“A Sick Man, a Very Sick Man”
In my last article in the Review on the subject of the Eastern question, I endeavored to show how the policy of helping Turkey became, under the guiding hand of England, a matter of European international law, and that the reason always advanced was that the presence of the Ottoman Porte in Constantinople was “necessary to the peace of Christendom.” For more than half a century the name of “the Sick Man of the East” has been commonly applied to Turkey. The Bible had stated concerning Turkey, by the pen of Daniel, the prophet statesman and chancellor of Babylon and Medo-Persia, that he would “come to his end,” and none should help him. Indirectly, this scripture would indicate a condition of sickness and decrepitude upon the part of the Ottoman for a time prior to his dissolution. The name “Sick Man of the East” was coined in the year 1854, and the circumstances surrounding this rechristening of the Sublime Porte are styled by the greatest historian of Russia as “the strangest series of negotiations known among the archives of diplomacy.” As the name has now become a classic, and depicts the most widely known and discussed of all international problems, I will endeavor simply and briefly to relate the circumstances leading to its bestowal. In 1852 Louis Napoleon became head of the second empire in France, under the title of Napoleon III. He was very subservient to the church of Rome, and consequently won the special approbation of the Pope. For a long time there5had been going on a dispute about the so-called holy places in Palestine; namely, those places which tradition assigned as the scenes of the birth and suffering of our Lord Jesus Christ. The claims of the Greek Church and those of the Latin Church were antagonistic. Czar Nicholas I of Russia was the protector of the Greek Church, and Louis Napoleon had the monks of the Latin Church under his care. The entire quarrel was disgraceful, the chief bone of contention being the possession of the key to the great door of the church at Bethlehem, and the right to place a silver star in the sacred grotto where the Master was supposed to have been born. But beneath this petty strife were deeper political machinations. In reality, both Russia and France were struggling for a better foothold in the near East. And over this strangely mediæval question, relations between Russia and France soon became quite strained. Toward the close of the year 1852 the British ministry, headed by the earl of Derby, fell; and a coalition cabinet, headed by the earl of Aberdeen, took its place. On the whole, this cabinet was hostile to France. Her one friend in it was Lord Palmerston, and he was assigned to the Department of the Interior instead of the Foreign Office, as had been commonly expected. That place was first filled by Lord John Russell, later by the earl of Clarendon. The news of this disposition of appointments was hailed with delight at St. Petersburg. It was clear that the Turkish government was in a desperately hard place. She was, indeed, betwixt the upper and the nether stones, with Russia and the Greek Church above and France and the Latin Church beneath. As usual, she made promises to both and fulfilled them to neither. Nicholas was alert, watching for an opportunity to finish the Ottoman power. He proclaimed the lack of good faith on the part of the sultan as an insult to his own person. Next he decided on the boldest steps ever attempted in the annals of diplomacy. “If he could succeed in persuading England to recognize his grievances, to share his views, and to assist in his plans, it was over with the Turkish empire.” If England would join him in a division of Turkey, he would humiliate his old enemy, France, and leave her as well as Prussia and Italy out of the reckoning. Everything rested upon his ability to persuade England. There lay the question: Could England—she whose policy was to help Turkey—be persuaded to come over to Russia’s side of the international game? “The enterprise was delicate, difficult, possibly risky; but should it succeed, what a triumph it would be! . . . In playing so dangerous a game, he determined to trust no one but himself. Never before in the history of the world did a monarch so absolutely and directly take upon himself a responsibility.”—Rambaud, “History of Russia,” Vol. III, chap. 4, par. 5. On Jan. 9, 1853, the Grand Duchess Helena gave a reception in her palace at St. Petersburg, at which Emperor Nicholas approached Sir George Hamilton Seymour, and speaking graciously in regard to the new British ministry that had just been formed, sent his especial congratulations to Lord Aberdeen, adding: “You know my sentiments in regard to England; it is essential for the two governments—that is, for England and me—to be on the best terms. Never was the necessity of it greater than at present. I beg of you to transmit these words to Lord John Russell. If we agree, I have no solicitude about Western Europe; what others may think is in reality of little consequence. As to Turkey, that is another question. That country is in a critical state, and may easily give us much embarrassment.”—Id., par. 6. Having delivered himself of these sentiments, he started to turn away, when Sir Hamilton urged him to continue on this most interesting topic. “The czar hesitated at first, and seemed disinclined to go beyond generalities; then, suddenly, like a person about to commit himself: ‘Well,’ said he, ‘we have on our hands a sick man, a very sick man. I tell you frankly it would be a great misfortune if he should give us the slip some of these days, especially if it happened before all the necessary arrangements were made. But this is not the fitting time to speak to you of these things.’”—Id., par. 7. Five days after, on January 14, Sir Hamilton was summoned to the palace, where he had another interview with the czar, in which the latter unbosomed himself as follows: “Turkey, placed as it is, has by degrees fallen into such a state of decrepitude that, as I said the other evening, however anxious we all may be to prolong the sick man’s existence,—and I beg you to believe that I am as desirous as you may be for his continued existence,—he may suddenly die upon our hands. We can not bring the dead to life again. If the Turkish empire falls, it falls to rise no more; and I put it to you, therefore, whether it is not better to be provided beforehand for such a contingency, than to run the risk of the chaos, the confusion, the certainty of a European war, all of which would attend the catastrophe, if it should occur unexpectedly, and before some ulterior system has been sketched. This is the point to which I am desirous that you should call the attention of your government.”—Id., par. 11. From this it is clear that the czar believed that the hour of Turkey’s doom was about to strike, and he was more than willing to hurry up the impending catastrophe, provided England would join him in sketching out some “ulterior system,” which would prevent “the risk of the chaos, the confusion, the certainty of a European war.” But England was not to be deterred from her policy of helping Turkey. Blandishments and persuasive phrases did not move her from her ground. Consequently Sir Hamilton replied, in effect, “that Turkey had more than once emerged from crises in which it had been believed that the end had come; that England was not as a general thing inclined to make these provisional engagements; and that, in fact, it would be very loath to anticipate the succession of an old friend and ally.”—Id., par. 12. But the czar’s blood was up. He was determined to win England to his view that the Turk should “come to his end, none shall [should] help him.” So he began again, more frankly, even, than before: “Now I want to speak with you as a friend and as a gentleman. If England and I come to an understanding in regard to this matter, everything else is indifferent to me, no matter what the others [Prussia and France] think and do. So I tell you, without reservation, that if England expects to get a foothold sometime in Constantinople, I will not allow it. Not that I ascribe that intention to you, but it is better to speak frankly. As for my part, I am equally willing to engage not to establish myself there; that is, as a proprietor; I do not say as a guardian. If no precautions are taken, if everything is left to chance, I may be obliged by circumstances to occupy Constantinople.”—Id., par. 13. Sir Hamilton Seymour communicated the words of the czar to Lord John Russell, and the redoubtable “Lord John” concurred in the ambassador’s view of the case, and sent a despatch to this end to his ambassador. On February 20 Sir Hamilton met the czar at a reception, who, according to the authority before quoted, said:— “‘I hear that you have received your answer, and are to bring it to me tomorrow.’
“‘Sire, I am to have that honor,’ was his reply; ‘but your majesty is aware that the answer is precisely what I had led you to expect.’
“‘So I was sorry to hear; but I think your government does not understand my object. I am not so anxious to know what shall be done when the Sick Man dies, as to determine with England what shall not be done.’
“‘And when Sir George Hamilton Seymour protested that Turkey was not dying, but would exist for many years, unless the event were hastened by the rash action of Russia, the czar answered, with some asperity: ‘I will tell you that if your government has been led to believe that Turkey retains any element of existence, it must have received incorrect information. I repeat to you: The Sick Man is dying, and we can never allow such an event to take us by surprise. We must come to some understanding; and this we should do, I am sure, if I could hold but ten minutes’ conversation with your ministers; with Lord Aberdeen, for example, who knows me so well, who has full confidence in me, as I have in him. And remember, I do not ask for a treaty or a protocol; a general understanding is all that I require; between gentlemen, that is sufficient.’”—Id., pars. 17-19. It did not require any great amount of6discernment on the part of Sir Hamilton to penetrate the designs of the emperor, and he concluded that “there is no room for doubt that a sovereign, upon the imminent downfall of a neighboring state, has decided in his own mind that the hour has come not to expect its dissolution, but to hasten it.” At a later interview on the following day, when the czar still further reiterated his plans for the division of the estate of Turkey, Sir Hamilton, somewhat incensed, inquired why they should continue to discuss the downfall of Turkey and the plans to be made, when it would be far better to “bring the Sick Man to health.” This irritated the czar beyond measure, and he at once broke out with a plan of partition in the event of the dissolution of Turkey. But Sir Hamilton Seymour stood his ground, and was not to be moved from it. And just at this juncture, on February 21, Lord Clarendon took possession of the Foreign Office in London. He backed up the positions taken by the ambassador and Lord John Russell. In a despatch to Sir Hamilton he wrote: “England desires no territorial aggrandizement, and could be no party to a previous arrangement from which she was to derive any such benefit. England could be no party to any understanding that was to be kept secret from the other powers.” And he then went on to declare how important it seemed to avert any catastrophe, on the ground that the first cannon shot would be “the signal for a state of things more disastrous even than those calamities which war inevitably brings in its train.” Clearly, the czar had not succeeded in “persuading” England. That power was still determined to stand by Turkey. That power still realized that to bring Turkey to an end meant a catastrophe unparalleled in history, and would be the “signal for a state of things more disastrous even than those calamities which war inevitably brings in its train.” Things had certainly gone against the czar. If he moved, he would have to move alone. Angered beyond measure, he finally declared that though he had not yet moved a ship nor a battalion, he did not intend to be trifled with; and unless the Turks yielded to reason (in the matter of the holy places), they would be brought to yield by the imminence of danger. “Thus terminated,” says Rambaud, “with this vague and threatening avowal, the strangest series of negotiations known among the archives of diplomacy.”