Brussels is overrun by German uniforms; Vienna by refugees from Galicia; Rome by continuous pro-war demonstrations; Constantinople by any amount of Germans, and also by a curious class of Turco-German official who is, for the moment, the real master of the situation. My journeys will be found in this book in their chronological order, but before I start the record of my war-time travels I should like to set down a conversation I had at Craig-Avon, near Belfast, in April, 1914. One of the officers of the Ulster Army had just taken me round the camp and shown me everything: the new uniforms, the guns, the commissariat and sanitary arrangements, the men at drill and at play. We were sitting in the lofty winter-garden of Craig-Avon, and beside our charming host--Captain Craig--Sir Edward Carson, the Archbishop of Belfast, and a few officers of H.M.S. _Pathfinder_, which was anchored off Carrickfergus, were present. We talked about the situation, and about the organisation of the new troops, and I remember asking Sir Edward Carson the question, "Do you think all this preparation indispensable? Do you think there will ever be any actual fighting?" "There will be, if we cannot obtain what we want without fighting," came the answer. "In any case, we are training here some jolly good troops, and it is always better for a nation to have trained than untrained men. England will know where to find a few thousand good soldiers in case of need," he concluded smiling. Then a young officer, wearing the blue naval uniform, said in a light voice, probably for the sake of saying something, "And she will probably need them sooner than any of us think." The old tradition that the gift of prophecy brings misfortune to the prophet, as it did to the unfortunate Cassandra, has been fulfilled. The young officer went down with his ship, the _Pathfinder_, without the consolation even of having fought for his country. CHAPTER I MY FIRST WAR-TIME JOURNEY TO BERLIN Since the war broke out I have visited Berlin twice; the first time at the beginning of October, the second at the end of December, 1914. It was my intention to compare in these pages the different impressions I received in the German capital during my two visits, the second made less than three months after the first; but now I see that this would almost completely destroy the sensation of sincerity and freshness, realised only when one is able to write immediately after having visited a country. My readers will easily see how the last three months have changed the German capital, by reading after this chapter the one entitled "My Second War-time Journey to Berlin." The following journal has been written partly on board the small steamer which brought me from Amsterdam back to England, and partly immediately after my return to Great Britain. * * * _October 10th._ "Your nationality?" "Italian." "Where do you come from?" "Berlin."