GERMANY IN WAR TIME

New Zealand Times, Volume XLII, Issue 9719, 23 July 1917, Page 3

GERMANY IN WAR TIME

LAND OF DEEPENING SHADOW INTERESTING PICTURES FROM A PERILOUS TRIP. One is inclined to -wonder why one tries to write novels and romances in these, strenuous days when the simple narrative of events and the daily happenings in real life are of more fascinating interest than any fiction. Certainly the narrative which Mr TCurtin tells in his book, “'The Land of tho Deepening Shadow,” of his somewhat perilous tour of Germany, his observations of the people, and his experiences in the different phases of wartime life in tho Central Empires are more compelling than tho works of a popular novelist (says the San Francisco “Argonaut '). The author visited Germany ostensibly as an American journalist, but in reality at tho instance of Jjord Northcliffo for the “Daily Mail” and tho London '‘Times.” It was rather a risky thing to do and later on called forth a protest from the German Government. But it yielded a mass of extremely, valuable information on the actual state of affairs among tho Teutons, their beliefs and tho manipulation of opinion, the treatment ot prisoners, tho development of Socialist strength, tho control of subject races, tho spy system, tho food situation, and tho human resources.

Tho part played by the clergy in shaping opinion is well known, hut Air Curtin had some experience of his own with tho men in tho pulpits. A sidelight on German mentality is contained in a conversation ho had with one of them.. This clergyman lived in tho province of Posen and knew England well. Thi s is his explanation of tho battle of the Somme, which is given in his own words: —‘ ‘Many wounded men aro coming hack to our chufich from the dreadful Western front. They have been fighting the British, and they find that so ignorant are the British of warfare that the British soldiers on the Somme refuse to "surrender, not knowing that they are really beaten, with the result that terrible losses are inflicted upon our brave troops.” PREACHMENT OF HATE. The part played by university professors in moulding the German mind is also well known, and we are coming to realise how carefully engineered was the process of commandeering the professors themselves. But one is hardly prepared for the revelation that Mr Curtin makes of the preachment of hate contained in a lecture by Professor Sombart: — “Hate lectures have been fashionable and popular in Germany during the war. I was attracted to one in Munich by flaming red and yellow posters which announced that Professor Werner Sombart, of tho University of Berlin, would speak on ‘Unser Hass gegen England’ (Our Hatred of England). “X sat among the elite of the Bavarian capital in a largo hall with even the standing room filled, when a blaok-boarded professor stepped upon the stage amid a flutter of handclapping, and proceeded to his task without any introduction. Ho was a Professor of Hatred, and it soon .became quite clear that ho was full of his subject. His lank frame leaned over the footlights and ho wound and unwound his long, thin fingers, while his lip's sneered and his sharp, black eyes gleamed venom J&s he instructed business men, bankers, smart young officers, lorgnetted dowagers and sweet-faced girls in tho duty of hating with the whole heart and the whole mind. I soon felt that if Lissauer is the Horace of Hate, Sombart is its Demosthenes. “ ‘lt is not our duty to hate individual Englishmen, such as Sir Edward Grey and Mr Asquith and Mr Lloyd George. No, wo must go far beyond that. Wo must hate the very essence of everything English. We must hate tho very soul of England. An abysmal gulf yawns between the two nations which can never, and must never, ho bridged over. We need borrow Kultur from no nation on earth, for we ourselves have developed the highest Kultur in the world.’

“The professor continued in this strain for an hour and a half, and concluded with the rather striking statement that ‘hatred is the greatest forco in the world to overcome tremendous obstacles, and either one must hate or one must fear.’ "

Mr Ourtin had ingenuity as well as courage, and one marvels at his skill in visiting various parte of Germany and seeing thi’ngs in spite of stringent rules and regulations. Ho had been impressed with the stories circulated by tho Germans in neutral countries concerning tho Russian devastation in East Prussia, stones intended to counteract the effect of tho tales of German atrocities in Belgium. So he managed to make his way into Bast Prussia as far as Allenburg. Here was an opportunity for a test. Among tho war films given to correspondents by the Government was one entitled “The Beautiful Church in Allenburg Destroyed by . the Russians.” From his own observation and from tho artless remark of a German soldier he found that the church in question had not been destroyed by the Russians, but by the Germans themselves when they were bombarding tbe city to drive the Russians out, while tho people of Allenburg testified to the good conduct of the Russians. A DRAMATIC EXPERIENCE.

But more dramatic was his experience at \Vehlau._ Ho had represented himself as specially commissioned to write up Russian atrocities. The officer questioned said, “First you should visit the ruins of the once beautiful castle at Labiau destroyed by the beasts. And they also wantonly destroyed the magnificent old church near by.” A staff officer came up at this moment and had the situation explained to him and the noble work on which the correspondent was engaged. With intent to convince him that I was already hard at work, I told him of the terrible destruction of the castle and church at Lahiau, which I would visit on the following day. “I have a sergeant, below who was there, and I will have him come in,” he said.

The sergeant entered, clicking his heels at attention: a doughty old warrior, small and wiry, not a civilian thrust into field-grey, but a soldier, every inch of him, a Prussian soldier, turned to stone in the presence of his superior officers, his sharp, clear eyes strained on some point in space directly ahead. He might have stepnod out of the pages of tho Seven Years' War.

Nobodv spoke. The pale yellow light of' the oil lamp on. tbe _ commandant's dflek fell on tbe military

faces, figures, and trappings of ‘.he men in me room. The snuming tramp of soldiers in the dark .street below die:! away in the direction of the river. 1 realised that 1 was inside the German lines on a biv.ff that was succeeding. but might collapse at any moment.

Feeling that a good investigating committee should display initiative, 1 broke the silence by questioning the little sergeant, and I began on a line which I felt would please the commandant. “You were at Labiau during the fighting?” I asked. “I was, sir.”

Ho did not move a muscle except those necessary for speech. His eyes wjorc rigid on that invisible something directly ahead. He was clearly conscious of the importance of his position as informant to a stranger before his superior officers. “I have heard that the beautiful old eastlo and the magnificent old church wore destroyed,'’ I continued. “Yen know of this, of course?” “Ja. 'a, that is true! Our wonderful artillery knocked them to pieces when we drove the Russians out in panic 1” The sergeant was not the only one looking into space now. Tire staff officer relieved the situation liv dismissing him from the room, whereupon tho commandant sharply hade the orderly conduct mo to my night lodgi errs. “No Iron Cross for the little sergeant,” I reflected, as wo stumbled through tho crooked old streets in the dark ‘ TRUTH CONCEALED.

The truth about the Sommo campaign was carefully concealed from the Gorman people. News of -what was happening there leaked out very slowly, and came in vague rumours. Had the facts been known the effect would have been serious. A hint from a'friend informed him that the Prussian Guard had had a terrible experience at the hands of the English at Contahnaison on duly 10th, and that their wounded had been brought to Potsdam. With groat caution Mr Ourtin proceeded to go thither, and secured a vantage point from which ho could observe the whole operation. Train after train rolled in, and the wounded were carried out on stretchers and placed in. ambulances, or even great furniture vans. The Prussian Guard is the flower of the German Army; it is only used where there is supreme work to be done. And when that Guard reserve was hurled on tho British at Contalmaison it was because of the vital importance of having the Peronne-Ba-paurae line. And here were tho remnants.

Empty trains pulled out of the way, to bo succeeded by more trains full of wounded, and again more. Doctors and nurses were attentive and always busy, and the stretcher-bearers moved back and forth until their faces grew red with exertion. But it was the visages of the men on the stretchers that riveted my attention. I never saw so many men so completely exhausted. Not one pair of lips relaxed into a smile, and not an eye lit up with the glad recognition of former surroundings. It was not, however, tho lines of suffering that impressed mo, hut that uncanny sameness of expression, an expression of hopeless gloom so deep that it made mo forget that the sun was shining from a cloudless sky. The dejection of the police, of the soldier onlookers, of the walking wounded and those upturned faces on the white pillows told as plainly as winds could ever tell that tho Guard had ot last mot a force superior to themselves and their war machine. They knew well, that they were tho idol of their Fatherland, and that they had fought with every ounce of their great physical strength, backed by their long traditions. ' They had been vanquished by an enemy of “mere sportsmen.”