RED TAPE IN TRAVELING
As we bumped into the dock at Havre I was given my first scare. I was
taken in charge by a French soldier who wore a red and blue cap, a huge
overcoat with the corners buttoned back, and red trousers with the lower
parts stuck in his boots. These things, however, did not have any
particular interest for me; not that I was an indifferent onlooker by
any means, but the thing I _was_ interested in was on the end of his
rifle; the big shining steel bayonet, which to me had a most vicious
aspect. It was sixteen inches long but I thought it looked like sixteen
feet.
Without losing any time this man took me over to the Registration
Department, where another man asked me a lot of fool questions, scanned
my passport, and finally gave me a permit of some kind or other. I then
asked him what time the train went to Paris. "One minute," he said in
French. I thought I'd have to hustle, but he was very deliberate. He
filled out a printed blank, taking five minutes to do so and then
handed it to me, saying in English, "Zis will give you ze permission to
inquire what time ze train goes to Parees." From that moment on my stay
in Europe, as I now look back upon it, was one continuous performance of
asking for, and getting, or being refused, permits to go somewhere or to
come somewhere or to remain somewhere.
Now time, money, and patience were all limited assets with me, but the
European officials did not seem to realize this or else were very
inconsiderate. They wasted half my time, extracted at least two-thirds
of my money, and absolutely exhausted my patience. At risk of having my
name instantly recommended for membership in the Ananias Club, I will
defiantly state that I had to have five different kinds of papers on my
person to allow me to start for Paris, to get to Paris, to remain in
Paris, to be identified in Paris, and to drive an automobile in Paris.
If I slipped a cog anywhere I was lost. They say a chain is no stronger
than its weakest link, and I had to possess every link in this chain of
paper.
I remember one fellow who had lost his permit to come to Paris. When he
passed his examination for a driver's license, the old fossil in charge
would not give it to him. As I understood the matter, the theory was
that he could not possibly be in Paris at the time as he could show no
paper allowing him to come. And let me say in passing, some of these
papers come high. I have figured it all up many times, and as near as I
can estimate, the papers, all told, which I had to take out during my
European stay, set me back about fifty pounds, five shillings and four
pence, or in the neighborhood of two hundred and fifty dollars. It
seemed as though every time I turned around some fellow was extending to
me a handful of papers and an empty palm. But relieving me of money was
not all. The red tape connected with it was what worried me most. Before
I could receive the particular permit I wanted, I usually had to take
another paper over to another man and swear to a lot of things and get
his O. K. upon it. This went hard with me because I'm not used to
swearing. I'm a preacher.
In my experience the application was a more formidable thing than the
permit itself, and then after I finally received the permit I had to
take it down to the Prefect of Police and have it registered before
evening. If this was neglected my permit was invalidated and the whole
performance had to be gone over again next day. After the permit was
registered I had to bring back the voucher of registration and deposit
it with the man who issued the permit.
The reason for all this is that every nation in the war takes it for
granted that every foreigner is a spy, until he is proved not to be, and
every nation not in the war thinks all visitors are trying to get them
to violate their neutrality and thus get them into the war. I will
admit, however, that dealing with neutral diplomats is a lot easier than
dealing with the belligerents.
Then also you have to remember a great many passwords. If you go out of
Paris you are given a password, after proving your right to receive the
same, and you can't get in again until you give it. If you happen to go
to another town or city on the same trip, the same thing happens, only
the password is different and all of them change every day. So it is not
hard to imagine something of the intricate system which is kept up, and
the confusing details which are required in order to get from one place
to another and back again. Of course, if you absolutely forget or lose
the password, there are other alternatives but they require a tremendous
lot of red tape. You can hunt up the proper official, wait until he is
at leisure, perhaps two hours, tell him about your unfortunate
predicament, present all your papers, and after convincing him that you
are entitled to the password you may receive it from him if he is
willing to give it to you.
I traveled in Europe before the war and it irritated me as it does most
Americans, to be compelled incessantly to register my name and address,
age, occupation, place of birth, and the same details of my father and
mother, place of entering the country and length of time I had been
there; but this was nothing compared to the formalities and the
irritating requirements of the present time. French officials try to be
as accommodating and polite as possible, but if you object to any point,
they tell you with a shrug of the shoulders, that they must live up to
the regulations and that they must be very careful, as the country is
full of spies and peace propagandists.
If you travel at all through the country by automobile, you have to come
to a halt at every crossroad and every bridge. Patrols with rifles are
stationed at these places and the man who tried to run by one of these
would be shot down instantly. You are required to produce all your
papers, which are scanned by the guards, who, if satisfied, will then
let you drive on in peace until you come to the next guarded point. If
the guards are not satisfied, you sheepishly turn your car around, go
back to Paris, get your papers rectified, or get additional ones and
strike out again. You often lose hours of time and, not infrequently,
days as well, in getting the required permits. You get angry at first,
but it does no good and you may as well quickly learn to keep your
temper, for when you think it all over you will realize that when such a
vital issue is at stake, every possible precaution must be taken.