should, in case of necessity, be the first to disturb the peace of this ever-dangerous zone of Europe. In spite of this, largely owing to the consummate tact and to the untiring energy of M. Venezelos, and partly as a result of the policy adopted by the Athenian Press, the relations between Turkey and Greece have certainly improved since the outbreak of the Turco-Italian War.

The Ministers responsible for the foreign policy of Servia, Montenegro, and Bulgaria, each in their turn recently assured me that their Governments desired the immediate re-establishment of peace and the maintenance of the status quo in the Balkans. These gentlemen went on to state, so long as the war remained localised in Tripoli, that their respective countries would maintain a strict neutrality. M. Milovanovitch, M. Gregovitch, and M. Gueschoff, however, carefully explained, if the theatre of war should be transferred from Africa to Europe, or in case of an aggressive movement by any of their respective neighbours or of unforeseen developments in Turkey, that their Governments must safeguard their own interests.

In crises like the present, to a lesser or a greater extent, the Governments of all the Balkan States are threatened by a like danger. The more Chauvinistic politicians of each country are in favour of a forward policy, drawn up with the object of endeavouring to better the lot either of their brothers domiciled across the Ottoman frontier, or of alleviating the sufferings of those Turkish subjects whose sympathies they have already acquired, or whose support they wish to gain. Thus the Governments of Athens, Belgrade, Cettinje, or Sofia may at any moment be faced by the alternative of maintaining a peaceful attitude towards Turkey against the wish of a large section of the people whom they represent, or of adopting a warlike policy which in the long run might probably prove detrimental to their nationality. In Greece the Government is ever faced by the difficulties of and consequent upon the Cretan Question. At Belgrade the situation is particularly complicated, because the Servian Government is forced either quietly to witness the ill-treatment of the Serbs in Turkey by their Moslem fellow countrymen and thus to lose prestige at home, or else to draw the attention of Europe to a situation of disorder in Turkey which might be utilised by one of her neighbours as an excuse for entering Ottoman territory with the avowed object of putting an end to the existing confusion. At Cettinje the Montenegrin Government is daily in danger of finding itself in the awkward dilemma of either refusing readmission to the discontented Malissori or of facing the difficult and dangerous situation which would be created at the present

juncture by a fresh Albanian immigration. At Sofia, where at present the policy of M. Gueschoff and his colleagues is particularly pacific, the situation is even more difficult. Here King Ferdinand and his Government are not only compelled to study the feelings of the powerful section of the population which interests itself almost exclusively in the welfare of the Macedonian Bulgarians, but they are also menaced by the attitude of people who think that Bulgaria, now highly taxed for the formation and maintenance of an efficient army, has already lost several occasions on which, once and for all, she could have settled the Macedonian Question to her own advantage.

Although in Turkey, where the future of events is always uncertain, it is never safe to predict what may occur from day to day, yet it seems safe to assert that the horizon of the Near Eastern Question looks more cloudy than it has done for years, and that unless something unforeseen occurs the termination of hostilities can hardly be hoped for in the immediate future. The leaders of the Salonika Committee, who affirm that peace negotiations cannot be opened as long as Italy maintains her troops in Tripoli, declare that the war is not the cause of any appreciable extra tax upon the finances of the country, and that its continuation is not weakening the military strength of Turkey in Europe in Asia. As a result of their unjustifiable self-confidence, these politicians forget that every year since the re-establishment of the Constitution there has been a large deficit on the National Budget, and that it has consequently been necessary almost annually to contract a loan in Europe. At the present time, signs are not wanting that the Government is unable even to discharge its ordinary liabilities in that prompt way which has been customary since 1908. The Young Turks will therefore do well to consider the possible consequences to the present régime should the Government be obliged to discontinue the regular payment of its employees, or should it at a given moment have difficulty in contracting a loan, which sooner or later must be imperative. Before it is too late, and before the Ottoman Empire has suffered any greater disaster than the loss of Tripoli, the best friends of Turkey will be those who bring about a conclusion of Turco-Italian hostilities, either by tendering good advice to the Sublime Porte, or in case of necessity by refusing financial assistance to Turkey during a state of war, and by promising her their support in case of internal or external dangers consequent upon the conclusion of peace. War may provisionally distract the attention of the population from the internal situation in Turkey, but it cannot further the interests of the country as a whole or hasten the establishment of a powerful Ottoman Empire. H. CHARLES WOODS.

SAID PASHA.

To anyone studying the career of an eminent Turkish statesman the utter lack of continuity in his life and the long periods of divorce from any political interests must come as an astonishing surprise. In Western Europe a Ministry falls only to be succeeded by another, whilst the Opposition is said to be wandering in the wilderness. Under the Ottoman régime, however, the case is far different. It is the Grand Vizier personally who bears the full brunt of the change rather than the Ministers; the depth of his fall is in direct ratio to the height of his power when in office. His wilderness is not merely a land destitute of honours and appointments, but a dry, arid desert, which is too often but the prelude to exile, and which entails at least many wearisome years of rigid seclusion. An aspirant for high dignities at the Turkish court has indeed to walk warily.

Said Pasha, more than any living Turkish statesman, has experienced the vicissitudes of fortune, which seem inseparable from his country's politics, for, since his first appointment to any responsible post in 1876 up to the present day, he has spent no less than twenty-three years in complete isolation from public life. That he achieved anything under such circumstances is striking enough, but far more striking is the great change that time has wrought in his treatment of national affairs.

He rose into power with Prince Hamid after the deposition of Abdul Aziz and the tragic twelve days' rule of Murad; yet it was his own voice which proclaimed the fall of his old master. He had been a witness, if not a minor assistant, of the intrigues which led to Midhat Pasha's exile, yet he was made Grand Vizier when the long-suspended Constitution was once again renewed. He had been hailed in his early days as the âme damnée of Mahmoud Djelaleddin; yet he was the first to be invited to wipe out the stains of the Armenian atrocities, the first to be summoned to his country's aid at a far more dangerous crisis some sixteen years later.

He was born at Erzeroun, an important town of Armenia, in 1835, and after entering the civil service spent the first twenty years of his career in a series of minor administrative and secretarial positions. His elevation to higher honours was but an accidental factor in the vast scheme of intrigue woven by the Palace reactionaries against the Constitutional reforms which owed their origin to the patriot Midhat. Under Abdul Aziz the

Empire was threatened with immediate destruction; corruption had reached a pitch it had never before attained, and Midhat had seen that the only hope of salvation lay in a complete change of system. The deposition of the Sultan had been an inevitable preliminary. Once this was effected, the path of the Reformers seemed smooth and easy. The new Sultan was animated by the liveliest desire to amend the disastrous condition of the country. A Minister of tried Liberal sympathies and opinions had been appointed to the confidential post of chief of secretariat. The machinery of State was working smoothly, and every step had been taken to prevent the old pernicious intrigue which had existed between the Palace and the Ministers. Furthermore a change of the most momentous character-a change which secured a control over the Sovereign with regard to finance, which did away with all distinction of class and religion, and which provided for the establishment of provincial control over the governor-had been effected without the firing of a shot. Despotism had voluntarily acquiesced in the establishment of Constitutional checks. A new era of progress and prosperity was dawning in the East.

But at this fateful moment two events, trivial enough in themselves, but fraught with the most far-reaching results, took place in Stamboul; and a cloud of trouble, at first no bigger than a man's hand, yet destined to overshadow the Empire for more than a quarter of a century, appeared upon the political horizon. The first of these tragedies was the suicide of Abdul Aziz, whose imperious temper could ill brook his downfall; the second was the murder of two Ministers by an insubordinate captain, who forced his way through the cordon of guards outside Midhat's Konak, and ran amok among the high officials who were holding a private meeting. The dazzling change of destiny had already caused the Sultan Murad to show signs of extreme nervous excitement, but it was hoped that complete quiet would soon enable him to resume his duties. The effect of these sinister incidents, however, had a disastrous effect upon his mind. There was naturally a reasonable disinclination on the part of the Ministry to take any leap into the dark; and the general desire was to allow sufficient time for the recovery of the Sultan's health. But in the meantime a powerful party had been formed under the ægis of Damad Mahmoud Djelaleddin, and this policy of patience was by no means in harmony with their aims. They saw a chance of turning the revolution to their own exclusive advantage, and with the willing connivance of the heir, Prince Hamid, laid their plans accordingly.

The reactionary programme was favoured by external circumstances. The Sultan was unable to attend the Selamlik. Public

anxiety was universal. The new Constitution could not be promulgated; and the old, such as it was, could not be worked. State affairs had reached a deadlock. A suggestion was accordingly made to the Ministry that a personal interview should be held with Prince Hamid to ascertain if his co-operation could be relied upon with regard to the necessary reforms. Midhat was selected as the mouthpiece of the Ministers; and at the famous meeting at Muslou-Oglou he gained the Prince's assent to three stipulations. The third referred to the appointment of Sadullah Bey as the Sultan's first Secretary, and was of the gravest importance. The position of this official is of an exceptionally confidential character owing to his continual access to the Sovereign in person; and it was essential to the success of the Reformers that they could rely on a person whose views were in harmony with their own. The depth of Prince Hamid's duplicity, as well as his willingness to lend a ready ear to the schemes of Mahmoud, can be gauged by what occurred as soon as the fetva sanctioning Murad's deposition was obtained from the Sheik-ul-Islam.

The reactionaries, who lurked behind the new Sultan, were not slow in moving, and Midhat, who had succeeded the aged Mehemet Rushdi as Grand Vizier, was informed that Said had been appointed First Secretary to Abdul Hamid. Remonstrances at this flagrant breach of faith were unavailing, and at length Midhat was compelled to agree. By such unpromising methods was Said forced into the inner circle of high officials.

Delay and procrastination were the chief characteristics of the ensuing struggle, which culminated in the so-called "suspension of the Constitution and the exile of Midhat. That Said played little but a subordinate rôle can be surmised by our knowledge of Mahmoud Djelaleddin's overweening ambition, but that he gained the Sultan's confidence by his able conduct in the subsequent correspondence is plainly evident from his rapid promotion to more responsible positions. In quick succession he was created Minister of the Civil List, President of the Senate, and when the suspension was publicly announced, Minister of Justice and of Public Education. His elevation to the supreme dignity of Grand Vizier came when at the close of the RussoTurkish War England advocated the immediate introduction of the much-needed reform; the task was entrusted to Said, and he lost no time in proving the sincerity of his aims. Whatever his faults in the past, he cannot be blamed for acting in a dilatory or pusillanimous way, once he was brought face to face with great responsibilities. The Sultan had already shown that, though he had no objection to rising to the throne with Mahmoud's co