CHAPTER III_What I Saw in Berlin and Other European Capitals During Wartime

CONSTANTINOPLE, _October 31st, 1914_.

Here I am, after all! From the large window of my room at the Tokatlian

Hotel, the wonderful city, the Bosphorus, and, far away, the woods

and the mosques of Scutari, look like a dream-vision in the blue,

transparent light which seems to come not from the sky only but from

the trees, from the sea, from everywhere.

It is midnight, and everything is perfectly quiet.

If an artist had to choose a landscape which should symbolise the

perfect peace of men and things, he would choose the one on which I am

now looking. And yet even here there is war!

On my way from Dedeagach to Constantinople I got news of the

declaration of war by Turkey. Perhaps if I had tried to cross the

Turkish frontier only a few hours later I should not have succeeded;

as a matter of fact, to-day I saw any number of foreigners, English,

French, Italians, Russians, and Greeks, trying to leave Constantinople

by train.

Only very few of them could manage to get away, as Turkey is busy

sending troops to the western frontier, and only a few seats are

available for ordinary travellers.

The foreigners who could not get away to-day had to content themselves

with booking seats for next week, seats which, though they had to be

paid for, were not guaranteed.

The Dardanelles are closed, of course, and the only communication

with the rest of Europe is this fantastic railway service. French and

English people can, in theory, leave the town. Not so Russian people.

A special concentration camp has been arranged in a large old bazaar

near the Odoun Kapou, and quite close to the military gaol. There is

room for seven thousand prisoners, and I am afraid the young Englishmen

and Frenchmen who don't get away pretty soon will have to go and keep

company with the Russians.

Of course, the concentration camps are copied from German models.

Everything, in fact, in Constantinople is copied from a German model.

During the last four or five months Enver Pasha, "the soul of the

new Turkey," according to his newspaper--_Le Jeune Turc_--"le trait

d'union entre Allemagne et Turquie," according to the perhaps more

correct definition of _Le Stamboul_--which, by the way, has been

suppressed--assisted by a large staff of German officers, has been

arranging for the wholesale Germanisation of Turkey.

There is no doubt about the result; it is excellent, at least from the

German point of view. It was not a hurried job; since Algeciras Germany

has redoubled her military activity in Turkey. This work has gone on

steadily for years, while alongside of it Germany has carried out a

careful and far-sighted commercial expansion.

To take at the present moment only Constantinople, and to say nothing

of the rest of European or Asiatic Turkey, you find the water, the

gas and electric light, the railways, the importation of wheat, the

motor-'bus services, most of the shipping companies, and the tramcars

all belong to German companies or to companies which, if Turkish or

French in name, are controlled and financed by Germans.

The German Government has assisted in every possible way in these

enterprises; many German firms were taken up by the Turkish War Office

during the last few weeks. A typical case was that of a very large

German fireworks firm, which was established about three years ago,

and never turned out any fireworks to the knowledge of anybody in

Constantinople.

Now the large German staff of the firm is producing any amount of

ammunition, and if what is said here is true an enormous quantity of

nitre and cotton-wool, and also lead and other metals, has been stored

in the firm during the last few weeks.

It is absolutely ridiculous to talk about a Russian aggression in the

Black Sea, as most of the Turkish papers are doing. Everybody knew here

that Turkey meant to go to war.

Such was the view of Germany and of Enver Pasha. Not only was the

Turkish Army, under the direction of about 200 German officers, along

with Turkish officers trained in Germany, getting ready as fast as

possible since the beginning of the war, but two months before the war

broke out the Turkish War Office began to get busy, to change generals

and substitute for the old decorative officers a more efficient staff,

to order new uniforms and boots.

It is difficult to say what were the intentions of Turkey at that

moment, but the fact remains that during the past forty years the

Turkish Army has never been in better condition and less lacking

materials than to-day.

This does not mean that the army is strong or well equipped; far from

it, but it is certain that very much has been done lately and a fair

amount of money spent.

What were the reasons of all this activity, and where did the money

come from? It is easy enough to answer these questions--Germany

expected to be at war and wanted Turkey to be ready.

* * *

I have spent my first day in Constantinople in a long walk through the

old town. I wanted to see how the declaration of war had affected the

population. To tell the truth, it does not seem to have affected the

people at all.

The manager of the hotel told me it was better to substitute my western

headgear for a fez if I wanted to go into Stamboul or Scutari, and he

advised me also to speak German if I had to ask for some directions.

It is the only foreign language which is not likely to wake up the

anti-Christian sentiments of the crowd.

Pera, the modern and civilised part of Constantinople, gives the

impression of a big spa out of season. The large hotels are mostly

closed, the cafés, the restaurants, the shops which generally sell only

to the tourist had no customers this year and did not open at all.

I noticed that the few shops open had taken away from the windows

the little boards announcing that English or Russian is spoken. "On

parle français" was still in evidence, but the other languages were

apparently extinct. Constantinople at the moment speaks only German.

Protected by my red fez, I crossed the long bridge which leads to

Stamboul and found myself in the old city. The crowd seemed to be

occupied with anything on earth but the war. There was the usual noise,

there were the usual cries, the usual slow-going traffic.

This seemed rather curious to me. Was it possible that nobody could

realise what a terrible move the Turkish Government had made the day

before? Did they even know that Turkey was at war with Russia and that

to-morrow probably all the Allies would be against her?

Only the night before the key to the enigma had been given me by a

dragoman who, though in a lower social scale, could nevertheless speak

German:--"We did not want this war," he said. "We did not want either

the Balkan War or the war against Italy, but, after all, we know

perfectly that the more silly things our rulers do, the sooner they

will have to go, and the sooner the better.

"We are tired of the so-called Young Turk Government. It is worse than

the Government of Abdul Hamid. Things being as they are, we keep quiet

and hope it will be over as soon as possible."

"But you would not like to have a Russian Government, for instance?"

said I.

"It would not be worse than this one," he answered. "None could be

worse. One fine day, when things go badly, Enver Bey and all the Young

Turks will clear off with the money they have made at our expense, and

leave us to settle the account. They don't care at all for Turkey.

They only care for their private ambitions. Most of them are not Turks

either, but Greeks or Armenians or Levantines or Jews.

"The Turkish people have realised long ago that Turkey, as a nation,

resisted as long as she did because the European nations could not

agree on her partition. The only thing to do was to keep quiet and try

to avoid any struggle. We should have done that if Abdul Hamid had not

been deprived of his power; our new rulers had the dream of making

Turkey once more a Great Power. But their efforts had quite an opposite

result."

All this may sound rather tragic, but it was spoken as if it was the

most natural thing in the world for a modern Turk to regard himself as

simply the citizen of a country that was up for sale by auction.

My informant did not even seem to care to know who the buyer might be.

The dragoman represents the most patriotic part of the population of

Turkey--the Turks. As for the other elements--Greek, Bulgar, Armenian,

Serbian, Wallach, Gipsy, and Jewish, which are in numbers ten times

superior to the Turks--they have different aspirations, and naturally

look for a change in the direction of their own nationality or, at

least, of their own religion.

The only people who have sympathy for Germany seem to be the Jews

and Gipsies, the former, who live mostly on the Bosphorus and the

Dardanelles, being closely connected with Germany by commercial

interests.

It is in this attitude of complete passivity that the population of

Constantinople is waiting. The attempt to wake up the Islamic feeling

is not likely to have a great influence in European Turkey.

To-day in most places meetings have been arranged, and muezzins have

started promising the paradise of Allah, the Houris and all the rest,

to those who are ready to die for the Motherland and the true God.

My dragoman told me they did not arouse much enthusiasm amongst the

population. I heard a Moslem preacher myself address the Mevlevis, the

dancing Dervishes, who were giving an extra performance.

Of course, I could not understand a word of the sermon, but the

Mevlevis, if not the public, got much excited, some wounding themselves

with swords as they offered their blades to Allah.

The cry of "Damour Kaffir" (dogs of infidels) and a few suspicious

glances in my direction persuaded me that it was better to leave the

Dervishes alone, and I made my way out of the dense crowd.

In the little square outside, standing on the steps covered with green

and blue china tiles of a wonderful old sacred fountain, was a sort of

recruiting sergeant with two soldiers acting as helps, one carrying a

large book, the Koran, the other the green standard of the Prophet.

Around them half-a-dozen filthy-looking children were standing in

astonishment, but there was no sign of a recruit.

To-night, when my indispensable dragoman translated for me a leading

article from the _Tanin_, the Turkish official newspaper which is the

mouthpiece of Enver Pasha's pan-Islamic ideals, I was much surprised to

hear the following paragraph:--

"The whole of Turkey is ready to take up arms against the infidels. The

enthusiasm awakened in Constantinople by the declaration of war against

Russia is almost unbelievable. Turkey is ready to take again her place

amongst the great European Powers. We are now members of the New Triple

Alliance, and with the help of Allah and of our powerful Allies we are

certain to get back again all we have lost through the fault of our

late Government."

* * *

_November 2nd._

I think that what happened this morning is really too extraordinary

even for the Turkish Diplomacy, too curious even for one who knows the

extremely curious systems of the Turkish Government.

Yesterday all the Constantinople newspapers were talking about the

declaration of war against Russia (the Ambassadors of the Entente

having to leave very soon) and the resurrection of the Turkish Empire;

the muezzins were preaching the war, the recruiting sergeants were

trying to get new men; to-day the _Tanin_, the newspaper of the Turkish

Government, says that Turkey is not at war, and that she will only

defend herself if the Powers of the Entente move against her. How

delightfully Oriental!

Of course, Turkish papers have an excellent habit of never

contradicting themselves. What was said yesterday is completely

forgotten to-day; not a word about it. _So Turkey is not at war._

That is why, perhaps, some signs of war have begun to appear to-day in

Constantinople. Turkish logic!

This morning there has been "a sort of a demonstration" in favour of

the war. A couple of thousand people with Turkish and German flags, and

under the very eyes of the passive police, wrecked two or three Russian

shops and also the windows of a French bookseller who dared to exhibit

Russian and English books. Afterwards the crowd came down the Avenue

des Petits Champs, where the Embassies are, and hissed the Russian and

the French.

The beautiful Florentine palace, the residence of the British

Ambassador, had a few windows smashed, and two large hotels owned by

French societies were also damaged.

This Jingo crowd was mostly composed of people wearing the fez, but

of rather Western appearance. Some of them, fair haired, and of true

Teutonic bearing, did not leave any doubts about their nationality,

some bore the mark of their Jewish descent, some belonged to the

international mob of all big seaports. I don't know if amongst the

crowd there was a single real Turk.

As I write, in the large square outside the Arsenal, military

exercises under the command of Turkish and German officers are going

on. The Germans attached to the Turkish army or to the Embassy in

Constantinople have organised all the young Germans into a regular

troop. Now every one of them is acting as an instructor, and probably

before long they will have a uniform and an official status in the

Turco-German army.

During the last two weeks trains loaded with arms, ammunition of all

kinds, Red Cross requisites, and even guns have been arriving from the

north. An enormous quantity of sea mines has been sent down--evident

sign that the Germans intend to follow in the Dardanelles the same

tactics of naval war they are following in the North Sea.

A large part of the Fleet, I really don't know if I have to call it the

Turkish fleet or the Allied fleet, or perhaps the German fleet, has

come back into the Bosphorus. The names of the vessels are, of course,

quite Turkish. The _Goeben_ was rechristened _Sultan Selim_; the

_Breslau_ got instead the new name of _Medilla_, which means _Mitilen_,

in Turkish.

The bridge on the Golden Horn is open, and yesterday the _Goeben_ went

right across the long bay and dropped anchor outside the Arsenal.

Then on the ship began a sort of feverish work. A number of large

flat-bottomed boats were sent out from the Arsenal loaded with workmen,

who proceeded to do some mysterious repairs on board. It was possible

to hear the continuous hammering, but the distance did not allow me to

see what kind of work was going on.

Certainly no great damage had been done to the ship because, while the

repairs were going on, a large quantity of ammunition and numerous

cases which looked as though they contained foodstuffs were lifted on

board with the help of two big cranes.

In the afternoon I made the acquaintance of a German officer who had

been on board the _Goeben_ during the last three years. He told me that

the ship had not suffered any serious damage; something went wrong with

the helm, but it would be all right in the evening.

My new friend seemed most proud of the exploits of his ship during the

last month, and when I flattered his vanity by telling him that the

_Goeben_ and _Breslau_ had been the talk of all Europe for many weeks,

he was so pleased that he willingly told me all that had happened on

board since the outbreak of war.

"It is a wonderful story," he began. "Two days before the outbreak of

hostilities the _Goeben_ was at Fiume loading coal, while the _Breslau_

was in the southern part of the Adriatic Sea.

"We got orders to meet her at a certain spot in the open Mediterranean,

and we sailed, leaving ashore a few of our men who had obtained short

leave. Even our wireless operator was ill, and had to be left in

the hospital at Fiume, but luckily enough we had somebody else on

board who understood wireless as well as he did. If not, I don't know

how we could have managed it, as when we were in the Ionian Sea the

meeting-place with the _Breslau_ was suddenly changed on account of

some English ships which were reported leaving Malta that day, and

likely to discover our route.

"As the declaration of war was expected at any moment, we were trying

to go as far westward as possible in order to be able to do some damage

either on the Algerian or Tunisian coast. We got another wireless

message, and the order to show ourselves on the African coast, and

to retreat as soon as possible to the Dardanelles. If necessary, the

Turkish fleet would have protected our retreat into the Straits.

"We went straight to Bona and Philippeville, which were the only places

of importance not too far from our position at that moment. You know

what a lot of damage we managed to do in a few hours. Of course, the

most important thing was not to destroy the towns, but to call the

attention of the British and French fleets to that spot so that they

would rush down there and leave us free the route to the Dardanelles.

"We left the African coast in the afternoon and made our way eastward

as fast as our engines would allow us to go. Twice we saw British

ships scouting, but we managed to avoid being seen and coming to an

engagement which would have brought all the united fleet against us

in a few hours' time. Later on we met two more British ships, which

started to chase us.

"We were far superior in speed, and would have left them behind us but

for a third ship which appeared on the horizon down south. The only

thing for us to do was to rush forward. We had to seek an asylum in the

bay of Messina.

"The neutrality of Italy at that moment was not a certainty. Our move

would really have helped her to take a decision, and to keep faithful

to her allies as well as protect her own real interests. Our Government

thought so too, but Italy did not move, so we found ourselves under the

necessity of leaving Messina in daytime.

"The British fleet, sure of our capture, was waiting outside the

Italian territorial waters. We really did not hope to get out of the

Bay without engaging in a battle under very unequal conditions.

"The weather, which had been wonderfully fine for over a month, came to

our help. In the afternoon it began to get cloudy, and at ten o'clock

it was pitch dark. This was quite an exception in the Straits of

Messina at that time of year.

"We can thank that darkness for our escape. With no light on board,

we went right across the bay; on both sides we could see the lights

of the British warships, and the searchlight often explored the sea

at a few metres' distance from us. We were all on deck waiting to be

discovered, and to engage in a fight which could not possibly result in

our favour.

"At a certain moment a light, probably belonging to a fishing boat,

attracted the attention of the British ships, and all the searchlights

were concentrated on that spot. This almost certainly saved us. Slowly

and silently we passed at a few hundred metres' distance from an

Italian warship on sentinel near the Calabrese coast. If she had seen

us we should have answered the signals, and that would have attracted

the attention of the whole British squadron.

"We thought we were quite out of danger, but when the morning broke we

discovered a British ship following us. We increased our speed, but

the other ship seemed to be as fast as we were. Then we decided to get

rid of her, and while we went on by the side of the Greek coast the

_Breslau_ got farther down in the open sea. The British ship stopped

undecided; we opened fire on her, and she answered with a lot of

shells, none of which reached either of our ships. Always fighting, we

made our way forward.

"Near the Greek Island of Cerigo we must have hit the boat with one of

our torpedoes, as she seemed to lose speed and then suddenly stop. We

lost sight of her, but after a few hours we came in sight of a ship

hoisting a French flag. Before she saw us we changed our route and hid

ourselves behind one of the Cyclades Islands, in a sort of triangle of

sea from which we could see, unseen, in every direction.

"We were very short of ammunition, coal, and everything else owing to

the hurried departure from our base, and also to the long ride across

the Mediterranean. There were also some urgent repairs to be done on

board of our ship. The _Breslau_ was untouched.

"We stayed in our refuge two days, and in the evening of the second

day, hearing from some officers who had been sent out scouting

with motor-boats that the route was free, we made our way to the

Dardanelles. You know the rest of our story."

"And what about the sale of the two ships to Turkey?" I asked candidly.

"The sale was a very simple operation. We got our carpenters on board

to paint the new names over the old ones. That was all. The job was not

neatly done, that's true, as the old names were in embossed letters,

and they always showed through, although they were painted grey!" he

said laughingly. "We didn't even trouble to change the name on the

lifeboats, etc., as we knew that in a few weeks' time that would not be

of any more importance."

"I suppose you have had rather a busy time in Constantinople during the

last two months?"

"Terribly busy. We had to train quite a number of Turkish sailors, who

were quite all right for an old-fashioned fleet, but did not know what

to do on a modern warship. The artillery men were only used to very old

materials, and had no idea of our modern guns; anyhow, we have done

it, and done it very quickly too. Now they are as good as any sailor in

any other navy. The five principal units of our navy in the Bosphorus

are now commanded by German officers, and have a mixed crew which is

likely to prove very efficient."

"And what about the fight in the Black Sea?"

"About that, dear sir, I cannot say a word. The news for the public was

given by the Orient Bureau to the Press and the rest has to be kept

secret, at least for the present."

"So you are converted, more or less, into a Turkish officer?"

"Into a Turkish officer? No fear. We have converted the Turkish ships

into German ships; that is what we have done. In a few days the world

will see that the Turkish fleet would never have been able to perform

what we are going to do."

And with a vague gesture full of obscure menace and foretelling

wonderful deeds, the hero of the _Goeben_ left me to go back on board.

* * *

I devoted my afternoon to a visit to Aya Sophia, the wonderful church

which is still gorgeous and majestic, in spite of the Turkish attempts

to disfigure it.

There was a special war-time service going on. One of the large old

carpets, which are supposed to have belonged to Mahomet, had been taken

down from the wall, on which they generally hang, for display on the

floor under the centre of the big dome. At the carpet's corners four

_imans_ were praying with fervour, and at their side four censers

filled the air with clouds of smoke and strong perfume. On the carpet

lay the sword of Mahomet the Conqueror, the Sultan who has dedicated

St. Sophia to the Mahomedan cult. He constructed the higher of the

temple's minarets.

A thick crowd of kneeling figures covered the whole floor of the large

cathedral. The sacred sword is only exhibited on very important

occasions. Since the Tripoli war it has never been taken from its

jewelled case. The news that this time the famous arm has been exposed

will spread all round the Islamic world, and the Germans seem to hope

that this sign that the religion of Allah is in danger will wake up all

the followers of Mohammed. But the high priests themselves do not seem

too sure of the fact. During the last few years the prestige of the

Sultan as supreme religious head has been greatly shaken; it is feared

that the present attitude of Turkey may lead to a new and stronger

schismatic movement. It is almost certain that the day Turkey loses

Constantinople, the Mahomedans will cease to consider the Sultan as

chief of their religion.

While I was admiring the really imposing scene, made even more

fantastic by the flashing lights of hundreds of lamps, which emulated

the light of the sun coming in copiously through the windows, wide

open, four new _imans_ took charge from the old ones. The sword will

be exposed a whole week, and during this time four of the highest

_cheiks_ of the temple will be in continuous prayers around it.

While leaving the Temple I crossed the side passage of the Gyneceus.

Here is the old door through which the priest who was celebrating the

mass when, according to Greek tradition, Mahomet the Conqueror rode on

horseback right in the middle of the church in 1454, disappeared with

the altar cup and his sacerdotal ornaments. The Turks ran after him

to kill him as they had done with thousands of people who had sought

asylum in the temple, but the door was immediately closed by a stone

wall.

When St. Sophia is given back to the Christian cult, continues the

Greek tradition, the priest will reappear and continue the service at

the very point at which he was interrupted.

It is one of the finest of popular beliefs, quite worth keeping alive

for its own sake.

I wonder if the moment when the Greeks will have to admit that their

beautiful tradition is only a legend is not coming sooner than they

thought.

* * *

_November 3rd._

I have now been two days in Constantinople; I have compared the present

condition of the Army, of the Navy, and of the different Services

with their condition four years ago, when I came first to the Turkish

capital. I have recalled to my mind what I saw at Tripoli, three years

ago, when the Turks demonstrated their worth from a military point of

view; and, finally, I have taken into consideration the lessons to be

learned from their conduct in the Balkan War.

There is only one possible conclusion: there is a big change in

everything; there is the evident mark of somebody who pulls the

strings, and pulls them with a definite object, and with strong and

delicate hands.

That somebody is Enver Pasha.

Till a few weeks ago the question: "Is Enver Pasha really a clever

politician and a first-rate military man?" would have had one answer

only--"Of course he is; he is the only great man of Turkey; as long as

he lives Turkey will have some hope of resurrection."

This man, who has the celebrity and the ambition of a little Napoleon,

is, at the bottom, nothing more than a child with a large dose of

vanity. He worships publicity, he loves to see his photographs in the

big foreign papers, to read the gossip about his private life, in which

he used to pose as a _blasé_ man of the world, surrounded by a full

score of wonderful princesses wanting only to marry him. His vanity

went as far as to make him proceed legally against a photographer who

dared to publish a picture postcard showing Enver as he really is,

short and stoutish.

As for his character, he is neither capable nor determined. He takes

up everything with great enthusiasm, but never accomplishes his work.

The only deed of his mighty career was the ruin of Abdul Hamid; Europe

looked at him as at a novel Brutus, and Enver made at once a world-wide

fame and a fairly large fortune.

From his gilded cage, the beautiful Villa Allatini, on the Bosphorus,

in which he is kept prisoner, the former Sultan has written repeatedly

to the man who has dethroned him and led his country to take the most

foolish of steps, asking that neutrality should be observed as long

as possible, and saying that only by keeping friends with the great

Mediterranean Powers and Russia could the Sick Man of Europe obtain

another lease of life.

Enver took no notice of the advice of the old Sovereign, who is

certainly one of the most Machiavellian and tactful politicians of

modern times. If anything, Enver tried to rush by personal action the

Turkish intervention.

Here, in Constantinople, one imagines that he must have the gift of

ubiquity. He is everywhere. He traced personally the route of a new

railway line, which will connect directly the Arsenal with the main

line; he fixed the place where the platforms for the new large guns

from Germany were to be erected; he selected the houses which were to

serve as temporary barracks, hospitals, and depôts; he was seen on one

day at the two extreme points of the Dardanelles (a record considering

the leisurely Turkish communication), arranging for special protective

trenches to be constructed in defence of roads and railway lines

exposed to the fire of the naval artilleries. And while doing all this

material work he had all the diplomatic arrangements completely on his

shoulders, and had to carry out, as though not pretending to do so, the

orders from Berlin.

A Diplomat who had many years of Turkish experience, having been

connected with one of the Embassies in Constantinople for over ten

years, tells me that, during the last month, and especially after his

marriage with the Sultan's niece, Enver Pasha has affected a sort of

private Court, and surrounded himself with truly Imperial luxuries.

Audience with him was more difficult than with the Sultan.

"Enver flatters himself to act independently," said my diplomatic

friend. "He tries to play the great diplomat and the great captain, but

really he is only a toy in the hands of Germany. He has reorganised

the army and the navy with German officers, German arms, German money,

and he seems to believe that he has been very clever and got very much

for nothing. He does not realise that acting as he did has completely

ruined his country, whatever the result of the war.

"I believe that Germany's plan is this: She hopes that Turkey, with her

fleet reinforced by the two German warships, will obtain an initial

success in the Black Sea. In this case she reckons on the Pan-Islamic

feelings waking up all over the Mussulman world, which will mean

serious trouble for England and France in North Africa, necessitating

the withdrawal of a part of their troops from the principal theatre of

operations.

"If Turkey does not succeed in her action against Russia, the latter

will see her way open to Constantinople, and will probably not be able

to resist the temptation of sending down a large part of her troops,

and so press with less force on the Austro-German frontier.

"Moreover, Germany hopes that this will break the perfect accord which,

up to the present, has lasted between the nations of the Entente. As

you see, Turkey in the German plan is reduced to the modest proportion

of the victim which will serve her in the matter of settling accounts

at the end of the war."

To-day the general service decree issued three days ago takes effect,

and the newspapers say that Turkey will be able to raise an army

of over two and a half millions. The uniforms of the soldiers are

extraordinarily like those of the Germans, the only difference being

the substitution of the fez for the cap.

The troops look fit, and have brand-new uniforms and boots; the

cavalry, which has been taken over from the Asiatic side of the

Bosphorus, possesses exceptionally fine horses.

But the weak spot of such troops lies in the officers; some of them,

belonging to Asiatic families, are ignorant and hardly understand

the use of modern arms or the systems of modern warfare; others,

German-trained, have absorbed a large amount of the grimness of their

instructors, and the soldiers have neither sympathy with nor confidence

in them. The Turkish soldiers are said to be good fighters, but in all

probability their fame still rests on the Crimean campaign. During the

Tripoli and Balkan wars they proved to be less than mediocre soldiers.

These soldiers, who are going to fight an unknown enemy for a reason of

which they are ignorant, are in Constantinople in great numbers, and

every day new contingents arrive from the other side of the Bosphorus.

They walk about Stamboul with a sort of surprised look in their black

eyes. The officers prefer Pera and Galata, the European parts of

Constantinople, and are mostly seen accompanied by Germans.

Pera offers really very little in the way of attractions just now.

All the theatres have been closed by order, probably for the reason

that the third-class Italian opera company and the still worse French

vaudeville company, have refused to risk the lives of their actors. The

only thing to do at night is to go to one of the interminable _café

chantant_ shows. Galata has over fifty such establishments, and often

the programme lasts till daybreak.

I entered one of them and for a moment I seemed to have gone suddenly

back to Berlin. German officers in uniform, other German people talking

loudly in front of huge glasses of beer, and a little orchestra of

Tsiganes playing Viennese tunes made my illusion almost complete.

The waiters were, of course, German, and the so-called artists, of

uncertain nationality, sang only German and Turkish songs.

A _gommeuse_ risked a little Parisian refrain, but her voice was

drowned by the public hissing and shouting. The public began to sing

patriotic songs, and the girl only won her way back to public grace by

dancing a sort of furious cake-walk which seemed to please her audience

immensely.

This number was followed by the great attraction of the programme--a

"revue," as it was pompously announced on the posters.

The story of the play was highly symbolic; a young lady in feathers and

a three-coloured scarf (France) and her protector (Russia) tried to rob

a respectable gentleman and his wife (Germany and Austria).

A struggle began, accompanied by lyric, which must have been highly

amusing and patriotic, as everybody clapped and laughed, while in the

background a Scotsman made a terrible noise, but kept away from the

fight.

An Alma, with a fez on her black wig, rose at this moment from a pile

of cushions among which she had been lying while indulging in a quiet

smoke. At the sight of her Russia dropped to the floor, France did

the same, England flew away into the wings, and the three victorious

nations danced a sort of jig on a special _pot-pourri_ arranged from

the music of the three national anthems.

This most idiotic pantomime was so highly appreciated that it was

completely repeated. At the conclusion the girl who played France

achieved a great personal success by coming out draped in the German

flag--to show that she was only impersonating France for stage

necessities, and that she was actually of true German feelings.

The few Turks amongst the audience clapped enthusiastically, and,

in contravention of the Koran's laws, drank large glasses of beer,

probably in honour of their masters and protectors.

Outside the night was full of stars, and at the eastern side of the

quiet Bosphorus a group of luminous spots showed the position of the

fleet going back into the Black Sea. One by one the lights disappeared,

hidden from sight by the thick woods of Therapia.

* * *

_November 5th._

The news that the Sultan is to review a large detachment of troops

leaving for the front, on the enormous drilling ground on the hill of

Pancaldi, fetches me out of bed very early this morning.

When I reach the grounds a large convoy of troops tells me that the

Sultan must be coming. Numerous Zapties (Turkish _gendarmes_) are

pushing the crowd aside on the pavement. Now the Sultan arrives in a

closed coach preceded and followed by a number of other Zapties on

horseback.

Everybody bows deeply, but the Sultan does not show himself. His

carriage drives between the double ranks of troops once only, and then

disappears under the large arch of the Artillery Barracks.

The new Sultan is said to detest appearing in public. He has

abolished, for this reason, all the traditional ceremonies, all the

luxurious habits of the old Court, and lives quietly like a private

citizen in the Dolma-Bagtche-Serai. The wonderful palace of Abdul Hamid

on the Asiatic side of the Bosphorus is much too imposing for his

simple taste. Mohamed the Fifth is neither loved nor hated; the Turkish

population simply ignores his existence.

After the departure of the Sultan the troops get on with their drills.

There are about 10,000 infantrymen, fifty field guns, and not more than

a dozen pieces of Horse Artillery of a fairly old model. The field guns

are the famous ones bought from Krupp at the time of the Balkan War,

which arrived at Constantinople after the peace was concluded.

At the back of the Artillery Barracks is a large Turkish cemetery in

which numerous tents have been erected to shelter the Asiatic troops

coming through Constantinople. A large and curious crowd watches the

dark-skinned, oily-haired soldiers cooking their own food or making,

with a sort of religious concentration, a drop of coffee in a copper

saucepan not larger than a small egg.

Here is the German Embassy, where there is a great movement of Turkish

and German officers, and where a long line of motor-cars waits outside

the door. From the balcony over the main entrance hangs a picture of

the Kaiser and a large German flag. To the left side of the Embassy is

a powerful wireless station.

This may be considered as the real War Office in Constantinople at the

present moment. Near the door, on a large blackboard, is exposed the