From the villages and small towns is recruited sixty per cent. of the
German army.]
Commission-men were licensed by the government, and when food regulation
became a little more stringent they were obliged to make some sort of a
slovenly report on the quantities they handled. But the government food
commissions did not have the necessary personnel to keep close tally of
these reports. This led to partial returns by the middlemen, a practice
which entailed no particular risk so long as the government did not
actually control and direct the buying of foodstuffs in the country and
at the mills.
Business moved smartly as the result of this combination of
circumstances. The wholesaler bought twice as much from the
commission-man, and the latter had to buy, accordingly, in the country.
The maximum prices which the government set upon foods about to enter
into possession of the consumer were invariably accompanied by minimum
prices which the producer was to get. Reversely, the arrangement meant
that the customer could not offer less for food than the government had
decided he should pay, nor could the farmer or other producer demand
more.
That was well enough in a way. The farmer was to get for a kilogram
(2.205 pounds) of wheat not less than four and one-half cents, and the
middleman selling to the mill could not ask more than five and one-half
cents. Labor and loss in milling taken into consideration, the mill was
to be satisfied with seven cents, while the consumer, so said the
regulations, was to get his flour for eight and one-quarter cents per
kilogram.
That was all very well, but it came to mean little in the end.
The customer thought he would lay in two hundred pounds of wheat flour
for the rainy day. The retailer could not see it in that way. That was
just a little too much. There were other worthy customers who might have
to go short of their regular quota if he sold in amounts of that size.
But the customer wanted the flour and was willing to pay more than the
regulation or maximum price for it. It took but little tempting to cause
the fall of the retailer.
The wholesaler would do the same thing. The commission-man was willing,
since part of, let us say, a 20-per-cent. increase was being handed
along the line. The mill got a few crowns more per hundred kilograms,
and a little of the extra price would get as far as the farmer.
That _l'appétit vient en mangeant_ is a notorious fact. A dangerous
practice had been launched, nor was it always inaugurated by the
consumer. No class of dealers was averse to doing business that might be
illicit, but which brought large profits.
A first result was that the farmer was spoiled, as the consumer and the
government looked at it. While purchases from the farmer were bounded
in price by a minimum, there was no prohibition of paying him as much
more as he would take. The government's duty was to stimulate
production, and that was the purpose of the minimum price.
The government, learning that a certain farmer had been getting six
cents for his wheat, might wonder how much the consumer paid and get
after the middlemen, but it could not hold the farmer responsible.
As a matter of fact, the government hardly ever heard of such
transactions. They did not talk at the gate of the food "speak-easy."
When questioned the farmer would always protest that he had all he could
do to get the minimum price.
Not only was the first excess in price passed along, but large profits
attached themselves to the article as it progressed cityward. The
commission-men got theirs, the miller did not overlook himself, the
wholesaler was remembered, naturally, and the retailer, as
factotum-general in the scheme, saw to it that he was not deprived of
his share.
As is always the case, the consumer paid the several pipers. And the
special consumer to whom the food, thus illicitly diverted from the
regular channels, meant the assurance that he would not starve although
others might, paid cheerfully. What was the good of having money in the
bank when soon it might not buy anything?
The lines in front of the food-shops lengthened, and many retailers
acquired the habit of keeping open but part of the day. But even that
part was usually too long. When the card in the window said, "Open from
8 to 12," it usually meant that at nine o'clock there would not be a
morsel of food on the counters and shelves. The members of the food-line
who had not managed to gain access to the store by that time would get
no food that day.
At first the retailer would regret this very much. But he soon began to
feel his oats. Women, who had stood in line for several hours, wanted to
know why he had so small a quantity on hand. The man would often become
abusive and refuse an explanation.
Now and then some resolute woman would complain to the police. The
retailer was arrested and fined. But the woman would never again get any
food from him. That was his way of getting even and disciplining the
good customers upon whom at other times he had waited hand and foot.
The fine relations between customer and retailer of yore were gone by
the board. The era of hoarding and greed was on. The good-natured Vienna
and Berlin _Kleinkrämer_ grew more autocratic every time he opened his
store. People had to come to him or go hungry, and it was ever hurtful
to put the beggar on horse-back.
Occasional visits to the lower courts proved very interesting and
entertaining, though the story that was told was always the same. The
retailer had lost his sense of proportions completely. No sergeant of
an awkward squad ever developed so fine a flow of sarcastic billingsgate
as did the butchers, bakers, and candlestick-makers of the Central
states in those days. Almost every case had its low-comedy feature, and
often I came away with the impression that the sense of humor in some
people is hard to kill, especially when some serious judge pronounced
the maximum sentence for an offense about whose quaint rascality he was
still chuckling.
But the dear public was not as stupid as the retailers and their ilk
thought. Almost everybody had a relative, friend, or acquaintance in the
country, and when this was not the case one had a city friend who had
such a country connection.
Sunday excursions into the country became very popular, and week-days
could not be put to better use. The many holidays called for by
religious observance, and now and then a victory over the enemy, came to
be a severe strain upon the country's food reserve. The trains coming
into the city often carried more weight in food than in passengers.
After all, that was the best way of laying in supplies. Why go to the
retailer and stand in line when the farmers were willing to sell to the
consumer direct?
A high tide in hoarding set in. Everybody filled garret and cellar with
the things which the farm produces. Flour was stowed away in all
possible and impossible places. Potatoes were accumulated. Butter and
eggs were salted away, and so much fruit was preserved that sugar ceased
to be obtainable in countries which had formerly exported much of it.
The authorities knew full well what would happen if the private route
from farm to kitchen direct was not made impossible. Existing
regulations already permitted the searching of trains. When the
inspectors descended upon the hoarding holidayers there was much
surprise, gnashing of teeth, and grumbling. But that did not help. The
food illicitly brought in was confiscated, and the slightest resistance
on the part of those having it in their possession brought a liberal
fine and often a day or two in jail.
The parcel post was used next by the private food-hoarders. The
government wanted to be easy on the population and had for this reason
closed its eyes to the packages of butter and other concentrated foods
that went through the mails. But the good consumers overreached
themselves. The result was that the postal authorities turned over all
food found in the mails to the Food Commissions and Centrals.
Next thing was that the farmer who came to market had to be curbed. That
worthy man would enter town or city with a good load of eatables. By the
time he had gone a few blocks he had disposed of everything. It was like
taking up a drop of ink with a blotter.
The first measures against this resulted in smuggling. Every load of
produce that came into a population center had in it packages of other
good things, especially butter and lard, and later eggs, when these fell
within the scope of regulation.
But the hoarding that was going on would have to be stopped if the
food-supply was to last. Those who hoarded lost no chance to buy for
their current consumption in the legal market, drawing thus doubly on
the scant food-supplies. The authorities began to exercise their right
of search. The food-inspector became an unwelcome visitor of households.
The practice of hoarding was well enough for the well-to-do. But it left
the poor entirely unprovided. The average wage-earner did not have the
means to buy food at the fancy prices that governed the illicit food
market, and the food that went to the hoarder cut short the general
supply upon which the poor depended for their daily allowance. It was
quite the regular thing for the wife of a poor man to stand in line
three hours and then be turned away. The retailer would still have food
in the cellar, but that was to go out by private delivery. The food
cards held by the women were no warrant on the quantities they
prescribed, but merely the authorization to draw so and so much if the
things were to be had. The woman had to take the retailer's word for it.
When that august person said, "Sold out," there was nothing to do but go
home and pacify the hungry children with whatever else the depleted
larder contained.
Meanwhile much food was spoiling in the cellars and attics of the
hoarders. People who never before in their lives had attempted to
preserve food were now trying their hand at it--with unfortunate and
malodorous results.
An acquaintance of mine in Vienna had hoarded diligently and amply. The
man had on hand wheat flour, large quantities of potatoes, butter in
salt, and eggs in lime-water, and conserved fruits and vegetables which
represented an excess consumption in sugar. He had also laid in great
quantities of honey, coffee, and other groceries. There was food enough
to last his family two years, so long as a little could be had in the
legal market each day.
Though the store on hand was ample, the man continued to buy where and
whenever he could. One day he shipped from Agram several mattresses--not
for the sake of the comfort they would bring of nights, but for the
macaroni he had stuffed them with. I think that of all the hoarders he
was the king-pin.
The man had three growing boys, however, and allowance has to be made
for that. He did not want those boys to be stunted in their growth by
insufficient nourishment. Obliged to choose between paternal and civic
duty, he decided in favor of the former, for which we need not blame him
too much, seeing that most of us would do precisely that thing in his
position. But to understand that fully, one must have seen hungry
children tormenting their parents for food. Description is wholly
inadequate in such cases.
That there were others who had growing children may have occurred to the
man, but meant nothing to him. So he continued to buy and hoard.
The storage methods employed were wrong, of course, and facilities were
very limited. The potatoes froze in the cellar and sprouted in the warm
rooms. Weevils took birth in the flour, because it was stored in a
wardrobe only some four feet away from a stove. The canned goods stood
on every shelf in the place, littered the floors and filled the corners.
Faulty preserving methods or the constant changes of temperature caused
most of them to ferment and spoil. Every now and then something about
the apartment would explode. The man had bought up almost the last of
olive-oil that could be had in Central Europe. That, too, turned rancid.
As I remember it now, he told me that of all the food he had
bought--that he had hoarded it he never admitted--he had been able to
use about one-third, and the annoyance he had from the spoiled
two-thirds killed all the joy there was in having saved one-third.
Hoarding in this case was an utter failure.
So it was in most cases. To preserve food is almost a science, and
suitable storage facilities play an important rôle in this. The private
hoarder had no proper facilities. That it was unlawful to hoard food
caused him to go ahead storing without asking advice of people familiar
with the requirements; and the possibility that agents of the food
authorities might come to inspect the quarters of the hoarder made
hiding imperative. Often the servants would become informers, so that
the food had to be hidden from them in barrels, trunks, and locked
chests. The result of this can be easily imagined. There was a time when
more food was spoiled in Central Europe by hoarding than there was
consumed. The thing was extremely short-sighted, but everybody was
taking care of himself and his own.
There was no reason why food should spoil on the hands of the retailer.
He never had enough to go around. But it was different with the
wholesaler. This class was eternally holding back supplies for the
purpose of inducing the government to increase the maximum prices. As
time went on, the authorities had to do that, and the quantities then
held in the warehouses benefited. The agitation of the producers for
better minimum prices was water on the mill of the wholesaler. The
government was eternally solicitous for the welfare of the farmer, and
lent a ready ear to what he had to say. The minimum price was raised,
and with it the consumer's maximum price had to go up. All quantities
then held by the wholesalers were affected only by the increase in food
prices that was borne by the consumer, not the increase that had to be
given the farmer. It was the finest of business, especially since an
increase of 5 per cent. in legitimate business meant an increase of
another 15 per cent. in illicit traffic.
In the spring of 1916 I made a canvass of the situation, and found that
while the farmers were getting for their products from 10 to 15 per
cent. more than they had received in 1914, food in the cities and towns
was from 80 to 150 per cent. higher than it had been normally during
five years before the war. I found that the dealers and middlemen were
reaping an extra profit of approximately 80 per cent. on the things they
bought and sold, after the greater cost of operation had been deducted.
Small wonder that jewelers in Berlin and Vienna told me that the
Christmas trade of 1915 was the best they had ever done. These good
people opined that their increase in business was due to the general war
prosperity. They were right, but forgot to mention that this prosperity
was based on the cents wrung from the starving population by the buyers
of the diamonds and precious baubles.
Naturally, the dear farmer was not being left just then. He sold when he
pleased for a time--until the government took a hand in moving his
crops. But this interference with the affairs of the farmer was not
entirely a blessing by any means. The brave tiller of the soil began to
hoard now. Little actual loss came from this. The farmer knew his
business. No food spoiled so long as he took care of it. All would have
been well had it not been that the farmer was the very fountainhead of
the hoarding which in the cities resulted in the loss of foodstuffs.
There were still many loose ends in the scheme of food regulation. While
the farmer was obliged to sell to the middleman, under supervision of
the government Food Centrals, all cereals and potatoes which he would
not need for his own use and seeding, the estimates made by the Food
Central agents were generally very conservative. This they had to be if
the government was not to run the risk of finding itself short after
fixing the ration that seemed permissible by the crop returns
established in this manner. The farmer got the benefit of the doubt, of
course, and that benefit he invariably salted away for illicit trading.
But illicit trading in breadstuffs was becoming more and more difficult.
The grain had to go into a mill before it was flour. The government
began to check up closely on the millers, which was rather awkward for
all concerned in the traffic of the food "speak-easy."
A way out was found by the farmers. They were a rather inventive lot. I
am sure that these men, as they followed the plow back and forth,
cudgeled their brains how the latest government regulation could be met
and frustrated.
Butter and fat were very short and were almost worth their weight in
silver. They sold in the regulated market at from one dollar and sixty
to one dollar and eighty cents a pound, and in the food "speak-easy"
they cost just double that.
Why not produce more butter? thought the farmer. He had the cows. And
why not more lard? He had the pigs. A bushel of grain sold at minimum
price brought so much, while converted into butter and lard it was worth
thrice that much. Grain was hard to sell surreptitiously, but it was
easy to dispose of the fats.
In this manner hoarding took on a new shape--one that was to lead to
more waste.
None of the Central European governments had reason to believe that its
food measures were popular. Much passive resistance was met. The
consumer thought of himself in a hundred different ways. To curb him,
the secret service of the police was instructed to keep its eyes on the
family larder. Under the "War" paragraphs of the constitutions the
several governments of Central Europe had that power. In Austria it was
the famous "§14," for instance, under which any and all war measures
were possible.
Government by inspection is not only oppressive; it is also very
expensive. It is dangerous in times when authorities are face to face
with unrest; at any time it is the least desirable thing there is. It
was not long before both government and public discovered that. To
inspect households systematically was impossible, of course. The
informer had to be relied upon. Usually, discharged servants wrote
anonymous letters to the police, and often it was found that this was no
more than a bit of spite work. If a servant-girl wanted to give a former
mistress a disagreeable surprise she would write such a letter. Some
hoards were really uncovered in that manner, but the game was not worth
the candle.
To get at the men who were hoarding _en masse_ for speculation and
price-boosting purposes, an efficient secret service was needed. But
this the Central European governments do not possess. The police of
Germany and Austria-Hungary plays an important part in the life of man.
But it does this openly. The methods employed are bureaucratic routine.
The helmet shows conspicuously. Wits have no place in the system.
One cannot move from one house to another without being made the subject
of an entry on the police records. To move from one town to another was
quite an undertaking during the war. Several documents were required. A
servant or employee may not change jobs without notifying the police
authorities. All life is minutely regulated and recorded on the books of
the minions of the law.
In matters of that sort the Central European police is truly efficient,
because the system employed has been perfected by the cumulative effort
and experience of generations. Detective work, on the other hand, is out
of the reach of these organizations. The German detective is as poor a
performer and as awkward as certain German diplomatists. He is always
found out.
Why the German and Austro-Hungarian detective services did not succeed
in finding the commercial hoards I can readily understand. One could
recognize the members of the services a mile off, as it were. It seemed
to me that they were forever afraid of being detected. In the detective
that is a bad handicap. Now and then the German detective could be
heard.
As a foreigner I received considerable attention from the German,
Austrian, and Hungarian police forces in the course of three years. My
case was simple, however. I looked outlandish, no doubt, and since I
spoke German with a foreign accent it really was not difficult to keep
track of me. In the course of time, also, I became well known to
thousands of people. That under these circumstances I should have known
it at once when detectives were on my trail can be ascribed only to the
clumsy work that was being done by the secret-service men. In Berlin I
once invited a "shadow" of mine to get into my taxicab, lest I escape
him. He refused and seemed offended.
But there is a classic bit of German detective work that I must give in
detail, in order to show why the food speculator and his ilk were immune
in spite of all the regulations made by the government.
I had been in Berlin several times when it happened. I knew many men in
the Foreign Office, and in the bureaus of the German general staff,
while to most of the Adlon Hotel employees I was as familiar a sight as
I well could be without belonging to their families.
I had come over the German-Dutch border that noon, and had been
subjected to the usual frisking. There had also been a little
trouble--also as usual.
The clerk at the desk in the Adlon did not know me. He was a new man. He
had, however, been witness to the very effusive welcome which the _chef
de réception_ gave me.
That did not interest me until I came down from my room and approached
the desk for the purpose of leaving word for a friend of mine where I
could be found later.
The clerk was engaged in earnest conversation with a stockily built man
of middle age. I had to wait until he would be through.
After a second or so I heard my room number mentioned--237. Then the
sound of my name fell. I noticed that the clerk was fingering one of the
forms on which a traveler in Central Europe inscribes his name,
profession, residence, nationality, age, and what not for the
information of the police.
"He is a newspaper correspondent?" asked the stocky one.
"So he says," replied the clerk.
"You are sure about that?"
"Well, that is what it says on the form."
"What sort of looking fellow is he?" inquired the stockily built man.
"Rather tall, smooth shaven, dark complexion, wears eye-glasses,"
replied the clerk.
I moved around the column that marks the end of one part of the desk and
the beginning of another part that runs at right angles to the first.
The clerk saw me and winked at the man to whom he had been talking. The
detective was in the throes of embarrassment. He blushed.
"Can't I be of some assistance to you?" I remarked in an impersonal
manner, looking from clerk to detective. "You seem to be interested in
my identity. What do you wish to know?"
There was a short but highly awkward pause.
"I am not," stammered the detective. "We were talking about somebody
else."
"I beg your pardon," said I and moved off.
I have always taken it for granted that the detective was a new man in
the secret service. Still, I have often wondered what sort of detective
service it must be that will employ such helpless bunglers.
It may be no more than an _idée fixe_ on my part, but ever since then I
have taken _cum grano salis_ all that has been said for and against the
efficiency of the German secret service, be it municipal or
international. At Bucharest there was maintained for a time, allegedly
by the German foreign service, a man who was known to everybody on the
Calea Victoriei as the German _Oberspion_--chief spy. The poor devil cut
a most pathetic figure. All contentions to the contrary notwithstanding,
I would say that secret service is not one of the fortes of the Germans.
They really ought to leave it alone. That takes keener wits and quicker
thinking on one's feet than can be associated with the German mind.
The Austrians were rather more efficient, and the same can be said of
the Hungarian detective forces. In both cases the secret-service men
were usually Poles, however, and that makes a difference. There is no
mind quite so nimble, adaptive, or capable of simulation as that of the
Pole. In this the race resembles strongly the French, hence its success
in a field in which the French are justly the leaders.
For the food sharks the German detective was no match. He might impress
a provident _Hausfrau_ and move her to tears and the promise that she
would never do it again. The commercial hoarder, who had a regular
business besides and kept his books accordingly, was too much for these
men. So long as no informer gave specific details that left no room for
thinking on the part of the detective, the food shark was perfectly
safe. The thousands of cases that came into the courts as time went on
showed that the detectives, and inspectors of the Food Authorities, were
thoroughly incorruptible. They also showed that they at least were doing
no hoarding--in brains.