According to the press of Constantinople all is ever serene throughout the imperial Ottoman dominions, everybody is always lauding the Padisha and praying for the safety of his good and gracious Majesty. Persons who are interested in the provinces subscribe to European papers, and have them brought in by the foreign posts. During my first stay at Constantinople thousands of troops were being shipped to Salonica daily, but as this fact would hardly accord with the sublime declarations of the Ottoman newspaper, they were embarked only after nightfall, when the inhabitants are mostly behind barred doors.

I presented a letter from the Turkish Commissioner at Sofia to a certain Turkish Minister, whose name I must not mention, and was ushered into his presence alone. The letter, I was told, recommended me highly as ‘a friend of the Turks,’ though I protested my neutrality; and I understood that I would receive good treatment at the hands of the officials and get all the news. What I wanted was permission to cross Macedonia beyond the railway.

‘Why do you desire to make this trip?’ asked the Turk. ‘It is dangerous, and the accommodations are very poor. If you will remain here you may come to me daily and I will tell you the truth about everything that is going on in the country.’

Of course I declined this.

The Turk puffed at his cigarette and sipped his coffee, thinking for a few minutes; then he turned and regarded me. Until then I had thought I had an honest face.

‘You can make thousands and thousands of francs out of the Turks,’ said the Minister.

I pretended not to take him.

‘Thousands and thousands of francs!’ he repeated impressively.

‘And what would I have to do?’ I asked.

‘Write the truth,’ the Turk replied softly.