he leads them, the soldiers know all is well. 'His star is good,' they say, and they have no use for generals in the East for whom the stars are known to predict ill. His mind works rapidly to clear decisions. Above all, he never loses his head, and his judgment is sound."
Without this universal, unstinting affection and esteem from both officers and men, Mustapha Kemal could never have established the Assembly and created a new Turkey. When he had thus realised the vision of his ardent youth, that never left him through years of exile, revolt, and disgrace; when, at any moment now, he could declare himself Dictator, he will not steal responsibility from the people's representatives. "The Assembly," he says, "is not one man; I am only its President."
He dislikes hearing the word "Kemalist." "It does not carry with it the spirit of the movement, which will go on, whether I am dead or alive."
If one speaks to him about his own work, he either answers: "I did my duty," or refers all honour to the Assembly.
I have talked with many of Europe's great statesmen, but found none more modest than he. Yet who among them has snatched such triumph from odds as opposing?
The furniture of this little room is, of course, all "native." The dinner-service comes from Kutahia, the carpets and rugs are Anatolian. On the walls hang jewelled swords and other trophies or souvenirs, sent in homage from Moslem rulers to the conqueror they all acknowledge. He may endeavour to efface himself, to glory in his simplicity and set up a real democracy; but the stamp of his personality is on the whole Moslem world; he holds in his hand the keys of Islam. Nationalism has now acquired a deep religious significance; the Pact is a "decalogue" none may deny.
A well-known Turkish writer has boldly compared
