AMBASSADOR MORGENTHAU'S STORY
CHAPTER XIII
THE INVASION OF NOTRE DAME DE SION
Talaat's statement that the German Chief of Staff, Bronssart, had really held up
this train, was a valuable piece of information. I decided to look into the
matter further, and, with this idea in my mind, I called next day on Wangenheim.
The Turkish authorities, I said, had solemnly promised that they would treat
their enemies decently, and certainly I could not tolerate any interference in
the matter from the German Chief of Staff. Wangenheim had repeatedly told me
that the Germans were looking to President Wilson as the peacemaker and I
therefore used the same argument with him that I had urged on Talaat.
Proceedings of this sort would not help his country when the day of the final
settlement came! Here, I said, we have a strange situation; a so-called
barbarous country, like Turkey, attempting to make civilized warfare and treat
their Christian enemies with decency and kindness, and, on the other hand, a
supposedly cultured and Christian nation, like Germany, which is trying to
persuade them to revert to barbarism. "What sort of an impression do you think
that will make on the American people?" I asked Wangenheim. He expressed a
willingness to help and suggested, as my consideration for such help, that I
should try to persuade the United States to insist on free commerce with
Germany, so that his country could receive plentiful cargoes of copper, wheat,
and cotton. This was a subject to which, as I shall relate, Wangenheim
constantly returned.
Despite Wangenheim's promise I had practically no support from the German
Embassy in my attempt to protect the foreign residents from Turkish ill
treatment. I realized that, owing to my religion, there might be a feeling in
certain quarters that I was not exerting all my energies in behalf of these
Christian peoples and religious organizations---hospitals, schools, monasteries,
and convents---and I naturally thought that it would strengthen my influence
with the Turks if I could have the support of my most powerful Christian
colleagues. I had a long discussion on this matter with Pallavicini, himself a
Catholic and the representative of the greatest Catholic power. Pallavicini
frankly told me that Wangenheim would do nothing that would annoy the Turks.
There was then a constant fear that the English and French fleets would force
the Dardanelles, capture Constantinople, and hand it over to Russia, and only
the Turkish forces, said Pallavicini, could prevent such a calamity. The
Germans, therefore, believed that they were dependent on the good graces of the
Turkish Government, and would do nothing to antagonize them. Evidently
Pallavicini wished me to believe that Wangenheim and he really desired to help.
Yet this plea was hardly frank, for I knew all the time that Turkey, if the
Germans had not constantly interfered, would have behaved decently. I found that
the evil spirit was not the Turkish Government, but Von Bronssart, the German
Chief of Staff. The fact that certain members of the Turkish Cabinet, who
represented European and Christian culture---men like Bustány and Oskan---had
resigned as a protest against Turkey's action in entering the war, made the
situation of foreigners even more dangerous. There was also much conflict of
authority; a policy decided on one day would be reversed the next, the result
being ,that we never knew where we stood. The mere fact that the Government
promised me that foreigners would not be maltreated by no means settled the
matter, for some underling, like Bedri Bey, could frequently find an excuse for
disregarding instructions. The situation, therefore, was one that called for
constant vigilance; I had not only to get pledges from men like Talaat and Enver,
but I had personally to see that these pledges were carried into action.
I awoke one November morning at four o'clock; I had been dreaming, or I had had
a " presentiment," that all was not going well with the Sion Soeurs, a French
sisterhood which had for many years conducted a school for girls in
Constantinople. Madame Bompard, the wife of the French Ambassador, and several
ladies of the French colony, had particularly requested us to keep a watchful
eye on this institution. It was a splendidly conducted school; the daughters of
many of the best families of all nationalities attended it, and when these girls
were assembled, the Christians wearing silver crosses and the non-Christians
silver stars, the sight was particularly beautiful and impressive. Naturally the
thought of the brutal Turks breaking into such a community was enough to arouse
the wrath of any properly constituted man. Though we had nothing more definite
than an uneasy feeling that something might be wrong, Mrs. Morgenthau and I
decided to go up immediately after breakfast. As we approached the building we
noted nothing particularly suspicious; the place was quiet and the whole
atmosphere was one of peace and sanctity. Just as we ascended the steps,
however, five Turkish policemen followed on our heels. They crowded after us
into the vestibule, much to the consternation of a few of the sisters, who
happened to be in the waiting room. The mere fact that the American Ambassador
came with the police in itself increased their alarm, though our arrival
together was purely accidental.
"What do you want?" I asked, turning to the men. As they spoke only Turkish,
naturally they did not understand me, and they started to push me aside. My own
knowledge of Turkish was extremely limited, but I knew that the word "Elchi"
meant "Ambassador." So, pointing to Myself, I said, "Elchi American."
This scrap of Turkish worked like magic. In Turkey an ambassador is a
much-revered object, and these policemen immediately respected my authority.
Meanwhile the sisters had sent for their superior, Mère Elvira. This lady was
one of the most distinguished and influential personages in Constantinople. That
morning, as she came in quietly and faced these Turkish policemen, showing not a
sign of fear, and completely overawing them by the splendour and dignity of her
bearing, she represented to my eyes almost a supernatural being. Mère Elvira was
a daughter of one of the most aristocratic families of France; she was a woman
of perhaps forty years of age, with black hair and shining black eyes, all
accentuated by a pale face that radiated culture, character, and intelligence. I
could not help thinking, as I looked at her that morning, that there was not a
diplomatic circle in the world to which she would not have added grace and
dignity. In a few seconds Mère Elvira had this present distracting situation
completely under control. She sent for a sister who spoke Turkish and questioned
the policemen. They said that they were acting under Bedri's orders. All the
foreign schools were to be closed that morning, the Government intending to
seize all their buildings. There were about seventy-two teachers and sisters in
this convent; the police had orders to shut all these into two rooms, where they
were to be held practically as prisoners. There were about two hundred girls;
these were to be turned out into the streets, and left to shift for themselves.
The fact that it was raining in torrents, and that the weather was extremely
cold, accentuated the barbarity of this proceeding. Yet every enemy school and
religious institution in Constantinople was undergoing a similar experience at
this time. Clearly this was a situation which I could not handle alone, and I at
once telephoned my Turkish-speaking legal adviser. Herein is another incident
which may have an interest for those who believe in providential intervention.
When I arrived in Constantinople telephones had been unknown, but, in the last
few months, an English company had been introducing a system. The night before
my experience with the Sion Soeurs, my legal adviser had called me up and
proudly told me that his telephone had just been installed. I jotted down his
number, and this memorandum I now found in my pocket. Without my interpreter I
should have been hard pressed, and without this telephone I could not have
immediately brought him to the spot.
While waiting for his arrival I delayed the operations of the policemen, and my
wife, who fortunately speaks French, was obtaining all the details from the
sisters. Mrs. Morgenthau understood the Turks well enough to know that they had
other plans than the mere expulsion of the sisters and their charges. The Turks
regard these institutions as repositories of treasure; the valuables which they
contain are greatly exaggerated in the popular mind; and it was a safe
assumption that, among other things, this expulsion was an industrious raiding
expedition for tangible evidences of wealth.
"Have you any money and other valuables here?" Mrs. Morgenthau asked one of the
sisters.
Yes, they had quite a large amount; it was kept in a safe upstairs. My wife told
me to keep the policemen busy and then she and one of the sisters quietly
disappeared from the scene. Upstairs the sister disclosed about a hundred square
pieces of white flannel into each one of which had been sewed twenty gold coins.
In all, the Sion Soeurs had in this liquid form about fifty thousand francs.
They had been fearing expulsion for some time and had been getting together
their money in this form, so that they could carry it away with them when forced
to leave Turkey. Besides this, the sisters had several bundles of securities,
and many valuable papers, such as the charter of their school. Certainly here
was something that would appeal to Turkish cupidity. Mrs. Morgenthau knew that
if the police once obtained control of the building there would be little
likelihood that the Sion Soeurs would ever see their money again. With the aid
of the sisters, my wife promptly concealed as much as she could on her person,
descended the stairs, and marched through the line of gendarmes out into the
rain. Mrs. Morgenthau told me afterward that her blood almost ran cold with
fright as she passed by these guardians of the law; from all external signs,
however, she was absolutely calm and collected. She stepped into the waiting
auto, was driven to the American Embassy, placed the money in our vault, and
promptly returned to the school. Again Mrs. Morgenthau solemnly ascended the
stairs with the sisters. This time they took her to the gallery of the
Cathedral, which stood behind the convent, but could be entered through it. One
of the sisters lifted up a tile from a particular spot in the floor, and again
disclosed a heap of gold coins. This was secreted on Mrs. Morgenthau's clothes,
and once more she walked past the gendarmes, out into the rain, and was driven
rapidly to the Embassy. In these two trips my wife succeeded in getting the
money of the sisters to a place where it would be safe from the Turks.
Between Mrs. Morgenthau's trips Bedri had arrived. He told me that Talaat had
himself given the order for closing all the institutions and that they had
intended to have the entire job finished before nine o'clock. I have already
said that the Turks have a sense of humour; but to this statement I should add
that it sometimes manifests itself in a perverted form. Bedri now seemed to
think that locking more than seventy Catholic sisters in two rooms and turning
two hundred young and carefully nurtured girls into the streets of
Constantinople was a great joke.
"We were going at it early in the morning and have it all over before you heard
anything about it," he said with a laugh. "But you seem never to be asleep."
"You are very foolish to try to play such tricks on us," I said. "Don't you know
that I am going to write a book? If you go on behaving this way, I shall put you
in as the villain."
This remark was an inspiration of the moment; it was then that it first occurred
to me that these experiences might prove sufficiently interesting for
publication. Bedri took the statement seriously, and it seemed to have a
sobering effect.
"'Do you really intend to write a book?" he asked, almost anxiously.
"Why not?" I rejoined. "General Lew Wallace was minister here---didn't he write
a book? 'Sunset' Cox was also minister here---didn't he write one? Why shouldn't
I? And you are such an important character that I shall have to give you a part.
Why do you go on acting in a way that will make me describe you as a very bad
man? These sisters here have always been your friends. They have never done you
anything but good; they have educated many of your daughters; why do you treat
them in this shameful fashion?"
This plea produced an effect; Bedri consented to postpone execution of the order
until we could get Talaat on the wire. In a few minutes I heard Talaat laughing
over the telephone.
"I tried to escape you," he said, "but you have caught me again. Why make such a
row about this matter? Didn't the French themselves expel all their nuns and
monks? Why shouldn't we do it? "
After I had remonstrated over this indecent haste Talaat told Bedri to suspend
the order until we had had a chance to talk the matter over. Naturally this
greatly relieved Mere Elvira and the sisters. Just as we were about to leave,
Bedri suddenly had a new idea. There was one detail which he had apparently
forgotten.
"'We'll leave the Sion sisters alone for the present," he said, "but we must get
their money."
Reluctantly I acquiesced in his suggestion---knowing that all the valuables were
safely reposing in the American Embassy. So I had the pleasure of standing by
and watching Bedri and his associates search the whole establishment. All they
turned up was a small tin box containing a few copper coins, a prize which was
so trifling that the Turks disdained to take it. They were much puzzled and
disappointed, and from that day to this they have never known what became of the
money. If my Turkish friends do me the honour of reading these pages, they will
find that I have explained here for the first time one of the many mysteries of
those exciting days.
As some of the windows of the convent opened on the court of the Cathedral,
which was Vatican property, we contended that the Turkish Government could not
seize it. Such of the sisters as were neutrals were allowed to remain in
possession of the part that faced the Vatican land, while the rest of the
building was turned into an Engineers' School. We arranged that the French nuns
should have ten days to leave for their own country; they all reached their
destination safely, and most are at present engaged in charities and war work in
France.
My jocular statement that I intended to write a book deeply impressed Bedri,
and, in the next few weeks, he repeatedly referred to it. I kept banteringly
telling him that, unless his behaviour improved, I should be forced to picture
him as the villain. One day he asked me, in all seriousness, whether he could
not do something that would justify me in portraying him in a more favourable
light. This attitude gave me an opportunity I had been seeking for some time.
Constantinople had for many years been a centre for the white-slave trade and a
particularly vicious gang was then operating under cover of a fake synagogue. A
committee, organized to fight this crew, had made me an honorary chairman. I
told Bedri that he now had the chance to secure a reputation; because of the
war, his powers as Prefect of Police had been greatly increased and a little
vigorous action on his part would permanently rid the city of this disgrace. The
enthusiasm with which Bedri adopted my suggestion and the thoroughness and
ability with which he did the work entitle him to the gratitude of all decent
people. In a few days every white-slave trader in Constantinople was scurrying
for safety; most were arrested, a few made their escape; such as were
foreigners, after serving terms in jail, were expelled from the country. Bedri
furnished me photographs of all the culprits and they are now on file in our
State Department. I was not writing a book at that time, but I felt obliged to
secure some public recognition for Bedri's work. I therefore sent his
photograph, with a few words about his achievement, to the New York Times, which
published it in a Sunday edition. That a great American newspaper had recognized
him in this way delighted Bedri beyond words. For months he carried in his
pocket the page of the Times containing his picture, showing it to all his
friends. This event ended my troubles with the Prefect of Police; for the rest
of my stay we had very few serious clashes.
Continue >
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TABLE OF CONTENTS  Introduction
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
PLACE YOUR ORDER
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