In a sense, no doubt, we exaggerate things away here in Angora. If Europe could ever realise what “a free and independent Turkey” really means to her own people, the miracle would still seem no more than one tiny step forward in the interests of the world. Yet sometimes I wonder over the words of Cardinal Gasparri: “Turkey has not only dictated to England, but to France and Italy as well.” And now, here in Angora, I see them coming along their one wide road. All mingled without a thought of social distinctions; all intent upon the same goal—their country’s freedom; all alike proud of the price they have paid—officers and deputies, ministers and civil servants, soldiers, peasants, and caravan-drivers. Are not these, then, the one true democracy of the world? “If I resent being called American,” I told my friends here, “it certainly is _not_ because I dislike democracy. In Western practice, alas, it has been like ‘freedom for women’—so imperfectly carried out.” * * * * * From its original bungalow design, the building of the Grand Nationalist Assembly still retains a certain resemblance to the club-pavilion. But considerable extensions are being put forward as rapidly as a climate that only varies from ten to fifteen degrees below zero will permit; while its commanding position, and the care bestowed upon the entrance and grounds, are admirably calculated to uphold the honour and dignity of the Nationalist flag overhead. There is a large ante-room on the left as you enter, where I generally spent a good part of the day, after my first visit to the Assembly, occasionally finding my way into the actual Debate. There were always coffee and cigarettes in the ante-room; and it was there I met practically all the ministers and deputies, who must, at last, have grown weary of my endless questions on every conceivable aspect of their ideals and their activities. “You must accept me,” I said, in half-serious apology, “as a self-constituted Father Confessor” to the new nation he loves and admires so much. Across the corridor, too, I was allowed sometimes to say “good afternoon” over a cup of coffee to “the Pasha” (as M. Kemal is here known to all) in his Presidential Bureau. Honestly, I believe the men “understood” all my questions, however indiscreet, and did not take offence. They seemed so eager for me to meet _everyone_ and learn _everything_. It was, indeed, a very pleasant and most human pursuit of knowledge—a continual succession of brilliant and zealous men, interpreting themselves and their dreams to an eager listener. Among other matters, I was particularly anxious to know whether Constantinople or Angora was to be the _permanent_ capital of the new State, and to understand all the reasons that would determine their choice.