POTSDAM AND HAMBURG
For my trip to Potsdam I had a bright, sunny morning. Potsdam, the
favourite residence of the Kaiser, and one of the most intensely
Prussian towns of Prussia, owing to the enormous number of barracks,
military buildings, and academies she has in proportion to her size,
attracted me for two reasons.
First, I knew any amount of military drill was daily going on in the
large drill grounds, and that Potsdam, the cradle of the Prussian Army,
would be specially interesting to see in war time.
Secondly, the only concentration camp in the immediate vicinity of
Berlin in which British prisoners are kept is Doberitz, quite close to
Potsdam.
Potsdam gave me straight away the impression of being absolutely full
of soldiers. The regular garrison has gone to the front, of course, but
the first classes of the Landsturm, just called to arms, are drilling
day and night in the grounds of the artillery barracks.
Some of the new guns (for the Russian frontier, I learn) are being
tested, and the military academy has been converted into a huge
hospital. The ugly, pretentious little town, full of copies of
old Italian and French buildings, seemed to be populated by an
extraordinary number of people in mourning, probably owing to the
fact that Potsdam being a garrison town, quite a number of officers'
families reside there.
The entrance to the castle of Sans Souci, to the New Palace, and to the
Marble Palace is _verboten_. I asked the reason of this, and I was told
that the buildings are now being devoted to military purposes.
I was losing all hope of being able to see something of interest when
the noise of a powerful engine made me look over my head. A gigantic
Zeppelin was performing different evolutions, dropping and rising again
hundreds of feet, changing the direction, and pointing a massive nose
now to the earth, now to the sky.
I could see from the stability planes and from the shape of the tail
that it was one of the very latest models; also a sort of silvery
paint, probably the aluminium varnish which has been in use for years
in the Italian aerial fleet, had been adopted instead of the old grey
or copal varnish. I easily managed to find out that this was the first
test of a new machine, that two airships exactly alike were being
equipped in the flying grounds on the west side of the town, and that
old Count Zeppelin himself was looking after the operations.
From morning to sunset there was an enormous activity in the whole of
the aerial park. Over a hundred aeroplanes of the Taube type were under
construction, and I was told that in every one of the German towns
which possesses aeroplane works, flying machines are being built in
large numbers. Apparently the idea is not only to supply machines in
place of those lost or damaged on the frontiers, but to have a very
large number of aeroplanes ready for next spring.
The figures I heard varied very much, but a well-informed officer said
that Germany will have in March-April over a thousand new machines,
and that the engines of the whole air-fleet are already finished. I
asked what was Germany's object in getting such an enormous number of
machines ready, but I could only get the answer, "You wait and see!"
As for the balloons, the largest workshops are in Posen and Hanover.
The hangars erected at Potsdam are only four, but they are very
large, and a new system of concrete has been used in place of wood or
corrugated iron.
The new Zeppelin seems very agile, considering its huge volume. The
cigar-like shape seems to me to be thicker than the old model, and the
distance between the gondolas carrying the engines and the body of the
airship has been very much reduced.
A kind old lady lent me her good field-glasses, and I could see that
the crew numbered over a dozen, and that a general in uniform was on
board. The new airship did not, for the moment, show any number or mark
of any kind. After a few more evolutions the Zeppelin disappeared,
concealed by the trees of the Brauhausberg.
I gave back the glasses to the old lady who lent them to me, and she
said that she was a widow of a captain who died in the 'seventies near
Sedan, and had now two sons and two sons-in-law at the front. "They are
at the right wing fighting the Englishmen, at the place of honour. Do
you know England at all?" she asked me, and then went on without giving
me time to answer her question.
"Oh, I do hate that country! She had no business to come into this war,
and without her we should at this time be in Paris. Our fleet would
have destroyed the French fleet, and everything would be over."
I asked her if any of her relations had been wounded.
"Yes," she answered, "one of my sons last month. He was sent back here
for two weeks, but now he has recovered and has gone to the front
again."
I could not help admiring the old lady; she was only thinking of the
success of the campaign, and very little of the danger that her sons
might never come back. The German woman has remained, in this way, the
wife of the fierce, barbarous warrior of Attila, in peace time counted
as a slave, or at best as a nurse for the children, but ready to buckle
the breast-plate of her man and to kiss him good-bye with dry eyes when
the moment for fighting comes. In peace-time one has the impression
that this type of woman has disappeared from Germany, and that her
place has been taken by the provincial type--sentimental up to her
wedding-day, practical after, or by the coquettish city type of woman,
who tries to copy the Parisienne or the Viennese, and only succeeds
in being the caricature of a smart woman, handicapped as she is by a
certain clumsiness of body and spirit.
Now her country is at war, the German woman has become again the
descendant of the Valkyrie, of the wife of the mediæval warrior, of the
nursing woman of the 1870's.
This war, sweeping away the paint of more or less real culture, of
social convention, of borrowed ways and manners, brings to the surface
the wild qualities of men but also the good ones of women.
I asked the old lady to whom I was talking if she did not feel terribly
anxious and upset about her sons, and she answered:--
"I really haven't time to think much about them. Everybody is so busy
just now. We have got miseries of all kinds--wounded, refugees from
the Russian frontiers, lonely children to look after--and everybody is
trying to do his very best in helping the country."
I asked her the way to Doberitz, and having crossed by the ferry boat a
small branch of the Havel, I went on in the direction of the village.
In a very large field at the back of the Potsdam's cavalry barracks I
saw a couple of thousand horses arranged in large circles of about one
hundred each, round huge piles of saddles.
A number of reservists were busy showing some of the animals, and
cleaning and looking after some others. The horses, seen in the
distance, seemed perfectly fresh, and some of them looked exceptionally
fine. They seemed to belong mostly to the Hungarian type, and had long
hairy manes and tails, and strong muscles in their legs.
I was very astonished, as I had read, and not in English papers only,
that the German Army was short of horses, and that the full cavalry
contingent was at the frontier.
Those horses, I learnt, were a fresh supply, just received from Austria
and Hungary, as the southern Allies apparently have got many more
horses than soldiers to ride them.
Other very large depôts of horses, which will be ready for military
service in a month or so, were at the south side of Berlin and Eisleben
and Leipsig. The Government are also trying to get horses from Sweden,
Denmark, and Norway, but the steps taken in this direction don't seem
to have given very good results.
Germany is trying to get horses from everywhere, even at very high
prices, but, like the aeroplanes, not so much for immediate use, but to
have them ready for next spring. It is fully realised that cavalry at
the present moment, with winter frosts and conditions prevailing, would
be of hardly any use.
After a fairly long walk on the muddy road I reached Doberitz and asked
for the concentration camp. I was told that it depended on whether I
wanted to see the new or the old one. The new one consists of large
temporary constructions, which are being erected on the manœuvring
grounds on the Spandau road, and which will not be complete for some
time. The old one is at the extreme west side of the town, and is
really a large, lofty country house, with large green houses attached,
and a chapel, formerly inhabited by Carmelite nuns, standing in a
spacious garden. Only about two hundred English prisoners are kept
there, but many French prisoners are quartered in another building half
a mile distant. The large concentration camps are not here, but in the
North of Germany. The Tommies (I don't know if there are any officers
quartered with them) are made generally useful; they cut wood for the
trenches, sew and prepare sacks for the same purpose, and anyone who
has ability to do extra work receives a small payment for it, with
which he can purchase tobacco, etc.
I asked if it was possible to talk with the prisoners, but was
told that not even German people are allowed to do so, and that no
permission to enter the camp was ever accorded, whatever the reasons.
I thought it would be useless, and probably dangerous, for me to try
and get in, and I had to be content with walking close to the long,
white wall which separates the grounds of the old convent from the main
road. I heard voices talking in the purest Cockney accent, laughter,
and popular English songs hummed at the other side.
At the south of Doberitz there is a small hill less than 100 ft. high,
covered with thick vegetation. From its summit I managed to get a good
look into the Concentration Camp.
Forty or fifty British soldiers, in khaki trousers and shirt-sleeves,
were smoking and sitting about outside the main entrance of the house.
It was about two o'clock in the afternoon, and they were evidently
enjoying their after-dinner rest.
Two seemed to be in rather friendly conversation with one of the German
soldiers who were looking after them, and another was listening to an
old officer who was giving him some instructions.
I noticed that the Tommy stood at attention, as though he were in
front of a British officer, and that, when the German went among the
soldiers, they saluted him in the regular manner. All along the inside
of the high wall of the garden Prussian soldiers were walking up and
down as stiff as if they were mounting guard at the Imperial Palace.
"What would I give," I said to myself, "to be able to talk to them,
to give them fresh news from England, to take home their letters.
A scrap of paper with their names only would probably be enough to
bring happiness to hundreds of English families which are now mourning
them as dead. It seemed ridiculous not to be able to get somehow into
contact with those men who were only four or five hundred feet distance
from me."
Of course, it couldn't be done, and I walked sadly down the little hill
thinking of the poor young fellows, probably worried by false news
about the war and forced to prepare material for the trenches which
will stop their pals' bullets and protect their gaolers.
* * *
The few days I had decided to spend in Berlin coming to an end, I set
out upon the return journey through Hamburg, in which town I wanted
to see as much as possible of Germany's naval preparations. Though I
fully realised that it would be much better to have gone to Kiel for
this purpose, or even better to Wilhelmshaven, I did not attempt such a
journey because of the terribly slow railway communications, and also
because of the improbability of getting anywhere near the arsenals.
Hamburg, the largest town in Germany after Berlin, the oldest
shipbuilding city in Europe (she was already rich and powerful when
Glasgow was unknown and Liverpool was but a small fishing village), is
probably the most representative town in the whole of Germany.
Here the prosperity of Germany after the proclamation of the Empire
shows itself in a mighty way; the words of August Bebel have found the
right kind of soil, and have produced the wonderful organisation of
workmen which was powerful enough to erect the Gewerkschaftshaus.
A question which has puzzled me since the beginning of the war is, what
are the German Socialists doing? What happened to their international
sympathies; what do they think of this war and of the way Germany
is treating the Belgian and French population? When I asked these
questions to a well-known Hamburg Socialist, the only answer he could
give me was this:
"We are reduced to a very small number at the present moment; when a
Socialist workman is called to arms, not only he immediately forgets
all about his Socialist beliefs, but even his family, his father, and
his brothers--not to mention women, who are absolutely war-mad, seem
to lose all interest in what is not war. Of course, I firmly believe
that as soon as the war is over the Socialist Party will become even
stronger than it was before, but for the present we are so few that
we don't dare to say a word, nor to criticise that which ought to be
criticised."
Waiting for the resurrection of Socialism, the Labour Party is
indirectly helping the common cause. Three entire floors of the
Workmen's Institute have been transformed into hospitals, and nurses,
doctors, sanitary appliances, etc., are supplied by the Trade Unions'
League.
All shipbuilding firms, from the enormous concerns of international
fame to the smallest, have been taken up by the Government, or are at
least working for it.
Godeffroy, Stülchen, Weichhorst, etc., are now specially occupied in
the construction of submarines. The strictest secrecy is observed about
the plant, and the number of ships under construction is not known.
The enormous Vulcan Works on the other side of the town, the commercial
Altona, and the still larger Blohm and Voss works, are turning out at
present four battleships, and the former firm has nearly finished a new
floating dock which is said to be the largest in existence. Hamburg
will have altogether six large floating docks, which will certainly
prove of great help in the work of rescuing damaged warships. In less
than two hours they may be taken right down to the open sea, through
the Elbe, and from there reach at full speed any ships too badly
damaged to steam by their own means and convey them to the Hamburg
dockyards.
To say that the shipbuilding concerns have been "taken up" by the
Government is really inexact and superficial; nearly all of the firms
have furnished the German Navy with some ships during the last few
years--Blohm, for instance, is responsible for the _Von der Tann_, the
_Moltke_, and the _Goeben_.
A Hamburg firm that specialises in lighthouses, etc., is now
constructing an enormous number of searchlights, which are to be added
to those already possessed by the Navy, and which are mentioned
here as _specially made for the attack on the British coasts_. Other
searchlights, almost equally powerful, but not quite so heavy, are
fixed on all balloons and aeroplanes.
The unemployment plague, which is very serious all over Germany,
especially among women, is worse here than anywhere else; nearly all
the factories, mills, and works having been closed long since. While
great activity reigns in the dockyards, the Asia and America quay, the
Petroleum-Hafen, and the quays of the great steamship companies, which
generally present a picturesque and busy scene, are deserted. The big
ships, bereft of all their goods, have a sort of sleepy look about
them, and they give the impression that not a soul is on board.
Near the Ellenzhobz-Hafen one of the large steamers of the
Hamburg-America line is being converted into a Red Cross Hospital. The
gilded furniture, the carpets and pictures are being taken away and
deposited on the bank by a large steam crane, and the Red Cross mark
has already been painted on the ship.
* * *
I would much rather not go over again my return journey. It is a
sickening story of slow trains, stopped at every station, of annoyances
of every kind, of hurried meals in bad railway station buffets, of
hours and hours of waiting because a train was cancelled at the last
minute and the next one was full of soldiers or wounded, and did not
take ordinary passengers, etc.
At Bremen I am stopped as an alien enemy, insulted by a drunken crowd
and taken to the police station, where I am detained the rest of the
night. In the morning the inspector comes, looks at the mysterious
passport I got in Berlin, apologises and releases me just in time to
have missed the morning train. This identical scene is repeated at the
Dutch frontier.
My mind is naturally full of recollections, recollections a little
chaotic owing largely to the fact that to have taken a single note
would have been very dangerous for me during the search I had to
undergo.
There was certainly an enormous difference between London and Berlin
after three months' war. The optimism which in Germany is very strong
among the people in the street and very moderate in the army is here in
London exactly in opposite proportions.
As for the economic position, the commercial possibilities and
industrial crisis, no comparison is possible between the two countries;
the geographical position of Britain and the action of her Fleet give
her an enormous superiority over her enemies.
Signs of financial distress, it is true, are not very evident in
Berlin; the increase in prices has been small, and has begun only
during the last few weeks. I don't know if things will go on like
this when the winter has almost paralysed the production of German
foodstuffs, the reserves are exhausted, and the importation through
Denmark and Holland has somehow been stopped.
It is needless to say that Germany has no Colonial contingent to put
on against our Colonial troops, and that the fighting power of our
enemies, owing to the strictly applied recruiting system, and to the
above fact, is essentially limited, while Britain's can have no end of
resources. Certainly this war will be very, very long.
The high spirit of the German nation, the decision of the Army to fight
to the very last, the fact that the Kaiser knows perfectly that the
_débâcle_ would be the end of the Prussian hegemony and of his family's
power, and the military education given to the German people during the
whole of the last century, make of this nation an extremely difficult
enemy to tame.
Endless sacrifices of comforts, of money, of life, will be needed not
only from England, France, Russia, and Belgium, but from all other
nations on earth who have simply been considering Germany as a huge
latent danger during the last forty years.