Читать книгу Hamam Balkania - Vladislav Bajac - Страница 23

When Lord Byron published The Corsair in 1814, in just one day of sales, the first day, it sold ten thousand copies. But, since he did not wish to capitalise on his writing, in accord with his aristocratic constancy, it was not he who sold the books but booksellers. He was of sustainable character and did not wish to sell himself. Thus, others got rich off his work, and he continued to get into ever greater debt ‘as was fit to his name and reputation’, as the charming interpreter of Byron’s work, Zoran Paunović, would say.

I would add that this is indeed a case of the sustainable transformation of mathematics into literature. It should be noticed that this is one of the rare examples of that transformation that runs opposite to the normal way.

Oh, yes! I almost forgot (like those famous historians): at approximately the same time as the loss of the above-mentioned money in England, in the Balkans, the Serbs and Turks were losing their lives. The Second Serbian Uprising was being prepared, which is referred to in the west as the ‘Second Serbian Revolution’. Dead capital in the west, dead people in the east. Some people were buying the freedom to read with money, and others the freedom to live – with their lives.

Good old Europe, in both cases, was liberating some from slavery and turning others into slaves.

All of this melding of mathematics into history, the overflow of calculations into literature, is actually a preparation for observing the life strategy of nations and states that also see their temporal survival through the prism of attack and defence. It is likewise an introduction to the topic of turning defeat into victory.

I was completely sure that using certain Turkish-Serbian examples from the history of the two peoples, the two states, the two empires – Orhan Pamuk and I could reach some kind of possible truth. And if not a truth, then at least a few new claims or a justifiable presupposition. I felt an irresistible desire for that.

Pamuk won my heart with a sentence that begins rather light-heartedly, but becomes very serious,

“You are persistent with these numbers and the art of writing. I will give you an example, in truth someone else’s, of how literature is turned into history, how fiction turns into fact.”

Then he quoted Voltaire who, on the occasion of the famous naval battle at Lepanto/Inebahta in 1571 between the Ottoman armada and the united Christian navy, wrote the following sentence which is a prime example of the absurdity of the relationship between truth and its background: “It seemed that the Turks were those who won the battle of Lepanto.” (emphasis mine)

I admit, this quotation was doubly important to me in terms of the credibility of the event, because it entailed one of the rare and undoubtedly drastic military defeats of the Ottoman Empire, and at a time when it was at the peak of its power.

I asked Pamuk what he found wrong with this defeat.

“Usually you’d say, one defeat or another, what’s the difference? But, in this case, the defeat was not unavoidable. It was stupid to let it happen and, of course, it was absolutely unnecessary. However, the scale was tipped by Ottoman imperial conceit and exaggerated certainty based on previous victories, based especially on the conquering of Cyprus.”

“Meaning that the decision-makers were not in agreement.”

“That’s right. There were careful, wise and experienced men there who opposed an impetuous entry into open battle.”

“Who took which side?” I asked.

“The Supreme Commander of the Sultan’s navy, Ali-pasha Muezzinzade, managed to get the assent of almost all the members of the viziers’ council for the attack, by enthusiastically inflating the greatness and strength of the previous conquests. In addition to all that, he had the support of the Grand Mufti.”

“Who was careful, who was wise and who was experienced?” I insisted, knowing very well how adroit Pamuk is in the use of epithets.

“The second vizier of the empire, Pertev Mehmed-pasha, who held the position of senior strategic advisor in the army, was not sure about the information on the strength of the enemy army, especially when united in such a diverse corps. The union was put together in 1571 by the Christian leader Pope Pious V (this time successfully) and it united the Venetian Republic, Spain, Malta and the Italian cities. But Ali-pasha was certain that the infidels would once again be disunited as they had several times before, becoming individually weak, and he did not give in to the caution of Pertev pasha. Grand Vizier Mehmed-pasha Sokolović tried to get the battle put off for a year. Wisdom urged him to wait until the fleet was better equipped. He had experience with such situations: he was the one who, once upon a time, replaced the legendary Hayreddin Barbarossa in 1546 as the admiral of the Ottoman fleet. Primarily because the man had died, otherwise he never would have dared to even try to be his replacement. However, Sultan Suleiman the Legislator⁴ published a decree that was not to be contested. And once he had given in, then he emulated the deeds or pronouncements of his great predecessor in the reasonable rethinking of each of his own decisions. One of them was: never rush, not even into victory!”

“And experienced, who was experienced?” I enticed him further.

“Uluj Ali, the famous pirate, to whom the Sultan had entrusted command over parts of the navy on the basis of his slavish loyalty that had lasted for over fifty years. This brave man had destroyed European vessels for decades in the Mediterranean with exceptional success. But he had two bad sides. One was his strong language (which was sometimes forgiven in the light of his profound experience). This time he said the following (overly) poisonous sentences to Ali-pasha Muezzinzade, and that at the moment when he realised that the latter was not backing away from his ill-fated decision: ‘Istanbul Turks cannot even begin to imagine the strength of the Christian fleet. To such sheep (let there be no confusion, that’s what he called them – the Turks of the capital, not the Europeans! – Pamuk said aside) you have to embellish the news about the numbers and strength of our European enemy so that the truth will get into their heads at least that way!’

“Muezzinzade Ali-pasha, a proud and brave man, was offended by these words and he retorted in kind: ‘You want to save the Christians because you were one in your youth! You want to save your Italian homeland!’

“This insult in return had an effect: Uluj Ali fell silent, not wanting his loyalty and courage to fall in to doubt. (His Christian background, besides his sharp tongue, was his other bad side).”

I thought about how clever Ali-pasha was. With these words he insulted both the Grand Vizier and the second vizier at the same time, and in a situation like this one, it seems that this could go unchallenged. Neither Mehmed-pasha Sokolović nor Pertev Mehmed-pasha reacted to this comment, out of sheer precaution. Had they done so, Serbs by background, together with the already challenged Uluj Ali, they would have seemed like undeniable defenders of their former Christian faith. Ali-pasha was thus shrewd to the point of impudence, depending precisely on such a reaction. As Pamuk went on, this was only confirmed.

“With their silence Sultan Selim made his decision, removing the turban from his head and saying: ‘If this turban can cover three heads, then too shall the infidels join forces against me...’”

Pamuk’s quote from the Sultan himself made me think about how his charming but comfortable eloquence would cost the empire greatly. The fact that the decision was not made unanimously or easily is hardly any comfort. Although it does, after all, say something about the existence of quite reasonable, stable people at the top of government who preferred all-encompassing forethought.

Unfortunately, and to the detriment of the Ottoman Empire, ‘the infidels joined forces’. Going into battle at the Bay of Lepanto, where the Turkish armada had taken refuge to await the enemy, with an incidental plundering of Corfu, Ali-pasha got an additional moral wind under his wings, though just before the beginning of the clash of the two armies, the real wind turned in favour of the Christians.

Pamuk laid out the pre-battle troop-strengths for me:

“Ali-pasha Muezzinzade led a flotilla of 210 galleys, 66 galliots,⁵ with about 50,000 oarsmen and sailors, and some 25,000 troops on board. Don Juan de Austria entered the battle with a fleet of 236 galleys and 6 galleasses.⁶ On board there were 44,000 oarsmen and sailors, and about 28,000 soldiers. Although they had smaller numbers of vessels and combatants, the Christian army was twice as well armed, both with heavy cannons and with all other sorts of firearms. That’s what decided the battle.”

“Now tell me about the numbers after the battle.”

“All right. But I will skip the strategy of the battle. Mind you, it is studied in every detail even today in military schools as an example of the greatest naval battle in history up to that time. So, Ali-pasha’s armada lost over 200 ships, of which more than 80 were sunk and 117 were seized. About 25,000 Turkish soldiers and sailors were killed, and 3,500 were captured. From the captured ships, 12,000 Christian slaves were liberated who had been serving as galley slaves.⁷ In contrast, the fleet of the Holy League lost only some 15 galleys and had 8,000 dead and 2,500 wounded. Therefore, the Turkish defeat was terrible and complete.”

“I reckon that you’re quoting me all these numbers to make a point,” I beat him to it. “I suppose that the consequences of the defeat are the most important?”

“Oh, yes. The shock among the Ottomans was indescribable. Lulled and constantly primed in the self-loving delirium of power, they could not accept even the theoretical possibility of the existence of defeat, much less the fact that it had happened! The news reached the Grand Vizier Sokollu from Pertev-pasha who managed to save his own life by reaching shore. He reported that kaptan derya⁸ Ali-pasha Muezzinzade died in the battle and that both of his sons were captured. This letter caught up with Mehmed-pasha at Edirne, where he was accompanying the Sultan and the entire entourage in the autumn hunt. Witnesses say that he pulled out patches of his beard, and that he gave the news to Sultan Selim at the moment when the latter was talking with a dragoman⁹ from Dubrovnik. This man reported that, upon receiving the news, the Sultan was left shocked, and then began to show great fear that the victors might turn toward Constantinople. He thus ordered that the Dardanelles be closed off immediately in the best possible way, and that the capital be protected from all possible attack.”

“I read that this news caused great disturbance and fear all over Turkey,” I told Pamuk. “The people actually experienced – what we would call today – collective stress. Here, I’ll actually quote for you the witness in front of whom the Sultan was told the news, the emissary from Dubrovnik who you just mentioned. Because of his being present and having the advantage of speaking the same language as the Grand Vizier Mehmed-pasha, he was able to note down the reaction of the public and people in the greatest of detail: ‘The crying and wailing was incredible, as was the immeasurable cowardice that those people suddenly showed. At one moment ready to speak of the Christian forces with scorn and contempt, they cried like women as soon as their Turkish conceit and arrogance was deflated. They were only thinking of how to avoid the approaching danger and how to avoid saying the very word “war”.’

Pamuk picked up on the theme.

“And objectively seen, that fear was not unjustified. For example, one consequence of this defeat were the many uprisings that began among the momentarily encouraged Christians who were under Ottoman authority. In the western world the Christian victory resounded remarkably loud and encouraged Europe with the thought that, after two centuries of continuous defeats and constant fear, it was possible for something different to happen as well. After many years, the existing balance of power was being seriously shaken.”

“I also read,” I continued, “that the real problems came about when the Grand Vizier Mehmed-pasha Sokolović, who seems to be the only one who didn’t lose his head, or at least was the first to come to his senses, managed to convince the Sultan to shift to a kind of offensive action. Not warring, but through action to surpass the passivity that had completely disarmed the entire state. So, soon thereafter, fermans¹⁰ were issued on the renewed recruitment of soldiers and the renewal of the navy. But it seems that the real problems began then! The Sultan’s followers, as the records say, ‘would no longer even hear of war’, and it even happened that the entire population of ‘three hundred Anatolian villages fled to Persian soil out of fear that their men would again be forced onto the galleys.’”

Pamuk added further to my citations.

“There was even more. A large number of dignitaries began to renounce their titles and incomes because, without them, they were not liable to answer to the tax and (pre)war duties of the Porte. In turn, the Sultan had many of the spahis impaled, so as to instil fear in the others. However, those were just moves of desperation.

“Disconsolate, Selim II returned to Constantinople and tried to uncover the reasons for the defeat. He held insufferably long sessions of the Dīvān, interrogating everyone around him, debating with the Grand Vizier until deep into the night about the causes and consequences of the loss, he talked to everyone who was considered to be wise and experienced, he questioned soothsayers, he confronted prophets, and everywhere and to everyone he repeated that ‘such a misfortune had never ever occurred to the Turkish empire before.’ He did not try to conceal his perturbation in the least.”

I continued to support this rare historical illustration of panic with facts from the chronicles of contemporaries.

“The Sultan in this frenzy of fear made several consistently irrational moves: of those people who directly participated in the battle at Lepanto, he punished some without reason, and he rewarded others undeservedly. The second vizier, old Pertev Mehmed-pasha, who had been against the conflict but still fought courageously in it – the Sultan removed his title as vizier and did not allow him to even try to justify the faults of others (because he had none himself). At the same time he rewarded the Algerian pirate, bey Uluj Ali (who had also been against going to battle!), because he regarded him to be a hero. In fact, when Uluj Ali realised that events were not unfolding favourably for the Turks, he retreated from the battle in good time, or even better said, too early. He snuck away from the Preveza harbour, gathering up the remains of the flotilla along the way. He managed to gather eighty-odd ships, some intact and others damaged, and flying a banner he had stolen from the Maltese knights, he sailed into the harbour at Constantinople, practically like a victor. In return for this bravery, he was awarded the position as the new admiral of the Ottoman fleet. (Or perhaps the Sultan, actually, was clever enough to fill the position of the killed kaptan derya Muezzinzade in the least troublesome way.)”

Of course, Pamuk knew more about this than I did. He added:

“About the Sultan’s psychological state, I gathered most from his behaviour toward his favourite and oldest friend Jelal Celebi, with whom for years he had been drinking and carousing, sharing all his secrets with him. He renounced him and ostracised him from the court, just because the Grand Mufti Ebusuud Efendi marked him as one of those guilty of the defeat (even though down to this very day it is difficult to connect any of his roles with the battle or the decisions made about it).

“It should be said that both the Sultan and the Grand Vizier, in terms of their relationship, kept their wits about them and they did not turn on each other. Most likely they both realised that it would just make things much worse, and that, in such a situation, it would be hard for either of them without the other.

“Both of them made gestures worthy of praise: Mehmed-pasha did not ever even refer to his timely opposition to starting the battle of Lepanto, nor did he ever repeat it again, and he did not use the opportunity to blame it all on someone else – which he easily could have. The Sultan did not show even the slightest signs of anger toward the Grand Vizier, and rage was out of the question. He let him know, in various ways, that he was aware that Mehmed-pasha Sokollu had been right. But he never said it out loud.”

I asked Pamuk, “What do you think: when the Sultan was deciding whether to go to battle with the European fleet or not, did he take into account the Christian background of his first and second vizier, and that of the pirate bey? Did he think about those things like the admiral of the fleet did?”

“I’m sure he did not. Whatever kind of person any of the Sultans in power were, each of them had hundreds of chances to test the loyalty of their subjects. Think about it. Why were there so many steps in front of each of them to advance in their careers? And why did every promotion take so long? Because, even the smallest step taken was a test of the marriage between ambition and loyalty! The Sultan did not need to lower himself to the level of insulting his subjects like Muezzinzade did. If the Sultan had any doubt, someone lost their head.”