1921, November 3rd, Thursday.
The dawn of November third brought with it a fragile sense of order within Yıldız Palace, though the undercurrent of crisis remained as strong as ever. Sultan Murad VII had established the core of his new government, a government born of defiance and desperate hope. Now began the Herculean task of making it function, of translating bold pronouncements into tangible actions, all while under the unblinking gaze of the Allied occupiers and with the fate of a potential olive branch to Ankara hanging in the balance.
Murad began his day not with state papers, but with a quiet hour of contemplation, focusing his mind on the carefully constructed message destined for Anatolia. Hafız Bey had confirmed, through discreet channels originating from Sheikh Saffet Efendi's circle, that the "humble traveler from Konya" was indeed preparing for his journey and would depart within two days. The message needed to be finalized, its every nuance weighed. It was not a negotiation, nor a plea, but a subtle signal across a chasm of mistrust – a Caliph's concern for all his Muslim subjects, a shared sorrow for the divisions, and a carefully phrased query about the possibility of future, entirely unofficial dialogue on matters of spiritual and national survival, far from foreign ears. He would not write it down, not yet. It would be committed to memory by the traveler, a man chosen for his piety and his proven discretion. The risk of interception was too great for any physical document.
"Hafız Bey," Murad said later that morning, after his frugal breakfast, "ensure Sheikh Saffet Efendi is informed that the 'sentiments' I wish to convey are ready. The traveler should be prepared to receive them through the Sheikh's designated intermediary this evening. The utmost secrecy is, of course, paramount." "It will be handled with the delicacy of a prayer, Your Majesty," the Lord Chamberlain assured him, his usually impassive face showing a flicker of the profound importance he attached to this clandestine diplomatic endeavor.
With that critical task set in motion, Murad turned his attention to the more overt, yet equally challenging, work of his new administration. Tevfik Pasha, his Grand Vizier, arrived for their daily morning conference, looking somewhat less strained than the previous day. "Your Imperial Majesty," Tevfik began, "the cabinet is nearly complete. Reşid Akif Pasha has spent the night drafting his initial communications for the French and Italian High Commissions, aiming to meet them separately today. He believes a united but individually addressed stance will be most effective." "A sound strategy," Murad approved. "Let them see our resolve is consistent, but also that we are not seeking to present a monolithic, unapproachable front. What of the other posts?" "Cavit Bey is already entrenched in the Ministry of Finance, and I fear the initial picture he is uncovering is even bleaker than we imagined," Tevfik said with a grimace. "He speaks of decades of compounded mismanagement, opaque foreign loans with ruinous terms, and entire revenue streams siphoned off with barely a record kept. He will require immense support, and perhaps some unpopular authority, to make even a dent." "He shall have it," Murad affirmed. "Truth first, however bitter. Then action. Fevzi Pasha?"
"Our Minister of War is a whirlwind of quiet activity," Tevfik reported, a hint of admiration in his voice. "He has already identified a dozen promising young officers he wishes to reassign for his proposed Hassa Ordusu. He has also encountered some… passive resistance from certain senior commanders within the Constantinople garrison, men too comfortable in their sinecures, who are questioning his authority to conduct 'unscheduled inspections' of their units and supply depots." "And how is he handling this resistance?" Murad asked, his eyes keen. "With the directness of a soldier, Your Majesty. He informed one particularly obstructive Liva Pasha (Major General) that his 'concerns' were noted, but that the Sultan's direct orders for ensuring the readiness of all Imperial forces superseded any routine objections, and that further obstruction would be formally logged as dereliction of duty in a time of national crisis. The Liva Pasha, I am told, found his enthusiasm for obstruction waned considerably." A rare, thin smile touched Murad's lips. "Excellent. Fevzi Pasha understands the kind of resolve needed. Ensure he knows he has my full backing against any such dinosaurs."
The day unfolded with glimpses into the struggles and small victories of this nascent government. Cavit Bey, the new Minister of Finance, a man whose sharp features seemed to grow sharper with every ledger he opened, did indeed find himself in a fiscal abyss. He spent hours in the cavernous, dusty archives of his ministry, his small team of trusted clerks unearthing agreements and concessions that made his blood boil. He found one particularly egregious contract, signed by a previous administration under duress from a consortium of foreign bankers, that pledged the entire output of a key Anatolian chromium mine (were it still under Constantinople's control) for the next twenty years against a loan whose principal had already been repaid twice over through interest. "This is not debt, Your Highness," he later reported to Tevfik Pasha, his voice tight with anger, "this is institutionalized banditry on an international scale!" He began drafting plans for a radical overhaul of fiscal oversight, and for discreetly challenging the legality of the most outrageous foreign claims, a dangerous game that would require nerves of steel.
Ferik Fevzi Pasha, Minister of War, continued his methodical work. After his initial confrontation, word spread quickly that the new War Minister was not to be trifled with. His inspectors, handpicked young officers fiercely loyal to him, fanned out, their audits of personnel and materiel far more thorough than any seen in years. He discovered caches of rifles, supposedly decommissioned, hidden away by local commanders – some for potential sale on the black market, others perhaps with more patriotic, if misguided, intentions. He ordered them all secured under his direct authority. He also began compiling a list of officers whose loyalty was questionable, or whose incompetence was a clear danger. The quiet purge was beginning.
Reşid Akif Pasha, the new Foreign Minister, a seasoned diplomat with tired eyes but an unbent spine, braced himself for his encounters with the French and Italian High Commissioners. General Pellé of France was known for his Gallic hauteur and his government's keen interest in carving out economic spheres of influence in Syria and Cilicia. Marquis Garroni of Italy was smoother, more outwardly amiable, but equally determined to protect Italy's Dodecanese claims and its ambitions in southwestern Anatolia. Reşid Akif handled them with practiced skill. To both, he reiterated the points Tevfik Pasha had made to General Harington: the Sultan's sovereign right, the new government's peaceful intentions, its commitment to existing legitimate obligations, and its immediate focus on internal stability and the welfare of its people. He listened patiently to their veiled threats and their 'strong advice' to work closely with the Allied agenda. He conceded nothing of substance, merely assuring them of his government's desire for 'correct and transparent' diplomatic relations. He reported back to Murad and Tevfik that evening that while neither Pellé nor Garroni seemed pleased, they were, for the moment, adopting a 'wait and see' attitude, though their military intelligence officers were undoubtedly working overtime.
Nuri Efendi, the newly installed Sheikh-ul-Islam, a man whose gentle demeanor concealed a formidable intellect and deep spiritual conviction, began his own quiet work. He met with prominent Ulema from Constantinople's great mosques, not to issue political directives, but to speak of the need for unity, for patience, for a renewal of faith in Allah's mercy during these trying times. He subtly countered the despair that had taken root in many religious circles, and also warned against the kind of extremist interpretations of Islam that could lead to further division or reckless violence. His message was one of steadfastness and inner spiritual strength as the foundation for any worldly revival.
Throughout the day, Murad himself was not idle. He reviewed the initial findings of his ministers, offered guidance, and made decisions. He approved Fevzi Pasha's list of the first twenty officers to be transferred to the nascent Hassa Ordusu training cadre. He authorized Cavit Bey to begin drafting legislation for a new, centralized Imperial Audit Office, a direct challenge to the existing fragmented and often corrupt financial systems. He spent an hour with Reşid Akif Pasha, discussing the nuances of the Allied responses and planning their next diplomatic moves.
The "watchers" were also making their presence felt. Hafız Bey reported that an unusual number of unfamiliar 'gardeners' and 'workmen' had been noted by palace security in the public parks adjoining Yıldız, some of whom bore a distinctly military bearing despite their civilian clothes. A junior clerk in Tevfik Pasha's own outer office, known for his gambling debts, had been quietly approached by an individual with known links to a foreign intelligence service, seeking 'general information' about the new Grand Vizier's moods and intentions. The clerk, terrified but loyal, had immediately reported the contact. "Increase our internal vigilance, Hafız Bey," Murad ordered, his expression grim. "Double the loyal household guards at key access points. Let it be known that any servant of the palace found in unauthorized contact with foreign agents will face the severest penalties. We are under a microscope. We must be impeccable, and we must be shrewd."
As evening approached, Murad felt the immense strain of the day. He had effectively decapitated the old government, installed a new one, and set in motion a series of radical departures from previous policy, all within seventy-two hours of truly taking power. His message to Ankara was now a tangible thing, entrusted to a humble traveler, a whisper of hope on a perilous wind. His new ministers were beginning to bite into their monumental tasks, encountering both the rot of the old system and the first stirrings of potential renewal. The Allied powers were watching, their patience clearly limited, their suspicions aroused. The path ahead was no clearer than it had been yesterday, but it was now being trod by men who, under his leadership, were at least facing in the direction he had set.
He stood by his window, looking out at the lights of Constantinople twinkling across the Bosphorus. Whispers and watchers. His reign was defined by them in these early days. Whispers of hope, of defiance, of new beginnings. And the cold, calculating eyes of watchers, waiting for him to stumble. He would not give them the satisfaction.