dignified, to congratulate these people on the achievements of the Grand National Assembly, which the "Mother of Parliaments" should surely welcome with honour and respect.
I found Ismet Pasha often depressed by the immensity of his task; harassed, too, lest his own people should not feel that he had done enough. "They have sent me, a soldier, to fight a Bismarck, one of your greatest statesmen," he said one day.
I repeated what Lord Curzon had told me, with obvious sincerity, "You know, I like the little man."
"And I respect him," was the prompt reply, as his bright eyes lit up with renewed hope and courage.
Another day he was again in despair. "Well, it will just have to be war."
But I would not hear the word. To all the Turks, Riza Nour, Tewfik, Hikmet, I say the same. "We are both in the wood. We must walk round and round, until we have found a way out."
It may sound paradoxical, but, while there is absolutely no offence to British prestige in the National Pact that is worth shedding one drop of human blood to remove, it yet stands for such vital ideals, means so much, and has been achieved with such grand courage and self-sacrifice, that the Nationalists must uphold and defend it to the bitter end. That is the "problem" of Lausanne.
There is, however, no reason why, if foreigners are afraid to trust themselves, and the capital, in a Turkey governed by Turks (without "protection," which means "interference") they should not leave the people to find their own way towards commercial and political stability.
Lord Curzon, naturally, told me nothing; but his questions enabled me to guess at what he wished and intended to achieve. Perhaps I have guessed wrongly.
