and records are in disarray." "Good. Prioritize secrecy above all else in these initial stages," Murad cautioned. "Any hint of rearmament could provoke an immediate Allied crackdown. Your task is to build a foundation in the shadows, Fevzi Pasha. A foundation upon which we can later build something more substantial." They spoke for an hour, discussing the minutiae of identifying loyal NCOs, securing barracks for the proposed new brigade, and the challenges of instilling discipline and morale in an environment rife with despair and foreign oversight. Fevzi Pasha's pragmatic, no-nonsense approach was a balm to Murad's nerves. Here was a man who dealt in realities, not illusions.
Meanwhile, across the Golden Horn, in Pera, Tevfik Pasha's carriage drew up before the British High Commission. The building, once an embassy, now exuded an aura of military power. Sentries in British uniforms stood guard, their expressions impassive. Tevfik Pasha, though an old man representing a vanquished empire, walked with measured steps, his head held high. He was ushered into a large, ornate office where General Harington, a man of imposing stature with a stern, clipped mustache and piercing blue eyes, awaited him. Sir Horace Rumbold, the British High Commissioner in his civilian capacity, a more polished but equally resolute diplomat, was also present.
"Your Highness," General Harington began, his voice devoid of warmth, forgoing even the pretense of diplomatic pleasantries, though he used Tevfik's honorific. "We meet under circumstances of considerable… gravity. The summary dismissal of Damat Ferid Pasha, a man with whom we had established a relationship of mutual understanding and who was, in our view, diligently working to uphold the terms of the Armistice and the Treaty of Sèvres, has caused profound concern amongst all the Allied Powers." Sir Horace Rumbold added, his tone smoother but no less firm, "Indeed, Grand Vizier. Such an abrupt change in leadership, without prior consultation, raises serious questions about the new Ottoman government's intentions and its commitment to the existing frameworks that ensure peace and stability in this region."
Tevfik Pasha inclined his head slightly. "General, Sir Horace. I appreciate your candor. Allow me to be equally candid. His Imperial Majesty, Sultan Mehmed the Sixth Vahideddin, in the exercise of his sovereign prerogative, has seen fit to appoint a new government. This is an internal matter for the Ottoman Empire. My predecessor, Damat Ferid Pasha, resigned for reasons pertaining to his health and the arduous nature of his duties." This was the official palace line, a polite fiction they all understood. "Resigned?" General Harington's eyebrow arched skeptically. "Come now, Pasha. Let us not indulge in diplomatic charades. He was dismissed. And we wish to know why, and what this portends."
"What it portends, General," Tevfik replied, his voice calm and even, "is a renewed commitment by the Ottoman government to address the pressing needs of its people, to restore internal order and solvency, and to uphold its legitimate international obligations. His Imperial Majesty and his new government are dedicated to peace and stability. We seek no confrontation. We merely seek to govern what remains of our Empire with dignity and a sense of responsibility to our own populace." "And your interpretation of 'legitimate international obligations,' Pasha?" Rumbold interjected. "Does it fully encompass all articles of the Treaty of Sèvres, for instance? A treaty signed by the previous Ottoman government." This was the crux. Tevfik Pasha chose his words with extreme care. "Sir Horace, the Ottoman state is a signatory to certain international agreements. My government will, of course, study all such obligations with the seriousness they deserve. Our immediate priority, however, must be the internal stability and economic viability of the state. A starving and chaotic nation is a threat to all, and is in no position to fulfill any obligations, however legitimate."
General Harington leaned forward, his voice taking on a harder edge. "Let me be perfectly clear, Grand Vizier. The Allied Powers will not tolerate any attempt to unilaterally abrogate treaty provisions. We have the means, and the will, to enforce compliance. Any actions by your government that are deemed to undermine the current security arrangements, or that encourage irredentist elements, will meet with the swiftest and most severe response. We expect full cooperation, Pasha, not obstruction or prevarication." "Cooperation, General, is a two-way street," Tevfik Pasha stated, his gaze meeting Harington's without flinching. "My government is prepared to cooperate in all matters that genuinely contribute to peace, justice, and the well-being of all inhabitants of this city and the territories under our administration. We also expect that the Allied Powers will respect the inherent dignity of the Ottoman Sultanate and its people, and will refrain from undue interference in our internal governance, especially when such governance aims only at lawful order and the alleviation of suffering."
The meeting continued for another hour, a tense verbal sparring match. Harington pressed for details, for commitments, for an affirmation of Damat Ferid's policies. Tevfik Pasha parried, reiterated his government's peaceful intentions and its focus on internal reform, and carefully avoided being drawn into specific concessions or repudiations. He emphasized the youth of the Sultan, his desire for good counsel, and the need for the new government to find its footing. He neither groveled nor threatened. He was the epitome of dignified diplomacy under immense pressure.
When Tevfik Pasha finally departed the British High Commission, he knew he had conceded nothing of substance, but he had also not overtly provoked an immediate crisis. He had, perhaps, bought a little time. But the General's final words had been ominous: "We will be watching your government's actions very, very closely, Grand Vizier. Very closely indeed."
Back at Yıldız Palace, Murad received Tevfik Pasha immediately. The old statesman looked weary but composed. He recounted the meeting with General Harington in meticulous detail. "He is a hard man, Your Majesty," Tevfik concluded. "Uncompromising. He views us with suspicion, and Damat Ferid's dismissal as a serious affront. He made it clear that any perceived deviation from the Sèvres framework will be met with force. However, he did not, for now, issue any direct ultimatums or threaten immediate intervention beyond what is already in place. He is watching, waiting to see our first moves." Murad listened intently, his expression thoughtful. "You handled it with admirable skill and fortitude, Pasha. You stood firm without breaking. That is precisely what was needed. He knows now that this government will not be a mere echo of the last."
"Reşid Akif Pasha has formally accepted the Ministry of Foreign Affairs this afternoon, Your Majesty," Tevfik then reported, a slight easing of the tension in his voice. "He was… encouraged by the firm but non-provocative stance we agreed upon. He is prepared to meet with the other Allied High Commissioners and reiterate our position." "Excellent," Murad said. "That is a critical appointment secured. Reşid Akif has the experience to navigate these treacherous diplomatic waters. What of other posts?" "Progress is being made, Your Majesty. Cavit Bey is already at work on his preliminary assessment of the Ministry of Finance. Nuri Efendi will formally accept the duties of Sheikh-ul-Islam tomorrow. The Ministry of the Interior and Justice remain to be filled with men of true caliber, but I have promising candidates in mind."
"Good. Focus on that, Pasha," Murad instructed. "A complete and competent cabinet is our first line of defense. As for General Harington's scrutiny," he added, a glint in his eye, "let him watch. We will give him much to observe – a government working diligently for its people, restoring order, instilling discipline. And in the shadows, we will continue our other work, the work that Fevzi Pasha has begun."
Later that evening, Murad received another discreet message, this one more specific, passed through Hafız Bey from Sheikh Saffet's network: "The Gardener's seeds have found a crack in the wall. A humble traveler from Konya, known for his piety and discretion, expects to be in Ankara within a fortnight. He is willing to carry a small, sealed message, memorized if necessary, to a certain respected teacher known to have the ear of some within the Assembly, a teacher who once shared tea with the Gardener himself in quieter times." Murad's heart beat a little faster. A channel. A fragile, uncertain thread, but a thread nonetheless. He spent the next hour carefully composing a message in his mind – not a political proposal, not yet, but a simple greeting from Caliph to fellow Muslims, an expression of sorrow for the divisions, a prayer for wisdom for all who held the fate of Turks in their hands, and a carefully worded inquiry about the possibility of a future, entirely unofficial, dialogue on matters of shared spiritual and national concern, far from the ears of foreigners. It was a message of peace, but also a subtle probe.
As the night deepened, Murad looked out over the slumbering city of Constantinople. The first direct encounter with the occupiers had been weathered. His government was taking shape. A whisper was on its way to Ankara. The tremors from his actions were spreading, but he had stood firm. The lions in their den had roared, but today, they had not devoured. Tomorrow, the work of walking the tightrope, of rebuilding an empire from its ashes while surrounded by predators, would continue.