The Land of Deepening Shadow - Germany-at-War | Page 3

as
an unmistakable brightness of expression, even when their faces were
drawn from the strain of the trenches, clearly showed.
But it is the humming, beehive activity of these Rhenish-Westphalian
cities and towns which crowd one another for space that impresses the
traveller in this workshop section of Germany. He knows that the sea of
smoke, the clirr and crash of countless foundries are the impelling force
behind Germany's soldier millions, whether they are holding far-thrown
lines in Russia, or smashing through the Near East, or desperately
counter-attacking in the West.
In harmony with the scene the winter sun sank like a molten metal ball
behind the smoke-stack forest, to set blood-red an hour later beyond the

zigzag lines in France.
Maximilian Harden had just been widely reported as having said that
Germany's great military conquests were in no way due to planning in
higher circles, but are the work of the rank and file---of the Schultzs
and the Schmidts. I liked to think of this as the train sped on at the
close of the short winter afternoon, for my first business was to call
upon a middle-class family on behalf of a German-American in New
York, who wished me to take 100 pounds to his relatives in a small
Rhenish town.
Thus my first evening in Germany found me in a dark little town on the
Rhine groping my way through crooked streets to a home, the threshold
of which I no sooner crossed than I was made to feel that the arm of the
police is long and that it stretches out into the remotest villages and
hamlets.
The following incident, which was exactly typical of what would
happen in nineteen German households out of twenty, may reveal one
small aspect of German character to British and American people, who
are as a rule completely unable to understand German psychology.
Although I had come far out of my way to bring what was for them a
considerable sum of money, as well as some portraits of their
long-absent relatives in the United States and interesting family news,
my reception was as cold as the snow-blown air outside. I was not
allowed to finish explaining my business when I was at first petulantly
and then violently and angrily interrupted with:--
"Have you been to the police?"
"No," I said. "I did not think it was necessary to go to the police, as I
am merely passing through here, and am not going to stay."
The lady of the house replied coldly, "Go to the police," and shut the
door in my face.
I mastered my temper by reminding myself that whereas such treatment

at home would have been sufficiently insulting to break off further
relations, it was not intended as such in Germany.
It was a long walk for a tired man to the Polizeiamt. When I got there I
was fortunate in encountering a lank, easy-going old fellow who had
been commandeered for the job owing to the departure of all the local
police for the war. He was clearly more interested in trying to find out
something of his relations in some remote village in America, which he
said was named after them, than in my business.
I returned to pay the 100 pounds and deliver the photographs, and now
that I had been officially "policed" was received with great cordiality
and pressed to spend the evening.
Father, mother, grown-up daughters and brother-in-law all assured me
that it was not owing to my personal appearance that I had been so
coldly received, but that war is war and law is law and that everything
must be done as the authorities decree.
Cigars and cigarettes were showered upon me and my glass was never
allowed to be empty of Rhine wine. Good food was set before me and
the stock generously replenished whenever necessary. It will be
remembered that I had come unexpectedly and that I was not being
entertained in a wealthy home, and this at a time when the only
counter-attack on Germany's success in the Balkans was an increased
amount of stories that she was starving.
Evidently the Schultzs and the Schmidts were not taking all the credit
for Germany's position to themselves. They pointed with pride to a
picture of the Emperor adorning one wall and then smiled with
satisfaction as they indicated the portrait of von Hindenburg on the wall
opposite. One of the daughters wore a huge silver medallion of the
same renowned general on her neck. After nearly a year and a half of
war these bard-working Germans were proud of their leaders and had
absolute faith in them.
But this family had felt the war. One son had just been wounded, they
knew not how severely, in France. If some unknown