A hundred and twelve million people in Central Europe were thinking in
terms of shortage as they approached the winter of 1916-17. Government
and press said daily that relief would come. The public was advised to
be patient another day, another week, another month. All would be well
if patience was exercised. That patience was exercised, but in the mind
of the populace the shortage assumed proportions that were at times hard
to understand.
The ancestors of Emperor Francis Joseph had been buried in a rather
peculiar manner. From the body were taken the brain, heart, and viscera
in order to make embalming possible. The heart was then put away in a
silver vessel, while the other parts were placed in a copper urn. In the
funeral processions these containers were carried in a vehicle following
the imperial hearse.
The funeral cortège of Francis Joseph was without that vehicle. The old
man had requested that he be buried without the dissection that had been
necessary in other instances. That being the case, the vehicle was not
needed.
But its absence was misinterpreted by the populace. It gave rise to the
belief that the copper for the urn could not be spared, seeing that the
army needed all of that metal. That little copper would have been
required to fashion the urn does not seem to have occurred to them. It
was enough to know that the church bells had been melted down and that
in the entire country there was not a copper roof left.
The phantom of shortage waxed when it became known that the lack of the
necessary chemicals had led to the embalming of the Emperor's body with
a fluid which had so discolored the body and face that the coffin had to
be closed during the lying-in-state of the dead ruler. It grew again
when it became known that, owing to a lack of horses, many changes had
to be made in the funeral arrangements, and that most of the pomp of the
Spanish court etiquette of funerals would have to be abandoned. What had
anciently been a most imposing ceremony became in the end a very quiet
affair. With one half of the world at war with the other half, there was
a dearth even in monarchs, nobility, and diplomatists to attend the
funeral.
Somehow I gained the impression that the word "Want" was written even on
the plain coffin which they lifted upon the catafalque in St. Stefan's
Cathedral in Vienna, twenty feet away from me. To get into the church I
had passed through a throng that showed want and deprivation in clothing
and mien. It was a chilly day. Through the narrow streets leading to
the small square in which the cathedral stands a raw wind was blowing,
and I remember well how the one bright spot in that dreary picture was
the tall spire of the cathedral upon which fell the light of the setting
winter sun. The narrow streets and little square lay in the gloom that
fitted the occasion. The shadow of death seemed to have fallen on
everything--upon all except the large white cross which presently moved
up the central aisle. Under the pall which the cross divided into four
black fields lay the remains of the unhappiest of men. His last days had
been made bitter by his people's cry for bread.
Since coal was scarce, the church had not been heated. But that night,
as if in honor of the funeral guests, a few more lights burned on the
principal thoroughfares of Vienna. Even that was reckless extravagance
under the circumstances.
Hundreds of thousands of women and children were sitting in cold rooms
at that time. The coal-lines brought usually disappointment, but no
fuel. Even the hospitals to which many of these unfortunates had to be
taken found it difficult to get what coal they needed. The street-car
service had been curtailed to such an extent that many were unable to
reach their place of work. In Austria that was especially the fault of
the Stürgkh régime, whose mad career in burning the candle at both ends
the dead emperor had failed to check.
To keep certain neighbors good-natured and get from them such foods as
they could spare, the Central states of Europe had in 1916 exported
roughly three million two hundred thousands tons of coal. Another
million tons had been shipped into the territories occupied by the
Centralist troops. This was no great coal business, of course,
especially when we come to consider that some of this fuel came from
Belgium. But the four million tons could have been used at home without
a lump going begging. When Christmas came coal was as scarce in Germany,
Austria, and Hungary as was food. And that is saying a great deal.
Much economy had been already practised during the summer. "Summer time"
meant the saving each day of one hour's consumption of fuel in city
traction and lighting street, house, and shop. The saving was not great,
when compared with the fuel a population of roundly one hundred and
twelve millions will consume when given a free hand. But it was
something, anyway.
That something was an easement of conditions in the coal market during
the summer months. It did not make available for the cold season so much
as a shovelful of coal. Whatever the mines put out was carted off there
and then. When winter came the bunkers were empty.
The prospect of having to bear with an ever-craving stomach the
discomforts of the cold and poorly lighted rooms was not pleasant.
The government saw this and tried a little belated regulation.
I say belated regulation because the measures came too late to have much
value. That there would be a shortage in coal had been foreseen. Nothing
could be done, however, to ward off the _Knappheit_.
Among my many acquaintances is the owner of several coal-mines in
Austrian Silesia. His handicaps were typical of what every mine-operator
had to contend with.
"The coal is there, of course," he would say. "But how am I to get it
out? My best miners are at the front. Coal-mining may be done only by
men who are physically the fittest. That is the very class of man the
government needs at the front. I am trying to come somewhere near my
normal output with men that are long past the age when they can produce
what is expected of the average miner.
"It can't be done, of course.
"Women are no good underground. So I have tried Russian
prisoners-of-war. I went to a prison camp and picked out seventy-five of
the most likely chaps. I made willingness to work in a mine one of the
conditions of their furlough. They all were willing--so long as they did
not know what the work was. Right there the willingness of half the crew
ended. I sent them back and tried my luck with the rest.
"To get some work out of the men, I made arrangements with the
government that I was to pay them four-fifths of the regular scale. It
isn't a question of money. It's a question of getting at the coal. To
make a long story short: Out of the seventy-five Russians seventeen
have qualified. I can't afford to repeat the experiment, for the reason
that apprentices litter up the works and interfere with the few miners I
have left."
The man was short then nearly two hundred workers at the mine shafts. He
had underground most of his surface hands. With overtime and some other
makeshifts he was able to produce about four-fifths of his normal
output. The demand for fuel was such that he would have been able to
sell twice as much coal as formerly.
Natural resources mean nothing to a state so long as they cannot be made
available. This was the case with Central Europe.
More economy, more restrictions. Industries not contributing directly to
the military strength of the Central Powers were ordered to discontinue
all night work and overtime. Shops, cafés, hotels, restaurants, and
other public places had to limit the consumption of fuel for heating and
lighting purposes to one-third their usual quota. The lighting of
shop-windows was cut down to almost nothing. Stores had to close at
seven o'clock, eating- and drinking-places first at twelve and later at
eleven. No light was to be used in the hotels after twelve. All
unnecessary heating was prohibited, and the warm-water period in hotels
shrank from four to two hours per day. On each stretch of corridor and
at each stair-landing or elevator door one small light was allowed.
In Vienna all places of amusement "not contributing to the cultivation
of art for art's sake" were closed. This hit the cheaper theaters and
every moving-picture house.
A city of such restrictions would need no street lights at any time. But
up to eleven o'clock two lights for each block were allowed. After that
Stygian black reigned. Street traction ceased on some lines at eight
o'clock; on all lines at nine, though arrangements were made for a few
cars to run when the playing theaters closed.
But the regulations came near spilling the baby with the bath. They were
well meant, but poorly considered. Economic waste came from them.
The several governments did their very best to get coal to the
consumers. In Vienna, for instance, Emperor Charles took a personal
interest in the matter. He issued an order that as many miners as
possible be returned immediately from the front. For the workers at the
mines, who had been living none too well so far as food went, he
prescribed the subsistence given the men in the trenches and placed
military commissaries in charge of the kitchens. Men from the military
railroad organizations were given the running of coal-trains. For
certain hours each day the passenger service of the city street traction
systems was suspended in favor of the coal traffic, which often gave
rise to the unusual sight of seeing an electric street-car drag behind
it, over the pavement, from three to five ordinary coal-wagons, which
later were towed to their destination by army tractors.
It was a herculean labor that would have to be done in a few days, if a
part of the population were not to perish in the cold spell that had
come over Central Europe. The work of a whole summer was now to be done
in a few days.
From the front came whole columns of army motor trucks. These took a
hand at coal distribution. And finally Emperor Charles gave over to the
work every horse in the imperial stables.
I will never forget the sight of the imperial coachmen in their
yellow-and-black uniforms hauling coal all over Vienna. Their cockaded
top-hats looked out of place on the coal-wagons, though no more so than
the fine black and silver-adorned harness of the full-blooded horses
that drew the wagons.
The press was freer now. Political censorship had been reduced to a
minimum. Criticism changed with valuable tips, and one of them was that
the government had done a very foolish thing in closing the
_Kinos_--movies. It was pointed out that their closing resulted in so
small a saving of fuel for heating and lighting that, compared with the
wasteful result of the regulation, it stood as one to hundreds.
Such was the case. The men, women, and families who had formerly spent
their evenings in the movies were now obliged to frequent the more
expensive cafés or sit home and use light and fuel. Some man with a
statistical mind figured out that the closing of a movie seating five
hundred people and giving two performances in the evening, meant an
increase in fuel consumption for heating and lighting purposes sixty
times greater than what the movie used.
That was simple enough, and a few days later the movies and cheap
theaters resumed business. More than that followed. The government
decided that this was a fine method of co-operation. It gave the cafés
permission to use more fuel and light in return for a more liberal
treatment of patrons not able to spend much money. In harmony with this
policy the passenger service of the car lines was extended first to nine
and later to ten o'clock, so that people were not obliged to spend every
evening in the same café or other public place.
The case was a fine example of co-operation between government and
public, with the press as the medium of thought exchange. A twelve-month
before, the reaching of such an understanding would have been next to
impossible. The editor who then mastered the courage of criticizing a
government measure had the suspension of his paper before his eyes. He
no longer had to fear this. The result was a clearing of the political
atmosphere. Government and people were in touch with one another for the
first time in two years.
For over a year all effort of the upper classes had lain fallow. The
women who had done their utmost at the beginning of the war had not met
enough encouragement to keep their labor up. It had been found,
moreover, that charity concerts and teas "an' sich" were of little
value in times when everything had to be done on the largest of scales.
What good could come from collecting a few thousand marks or crowns,
when not money, but food, was the thing?
The fuel conjunction offered new opportunities. Free musical recitals,
concerts, theatrical performances, and lectures were arranged for in
order that thousands might be attracted away from their homes and thus
be prevented from using coal and light.
One of the leaders in this movement in Vienna was Princess Alexandrine
Windisch-Graetz.
The lady is either the owner or the lessee of the Urania Theater. In the
past she had financed at her house free performances and lectures for
the people in order that they might not be without recreation. A washed
face and clean collar were the admission fee. Under her auspices many
such institutions sprang up within a few weeks.
"We are saving coal and educating the masses at the same time," she
would say to me. "There are times when making a virtue of necessity has
its rewards."
And rewards the scheme did have. Lectures on any conceivable subject
could be heard, and I was glad to notice that not a single one dealt
with the war. The public was tired of this subject and the promoters of
the lectures were no less so.
Those whom lectures did not attract could go to the free concerts, and,
when the cheaper music palled, payment of twelve cents American brought
within reach the best Vienna has to offer in symphony and chamber music.
At the same time "warming"-rooms were established in many cities. These
were for unattached women and the wives of men at the front. Care was
taken to have these places as cozy as circumstances permitted.
Entertainment was provided. Much of it took the form of timely lectures
on food conservation, care of the children, and related topics. Many of
the women heard for the first time in their lives that there were more
than two ways of cooking potatoes, and other manners of putting baby to
sleep than addling its brain by rocking it in a cradle or perambulator.
I must say that this solution of the coal problem was an unqualified
success.
The well-to-do also felt the pinch. Money no longer bought much of
anything. The word "wealth" had lost most of its meaning. In the open
food market it might buy an overlooked can of genuine Russian caviar or
some real _pâté de foie gras_, and if one could trust one's servants and
was willing to descend to illicit trading with some hoarding dealer,
some extra food could be had that way. In most other aspects of
subsistence rich and poor, aristocrat and commoner, fared very much
alike. But I cannot say that this "democracy of want" was relished by
the upper classes.
By this time every automobile had been requisitioned by the government.
That was painful, but bearable so long as taxis could be had. Of a
sudden it was found that most of the taxicabs were being hired by the
day and week, often months, by those who could afford it. That was
contrary to the purpose for which the government had left the machines
in town. They were intended mainly to take officers and the public from
the railroad stations to the hotels, and _vice versa_. As an aid to
shopping they had not been considered, nor had it been borne in mind
that some war purveyor's family would wish to take the air in the park
by being wheeled through it. Regulation descended swiftly.
Hereafter taxicab-drivers could wait for a passenger five minutes if the
trip from starting-point to destination had to be interrupted. If the
passenger thought it would take him longer he was obliged to pay his
fare and dismiss the taxi. Policemen had orders to arrest any
taxi-driver who violated this rule; and since the two do not seem to get
along well together anywhere, there was much paying of fines.
Regulation being still somewhat piecemeal, the hacks had been
overlooked. Those who had to have wheel transportation at their beck and
call hired these now by the day and week. Another order came. The
hack-driver could wait in front of a store or any place ten minutes and
then he had to take another "fare."
The upper classes had retained their fine equipages, of course. The
trouble was that the government had taken away every horse and had even
deprived the wheels of their rubber tires. With taxis and hacks not to
be had, especially when the government ruled later that they could be
used between railroad stations only, and not to points, even in that
case, that could be reached with the street-cars, social life of the
higher order took a fearful slump. Though a season of very quiet
dressing was at hand, one could not go calling in the evening in the
habiliment impervious to rain. Simple luncheons and teas were the best
that society could manage under the circumstances.
The theater remained a little more accessible. Street-cars were provided
to take the spectators home. With the show over, everybody made a wild
scramble for the cars. Central Europe was having democracy forced down
its throat. The holder of a box at the Royal Opera had indeed abandoned
the evening dress and _chapeau claque_. His lady had followed his
example in a half-hearted manner. But all this did not make the ride
home easier. The gallery angel in Central Europe is well-behaved and not
inclined to be conspicuous or forward. But he takes up room, and one was
elbowed by him. When soap was scarce he also was not always washed all
over, and that made a difference.
But the theaters did a fine business, for all that. The better
institutions were sold out three weeks ahead, and the cheaper shows were
crowded by the overflow.
Admission to the theater was the one thing that had not gone up in price
very much. The artists had agreed to work for a little less, and those
to whom royalties were due had acted in a like public spirit. Managers
were content with being allowed to run on about a 5-per-cent.-profit
basis. I suppose they thought that half a loaf was better than none.
There would have been none had they gone up in their prices.
The performances were up to standard. A great deal of Shakespeare was
being given. Two of the Vienna theaters played Shakespeare twice a week,
and at Berlin as many as three houses had a Shakespearian program. Oscar
Wilde and George Bernard Shaw plays were occasionally given and also
some by the older French playwrights. Modern French authors seemed to be
taboo. No changes were made in the play-lists of the operas, nor was
prejudice manifested on the concert programs. All performances were in
German, however--Hungarian in Budapest. In other parts of the Dual
Monarchy they were given in the language of the district; Italian, for
instance, in Trieste, where I heard a late Italian _opéra comique_ just
imported _via_ Switzerland.
The stage was not fallow by any means during the war. In Berlin, Vienna,
and Budapest it was a poor week that did not have its two or three
_premières_. It is rather odd that nobody wrote plays about the war. Of
some twoscore new plays I saw in three years not a single one occupied
itself with a theme related to the struggle that was going on. It
seemed, too, that the playwrights had turned their attention to
psychological study. One of these efforts was a phenomenal success. I
refer to Franz Molnar's "_Fasching_."
About twenty new "Viennese" operas made their _début_ during the war.
Just two of them touched upon the thing that was uppermost in the mind
of man. The others dealt with the good old days of long ago; the happy
days of our great-grandfathers, when soldiers still wore green uniforms
with broad lapels of scarlet and lapped-over swallowtails that showed
the same color; when soldiers carried a most murderous-looking sidearm
on "clayed" leather sashes hung rakishly over the shoulder. How happy
those fellows looked as they blew imaginary foam from their empty steins
in front of the inn!
Ten operas were turned out in the three years. I give credit for much
vitality to only one of them. It is known as "_Der Heiland_"--"The
Saviour." It was voted the one addition to lasting music.
With concert-composers also busy, there was no dearth of musical
enjoyment. The art world did yeoman service to keep the population from
going insane. As to that there can be no doubt. It was fortunate that
the Central European public can find so much mental nourishment in the
theater and concert-hall. Otherwise there would have been a lack of room
in the asylums for the insane.
Society, however, did not go to sleep entirely. The luncheons were
simple repasts, but lasted all the longer. Usually one left in time to
reach tea somewhere else. For dinner only the closest friends of the
family were invited, and when others had to be entertained in that
manner there was the hotel. Balls and similar frivolities were under
the ban, of course.
After listening all day long to what the people in the cafés and
restaurants had to say of the war, it was really refreshing to hear what
the aristocrats thought. Most of them were severely objective in their
opinions, some verged on neutrality, and a small number took the tragedy
of the war to heart.
Among the latter was a princess related to Emperor Francis Joseph by
marriage. She was a motherly old woman. The very thought of warfare was
unwelcome to her. She had one expression for what she thought of the
calamity:
"Civilization has declared itself bankrupt in this war."
What she meant was that a civilization that could lead to such a
catastrophe had shown itself futile. She was plain-spoken for one of her
station, and the American ambassador at Vienna was her _bête noire_.
This will suffice to identify the lady to all whom her identity could
interest.
Much of the food shortage was laid at the door of the United States
government. Why didn't the American government see to it that the
Central states civilian populations received that to which international
law and the recent The Hague and London conventions entitled them?
I was asked that question a thousand times every week. With the male
questioners I could argue the point, but with the ladies ... it was
another matter. As many as ten at a time have nailed me down to that
question. At first that used to ruin many a day for me, but finally one
gets used to anything.
The question was not so easily answered in Central Europe. The best
reply was that I was not running anything aside from myself, in which I
followed the ways of the diplomatist who is never responsible for the
acts of his government so long as he wishes to remain _persona grata_.
On the whole, Central European society was leading a rather colorless
life when the war was three years old. Even their charity work had no
longer much of a sphere. It was still possible to collect money by means
of concerts, teas, and receptions--bazaars had to be abandoned because
everybody had tired of them--but there was so little that money could
buy. Government control had gradually spread over everything, and, with
everybody working hard, nobody needed much assistance, as everybody
thought. That was not the case by any means, but such was largely the
popular impression.
The truth was that everybody was tired of working at the same old
charities. The shortage of fuel gave a new opportunity, but did not
occupy many. It was one thing to pin a paper rosette to a lapel in
return for an offering willingly made, and quite another to preside over
a co-operative dining-room or a place where the women and children could
warm themselves and pass the time with pleasure and profit to
themselves. Not many were equal to that. Few had the necessary
experience.
The worst of it was that travel to the international summer and winter
resorts was out of the question. And to move about in one's own country
meant passes, visées, authorizations, health certificates, documents
attesting good conduct and a clean slate with the police; and if by
chance the trip should take one into an inner or outer war zone, the
home authorities had to go on record as having established that he or
she was not plagued by insects. It is remarkable what the Central
governments would do in the interest of law and order, public security,
and sanitation. But it was more remarkable that the highest nobility had
to conform to the same rules. The only persons who had the right to
sidestep any of these multifarious regulations were officers and
soldiers whose military credentials answered every purpose. Since I
traveled only on _Offene Order_--open order--the marching order of the
officer, I was one of the few civilians exempt from this annoyance.
That and the state of the railroads kept the upper classes at home. Many
of them were thus afforded their first good chance to know where they
lived.
Shortage had even come to rule the day for the aristocrats. It was a
bitter pill for them, but I will say that they swallowed it without
batting an eye.