The following letter, written from the field by Rudolf
Herzog, one of the leading German novelists and poets, was
published in rhymed verse in No. 41 of Die Woche.
It had been a wild week. The storm wind swept with its broom of rain;
it lashed us and splashed us, thrashed noses and ears, whistled
through our clothing, penetrated the pores of our skin. And in the
deluge--sights that made us shudder--gaunt skeleton churches, cracked
walls, smoking ruins, piled hillock high; cities and villages--judged,
annihilated.
Over there a stone pit; faces grown like the faces of beasts, a
picked-up rabble of assassins. A short command. A howling of death.
Squarely across the road we surge. A bloody grappling coil; batteries
broken and shattered; iron and wood and bits of clothing and bones.
And upon the just and the unjust alike, the lashing rain for days and
nights.
We rushed through the gray Ardennes woods, the Chief Lieutenant and I,
racing along day after day, wrapped up tightly, our rifles ready,
through wood and marsh. No time to lose! No time to lose! Down into
the valley of the Meuse!
Of twenty bridges, there remained but beams rolled up by the
waters--and yawning gaps.
Now comes the order: In three days new bridges must be finished!
Haste, men! Haste! Rain or no rain, it must be done!
Pioneers and railway builders working together, hunt up material, drag
and hammer and ram it together; take the rain for the sweat of their
brows; look like fat toiling devils; hang along the banks, lie in the
water--after all, in this weather, no one can get any wetter! They
speak very little, and never laugh. Three days are short. Nothing,
nothing but duty!
Not a thought remained for the distant homeland and dear ones far
away; the only thought, by day and by night--on to the enemy, come
what may! No mind intent on any other goal. No time to lose! No time
to lose! Haste! Haste!
And forward and backward and criss-cross through the gray Ardennes,
the Chief Lieutenant and I, racing day after day. Laughter, when we
tried it, died sickly on our lips. The bridges! the bridges! and
nothing but the bridges! Empty belly, and limbs like lead. Once more,
now; all together for a last great heave!
There lies Fumay on the smooth-flowing river; and next to the old
bridge, a newly built one stretches from shore to shore--a German
roadway, a roadway to good fortune!
Captain of the Guard! You? From the Staff Headquarters?
He shouts my name as he approaches.
"Congratulations! Congratulations!"
And he waves a paper above a hundred heads.
"Telegram from home! Make way there, you rascal! At the home of our
poet--I've just learned it--a little war girl has arrived!"
I hold the paper in my outstretched hand. Has the sun broken suddenly
into the enemy's land? Light and life on all the ruins?...