Part Two – Arrest, Search and Interrogation by
Secret Police in
Istanbul (1894)
This
is the first page of the first installment of a multi-part series
about Ebüzziya
Tevfik’s Fall 1894 arrest, search, imprisonment and
interrogation by Abdülhamid
II’s secret police. There were more than
11 parts but only 11 are currently
available. The series began to be
published in Mecmua-i Ebüzziya in August 1911 (1329, according to
the Hicri
calendar).
Ebuzziya
Tevfik wrote the original narrative in December 1894,
although, eerily, he
wrote ‘1984’, evidently by mistake but, of course,
it’s a very meaningful date for
modern-day readers, especially given
the subject matter of his narrative. Incidentally, the masthead at the
top –
“Mecmua Ebuzziya” - is written in the “Kufi” (Cufic) script.
Ebuzziya Tevfik was one of the foremost
masters of this script.
1.Arrest
and House Search
This story relates to an adventure I experienced during the time of my
temporary residence in Aya Stefanos, in the year of the great earthquake.
At that time, I had twelve copies of this story printed as a narrative and
provided copies to the Prime Minister and Nazım Paşa, who was then
the Minister of Public Security and who is currently the governor of
Aydın, and sent copies to Ahmed Rıza, Murad and Ali Kemal in Paris,
as well. Since this is both the story of an adventure and a documentary
memorandum about the situation during the former regime, I wanted
to expand the distribution of it through my magazine. ((1911))
Makriköy ((Bakırköy, Istanbul)) 25 December 1984 ((sic, 1894))
A Story of Detention
“The ultimate reason for a person to
gather resources is to withstand
assaults”: Kemal
Although it seems natural for the
immediate importance of an event to
fade over time, I am ensuring that the
story I am about to relate is made
known during the course of my life.
It was Tuesday, the 25th of September, and
that day, as is my custom, I
left my printing office and headed for Yani’s beer
house in Beyoğlu for
lunch. At the
entrance to the ‘Tünel’, at the corner of Mevazi Street, a
tray of ‘lakerda’ ((tunny))
caught my eye and since I was a bit tired of
the usual European meals that I
was used to having, I nevertheless
couldn’t restrain myself from going to
Yani’s, which is one of our
country’s best restaurants. Because this restaurant is a center for fine
dining for the likes of me. In fact,
five or six years ago, I went there for
the first time on the advice of
Serkurena ((the Sultan’s chief intimate))
Hacı Ali Bey and from then on every
day I was prompted to leave
Galata and head for Beyoğlu. I would say that whenever they make a
better
restaurant that’s when I won’t go there anymore.
I wasn’t all that hungry but I was happy
to be in the restaurant at noon-
time, in accordance with my routine. In fact, its was the most lively time
to be there because all the fellows and gals came to Beyoğlu during the
day from
their summer retreats. Especially those
of us on our own who
had to eat out, would flock there at that time of the
day. We were
generally famished and filled
our bellies ravenously.
But that day, the sight of the lakerda
changed my mind. Since I knew
that there
was a really good place for lakerda at the gate of the Bursa han,
I went
there. And I was right. So after I spotted some very
good lakerda,
I bought half an okka ((about 1.4 lbs)) to take with me. I went
back to my
print shop and, with some olive oil and lemon, I had a wonderful
lunch.
couch
in my office. When I woke up it was a
quarter to five so I had
slept for three and a half hours. Right away, I washed my face and raced
to catch
the five-thirty train home. My routine
was to board a boat at the
dock by the Mehmed Ali Paşa han in
order to get to the Sirkeci train
station.
Today, as well, I passed through the door
adjacent to the Aziziye police
station and as I turned toward the water a man
came up to me and asked
“are you Ebüzziya Tevfik Bey?”
Of course, I stopped and acknowledged that
it was me, asking in response
what the man wanted. He said he wanted to see me. I told him I was in
a hurry but that if he
had business to discuss he could come to my print
shop tomorrow. He said he wanted to accompany me to my home
but I
explained that I and my family were living temporarily at Aya Stefanos
in
a house not big enough to entertain guests, adding that I was not
inclined to
bring home someone I had just met for the first time.
I was curious about how he would react to
this somewhat uncourteous
reply and looked at his face for the first time. He had a hateful
expression, it seemed to me. I looked over his appearance more
carefully. He wore a brown overcoat,
buttoned at his chest, and had a
sparse beard sprinkled with gray in it. His face was the opposite of
that of a
learned man, the sum of his whole. His
small black eyes
rolled upward and around, inducing both fear and intrigue, but
it was
impossible to discern which of these was dominant. As for his nose,
its point descended straight
down to where his puffed up, circular
nostrils created a strange sense of
proportion. His lips were quite big
and
his mouth formed a large hole, as his lower lip drooped off below.
When he spoke, his words betrayed his character
and the shade of his
skin, somewhat purplish, was just right for his persona.
In response to my remark, he immediately
adopted an aggressive,
haughty demeanor and identified himself as a policeman.
I remained
calm and suggested that he was assigned to search me. Confirming
this, we both boarded the boat and
it set off. But I had a thought at
that
moment that made me have the boatmen return to shore, telling
the policeman
that we would likely miss the train because I had to
back to my print shop. Together we went into the Bursa han and as
we
walked toward my shop he asked the reason for my going back.
I explained that my office was open and all
my papers out on my
desk, and although it would be possible to examine my
documents
at home this evening, I would have to store the papers in my office,
given
that I was under police scrutiny, and should seal my office
against the not-
far-fetched possibility that someone might take the
opportunity to plant an incriminating document there.
When
we reached my print shop the other fellows were still busy
with printing
work. I closed the doors to my office
and had the
policeman put his seal on the keyhole, telling my workers that they
must not open the door to anyone, regardless of who they might be.
I looked at the clock and saw that we
still had 15 minutes to make the
train, but not by boat. So I summoned a
horsecart and told the driver
that we had to get to Sirkeci train station in 10
minutes, giving him a
‘mecidiye’ (( silver coin)) for good measure. Nine minutes later we
found ourselves on the steps of the train
station. Whether the
policeman hadn’t
seen me give the driver a ‘mecidiye’ or he wanted
to inflate his expenses for
taking me home in his custody, he reached
into his pockets and offered the
driver two half ‘mecidiye’ coins. The
driver, though, noted that I had given him the fare when we boarded
at Galata
and he tugged left on the reins to have his horses reverse
course, snapping his
whip in the process.
When we entered the station, most of the
Aya Stefanos passengers
were already there. I, however, immediately told the
counterman to
fill a glass of beer for me, as I walked toward the privies. Meanwhile,
the policeman was thinking about
whether he should buy a ticket for
his colleage Williams, a police ‘hafiye’ ((secret
detective)). Taking
advantage of their
discussion, I put the ‘manzume-i hezliye’ ((comical
poems)) that I had in my
pocket on one of the shelves in the privy.
The poems weren’t something that might incriminate me but Said Bey
had
given me one of his poems and a few days ago and Ekrem Bey
had given me another one of Said
Bey’s poems and a similar one that
he ((Ekrem)) had written. So I had all three
of them on me.
Consequently, I took this
precaution because I didn’t want to give the
police a chance to create a
problem where there wasn’t one and subject
my friends to interrogations.
Returning to the hall, I drank my
beer. The policeman was still trying
to
figure out the ticket matter. The fellow
Williams with him had been
a train official up until about a year ago. He had left that honorable
position, which
was the complete opposite of being a secret agent, and
joined the police. Having learned this, I was even more disgusted
by
his choice than I was at being taken to my own home in police custody.
I was intent on taking some revenge on
Williams for making this
transition by exposing him to his former train
colleagues. In particular,
since I also
knew that the policeman would cringe if his profession were
announced, I went
up to him and said “there’s no need for you to buy a
ticket”, noting that his
police ID card would grant him and Williams
free passage: “just tell the
conductor about your card when he asks for
tickets.” In response, the policeman, despite
preferring to keep his
profession secret, politely accepted my suggestion. Just then, the
second bell rang so we rushed
to one of the first-class compartments
that was empty.
After a while, one of the train conductors
came and as he punched my
ticket, the policeman showed him his police
pass. Scanning the details
on the card,
the conductor gave me a knowing look, as if to say “Be
careful! Your companion
may be dressed like a normal, honorable
person he has quite a different
character! When he finds it necessary,
he can abandon all humane behaviors and act in a manner that would
shame an
animal. In other words, he’s a
policeman.” In response, I
winked to
indicate that I was aware of his real profession.
The policeman then told the conductor
about Williams, whom he said
was probably sitting in third-class, adding that
“he has a mustache and
his name is Henry. He can travel on my pass, too.” I chimed in, saying
that the policeman had
been mistaken about the name – “The name isn’t
Henry, it’s Williams, your
notorious ex-colleague who has become a
policeman himself. The conductor, who had a Swiss-like,
inscrutable
bearing but who was really a freedom-lover, was amazed that someone
with an Engish-sounding name had left railroad service to throw himself
on the
police dungheap. But I again confirmed to him that it was
ex-railroad man
Williams we were talking about.
The policeman hesitated a bit and then said
he had a favor to ask of me -
that I give him whatever papers I had with
me. Responding I said to
him: “You
should have asked me before I went to the privy.
//END of PART TWO, first section//
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