The “Great Cabinet,” whose services history could never forget, had nominated him for the Senate, recognizing his power and merit, hadn’t it? In a strange and imaginary delirium, he imagined himself a minister. He would render a service to the Ottoman nation, which existed only in his imagination, by reconciling these two famous and great men and getting them into the Senate. Then the Ottomans, divided in two, would unite and continue their non-national and individual lives. One of them claimed “shime-i muhabbet” (the shime of affection), the other “shime-i husumet” (the shime of hostility). The non-national Ottoman nation, which he had magnified in his imagination and given body to in his imagination, was now confused. Should they support hostility or affection? And the fame of these two scholars had spread throughout the world with the lawsuits they had filed. If they did not reconcile, it was as certain as two times two equals four that a general war would break out not only in Europe but throughout the entire world. Then the names of the “shime-i muhabbet” advocate and the “shime-i husumet” advocate would go down in history. What a success this would be… Despite his attempt to write a work of six or seven hundred thousand pages, despite signing his photographs, articles, personal letters, and official petitions as “Philosopher,” he had not yet achieved such a dizzying and sudden fame as they had. He was jealous of this. Oh, what if he too had invented a “shime-i something”… But no, look, he was a minister. If not materially, then spiritually he was a minister. Since he was the greatest man among the Ottomans who did not accept Turkishness and did not follow the nationalists, in reality his right was not to be a minister but to be a grand vizier. And now he would reconcile the “shime” advocates and put them in the Senate, and from their claims he would extract an average “shime…” peculiar to himself. The most savage and wild temperament of the Young Turks, whom he hated most in the world and against whom he spoke and wrote at every opportunity, was their refusal to reconcile, to make agreements. They would say, “The policy of agreement is death…” And they would not compromise with their opponents and blackmailers by sacrificing some of their confidence and programs. However, he would reconcile “affection” and “hostility.” Because he was not a fool and was very intelligent. Besides, what difference was there between “affection” and “hostility”? Almost none… A difference as insignificant as that between white and black, odd and even, fire and water… This difference could almost be called “equality.” It required a bit of analysis, otherwise there was no difference between affection and hostility, white and black, odd and even, fire and water. And shaking his head, he said, “All roads lead to Rome…”
Besides, he felt it; only the melodies of the Affectionist and the Hostilitist were different. The lyrics of their compositions, the meaning of these lyrics, were all the same… All the same… Interest… And since the basis of their ideas was one, why should they remain estranged and leave Turan-hating Ottomanism in anarchy?
The maid woke him from his contemplation, which was deeper than the gayya well in hell… She said a fat gentleman had come in Greek. He also told her in Greek to bring him in. He knew seventeen languages. He spoke English with Englishmen, French with Frenchmen, Greek with Greeks, Albanian with Albanians, Spanish with Jews, but Ottoman with Turks. It was the “Affectionist” gentleman who entered behind the maid. He stood up a little. He showed him a seat. “Please, sit down, let’s see,” he said.
The “Affectionist” was not unconcerned with the world like a happy and fat banker. He smiled. “Am I late?” he asked.
“No, no…”
“But I left my work at the printer. I won’t leave without getting an article from you as compensation for loss and damage.”
“Very well, I’ll give you the articles I wrote about that thing…”
“About what?”
“About that thing, my dear…”
“About what?”
The great man was left speechless. He couldn’t find what he had written about. He tensed his muscles, clenched his teeth, and blurted out.
“About Pestalozzi, my dear, I couldn’t find it right away.”
The “Affectionist” was pleased.
“Pestalozzi… Yes, a very important science… I’ve been dealing with this science for eight or ten years. It’s a great honor that this science unknown to Ottomans will be mentioned for the first time in my treatise… The greatest part of the honor will belong to you.”
They talked about Pestalozzi for about an hour. They spoke of the history, progress, and evolution of this science. The maid reported that another gentleman had arrived. The great man said to the “Affectionist,” “I’ll surprise you, you must reconcile…”
“Why?”
“To reconcile you with the ‘Hostilitist’…”
“What? Did you call me here for that?”
“Yes.”
“It’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because he won’t reconcile. Otherwise, as far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t matter…”
The great man ordered the maid in Greek to bring in this gentleman.
He said to the Affectionist, “You be assured…” And they waited… After a while the door opened. The Hostilitist walked toward the great man. He shook the hands extended to him. When he turned his face and saw the other guest, his expression changed; in an instant he turned red, pale, yellow, green, purple, black. He literally became a statue of hostility whose surface was covered with chameleon skin. His glasses were trembling. He clenched his fists. He looked at the Affectionist with such a terrible and fiery gaze that… Even the great man was frightened. He stood up.
“What’s happening to you, man?” he said. “Sit down… Strange coincidence? There’s no need to get angry.”
Suddenly the Affectionist was also frightened. They were worried that an accident might happen at the Hostilitist’s hands. But gradually the Affectionist took courage. When they had been friends, he had also learned how brave he was.
The Hostilitist said, “I cannot stay where my enemy is present, excuse me…” And he walked toward the door again. The great man jumped up. He grabbed him by the waist.
“This is a lodge, coming is in your hands but leaving is not…” he was saying. They were struggling. The Hostilitist was trying to break free. The host would not let go. The Affectionist was as cheerful as a novice police spy watching a free cinematograph. Finally, the Hostilitist’s glasses fell to the ground and when the great man stepped on them, they were smashed to pieces.
The Hostilitist, left without glasses, shouted “I surrender! I surrender!” He wouldn’t leave anymore. Because his glasses were broken. Now he couldn’t see at all. In fact, even if they kicked him out now, he couldn’t go alone. Because he would bump into walls, fall into ditches, roll into the sea. With the voice of a patient giving a testament at his last breath, he said, “Sit me down somewhere.” They sat him in an armchair. He was rubbing his eyes with his hands. The very great man, being a philosopher, writer, scholar, poet, and so forth, was also a doctor at the same time. He asked the Hostilitist whether his eyes were myopic.
“Oh, what myopia,” he said, “it’s all my fault… Should one read so many books? Look, I’ve lost my eyes. If I have glasses, it’s fine… I can see. Otherwise, I’m blind…”
The great man was pitying him and saying that surgery was necessary. The state of this young man left without glasses was so tragic that even the Affectionist pitied him, remembering that before their quarrel he had read books without glasses many times. The Hostilitist was softening. “I can see but very little… Vaguely… Take advice from me, don’t read. Genius and science are not in reading but in not reading.”
The Affectionist asked: “Okay, let’s not read, but shouldn’t we write?”
“Philosopher! Don’t allow an enemy I’m angry with to take advantage of my weakness and speak to me. I’m addressing you, yes my friend, don’t read. As for writing, for this you find a child of fifteen or sixteen and use him. You speak, he writes. And he writes criticisms so perfectly that…”
The great man took out a large box of glasses from one of the cabinets. None of them fit the Hostilitist’s eyes. Finally, they fitted four glasses into each other. They tied them. Now the Hostilitist could see a little.
They gradually began to talk. Again the subject rested on the science of Pestalozzi. They considered it certain that if this science was not accepted into the University, the “Ottoman Lands” and perhaps all Ottomans would perish. The Hostilitist said that he had added a chapter on Pestalozzi to his new work that he had dictated.
“I gave so much explanation that everyone will be amazed. All the people of the ‘Ottoman Lands’ will clash with each other. There will be demonstrations in the streets…” he was saying. But he didn’t know the meaning of “Pestalozzi.” He knew the sciences themselves anyway, but not their names. In fact, they had thrown in his face that he didn’t know the difference between spiritism and spiritualism. His “Larousse de poche” was in his pocket. If he took it out and looked now, he would immediately understand what Pestalozzi was about, and could even give a lecture right here. But… He stood up.
“I’m going to step outside for a bit…” he said. He knew every part of the mansion. He went to the toilet. He closed the door. He removed the four glasses fitted into each other from his eyes and pulled out his Larousse from his pocket. He looked up the word Pestalozzi. Surprise… This was the name of a Swiss education specialist who died in 1827. Yes, this was a person’s name. But the philosopher and the Affectionist were talking about it so seriously as if it were a science. He thought about going and throwing their lies and ignorance in their faces. However, he himself had said that he had written a chapter on Pestalozzi in his new work. In that case, he had participated in their lie. He went back there again. The latest theories of Pestalozzi were still being discussed. He didn’t say a word.
Finally, the great man said: “Look, what a great disaster for the nation when scholars remain estranged… I called you here to reconcile you. How usefully your time has passed. We remembered our investigations about a science like Pestalozzi that is unknown to Ottomans. We benefited from each other’s knowledge. If we don’t come together, who will illuminate the darkness of ignorance? No, no… You can’t remain estranged anymore. You must reconcile. Besides, the basis of your claims is one… It’s very easy to boil down both your claims and extract one doctrine.”
And he turned to the Hostilitist.
“For example, you say ‘shime-i husumet.’ Your purpose is not rough, coarse, and savage like that of the nationalists. I’m sure of this. For example, you don’t want to make the poor Ottomans Turkish, to gather them in a community within the past and tradition and attack the West for revenge, the East for unity.”
“Of course… In fact, I told a very great person how harmful this Turkism and nationalism current is for the homeland and nation. I am absolutely opposed to the nationalists.”
“Very well… I already know this. I can’t even love Europe and Christians as much as you do. Your purpose is that your European friends fear you and…”
“Yes, yes…”
“And…”
“Yes, you know, that’s my purpose…”
“So the free name of your purpose is ‘interest.’ That is, your personal interest. You will become a personality in the eyes of foreigners who are frightened by hostility. Otherwise, you don’t say like a foolish idealist free from all kinds of personal interest ideas:
The homeland is neither Turkiye for Turks, nor Turkestan, The homeland is a great and eternal country: Turan…”
“Of course I don’t.”
The great man turned to the Affectionist, who was still smiling comfortably in his armchair.
“You say ‘shime-i muhabbet.’ I also love Europeans and Christians, but why? For my interest. Do you really believe in the rhyme we rolled like old-time, sieve-straw dervishes:
The homeland is neither Turkiye for us, nor Turkestan, The homeland is a great and eternal country: Knowledge…
What comes out of abstract knowledge? An abstract and otherworldly ‘knowledge’ that doesn’t give money, doesn’t bring benefit, be assured, is more inappropriate and meaningless than ‘Turan.’ Knowledge is saving one’s ship and becoming captain. That is, dazzling the eyes of the ignorant, earning money and respect, living comfortably and happily. In short, knowledge means personal interest. I don’t understand it any other way…”
“Neither do I…”
“Then there is no difference between you and our Hostilitist friend. Why do you remain estranged and opposed, trying to refute each other? The breaking of your fame also affects your personal interests.”
The great man had fallen silent. The two opponents were thinking. The words he said were very true. Outside, the sounds of chirping seagulls, the whistle of a passing company steamer could be heard. Since neither of them had ideas belonging to a community, an ideal, the hostility and affection they showed were all for the satisfaction of their persons, their personal desires and interests, and since the basis was one, why should they separate in details and scatter their forces, leaving opportunities for nationalists in the press world?… The Hostilitist looked from under the four glasses fitted into each other. He was seeing the Affectionist’s thick knees and hairy hands. The latter looked from above his glasses. Ah, there his old sincere friend was smiling. Their souls, feelings, thoughts, perceptions were so close to each other that he wondered how they had remained estranged for five or six months. The Affectionist was also looking at his old friend and thinking to himself, “I wonder if they cast a spell on us?”
A long moment of silence passed. The very great man stood up.
He took the Affectionist’s hand. And brought it and joined it with the Hostilitist’s hand. “Now you’re reconciled,” he said, “here is my greatest wish, I’m bringing together two intelligences; I’m raising a ‘genius’ for the country.”
Both smiled. And they shook each other’s hands strongly. They weren’t speaking, they were looking at each other’s faces admiringly like new lovers. The very great man was giving them very pleasant and imaginary promises like a “face-seeing gift,” saying to the Hostilitist, “It is certain that you will become an ambassador in the most distinguished capital in Europe,” he was saying, “a great person whose name I cannot mention gave me the good news.”
Then, turning to the Affectionist, he said, “A reward has also been prepared for your science and virtue. That same person told me. You will become director of a large and national bank. The concessions of all the mines around your homeland will be given to you…” As the great man spoke like this, he truly imagined himself as a grand vizier.
With the manner of a great and aged professor, he was explaining what “Ottomanism” was; he was explaining the nobility of working for the idea of humanity by separating the Turks from the Turkish community and ideal and frustrating the efforts of the nationalists. Our European friends, all sincere friends of this civilized and Western movement, would appreciate this. He showed about a thousand letters he had received from English and American friends about what both of them had written before their quarrel. These formed almost a pile. And he was saying that he would inform by telegram the thousand English and American friends who were the owners of these thousand letters that they had reconciled this evening.
“Look, from the union of ‘shime-i muhabbet’ and ‘shime-i husumet’ comes ‘shime-i menfaat’ (the shime of interest),” he was saying. “I found this composition and the philosophy of both of you is in this composition. Do you want me to find a motto for you, I mean for us too? I found it. Here it is:
The homeland is neither Turkiye for us, nor Turkestan, The homeland is a great and eternal country: Straw…”
Outside, the splashing of the undulating sea could be heard, and a wind that occasionally shook the windows seemed to bring distant and imaginary seagull sounds. Until dinner time, they talked exclusively about the science of Pestalozzi.
However, everyone’s mind was occupied with something else. The Affectionist and the Hostilitist were thinking about the last word of their newly found motto, seeing divine and worldly flowers of ambition in blonde dreams. The great man, on the other hand, was trying to find an Ottoman equivalent for the science of Pestalozzi before the Terminology Committee that had not accepted it, remembering that “pest” meant plague, and looking at his friends’ faces, murmuring, “plagueology, plagueology…”
Ömer Seyfettin
