Tariq Ali - The Stone Woman

The Baron, who had been busy munching grilled almonds and pistachios, cleared his throat in a hurry, almost choking in the process. He washed the remnants of the nuts down with some water and then moved his chair close to where my father sat cross-legged on his bed.

“We shall discuss Bismarck another time, Iskander Pasha, but it would be foolish of you to underestimate his genius. He has created a new Germany. In doing so, he has dynamited the scaffolding that protected the Austrian Empire. Berlin matters now, not Vienna. But I will save Bismarck for another day.

“This Circle of Equity which you Ottomans love so much was built on flimsy foundations, Iskander Pasha. It sounds very impressive. It was designed not to solve problems, but to make an impact. Listen now how it rolls off the tongue like Memed the Conqueror’s artillery outside Constantinople. No sovereign authority without an army. No army without wealth. No wealth without loyal subjects. No loyal subjects without justice. No justice without harmony on earth. No harmony without a state. No state without law. No enforcement of law without sovereign authority. No sovereign authority without a Sultan or Caliph.”

The Baron had recited the Circle with such authority that everyone present burst into applause.

“I told you it sounds good, but it always had a fatal flaw. It was based on the devshirme. You took babies from all over the Empire and created a caste of soldiers and administrators through long years of training and education. The state owned them, but they began to believe that they owned the state and sometimes that they were the state. It was an ambitious plan which your rulers refined, but as your great and incomparable historian Ibn Khaldun warned many centuries ago, it is dangerous to expect a group without common ties of kinship or solidarity or class to remain loyal to the sovereign authority. A common training is fine for the production of French chefs, but not for creating a strong state.

“These soldiers and bureaucrats own no property. They are not permitted any hereditary rights. It is Utopian to expect them to remain selfless and pure and unaffected by wealth and privileges. Naturally, they try and acquire wealth and close ties to wealthy families. They observe the clergy. They ask themselves how it is that the Durrizade family has made the ulema a religious nobility from the seventh century to this day. They know it is unfair and they attempt to remedy the discrepancy. But their rise has been too sudden. They are painfully aware that what they have done is illegal. It could be used against them by their rivals or when the Sultan wishes to have any of them executed. This reduces them to a state of permanent insecurity. It creates the basis for constant intrigue. It is, therefore, impossible for these men to become pillars of stability on which the state can rest with confidence. And so, my dear Iskander Pasha, your Circle of Equity becomes a descent to chaos, a circle of self-delusion, an inferno. Without solidarity and stable institutions, old Empires crumble. New ones take their place. You have lost both the war and the battle for survival. Memed the Conqueror wanted to make Istanbul the new Rome. He succeeded too well. The Ottomans have mimicked its decline and fall in a remarkable fashion.”

The Baron paused for breath and refilled his glass.

“Have you quite finished, Baron?” inquired Uncle Memed with mischief.

The Baron gave him a withering look as he sipped his champagne. “This is no time for levity, Memed. We are discussing the future of your Empire.”

“But I thought we had none. Our history, according to you, has come to an end. The future clearly belongs to the Prussians, which is why I’m pleased we are such close friends. If Istanbul is renamed and handed to the Greeks by the Western powers, I shall move to Berlin.”

Nobody smiled. Everyone present had been struck by the Baron’s words. For a few minutes there was complete silence. Only the roar of the waves outside disrupted the reflective mood. Then my brother Halil, usually very reserved, began to speak again.

“I doubt whether the Western powers will ever agree on the future of Istanbul. Mr Disraeli knows that we have protected the Jews for many centuries. He will not wish the city to be returned to the Greek Church. Bismarck will resist change for fear that the Greeks will be too weak and that either Great Britain or Russia will become the real master of Istanbul. The Pope in Rome will do everything to prevent the re-emergence of a rival. The result of all this will help us rebuild and prosper. Do not imagine that we have all been overcome by inertia. Let me inform the Baron that though I agree with much that he has said, including the fact that this Empire is finished, there are many officers in the Ottoman army, men like myself who are forward-thinking in their approach. We will not let everything crash to the ground. We will carve out a new state from the ruins of the old. And if the Western powers try and prevent us, we shall fight them with all our might. In this regard we shall not mimic the Roman Empire. Italy has only just emerged as a unified state, many, many centuries after the fall of Rome. We will not make the same mistake.”

The Baron replied, but this time he said nothing new. They talked of ancient Rome and Istanbul. I began to lose the thread of their argument as they became more and more repetitive. Throughout this conversation, Salman had given me the impression of a person completely detached from his surroundings. His heavy eyelids and languorous movements reminded me of a dervish who had smoked too much opium. At one point I thought he was fast asleep. Perhaps Halil had awakened him.

“What does this mean, Halil? Should I warn my friends to evacuate their families and their trade from Alexandria? Should they move to Damascus or are we going to lose everything?”

“I’m not sure. Egypt is already out of our control, but I am nervous on behalf of your friends. I think the Bedouin will go with whoever promises them the most money. We are too weak to control that world. The fact that we are all of the same faith matters the least when power and money are at stake. The Arabs have never been sentimental in this regard. He who will pay, will have his say. Come back to Istanbul, Salman. Everything is about to change.”

Salman smiled at his brother. “If someone like you has become infected with the new ideologies that are sprouting all over Europe, then perhaps there is still reason to hope. Perhaps change will come like a hurricane or an earthquake. When the wind has died down and the tremors have ceased, then I shall return to Istanbul. Not a day before. And I expect you to receive me with all the respect that I deserve. Now, if you will excuse me, I will retire. All this talk of the rise and fall of Empires has given me indigestion.”

Halil laughed as he stood up to embrace Salman.

“Even I would not be so crude as to blame the short-sightedness of our Sultans for your interminable flatulence. You move too little and you eat too much. The East has not been good for you. When you return I really would not recommend Istanbul as a residence. There you will only get bigger and slower, like a female elephant about to give birth. The indigestion, as you so delicately put it, will get much worse. The city I would suggest for you is Ankara. The air is clean and vices are few.”

Salman stroked his brother’s cheeks affectionately. “You can bury me in Ankara, if you please, Halil, but not till I’m dead. It will cost you to shift this carcass from Istanbul, but you have my permission. The Baron is our witness.”

Salman’s departure brought the evening to a close. Iskander Pasha was very pleased with himself for having manipulated the discussion so successfully. There had been no personal reminiscences of the family, no discussion of our past, and this pleased him. His speech had been paralysed, but his memory had not weakened and there were recollections with which he wanted no contact at all. I felt close to him again. He had once told us that whenever he returned to Istanbul after a stay in Paris or Berlin, he found the odour of stupidity at home extremely reassuring, but was terrified that it might suffocate him if, for whatever reason, he was never able to travel again. I would ask him about that before the summer was over, but not tonight, when he looked so happy. I kissed his head and took my leave.