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.