The Land of Deepening Shadow - Germany-at-War | Page 5

the simple printed list of stations on the heavy train about to start
from the capital of Germany to Vilna, deep in Russia, was an
awe-inspiring tribute to the great military machine of the Fatherland.
For a moment I believed in von Bethmann-Holweg's talk about the
"map of Europe."
I was eager to see how much Berlin had changed, for I knew it at
various stages of the war, but I cannot honestly say that the changes
which I detected later, and which I shall deal with in subsequent
chapters of this book--changes which are absorbingly interesting to
study on the spot and vitally important in the progress and outcome of
the war--were very apparent then.
In the dying days of 1915 I found the people of Berlin almost as
supremely confident of victory, especially now since Bulgaria's
entrance had made such sweeping changes in the Balkans, as they were
on that day of cloudless blue, the first of August, 1914, when the dense
mass swayed before the Royal Palace, to see William II come out upon
the balcony to bid his people rise to arms. Eyes sparkled, cheeks
flushed, the buzz changed to cheering, the cheering swelled to a roar.
The army which had been brought to the highest perfection, the army
which would sweep Europe--at last the German people could see what
it would do, would show the world what it would do. The anticipation

intoxicated them.
An American friend told me of how he struggled toward the Schloss,
but in the jam of humanity got only as far as the monument of
Frederick the Great. There a youth threw his hat in the air and cried:
"_Hock der Krieg, Hock der Krieg_!" (Hurrah for the war).
That was the spirit that raged like a prairie fire.
An old man next to him looked him full in the eyes. "_Der Krieg ist
eine ernste Sache, Junge_!" (War is a serious matter, young man), he
said and turned away. He was in the crowd, but not of it. His note was
discordant. They snarled at him and pushed him roughly. They gloried
in the thought of war. They were certain that they were invincible. All
that they bad been taught, all the influences on their lives convinced
them that nothing could stand before the furor teutonicus once it was
turned loose.
Delirious days when military bands blared regiment after regiment
through lines of cheering thousands; whole companies deluged with
flowers, long military trains festooned with blossoms and greenery
rolling with clock-like regularity from the stations amid thunderous
cheers. Sad partings were almost unknown, for, of course, no earthly
power could withstand the onslaughts of the Kaiser's troops. God was
with them--even their belts and helmets showed that. So, "Good-bye for
six weeks!"
The 2nd of September is Sedan Day, and in 1914 it was celebrated as
never before. A great parade was scheduled, a parade which would
show German prowess. Though I arrived in "Unter den Linden" two
hours before the procession was due, I could not get anywhere near the
broad central avenue down which it would pass. I chartered a taxi
which had foundered in the throng, and perched on top. The
Government, always attentive to the patriotic education of the children,
had given special orders for such occasions. The little ones were
brought to the front by the police, and boys were even permitted to
climb the sacred Linden trees that they might better see what the
Fatherland had done.

The triumphal column entered through the Kaiser Arch of the
Brandenburger Tor, and bedlam broke loose during the passing of the
captured cannon of Russia, France, and Belgium--these last cast by
German workmen at Essen and fired by Belgian artillerists against
German soldiers at Liege.
The gates of Paris! Then the clear-cut German official reports became
vague for a few days about the West, but had much of Hindenburg and
victory in the East. Democracies wash their dirty linen in public, while
absolute governments tuck theirs out of sight, where it usually
disappears, but sometimes unexpectedly develops spontaneous
combustion.
Nobody--outside of the little circle--questioned the delay in entering
Paris. Everything was going according to plan, was the saying. I
suppose sheep entertain a somewhat similar attitude when their leader
conducts them over a precipice. Antwerp must be taken first--that was
the key to Paris and London. Such was the gossip when the scene was
once more set in Belgium, and the great Skoda mortars pulverised forts
which on paper were impregnable. Many a time during the first days of
October I left my glass of beer or cup of tea half finished and rushed
from cafe and restaurant with the crowd to see if the newspaper criers
of headlines were announcing the fall of the fortress on the