When the knights of the Iron Cross had taken their departure, we went
down into the hall, where the Crown Prince stepped up to me and bade me
heartily welcome to his Headquarters and to the seat of war. The meal,
which might as well have been called dinner as supper, was attended by
the following gentlemen: Lieutenant-General Schmidt von Knobelsdorff,
Chief of Staff of the 5th Army, Court-Marshal von Behr, Chief of the
Medical Corps, Body-Physician Professor Widenmann, Majors von der
Planitz, von Müller, personal Adjutant to H.I. & R.H., and Heymann,
Lieutenant von Zobeltitz and a few members of the Staff, who arrived
later after the day's work in the field and took their seats at the
lower end of the table.
Would you like to know what the German Crown Prince, the Crown Prince
of Prussia, eats for supper? Here is the menu: cabbage soup, boiled
beef with horseradish and potatoes, wild duck with salad, fruit,
wine, and coffee with cigars. And what would you say the conversation
was about? It is hard to say exactly, but we traveled over almost
the whole world with the ease bred by familiarity. The Crown Prince,
like the Emperor, began with Tibet, and from there it was but a step
across the Himalayas to the palms of the Hugli Delta, the pagodas
of Benares, the silver moonlight over Taj Mahal, the tigers of the
jungle and the music of the crystal waves of India beating against the
rocks of Malabar point. We also spoke of old unforgettable memories
and of common friends who now love us no longer--of the brave and
famous Kitchener, the conqueror of Omdurman and South Africa, of the
Maharajahs and their fairy-like splendor at Bikanir, Kutch Behar,
Gwalior, Kashmir and Idar.
We also talked about the war and its horrors, and the terrible
sacrifices it demands. "But it cannot be helped," said the Crown
Prince, "our Fatherland asks us to give all we have, and _we will, we
must_ win, even if the whole world takes up arms against us."
"Is not the calm here wonderful! We seem to be living to-night in the
most absolute peace, and yet it is but a couple of hours' drive to the
firing line," observes my Imperial host after listening to a short,
concise and satisfactory report made in a ringing voice by an officer
who has just entered. "Yes, your Imperial Highness, I had imagined
the Staff Headquarters of an army to resemble a buzzing beehive, but
now that I have the reality before me, I find no trace of anxiety or
nervousness, nothing but calm and assurance everywhere. But what I
should like to see most of all would be a battle, for I suspect that in
common with most other civilians I have formed an erroneous opinion on
this subject."
The Crown Prince smiles and answers: "Yes, battle painters like
Neuville and Détaille would have little use for their art in these
days. Of the fighting men one sees practically nothing, for they
are concealed by the ground and in the trenches, and it is rather
dangerous to get too close to a bayonet charge--unless one's duty takes
one there."
What life and spirit at the Crown Prince's Headquarters! Everything was
gay with the freshness of youth, and devoid of restraint. No trace of
the stiffness of court ceremonial. Even General Schmidt, who usually
maintained the strictest discipline, was infected by the prevailing
spirit of camaradie. But owing to the terrible burden of work which
rested on the shoulders of the Chief of Staff, it was not unusual for
him to come in for his meals after the others. The supper, or rather
the talk after it, went on till about eleven--these were the only hours
when one could meet in quiet, for during the day everyone was busy with
his duties, and the Crown Prince then occupied his post as commanding
officer at suitable points at the front.
The château where we were staying belonged to an aristocratic French
lady--if I remember rightly her name was du Vernier. When the war
broke out she moved to Bordeaux. On her return after the contest she
will find her château, her estates and the beautiful park in the same
condition as when she went away. There was a certain aristocratic
grandeur about the château, though signs of decay were already making
themselves apparent. On the mantelpiece in my room stood a pendulum
clock of gilt bronze of an antique mythological design, and on each
side stood a couple of gorgeous candelabra. The walls were decorated
with a few unassuming pictures, amongst them a portrait of an old
French warrior.
I open my window, it is pitch-dark outside, and the rain falls close
and heavy upon the trees and lawns outside. Tired after a somewhat
ambitious day's work, I hurry to bed, the more so as I suspect the next
day's programme to be no less exacting....