For my trip to Potsdam I had a bright, sunny morning. Potsdam, the favourite residence of the Kaiser, and one of the most intensely Prussian towns of Prussia, owing to the enormous number of barracks, military buildings, and academies she has in proportion to her size, attracted me for two reasons.
First, I knew any amount of military drill was daily going on in the large drill grounds, and that Potsdam, the cradle of the Prussian Army, would be specially interesting to see in war time.
Secondly, the only concentration camp in the immediate vicinity of Berlin in which British prisoners are kept is Doberitz, quite close to Potsdam.
Potsdam gave me straight away the impression of being absolutely full of soldiers. The regular garrison has gone to the front, of course, but the first classes of the Landsturm, just called to arms, are drilling day and night in the grounds of the artillery barracks.
Some of the new guns (for the Russian frontier, I learn) are being tested, and the military academy has been converted into a huge hospital. The ugly, pretentious little town, full of copies of old Italian and French buildings, seemed to be populated by an extraordinary number of people in mourning, probably owing to the fact that Potsdam being a garrison town, quite a number of officers' families reside there.
The entrance to the castle of Sans Souci, to the New Palace, and to the Marble Palace isverboten. I asked the reason of this, and I was told that the buildings are now being devoted to military purposes.
I was losing all hope of being able to see something of interest when the noise of apowerful engine made me look over my head. A gigantic Zeppelin was performing different evolutions, dropping and rising again hundreds of feet, changing the direction, and pointing a massive nose now to the earth, now to the sky.
I could see from the stability planes and from the shape of the tail that it was one of the very latest models; also a sort of silvery paint, probably the aluminium varnish which has been in use for years in the Italian aerial fleet, had been adopted instead of the old grey or copal varnish. I easily managed to find out that this was the first test of a new machine, that two airships exactly alike were being equipped in the flying grounds on the west side of the town, and that old Count Zeppelin himself was looking after the operations.
From morning to sunset there was an enormous activity in the whole of the aerial park. Over a hundred aeroplanes of the Taube type were under construction, and I was told that in every one of the German towns whichpossesses aeroplane works, flying machines are being built in large numbers. Apparently the idea is not only to supply machines in place of those lost or damaged on the frontiers, but to have a very large number of aeroplanes ready for next spring.
The figures I heard varied very much, but a well-informed officer said that Germany will have in March-April over a thousand new machines, and that the engines of the whole air-fleet are already finished. I asked what was Germany's object in getting such an enormous number of machines ready, but I could only get the answer, "You wait and see!"
As for the balloons, the largest workshops are in Posen and Hanover.
The hangars erected at Potsdam are only four, but they are very large, and a new system of concrete has been used in place of wood or corrugated iron.
The new Zeppelin seems very agile, considering its huge volume. The cigar-like shape seems to me to be thicker than the oldmodel, and the distance between the gondolas carrying the engines and the body of the airship has been very much reduced.
A kind old lady lent me her good field-glasses, and I could see that the crew numbered over a dozen, and that a general in uniform was on board. The new airship did not, for the moment, show any number or mark of any kind. After a few more evolutions the Zeppelin disappeared, concealed by the trees of the Brauhausberg.
I gave back the glasses to the old lady who lent them to me, and she said that she was a widow of a captain who died in the 'seventies near Sedan, and had now two sons and two sons-in-law at the front. "They are at the right wing fighting the Englishmen, at the place of honour. Do you know England at all?" she asked me, and then went on without giving me time to answer her question.
"Oh, I do hate that country! She had no business to come into this war, and without her we should at this time be in Paris. Ourfleet would have destroyed the French fleet, and everything would be over."
I asked her if any of her relations had been wounded.
"Yes," she answered, "one of my sons last month. He was sent back here for two weeks, but now he has recovered and has gone to the front again."
I could not help admiring the old lady; she was only thinking of the success of the campaign, and very little of the danger that her sons might never come back. The German woman has remained, in this way, the wife of the fierce, barbarous warrior of Attila, in peace time counted as a slave, or at best as a nurse for the children, but ready to buckle the breast-plate of her man and to kiss him good-bye with dry eyes when the moment for fighting comes. In peace-time one has the impression that this type of woman has disappeared from Germany, and that her place has been taken by the provincial type—sentimental up to her wedding-day, practical after, or by the coquettishcity type of woman, who tries to copy the Parisienne or the Viennese, and only succeeds in being the caricature of a smart woman, handicapped as she is by a certain clumsiness of body and spirit.
Now her country is at war, the German woman has become again the descendant of the Valkyrie, of the wife of the mediæval warrior, of the nursing woman of the 1870's.
This war, sweeping away the paint of more or less real culture, of social convention, of borrowed ways and manners, brings to the surface the wild qualities of men but also the good ones of women.
I asked the old lady to whom I was talking if she did not feel terribly anxious and upset about her sons, and she answered:—
"I really haven't time to think much about them. Everybody is so busy just now. We have got miseries of all kinds—wounded, refugees from the Russian frontiers, lonely children to look after—and everybody is trying to do his very best in helping the country."
I asked her the way to Doberitz, and having crossed by the ferry boat a small branch of the Havel, I went on in the direction of the village. In a very large field at the back of the Potsdam's cavalry barracks I saw a couple of thousand horses arranged in large circles of about one hundred each, round huge piles of saddles.
A number of reservists were busy showing some of the animals, and cleaning and looking after some others. The horses, seen in the distance, seemed perfectly fresh, and some of them looked exceptionally fine. They seemed to belong mostly to the Hungarian type, and had long hairy manes and tails, and strong muscles in their legs.
I was very astonished, as I had read, and not in English papers only, that the German Army was short of horses, and that the full cavalry contingent was at the frontier.
Those horses, I learnt, were a fresh supply, just received from Austria and Hungary, as the southern Allies apparently have got many more horses than soldiers to ride them.
Other very large depôts of horses, which will be ready for military service in a month or so, were at the south side of Berlin and Eisleben and Leipsig. The Government are also trying to get horses from Sweden, Denmark, and Norway, but the steps taken in this direction don't seem to have given very good results.
Germany is trying to get horses from everywhere, even at very high prices, but, like the aeroplanes, not so much for immediate use, but to have them ready for next spring. It is fully realised that cavalry at the present moment, with winter frosts and conditions prevailing, would be of hardly any use.
After a fairly long walk on the muddy road I reached Doberitz and asked for the concentration camp. I was told that it depended on whether I wanted to see the new or the old one. The new one consists of large temporary constructions, which are being erected on the manœuvring grounds on the Spandau road, and which will not becomplete for some time. The old one is at the extreme west side of the town, and is really a large, lofty country house, with large green houses attached, and a chapel, formerly inhabited by Carmelite nuns, standing in a spacious garden. Only about two hundred English prisoners are kept there, but many French prisoners are quartered in another building half a mile distant. The large concentration camps are not here, but in the North of Germany. The Tommies (I don't know if there are any officers quartered with them) are made generally useful; they cut wood for the trenches, sew and prepare sacks for the same purpose, and anyone who has ability to do extra work receives a small payment for it, with which he can purchase tobacco, etc.
I asked if it was possible to talk with the prisoners, but was told that not even German people are allowed to do so, and that no permission to enter the camp was ever accorded, whatever the reasons.
I thought it would be useless, and probablydangerous, for me to try and get in, and I had to be content with walking close to the long, white wall which separates the grounds of the old convent from the main road. I heard voices talking in the purest Cockney accent, laughter, and popular English songs hummed at the other side.
At the south of Doberitz there is a small hill less than 100 ft. high, covered with thick vegetation. From its summit I managed to get a good look into the Concentration Camp.
Forty or fifty British soldiers, in khaki trousers and shirt-sleeves, were smoking and sitting about outside the main entrance of the house. It was about two o'clock in the afternoon, and they were evidently enjoying their after-dinner rest.
Two seemed to be in rather friendly conversation with one of the German soldiers who were looking after them, and another was listening to an old officer who was giving him some instructions.
I noticed that the Tommy stood atattention, as though he were in front of a British officer, and that, when the German went among the soldiers, they saluted him in the regular manner. All along the inside of the high wall of the garden Prussian soldiers were walking up and down as stiff as if they were mounting guard at the Imperial Palace.
"What would I give," I said to myself, "to be able to talk to them, to give them fresh news from England, to take home their letters. A scrap of paper with their names only would probably be enough to bring happiness to hundreds of English families which are now mourning them as dead. It seemed ridiculous not to be able to get somehow into contact with those men who were only four or five hundred feet distance from me."
Of course, it couldn't be done, and I walked sadly down the little hill thinking of the poor young fellows, probably worried by false news about the war and forced to prepare material for the trenches whichwill stop their pals' bullets and protect their gaolers.
* * *
The few days I had decided to spend in Berlin coming to an end, I set out upon the return journey through Hamburg, in which town I wanted to see as much as possible of Germany's naval preparations. Though I fully realised that it would be much better to have gone to Kiel for this purpose, or even better to Wilhelmshaven, I did not attempt such a journey because of the terribly slow railway communications, and also because of the improbability of getting anywhere near the arsenals.
Hamburg, the largest town in Germany after Berlin, the oldest shipbuilding city in Europe (she was already rich and powerful when Glasgow was unknown and Liverpool was but a small fishing village), is probably the most representative town in the whole of Germany.
Here the prosperity of Germany after the proclamation of the Empire shows itself ina mighty way; the words of August Bebel have found the right kind of soil, and have produced the wonderful organisation of workmen which was powerful enough to erect the Gewerkschaftshaus.
A question which has puzzled me since the beginning of the war is, what are the German Socialists doing? What happened to their international sympathies; what do they think of this war and of the way Germany is treating the Belgian and French population? When I asked these questions to a well-known Hamburg Socialist, the only answer he could give me was this:
"We are reduced to a very small number at the present moment; when a Socialist workman is called to arms, not only he immediately forgets all about his Socialist beliefs, but even his family, his father, and his brothers—not to mention women, who are absolutely war-mad, seem to lose all interest in what is not war. Of course, I firmly believe that as soon as the war is over theSocialist Party will become even stronger than it was before, but for the present we are so few that we don't dare to say a word, nor to criticise that which ought to be criticised."
Waiting for the resurrection of Socialism, the Labour Party is indirectly helping the common cause. Three entire floors of the Workmen's Institute have been transformed into hospitals, and nurses, doctors, sanitary appliances, etc., are supplied by the Trade Unions' League.
All shipbuilding firms, from the enormous concerns of international fame to the smallest, have been taken up by the Government, or are at least working for it.
Godeffroy, Stülchen, Weichhorst, etc., are now specially occupied in the construction of submarines. The strictest secrecy is observed about the plant, and the number of ships under construction is not known.
The enormous Vulcan Works on the other side of the town, the commercial Altona, andthe still larger Blohm and Voss works, are turning out at present four battleships, and the former firm has nearly finished a new floating dock which is said to be the largest in existence. Hamburg will have altogether six large floating docks, which will certainly prove of great help in the work of rescuing damaged warships. In less than two hours they may be taken right down to the open sea, through the Elbe, and from there reach at full speed any ships too badly damaged to steam by their own means and convey them to the Hamburg dockyards.
To say that the shipbuilding concerns have been "taken up" by the Government is really inexact and superficial; nearly all of the firms have furnished the German Navy with some ships during the last few years—Blohm, for instance, is responsible for theVon der Tann, theMoltke, and theGoeben.
A Hamburg firm that specialises in lighthouses, etc., is now constructing an enormous number of searchlights, which are to be added to those already possessed by the Navy, andwhich are mentioned here asspecially made for the attack on the British coasts. Other searchlights, almost equally powerful, but not quite so heavy, are fixed on all balloons and aeroplanes.
The unemployment plague, which is very serious all over Germany, especially among women, is worse here than anywhere else; nearly all the factories, mills, and works having been closed long since. While great activity reigns in the dockyards, the Asia and America quay, the Petroleum-Hafen, and the quays of the great steamship companies, which generally present a picturesque and busy scene, are deserted. The big ships, bereft of all their goods, have a sort of sleepy look about them, and they give the impression that not a soul is on board.
Near the Ellenzhobz-Hafen one of the large steamers of the Hamburg-America line is being converted into a Red Cross Hospital. The gilded furniture, the carpets and pictures are being taken away and deposited on the bank by a large steam crane, and the RedCross mark has already been painted on the ship.
* * *
I would much rather not go over again my return journey. It is a sickening story of slow trains, stopped at every station, of annoyances of every kind, of hurried meals in bad railway station buffets, of hours and hours of waiting because a train was cancelled at the last minute and the next one was full of soldiers or wounded, and did not take ordinary passengers, etc.
At Bremen I am stopped as an alien enemy, insulted by a drunken crowd and taken to the police station, where I am detained the rest of the night. In the morning the inspector comes, looks at the mysterious passport I got in Berlin, apologises and releases me just in time to have missed the morning train. This identical scene is repeated at the Dutch frontier.
My mind is naturally full of recollections, recollections a little chaotic owing largely to the fact that to have taken a single note wouldhave been very dangerous for me during the search I had to undergo.
There was certainly an enormous difference between London and Berlin after three months' war. The optimism which in Germany is very strong among the people in the street and very moderate in the army is here in London exactly in opposite proportions.
As for the economic position, the commercial possibilities and industrial crisis, no comparison is possible between the two countries; the geographical position of Britain and the action of her Fleet give her an enormous superiority over her enemies.
Signs of financial distress, it is true, are not very evident in Berlin; the increase in prices has been small, and has begun only during the last few weeks. I don't know if things will go on like this when the winter has almost paralysed the production of German foodstuffs, the reserves are exhausted, and the importation through Denmark and Holland has somehow been stopped.
It is needless to say that Germany has noColonial contingent to put on against our Colonial troops, and that the fighting power of our enemies, owing to the strictly applied recruiting system, and to the above fact, is essentially limited, while Britain's can have no end of resources. Certainly this war will be very, very long.
The high spirit of the German nation, the decision of the Army to fight to the very last, the fact that the Kaiser knows perfectly that thedébâclewould be the end of the Prussian hegemony and of his family's power, and the military education given to the German people during the whole of the last century, make of this nation an extremely difficult enemy to tame.
Endless sacrifices of comforts, of money, of life, will be needed not only from England, France, Russia, and Belgium, but from all other nations on earth who have simply been considering Germany as a huge latent danger during the last forty years.
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 theOdoun 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 ofLe 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 onsteadily 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 ifwhat 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 bettercondition 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 isnot 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. Wasit 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," heanswered. "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 allthe 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 theTanin, 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 theTurkish 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 theTanin, 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 ademonstration" 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. TheGoebenwas rechristenedSultan Selim; theBreslaugot instead the new name ofMedilla, which meansMitilen, in Turkish.
The bridge on the Golden Horn is open, and yesterday theGoebenwent 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 theGoebenduring 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 theGoebenandBreslauhad 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 theGoebenwas at Fiume loading coal, while theBreslauwas 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 wirelessoperator 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 theBreslauwas 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 damagewe 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 momentwas 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 allon 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 theBreslaugot 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. TheBreslauwas 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 wasfree, 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 modernguns; 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, thehero of theGoebenleft 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 fourimanswere 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 veryimportant 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 newimanstook charge from the oldones. The sword will be exposed a whole week, and during this time four of the highestcheiksof 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 Greekswill 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: "IsEnver 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 ablaséman 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 hismighty 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 theroute 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 hasaffected 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, theonly 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 contingentsarrive 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 interminablecafé chantantshows. 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.
Agommeuserisked 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 specialpot-pourriarranged 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 agroup 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 (Turkishgendarmes) 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 appearingin 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 latest news from the theatres of war.
Stringent police regulations allow nobody to pass near the wireless station.
I am just passing on, when a coach, similar to that one in which the Sultan reviewed his troops, stops in front of the Embassy. A little man in fez and morning coat alights. At the first glance I recognise him as EnverPasha. This was the only glance of Turkey's great man that I could get during my stay in Constantinople.
I walked down the great road of Pera, generally full of tourists, motor-cars, and carriages, where smart European society in Constantinople meets.
Since last Sunday half of the few shops and hotels which were still open have closed. The war has completely spoiled the most flourishing of Pera's industries.
A large building on the left-hand side, over which the Red Cross flag waves, attracts my attention. It is the German school turned into a hospital, and placed under the direction of Princess Najieh, Enver Pasha's wife. Only a few years ago it would have been impossible to imagine a Turkish woman doing useful work, still less nursing soldiers; but now old Turkey is dying.
The German ladies in Constantinople have organised another large emergency hospital in the Skating Rink a few hundred yards lower down the same street. Over a hundredwounded have already arrived from the Russian frontier, I am told. All the Red Cross materials have been ready here for a long time, and doctors and nurses came from Berlin three or four days before the declaration of war. A curious coincidence that they should know exactly when their services would be required!
Down the great route of Pera, near the Tunnel, the crowd is getting thicker, a crowd, as usual, composed almost exclusively of German or Germanophile elements. Here is the German Club, the famous centre of the Pan-German movement in Constantinople.
I easily mix with some of the impromptu politicians; all the Germans in Constantinople who are too old to bear arms try to do what they can for the Fatherland by carrying out a sort of advertising campaign. They can fight no more, but they can talk.
In a few minutes I learn that the Russians are "no good"; that the British Fleet was"all bluff"; that the French soldiers are "running away like rabbits," and other interesting revelations. But my fat little man, who is, I learn, the manager of the German Bazaar near Andria's Passage, begins really to attract my attention when he describes what will happen on the day of final German victory.
"Austria will probably be added to the German Empire, together with Hungary, Russian Poland, Bosnia and Herzegovina. Each would have the present system of the German confederation, by which every State has a certain autonomy but only one Emperor, one administration, and one army. It will be the largest Empire ever seen since Napoleon, but we are certain, with our organising capabilities, to be able to make it last a long time.
"Take Turkey! She is certainly the most practical nation in Europe; she has seen that it was no use trying to resist us, and she has accepted our quiet superiority. We are the brains, and she is the hands, and you canbe certain that it will be all the better for her to have taken this step in time."
"And what will happen afterwards to Constantinople?"
"Oh! we shall always be friends with the Turks. They know our superiority, and they respect us. It is really of no importance for us to have Constantinople as long as we know that Russia will never be able to have it."
While my companion is telling me the modest German aspirations and the future plans for the wholesale Germanisation of the world, we have walked slowly across the Perchembe-Bazaar (Thursday's market). It is market day, but the business is next to nothing. Most of the merchants have not come at all, others are sitting philosophically amongst mountains of carpets, embroideries, and potteries, waiting for the customer who does not come.
The Turkish commerce has such deep roots that it did not stop even three years ago, when the Allied troops were a few milesfrom the town. Now it is completely paralysed.
Perhaps even the Turks begin to feel that the crisis is, this time, bigger than ever before.
Always chatting, we reach St. Peter's Church, and my attention is attracted by a white marble tablet, on which I read: "André Chénier naquit dans cette maison le 30 Octobre, 1762." Under it, on the brown painted wall, one of his verses is written with chalk by a hand evidently used to German characters:—