most powerful of the
machine nations, shall overwhelm the true faith."

The keeper of the coffee-house came and stared at me. Two new
customers came up, and I was pointed out as an Englishman. They talked
about me in Turkish; other Turks came, they talked about England's
role in the war, they scolded, gesticulated, poured forth endlessly,
forgot me. Once more, though in a crowd, I was alone.

At this time a great diversion was caused. A blind musician came in.
At midnight one would have thought no new development in the life of
the cafe was likely to take place, but the musician brought into
the room such a crush of people that on all sides I felt packed and
crammed. A tall, gaunt man, hatless, shaggy-headed, his black locks
falling over a strange yellow brow; eyes that saw not, looking through
deep purple spectacles; and in his arms, like a baby, a long Armenian
guitar--the musician was somewhat to wonder at. Hemmed in by the
crowd, he yet found a little space in the body of the coffee-house,
and danced to and fro with his songs like some strange being in a
frenzy. He played with fire on his guitar, every minute breaking from
his sparkling, thrilling accompaniment into a wild human chant, his
face the while triumphant and passionate, but blind with such utter
blindness that he seemed like the symbol of Man's life rather than
a man; a great song of heart-yearning sung to the stars and to the
Infinite rather than the singer of that song.

His fingers flowed over the long guitar; the wild words broke out; he
flung himself in little zigzag steps to right, to left; the wild
chant stopped; once more spoke only the strings. I looked at him and
listened, and could not give myself enough to him.

At nearly two he made a collection and received many piastres and
copecks, and the crowd who had listened to him began to disperse. At
three o'clock the host signified that he wished to close the shop. To
all the remaining customers Turkish delight was served out as a sort
of parting gift. A dozen Turks, those who had homes, slunk away; the
remainder, those who had no homes of their own, stayed to sleep.

The host now came to me and we did some business. I wanted to change
some Turkish silver, as I was short of Russian money. As no bank
would take this small coin I was obliged to try the coffee-house.
Accordingly, I had asked my coffee-house keeper to buy a hundred or so
piastres. After half an hour's haggling we struck a very ba