In the Sea of Marmara, Monday, 15 August 1910

Stanboul, which I have not seen now for six years, will appear this evening on the horizon; six years so short, so terrifying for having been so short; how time hastens more and more towards the decline of life!

As the steamer carrying me makes its way through the calm warm waters of the Sea of Marmara, my memories of this land become more vivid hour by hour, as if everything emanating from the approaching shore has awakened in me the whole of my Turkish past. I have often noticed this in other places too: it is enough to reach their approaches for all previous sojourns to be remembered clearly once again.

So, it is already six years since, one April evening at the entrance to the Bosphorus, I left the Vautourfor ever, a vessel I had commanded and sailed from the Adriatic to the Black Sea – into winter winds and rough seas. I now remember the smallest details, so it seems as if it were yesterday that I left. I think I can hear once again all the shouts and cheers of my sailors. They remained on board my ship and were throwing their caps into the sea as a sign of mourning in my honour, as I was being taken by boat to the Phrygie which was to carry me away. I remember especially when the steamer gradually broke free from the quay thronging with people. I remember clearly the covered carriage passing slowly through the crowd, allowing me to glimpse through the door two female eyes under a black scarf raised for just one moment.

What upheavals there have been in Turkey in these six years! Once more, I return on pilgrimage to places I remember, making a pious visit to certain tombs. Into the Bosphorus the same evening The sun is already low and the light somewhat yellow, when Stamboul begins to show its pointed spires and domes in the distance.