a few years earlier. Among them was Mustafa, Deli Husrev-pasha’s brother. These boys were very careful that their revolt against Islam did not surface in front of their teachers and guardians, but they did not hide it whatsoever in front of the other students. They said that they could never reject the Christian faith, and they especially liked telling this to Bajica. They felt safe because he was the only one among them to have studied to be an Orthodox monk before being brought here, and indeed he had been brought to Edirne literally from the monastery.
Yet, they were surprised by his reserve, and by his counsel as well. They were probably expecting not only that he would openly and directly support them, but that he would indeed most likely decide to be their leader. To be honest, they were not sure their leader in what; although their inclinations were probably towards rebellion. Surely not in an open one, but rather in a conceptual, clandestine one. Bajica, for his part, confronted them with the fact that they had already changed their faith through their conversion in every possible way: in their pledge – in their words and body, their clothing, food, language and prayers. He supported them in their right to go on believing whatever they wanted, even in the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, but deep within themselves. That right and that secret, he kept telling them, could never be taken away from them by anyone. All other protest against faith in Allah, even if it were only slightly visible in public, would end in the violent loss of their life. Between the two extremes offered – life with Allah and death without him – there were no other possibilities. Only one of those two could be chosen. Of course, they could go on like this, half in secret and half publicly, rejecting faith in the Prophet Mohammed, but in doing so they were, he warned them, each day increasing the danger of betrayal that would come most likely from among their own ranks.
After several discussions, they settled down. They did not accept the foreign faith with their hearts and souls, but they understood that they had no other choice outside that intimate truth, unless they chose to go to their deaths, either by their own hand or someone else’s.
It was good that they did not take his words as a defeat, especially when he spoke to them about the feasible duality of belief. He told them that no one could erase his memories either. Even if he wished to erase them himself, how could that be possible? One cannot extinguish a part of one’s life by making a decision; only life up till now. Nor can life begin on a day of one’s choice. It could be seen that they were surprised by these words, but they realised that they were spoken by the wisest among them.
Only then did Bajica figure out that, of all those in this conservative group, Mustafa, Husrev-pasha’s younger brother, was set apart for higher education, and that he was the only one among them who was destined to service in the ruler’s proximity. Later, he even reminded Mustafa of this, telling him in confidence that they would soon all go their separate ways, and that he alone would remain without anyone else from the rebel group; while some of them might stay together, others might not. He counselled him to be patient and wait for the events that were certain to come and bring change.
He also reminded him that they were related.
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
