The life of Midhat Pasha 37

The life of Midhat Pasha 37

“Midhat maintained that the prisoners who accused him should be

regarded as witnesses against him, and considering, therefore, the

decision of the tribunal as a miscarriage of justice, he declined to

defend himself further, adding in a bitter tone, that he would derive

little practical advantage from the punishment of a false witness

after he was in his grave. The Court again retired for deliberation,

and on returning after a few minutes, the President declared that

Midhat’s request could not be granted. The prisoner, having three

times declined to continue his defence, the President declared the

proceedings at an end, and the Court retired to deliberate, returning

after about an hour with a verdict of ‘Guilty’ against all the

accused. The Court will meet again this morning at eleven o’clock

to pronounce judgment, when this extraordinary, sensational trial,

conducted as I reported, will come to a close.”

 

 

_Later._—“Judgment was delivered this morning in the cases of the

persons convicted of the murder of ex‐Sultan Abdul Aziz. Nine of the

accused, including the Sultan’s two brothers‐in‐law and Midhat Pasha,

were condemned to death. The remaining two accused were condemned to

penal servitude.

 

“All the prisoners gave notice of appeal.”

 

 

_Reuter’s Telegram._—“_Constantinople, 29th June._—The Court

pronounced judgment and delivered sentence of death upon Midhat

Pasha, Mahmoud Damad Pasha, Nouri Pasha, Ali Bey, Nedjib Bey, Fahri

Bey, Hadji Mehmed, Mustapha the Wrestler, and Mustapha the Gardener.

 

“Izzet and Sayd are each sentenced to ten years’ penal servitude. The

prisoners have eight days allowed them to give notice of Appeal, and

the indictment and document connected with the trial will be sent to

the Court which will try the Appeal.”

 

“_Times,” 4th July 1881._—“_Constantinople, 1st July._”—In

telegraphing about the recent State Trial, I have been

hitherto working under serious restrictions, which I was not

allowed to mention in my telegrams. All telegraphic despatches

on the subject had to be submitted to the authorities, who

naturally prevented the transmission of anything that might

be disagreeable to the Palace. In the circumstances, it

was, of course, impossible to criticise the proceedings,

or even to give a full account of what took place. I have

now, fortunately, an opportunity of communicating with you

freely, and I hasten to declare that the trial was little

better than a parody of European judicial procedure, which

has justly roused the indignation, not only of foreign

observers, but also of many Turks, who have an elementary

conception of justice and fair play. In a trial in which the

political element was so prominent, the first condition to

be observed was complete neutrality of the Palace, and this

condition was most grossly violated. It was at the Palace that

the preliminary investigation was made, under the immediate

personal direction of the Sultan, who is an interested party.

It was at the Palace that the prisoners were confined, judges

chosen, and even the counsel for the defence appointed,

without the prisoners themselves being consulted. It was

at the Palace that the accused were examined and various

unjustifiable means were employed to extort confessions from

them—as, for example, when the Grand Eunuch, one of the three

highest official personages of the Empire, struck with his

fists and otherwise maltreated the Chamberlain, Fahri Bey,

when under examination, in the presence of His Majesty. It

was in the Palace, and under the immediate influence of the

Sultan, that the amount of the punishment for the accused was

considered and decided. It was in the Palace that Sourouri

Effendi, the President of the Tribunal, had a private

audience with the Sultan, immediately before the opening of

the proceedings, while a Palace dignitary appealed to the

counsel for the defence in a cajoling, half‐plaintive tone,

to refrain, in the fulfilment of their duty, from adding

to the Sultan’s already numerous embarrassments! Lastly,

it was in the immediate vicinity of the Palace that the

trial was held. Soldiers of the Palace garrison surrounded

the Court, aides‐de‐camp and other Palace officials were

present, while eunuchs and other confidential messengers

were constantly passing to and fro between the Palace and

the tribunal. A certain amount of publicity was allowed with

regard to the trial, for a few tickets were distributed among

the Diplomatic Corps and leading representatives of the

Press, but there were at the same time serious restrictions

and difficulties. The date of the trial was kept strictly

secret until a few hours before the proceedings began, and

newspaper correspondents, nearly all of whom are imperfectly

acquainted with, or entirely ignorant of, the Turkish language

and judicial procedure, were not allowed to take a dragoman

with them, though three‐fourths of the space reserved for

the public remained all the time unoccupied. I made personal

representations on this subject to some influential officials,

but they all declared positively that no more tickets could

be given. To the few who were admitted, I must say the

greatest courtesy and consideration were shown by the Imperial

aides‐de‐camp and the masters of the ceremonies, but the

powers of these gentlemen were very limited. With regard to

the restrictions placed on telegraphing I have already spoken

above.

 

“It is hardly necessary to say, that with the all‐pervading influence

of the Palace, there could be no independence or impartiality on the

part of the judicial functionaries, and no zeal in the counsel for

the defence; but there was something worse than this. The ardent

desire of nearly all concerned to gain the Imperial favour by

securing the condemnation of the prisoners in general, and of Midhat

in particular, caused certain gross violations of the guarantees

provided by the Criminal Code. I may mention a few facts by way of

illustration. Sourouri Effendi, who had in the secret preliminary

inquiry directed the case for the Prosecution, and who is well

known to be one of Midhat’s bitter personal enemies, appeared at

the trial as President of the Tribunal. He says, privately, by way

of exculpating himself, that in the preliminary inquiry he never

signed any official documents, and that during the trial of Midhat he

ceded his presidency to one of the other judges; but these specious

arguments increase rather than diminish his moral guilt. He refrained

from signing official documents simply in order to avoid giving

occasion for an appeal _en cassation_, and his making a distinction

between Midhat and the other prisoners entailed new violations of

judicial procedure, for it prevented Midhat from being present during

a great part of the trial. Besides this, the distinction was more

specious than real, for by procuring the condemnation of the other

prisoners, he impliedly secured Midhat’s condemnation likewise;

and though he did not sit on the bench when Midhat was present,

he joined his colleagues in the consulting‐room when the ex‐Grand

Vizier’s demand for permission to cross‐question the witnesses

was considered and rejected. Not content with having a devoted

adherent like Sourouri in the President’s chair, the Palace further

controlled the proceedings by Raghib Bey, one of the Sultan’s private

secretaries, and Djevdet Pasha, the obsequious Minister of Justice,

who is one of Midhat’s personal enemies. These two personages sat

behind the judges on a bench, and secretly gave directions in moments

of hesitation and difficulty. I can state this without fear of

contradiction, for during one of the sittings I was myself on the

bench, and carefully observed what was invisible to the audience. The

conduct of the Public Prosecutor was naturally in keeping with that

of the chief judge. I am assured by eye‐witnesses that he entered

the consultation‐room when the judges had retired to consider their

verdict, but as I did not see this with my own eyes, I refrain from

drawing any conclusion. Another act of his, however, may be commented

on, because it took place in public. Midhat’s attitude during the

preliminary investigation seemed to indicate that he would seek to

obtain the Imperial clemency by raising no difficulties, and by

making no serious attempt to defend himself at the trial; and as none

of the other prisoners were sufficiently conversant with the law to

embarrass the Prosecution, it was hoped that the proceedings might

be hurried through in a single sitting. These plans were prevented

by Midhat’s energetic action on the first day of the trial, and it

was then considered necessary to find some means of effectually

crushing him. A convenient instrument was at hand in the person of

a certain Rifat Effendi, who professed to have heard Midhat say one

day in Damascus that it was necessary to put Aziz out of the way,

because otherwise he might have returned to power and have strangled

the Minister who had deposed him. As Rifat was not in the list of

witnesses, he could not be called without due notice having been

given to the Court; but the Public Prosecutor overlooked this little

formality and called him next day. When Midhat heard this new and

unexpected piece of evidence, he very soon disposed of it, and was at

no pains to conceal what he thought of Rifat’s character, conduct and

motive.

 

“A few words now to show how the prisoners were treated. According

to the Code of Criminal Procedure the accused has a right to choose

his own advocate, and to have free communication with him. In the

present trial the advocate was chosen by some anonymous personage

in the Palace, without the accused having been consulted as to the

choice, and free communication was not allowed. On this subject

Midhat asserts that he saw his counsel only twice. On the first

occasion they had only time to read about an eighth part of the

indictment, and on the second they were favoured with the presence of

Raghib Bey, one of the Sultan’s private secretaries, who listened to

all that was said. Worse than this, with prodigious ingenuity each

advocate was entrusted with the duty of defending prisoners belonging

to different categories and employing mutually contradictory modes of

defence. Refik Effendi, for example, was ordered to defend on the one

hand Mustapha the Wrestler—who confessed his own guilt, and accused

Fahri of having taken an active part in the assassination—and on the

other hand the said Fahri, who maintained that Abdul Aziz committed

suicide. In like manner Shukri Effendi had to defend on the one

hand Midhat, and on the other hand Nouri Pasha, who endeavoured to

exculpate himself at Midhat’s expense. The idea of crippling the

defence in this ingenious way is exquisitely Oriental, and rendered

almost superfluous the half‐pathetic, half‐menacing exhortation

made to the advocates at the Palace that they should refrain from

adding to the Sultan’s numerous embarrassments and trust to His

Majesty’s clemency. Equally Oriental and characteristic is the fact

that the learned gentlemen who undertook the so‐called defence on

such conditions, showed no signs of being ashamed of themselves.

It is hardly necessary to say that they carefully abstained from

cross‐questioning the witnesses and sifting the evidence, and did not

object when the President and the Public Prosecutor assumed important

facts without proving them.

 

“With regard to the way in which Midhat was threatened, it is

difficult to speak without using strong terms of indignation. Not a

particle of carefully sifted evidence against him was produced, and

he was refused means of defending himself against the unsubstantiated

assertions of his accusers, though he proved from the Code that he

was asking no more than he had a right to demand. If his sentence

is carried out, his execution will be simply a judicial murder,

perpetrated from motives of political vengeance and personal enmity.

As for the other prisoners, I cannot pretend to say whether they

really committed the crime with which they are charged, but I can

unhesitatingly assert that their guilt was not legally proved.

 

“The judicial inquiry, which has thus been brought to a close,

was instituted, as I informed you at the time, for the purpose

of removing and frightening possible conspirators, and thereby

preventing a revolution for the future; but it may be doubted whether

in the long run it will have the desired effect, for I noticed

that even among Ottoman subjects, surrounded by Palace spies, the

feelings of indignation were sometimes stronger than those of fear.”