sovereignty was a polite fiction—it was always a fiction, if not always polite.
The economic backwardness of Turkey emphasized the existing political confusion and instability. From one end of the empire to the other, it seemed, obstacle was piled on obstacle to prevent the modernizing of the nation. Brigandage made trade hazardous; there were almost no roads; the rivers of Anatolia and Cilicia were not navigable; the mineral resources of the country had been neglected; internal and foreign customs duties were the last straws to break the camel's back—business was taxed to death. Agriculture, the occupation of the great majority of the people, was in a state of stagnation. The absence of systems of drainage and irrigation made the countryside the victim of alternate floods and droughts. Methods of cultivation were archaic: the wooden plow, used by the Hittites centuries before, was among the most advanced types of agricultural implements in use in Anatolia and Syria; harvesting and threshing were performed in the most antiquated manner; fertilization and cultivation were practically unknown. Markets were inaccessible; the peasant could not dispose of a surplus if he had it; therefore, production was limited to the needs of the family, and the Turkish peasant acquired a widespread reputation for inherent laziness.
Industrially, the Ottoman Empire had back of it a great past. The fine and dainty fabrics of Mosul; the famous mosque lamps, wonder-art of the glass-workers of Mesopotamia; the master workmanship of the coppersmiths of Diarbekr; the tiles of Erzerum; the steel work and the enamels of Damascus—all of these had been far-famed articles of world commerce for centuries. But Turkey in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries was, industrially as well as politically, a "backward nation." Her manufactures were conducted under the time-honored handi-
