Luckily I took the wrong train on the teeming7 Friedrichsstrasse Bahnhof platform next morning, or I should have been sent back before reaching my goal. I learned just in time to drop off there that travelers into Polish territory must have their passports viséed in Frankfurt-am-Oder. There was a considerable gathering8 of nervous petitioners9 about the door of the haughty10 German officer who represented the Empire in this matter, at one of the huge barracks on the outskirts11 of town. But the delay was not correspondingly long, thanks not only to the efficient system 200of his office, but to the fact that many of the applicants12 remained only long enough to hear him dismiss them with an uncompromising “No!” All men of military age—and in the Germany of 1919 that seemed to mean every male between puberty and senility—were being refused permission to enter the amputated province, whether they were of Polish or German origin. My own case was different. The officer scowled13 a bit as the passport I laid before him revealed my nationality, but he stamped it quickly, as if in haste to be done with an unpleasant duty. Whether or not this official right of exit from the Empire included permission to return was a question which he curtly14 dismissed as no affair of his. Evidently I was burning my bridges behind me.
Frankfurt-am-Oder pulsated15 with soldiers, confirming the impression that reigned16 in khaki-clad circles at Coblenz that the German army had turned its face toward the east. Food seemed somewhat less scarce than in the capital. A moderately edible17 dinner cost me only eight marks. In the market-place, however, the stalls and bins18 were pathetically near to emptiness. A new annoyance—one that was destined19 to pursue me during all the rest of my travels in Germany—here first became personal. It was the scarcity20 of matches. In the days to come that mere21 hour’s search for a single box of uncertain, smoke-barraging Streichh?lzer grew to be a pleasant memory. Not far from the city was one of those many camps of Russian prisoners, rationed22 now by American doughboys, some of whose inmates23 had nearly five years of German residence to their discredit24. If the testimony25 of many constant observers was trustworthy, they dreaded26 nothing so much as the day when they must turn their backs on American plenitude and regain27 their own famished28, disrupted land. True, they were still farmed out to labor29 for their enemies. But they seldom strained themselves with toil30, and in exchange were they 201not growing efficient in baseball and enhancing their Tataric beauty with the silk hats and red neckties furnished by an all-providing Red Cross?
The station platform of Frankfurt, strewn pellmell with Polish refugees and their disheveled possessions, recalled the halcyon31 days of Ellis Island. A “mixed” train of leisurely32 temperament33 wandered away at last toward the trunk line to the east which I had fortunately not taken that morning. Evidently one must get off the principal arteries34 of travel to hear one’s fellow-passengers express themselves frankly35 and freely. At any rate, there was far more open discussion of the question of the hour during that jolting36 thirty miles than I had ever heard in a day on sophisticated express trains.
“The idea,” began an old man of sixty or more, apropos37 of nothing but the thought that had evidently been running through his head at sight of the fertile acres about us, “of expecting us to surrender this, one of the richest sections of the Fatherland, and to those improvident38 Poles of all people! They are an intelligent race—I have never been one of those who denied them intelligence. But they can never govern themselves; history has proved that over and over again. In my twenty-three years’ residence in Upper Silesia I have seen how the laborers39’ houses have improved, how they have thrived and reached a far higher plane of culture under German rule. A Polish government would only bring them down to their natural depths again. They will never treat the working-man as fairly, as generously as we have.
“But,” he continued, suddenly, with increased heat, “we will not see the Fatherland torn to pieces by a band of wolfish, envious40 enemies. We will fight for our rights! We cannot abandon our faithful fellow-countrymen, our genuine German brethren, to be driven from their homes or misruled by these wretched Poles. It would be unworthy 202of our German blood! There will be a Bürgerkrieg—a peasants’ war, with every man fighting for his own sacred possessions, before we will allow German territory to be taken from us. I will sacrifice my entire family rather than allow the Fatherland to be dismembered.”
Our fellow-passengers listened to this tirade41 of testy42 old age with the curious apathy of hunger or indifference43 which seemed to have settled upon the nation. Now and then one or two of them nodded approval of the sentiments expressed; occasionally they threw in a few words of like tenor44. But on the whole there was little evidence of an enthusiasm for rescuing their “genuine German brethren” that promised to go the length of serious personal sacrifice.
All Germany was in bloom, chiefly with the white of early fruit-trees, giving the landscape a maidenly45 gaiety that contrasted strangely with the funereal46 gloom within the car. Gangs of women were toiling47 with shovels48 along the railway embankment. The sandy flatlands, supporting little but scrubby spruce forests, gave way at length to a rich black soil that heralded49 the broad fertile granary which Germany had been called upon to surrender. Barefoot women and children, interspersed50 with only a small percentage of men, stood erect51 from their labors52 and gazed oxlike after the rumbling53 train. Here and there great fields of colza, yellow as the saffron robe of a Buddhist54 priest, stretched away toward the horizon. The plant furnished, according to one of my fellow-passengers, a very tolerable Ersatz oil. Fruit-trees in their white spring garments, their trunks carefully whitewashed55 as a protection against insects, lined every highway. Other trees had been trimmed down to mere trunks, like those of Brittany and La Vendée in France, as if they, too, had been called upon to sacrifice all but life itself to the struggle that had ended so disastrously56.
In the helter-skelter of finding seats in the express that 203picked us up at the junction57 I had lost sight of the belligerent58 old man. A husband and wife who had formed part of his audience, however, found place in the same compartment59 as I. For a long time I attempted to draw them into conversation by acting60 as suspiciously as possible. I took copious61 notes, snapped my kodak at everything of interest on the station platforms, and finally took to reading an English newspaper. All in vain. They stared at me with that frankness of the continental62 European, but they would not be moved to words, not even at sight of the genuine cigar I ostentatiously extracted from my knapsack. At length I gave up the attempt and turned to them with some casual remark, bringing in a reference to my nationality at the first opportunity.
“Ah,” boasted the woman, “I told my husband that you looked like an Englishman, or something. But he insisted you were a Dane.”
“I wonder if the old fellow got a seat, and some one else to listen to him—with his Bürgerkrieg,” mused63 the husband, a moment later. “We Germans have little to boast of, in governing ourselves. Germany should be divided up between Belgium, France, and England, or be given an English king.” Apparently64 he was quite serious, though he may have been indulging in that crude sarcasm65 to which the German sometimes abandons himself and which he thinks nicely veiled. “We are not ripe for a republic. What we are evidently trying to do is to make ourselves a super-republic in one jump. The Socialists66 were against the Kaiser because he put on too much pomp, but we Germans need that kind of a ruler, some one who will be stern but kind to us, like a father. The Kaiser himself was not to blame. At least half, if not a majority, of the people want him back—or at least another one like him.”
“We surely will have our Kaiser back again, sooner or 204later,” cried the woman, in a tone like that of a religious fanatic67.
Just then, however, the pair reached their station and there was no opportunity to get her to elaborate her text. They shook hands heartily68, wished me a “Glückliche Reise,” and disappeared into the night.
Sunset and dusk had been followed by an almost full moon that made the evening only a fainter replica69 of the perfect cloudless day. Toward nine, however, the sky became overcast70 and the darkness impenetrable. This was soon the case inside as well as out, for during an unusually protracted71 stop at a small station a guard marched the length of the train, putting out all its lights. It seemed we were approaching the “danger zone.” I had been laboring72 under the delusion73 that the armistice74 which Germany had concluded with her enemies was in force on all fronts. Not at all. The Poles, it seemed, were intrenched from six hundred to three thousand yards away all along this section of the line. They had been there since January, soon after the province of Posen had revolted against German rule. Almost every night they fired upon the trains, now and then even with artillery76. Sometimes the line was impassable. German troops, of course, were facing them. Trench75 raids were of almost nightly occurrence; some of them had developed into real battles.
Now and again as we hurled77 on through the night there were sounds of distant firing. It was only at Nakel, however, that we seemed in any personal danger. There the Poles were barely six hundred yards away, and between the time we halted at the station and got under way again at least a hundred shots were fired, most of them the rat-a-tat of machine-guns and all of them so close at hand that we unconsciously ducked our heads. The train apparently escaped unscathed, however, and two stations farther on the guard lighted it up again, with the announcement that 205danger was over. We rumbled78 on into Bromberg, where I descended79 toward midnight. Soldiers held the station gate and subjected every traveler—or, more exactly, his papers—to a careful scrutiny80 before permitting him to pass. My own credentials81 they accepted more readily than those of many of their fellow-countrymen, some of whom were herded82 into a place of detention83. As I stepped out through the gate, another soldier thrust into my hand an Ausweis permitting me to remain on the streets after dark, for Bromberg was officially in a state of siege.
When I entered the nearest hotel I found that unofficially in the same condition. A drunken army officer, who was the exact picture of what Allied84 cartoonists would have us believe all his class, was prancing85 about the hotel office with drawn86 sword, roaring angrily and threatening to spit on his needle-pointed saber every one in the room. The possible victims were two half-grown hotel clerks, ridiculous in their professional evening dress, and a thin, mottled-faced private soldier, who cowered87 speechless in different corners. I was inside before I noticed the disturbance88, and pride would not permit me to retreat. I took station near a convenient stool and studied the exact degree of uncertainty89 of the bully’s legs, with a view to future defense90. But for some reason he took no notice of me and at length lurched out again into the street, cursing as he went.
I owe it to the goddess of truth to state that this was the one and only case I ever personally saw of a German officer living up to the popular Allied conception of his caste. On the contrary, I found the great majority of them quiet, courteous91 and gentlemanly to a high degree, with by no means so large a sprinkling of the “roughneck” variety as was to be found among our own officers in Europe. Which does not mean that they were not often haughty beyond reason, nor that they may not sometimes have concealed92 brutal93 instincts beneath their polished exteriors94. But 206while we are on the subject, let me read into the record the testimony of their own fellow-countrymen, particularly that of many a man who served under them.
“Our active officers,” would be the composite answer of all those I questioned on the subject, “were excellent. They still had something adel about them—something of the genuine nobility of the old knights95 from which the caste sprang. Their first and foremost thought was the fatherly care of their men—rendered with a more or less haughty aloofness96, to be sure—that was necessary to discipline—but a genuine solicitude97 for the welfare of their soldiers. Above all”—and here, perhaps, is the chief point of divergence98 between them and our own officers of the same class—“they were rarely or never self-seeking. Our reserve officers, on the other hand, were by no means of the same high character. One so often felt the Kaufmann—the soul of a merchant underneath99. Many of them were just plain rascals100, who stole the presents that came addressed to their soldiers and looted for their own personal benefit. Then there were many who, though honest and well-meaning enough, had not the preparation required for so important an office. They were teachers, or scholars, or young students, who did not realize that a quiet voice is more commanding than a noisy one. The great drawback of our military system, of our national life, in fact, under the monarchy101, was the impenetrable wall that separated us into the compartments102 of caste. Old Feldwebels who had served in the army for twenty years were refused positions which they could have filled to excellent advantage, in war-time, because they were not considered in the “officer class”; and there were set over them men half their own age, school-boy officers, in some cases, who were barely eighteen, and who naturally could not have the training and experience which are required of a lieutenant103. Sixty per cent. of our active officers were slain104, and many others 207were not able to return to the line. Only 30 per cent. of our reserve officers were killed, with the result that before the war ended a man was lucky to have a superior whom he could honor and unquestioningly obey.”
It was in Bromberg that I came into personal contact with more of the class in question than I had in any other city of the Empire. Not only were soldiers more numerous here, but I purposely “butted in” upon a half-dozen military offices, ostensibly to make sure that my papers were in order, really to feel out the sentiment on the peace terms and measure the sternness of martial105 law. But though I deliberately106 emphasized my nationality, not once did an officer show any resentment107 at my presence. In fact, most of them saw me to the door at the end of the interview, and bowed me out with all the ceremony of their exacting108 social code. If the verdict that had just been issued in Paris had burst like a shell among them, they showed no evidence of panic. The official day’s work went deliberately on, and the only comment on the peace terms I succeeded in arousing was a quiet, uncompromising “Quite unacceptable, of course.”
The city itself was as astonishingly placid109 in the midst of what an outsider would have supposed to be exciting times. Being not only in a state of siege, but having just heard that it was soon to transfer its allegiance to another race, one was justified110 in expecting a town as large as Trenton or San Antonio to show at least some ripples111 on its surface. I looked for them in vain. It was Sunday, just the day for popular demonstrations112 in Germany, yet not only was there no sign whatever of rejoicing among the Polish population, but nothing even suggesting the uprising of protest among the German residents which had been so loudly prophesied113. The place resembled some New England factory town on the same day of the week. Groups of Polish-looking young men, somewhat uncomfortable 208and stiff in their Sunday best, lounged on the street-corners, ogling114 the plump Polish girls on their way to church. Strollers seemed interested only in keeping to the shaded side of the street, youths and children only in their games. Tramways rumbled slowly along as usual—and, before I forget it, their female conductors wore breeches; such shops as were habitually115 open on Sunday seemed to be doing their customary amount of business. The whole town was as staid, heavy, and unenthusiastic as the German character.
In the face of a wide divergence of opinion among its own inhabitants it was hard for a stranger to decide which of the two races predominated in Bromberg. The Germans asserted that only 40 per cent. of the population were Poles, and that many of them preferred to see things remain as they were. The Poles defied any one to find more than twenty Germans among every hundred inhabitants, or to point out a single member of their race who sincerely wished to keep his allegiance to the Fatherland. Street and shop signs were nearly all in German, but that may have been due to legal requirement. The rank and file of the populace had a Polish look, yet they seemed to speak German by choice. Moreover, there is but scant116 difference of appearance between Teutons and Poles, particularly when they have lived their entire lives together in the same environment. On the wall of a church I dropped into during morning service there were five columns of names, forty-five each, of the men who had “Patriotically sacrificed their lives for a grateful Fatherland.” At least one half of them ended in “ski,” and in one column alone I counted thirty unquestionably Polish names. But then, it was a Catholic church, so there you are again. Perhaps the most unbiased testimony of all was the fact that the little children playing in the park virtually all spoke118 Polish.
I drifted into conversation with an intelligent young 209mechanic taking his Sunday ease in a Bierhalle. He turned out to be a Pole. As soon as he was convinced of my identity he shed his mask of commonplace remarks and fell to talking frankly and sincerely. I do not speak Polish, hence the rulers of Bromberg might have been startled to hear the statements that were poured into my ear in their own tongue. Yet my companion discussed their shortcomings and the war they had waged, quite openly, with far less circumspection119 than a similar criticism of the powers that be would have required in France or the United States at the same date.
“You don’t hear much Polish on the streets, do you?” he began. “But if I could take you into the homes you would find that the street-door is the dividing line between the two tongues. In the family circle we all stick to the old language, and the memory of the ancient nation that is just being resurrected has never been obscured. We are not exactly forbidden to speak Polish in public, but if we do we are quite likely to be thumped120 on the head, or kicked in the back, or called “dirty Polacks.” Besides, it is never to our advantage to admit that we are Poles. You never know, when you meet a man, whether he is one or not. I feel sure the waiter there is one, for instance, yet you see he carefully pretends to understand nothing but German. We are treated with unfair discrimination from the cradle to the grave. When I first went to public school I could not speak German, and there was hardly a day that a gang of little Deutschen did not beat me to tears. I used to go home regularly with lumps as big as walnuts121 on my head. Even the teacher whipped us for speaking Polish. When it came time to go to work we could only get the hardest and most poorly paid jobs. The railways, the government offices, all the better trades were closed to us. If we applied122 for work at a German factory, the first thing they asked was whether we were Catholics and Poles. In the courts 210a “ski” on the end of a name means a double sentence. Our taxes were figured far more strictly123 than those of the Germans. In the army we are given the dirtiest jobs and most of the punishments. At the front we were thrown into the most dangerous positions.
“The Germans could have won the Poles over if they had done away with these unfair differences and treated us as equals. They are an efficient people and some of their ways are better than our ways, but they cannot get rid of their arrogance124 and their selfishness. They are short-sighted. I spent four years at the front, yet I never once fired at the enemy, but into the air or into the ground. The majority of Poles did the same thing. You can imagine the ammunition125 that was wasted. There is not much work at home, yet you will not find one Pole in a hundred of military age in the German volunteer army. You see many of them in uniform on the streets here—all those redheaded young fellows are Poles—but that is because they are still illegally held under the old conscription act. Shortsightedness again, for if trouble ever starts, the garrison126 will eat itself up without any one outside bothering with it. No Pole of military age can get into the province of Posen, not even if he was born there. In Berlin there are thousands of young Poles wandering around in uniform, half starved, with nothing to do, yet who are not allowed to come home.
“No, there has been very little mixture of the two races. Intermarriage is rare. I know only one case of it among my own acquaintances. It is not the German government that is opposed to it—on the contrary—but the Church, and Polish sentiment. The Catholics are against the old order of things and want a republic; it is the Protestants who want the Kaiser restored”—here one detected a religious bias117 that perhaps somewhat obscured the truth. “The old-German party wants to fight to the end. If 211they had their say Poland would never get the territory that has been awarded her. Sign? Of course they will sign. They are merely stalling, in the hope of having the blow softened127. Nor will the government that accepts the treaty be overthrown128. The Social Democrats129 are strong, very strong; they will sign and still live. The Poles? With very few exceptions they are eager to join the new empire. Paderewski has become a national hero. Especially are the peasants strong for the change. For one thing, it will fatten130 their pocketbooks. The Germans pumped them dry of everything. They had to deliver so many eggs per hen, buying them if the fowls131 did not lay enough. Or the guilty hen had to be turned over for slaughter132. It usually went into the officers’ messes. Each farmer was allowed only one rooster. The same exactions ruled among all the flocks and herds133. Thousands of girls were sent into the pine forests to gather pitch for turpentine. No, I do not believe they were mistreated against their will, except perhaps in a few individual cases, no more than would happen anywhere under similar circumstances. Nor do I think the Germans wantonly destroyed trees by ‘ringing’ them. What they did, probably, was tap them too carelessly and too deep.
“All this talk about Bolshevism overspreading Germany is nonsense. The Bolshevists are poor, simple fellows who have nothing to lose and perhaps something to gain, many of them Chinese laborers brought to Russia in the time of the Czar, fatalists who think nothing of throwing their lives away—or of taking those of others. The other day the Bolshevists decreed in one of the cities they have captured that the bourgeois134 should move out into the outskirts and the proletariat take all the fine houses. Then they named a ‘poor day’ during which any one who had no shoes could go into all the houses and take a pair wherever he found two pairs. Can you imagine the orderly, plodding135 212Germans subscribing136 to any such doctrine137 as that? I certainly cannot, for I have lived all my life among them and I know how they worship Ordnung and Gemütlichkeit.
“Yes, we have several Polish newspapers published here in Bromberg. But even if you could read them it would not be worth your while, for they do not mean what they say. They are doctored and padded and censored138 by the German authorities until the only reason we read them is for the local gossip of our friends and acquaintances. If it were not Sunday I would take you to meet the editor of one of them, and you would find that he speaks quite differently from what he writes in his paper, once he is sure he is not talking to a German spy.”
The mechanic told me all this without once showing the slightest evidence of prejudice or bitterness against the oppressors of his race. He treated the matter with that academic aloofness, that absence of personal feeling, which I had so often been astounded139 to see the Germans themselves display toward the woes140 that had come upon them. Perhaps a lifelong grievance141 grows numb142 with years, perhaps it is less painful when swaddled in calm detachment, perhaps, the temperamental Polish character takes on a phlegmatic143 coating in a German environment. At any rate, all those groups of youths that lounged on the street-corners, ogling the girls as they passed on their way homeward from church, had a get-along-with-as-little-trouble-as-possible-seeing-we-can’t-avoid-it manner toward the still somewhat arrogant144 Germans that made Bromberg outwardly a picture of peace and contentment.
The half-dozen Teuton residents with whom I talked seemed rather apathetic145 toward the sudden change in their fortunes. The shopkeepers, with one exception, announced their intention of continuing business in Bromberg, even if it became necessary to adopt Polish citizenship146. The exception was of the impression that they would be driven out, 213and was not yet making any plans for the future. A station guard, on the other hand, denounced the decision of Paris with a genuine Prussian wrath147. “Every railway employee is armed,” he asserted, “and die Polacken will not get anything that belongs to the Fatherland without a struggle. It is absurd,” he vociferated, “to expect that we will surrender a genuine German city like Bromberg to a lot of improvident wastrels148. Let them keep the part about Posen and south of it; there the Poles are in the majority. But here”—as usual, it seemed, the section to which they were entitled was somewhere else.
A lawyer whom I found sunning himself on a park bench before the fantastic bronze fountain discussed the problem more quietly, but with no less heat.
“You Americans,” he perorated, “the whole Allied group, do not understand the problem in its full significance. We look upon the Poles very much as you do upon your negroes. They have much the same shiftlessness, much the same tendency to revert149 to the semi-savagery out of which we Germans have lifted them. Now just imagine, for the moment, that you had been starved to submission150 in a war with, say, Mexico, Japan, and England. Suppose a so-called ‘peace conference’ made up entirely151 of your enemies, and sitting, say, in Canada, decreed that Mississippi, Florida, Alabama—that half a dozen of your most fertile Southern states must be turned over to the negroes, to form part of a new negro nation. It is possible that your people in the North, whom the problem did not directly touch, might consent to the arrangement. But do you for a moment think that your hot-blooded Southerners, the white men who would have to live in that negro nation or escape with what they could carry with them, would accept the decision without springing to arms even though it was signed by a dozen Northerners? That is exactly our case here, and whether or not this alleged152 Peace Treaty is accepted 214by the government in Berlin, the Germans of the East will not see themselves despoiled153 without a struggle.”
That evening I attended an excellent performance of Südermann’s Die Ehre in the subsidized municipal theater. Tickets were even cheaper than in Coblenz, none of them as high as four marks, even with war tax, poor tax, and “wardrobe.” The house was crowded with the serious-minded of all classes, Poles as well as Germans; the actors were of higher histrionic ability than the average American town of the size of Bromberg sees once a year. Yet equally splendid performances were offered here at these slight prices all the year round. As I strolled hotelward with that pleasant sensation of satisfaction that comes from an evening of genuine entertainment, I could not but wonder whether this, and those other undeniable advantages of German Kultur, whatever sins might justly be charged against it, would be kept up after the Poles had taken Bromberg into their own keeping.
As to the walking trip through these eastern provinces which I had planned, fate was once more against me. I might, to be sure, have set out on foot toward the region already amputated from the Empire, but in the course of an hour I should have had the privilege of walking back again. The German-Polish front was just six kilometers from Bromberg, and a wandering stranger would have had exactly the same chance of crossing its succession of trenches154 as of entering Germany from France a year before. The one and only way of reaching the province of Posen was by train from the village of Kreuz, back along the railway by which I had come.
The place had all the appearance of an international frontier, a frontier hastily erected155 and not yet in efficient running order. Arrangements for examining travelers and baggage consisted only of an improvised156 fence along the station platform, strewn pellmell with a heterogeneous157 215throng bound in both directions, and their multifarious coffers and bundles. The soldiers who patrolled the line of demarkation with fixed158 bayonets were callow, thin-faced youths, or men past middle age who had plainly reached the stage of uselessness as combat troops. All wore on their collars the silver oak-leaves of the recently formed “frontier guard.” Their manner toward the harassed159 travelers was either brutal or cringingly friendly. The Germans in civilian160 garb161 who examined passports and baggage were cantankerous162 and gruff, as if they resented the existence of a frontier where the Fatherland had never admitted that a frontier existed. They vented163 their wrath especially against men of military age who wished to enter Polish territory—and their interpretation164 of their duties in that respect was by no means charitable. Among others, a wretched little dwarf165 past fifty, whom a glance sufficed to recognize as useless from a military point of view, even had his papers not been stamped with the official Untauglich, was wantonly turned back. Many a family was left only the choice of abandoning the attempt to reach its home or of leaving its adult male members behind.
The churls allowed me to pass readily enough, but rescinded166 their action a moment later. Once beyond the barrier, I had paused to photograph the pandemonium167 that reigned about it. A lieutenant bellowed168 and a group of soldiers and officials quickly swarmed169 about me. Did I not know that photography was forbidden at the front? I protested that the station scenes of Kreuz could scarcely be called military information. What of that? I knew that it was within the zone of the armies, did I not? Rules were rules; it was not the privilege of every Tom, Dick, and Harry170 to interpret them to his own liking171. A lean, hawk-faced civilian, who seemed to be in command, ordered me to open my kodak and confiscated172 the film it contained. If I set great store by the pictures on it, he would have it 216developed by the military authorities and let me have those that proved harmless, upon my return. I thanked him for his leniency173 and strolled toward the compartment I had chosen. Before I had reached it he called me back.
“Let me see your papers again,” he demanded, in a far gruffer tone.
He glanced casually174 at them, thrust them into a pocket of his coat, and snapped angrily: “Get your baggage off the train! I am not going to let you through.”
It was plain that he was acting from personal rather than official motives175. Probably he considered my failure to raise my hat and to smile the sycophant176 smile with which my fellow-passengers addressed him as an affront177 to his high Prussian caste. Fortunately he was not alone in command. A more even-tempered official without his dyspeptic leanness beckoned178 him aside and whispered in his ear. Perhaps he called his attention to the importance of my credentials from Wilhelmstrasse. At any rate, he surrendered my papers after some argument, with an angry shrug179 of the shoulders, and his less hungry-looking companion brought them back to me.
“It has all been arranged,” he smirked180. “You may take the train.”
This was still manned by a German crew. For every car that left their territory, however, the Poles required that one of the same class and condition be delivered to them in exchange. Several long freight-trains, loaded from end to end with potatoes, rumbled past us on the parallel track. Two hundred thousand tons of tubers were sent to Germany each month in exchange for coal. It was at that date the only commercial intercourse181 between the two countries, and explained why potatoes were the one foodstuff182 of comparative abundance even in Berlin. At Biala the station guards were Polish, but there was little indeed to distinguish them from those of Kreuz and Bromberg. 217Their uniforms, their rifles, every detail of their equipment, were German, except that some of them wore the square and rather clumsy-looking Polish cap or had decorated their round, red-banded fatigue183 bonnets184 with the silver double-eagle of the resurrected empire. Many were without even this insignia of their new allegiance, and only the absence of oak-leaves on their collars showed that they were no longer soldiers of the Fatherland.
We halted at Wronki for two hours, which made our departure three hours later, for clocks and watches were turned ahead to correspond with Polish time. Frontier formalities were even more leisurely and disorganized than they had been in Kreuz. The Poles seemed to have something of the amiable185 but headless temperament of the French. Their officers, too, in their impressive new uniforms with broad red or yellow bands, and their rattling186 sabers, bore a certain resemblance to children on Christmas morning that did not help to expedite matters under their jurisdiction187. They were a bit less “snappy” than the more experienced Germans, somewhat inclined to strut188 and to flirt189, and there were suggestions in their manner that they might not have been horrified190 at the offer of a tip. When at length my turn had come they found my credentials unsatisfactory. Why had they not been viséed by the Polish consul4 in Berlin, as well as by the Germans at Frankfurt? I had never dreamed that Berlin boasted a Polish consul. Indeed! Who, then, did I suppose handled the interests of their nation there? However, it was all right. As an American and a fellow-Ally they would let me pass. But I must promise to report at a certain office in Posen within twenty-four hours of my arrival.
Barefoot boys were selling huge slabs191 of bread and generous lengths of sausage through the car windows. All things are relative, and to the travelers from Germany these “ticket-free” viands192 of doubtful origin seemed a kingly 218repast. With every mile forward now it was easier to understand why the loss of the province of Posen had been so serious a blow to the hungry Empire. Here were no arid193, sandy stretches, but an endless expanse of rich black loam194, capable of feeding many times its rather sparse195 population. If it had been “pumped dry” by the former oppressors, it was already well on the road to recovery. Wheat, corn, and potatoes covered the flat plains to the horizons on either hand. Cattle and sheep were by no means rare; pigs, goats, ducks, and chickens flocked about every village and farm-house, evidently living in democratic equality with the human inhabitants. There were other suggestions that we were approaching the easy-going East. Men in high Russian boots sauntered behind their draft animals with the leisureliness196 of those who know the world was not built in a day, nor yet in a year. Churches of Oriental aspect, with steep roofs that were still not Gothic, broke the sameness of the prevailing197 German architecture. There was something softly un-Occidental in the atmosphere of the great city into which we rumbled at sunset, a city which huge new sign-boards on the station platform stridently announced was no longer Posen, but “Poznan.”
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1
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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2
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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3
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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consul
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| n.领事；执政官 | |
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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amputation
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| n.截肢 | |
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teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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petitioners
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| n.请求人，请愿人( petitioner的名词复数 )；离婚案原告 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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applicants
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| 申请人，求职人( applicant的名词复数 ) | |
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scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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pulsated
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| v.有节奏地舒张及收缩( pulsate的过去式和过去分词 )；跳动；脉动；受（激情）震动 | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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edible
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| n.食品，食物；adj.可食用的 | |
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18
bins
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| n.大储藏箱( bin的名词复数 )；宽口箱（如面包箱，垃圾箱等）v.扔掉，丢弃( bin的第三人称单数 ) | |
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19
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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20
scarcity
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| n.缺乏，不足，萧条 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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22
rationed
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| 限量供应，配给供应( ration的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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24
discredit
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| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
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25
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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27
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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28
famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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29
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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30
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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31
halcyon
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| n.平静的，愉快的 | |
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32
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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33
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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34
arteries
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| n.动脉( artery的名词复数 )；干线，要道 | |
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35
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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36
jolting
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| adj.令人震惊的 | |
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37
apropos
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| adv.恰好地；adj.恰当的；关于 | |
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38
improvident
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| adj.不顾将来的，不节俭的，无远见的 | |
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laborers
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| n.体力劳动者，工人( laborer的名词复数 )；（熟练工人的）辅助工 | |
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40
envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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41
tirade
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| n.冗长的攻击性演说 | |
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42
testy
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| adj.易怒的；暴躁的 | |
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43
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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44
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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45
maidenly
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| adj. 像处女的, 谨慎的, 稳静的 | |
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46
funereal
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| adj.悲哀的；送葬的 | |
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47
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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48
shovels
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| n.铲子( shovel的名词复数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份v.铲子( shovel的第三人称单数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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49
heralded
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| v.预示( herald的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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50
interspersed
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| adj.[医]散开的；点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
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51
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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52
labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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53
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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54
Buddhist
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| adj./n.佛教的，佛教徒 | |
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55
whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
disastrously
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| ad.灾难性地 | |
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57
junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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58
belligerent
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| adj.好战的，挑起战争的；n.交战国，交战者 | |
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59
compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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60
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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61
copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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62
continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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63
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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64
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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66
socialists
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| 社会主义者( socialist的名词复数 ) | |
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67
fanatic
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| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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replica
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| n.复制品 | |
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70
overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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71
protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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72
laboring
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| n.劳动，操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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73
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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74
armistice
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| n.休战，停战协定 | |
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75
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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76
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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77
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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78
rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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79
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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80
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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81
credentials
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| n.证明，资格，证明书，证件 | |
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82
herded
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| 群集，纠结( herd的过去式和过去分词 )； 放牧； （使）向…移动 | |
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83
detention
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| n.滞留，停留；拘留，扣留；(教育)留下 | |
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84
allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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85
prancing
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的现在分词 ) | |
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86
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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88
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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89
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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91
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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exteriors
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| n.外面( exterior的名词复数 )；外貌；户外景色图 | |
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knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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96
aloofness
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| 超然态度 | |
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97
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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98
divergence
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| n.分歧，岔开 | |
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99
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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100
rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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101
monarchy
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| n.君主，最高统治者；君主政体，君主国 | |
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102
compartments
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| n.间隔( compartment的名词复数 )；（列车车厢的）隔间；（家具或设备等的）分隔间；隔层 | |
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103
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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104
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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105
martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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111
ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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113
prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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114
ogling
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| v.（向…）抛媚眼，送秋波( ogle的现在分词 ) | |
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115
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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116
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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117
bias
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| n.偏见，偏心，偏袒；vt.使有偏见 | |
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118
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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119
circumspection
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| n.细心，慎重 | |
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120
thumped
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| v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
walnuts
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| 胡桃（树）( walnut的名词复数 )； 胡桃木 | |
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122
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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123
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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124
arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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125
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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126
garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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127
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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128
overthrown
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| adj. 打翻的，推倒的，倾覆的 动词overthrow的过去分词 | |
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129
democrats
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| n.民主主义者，民主人士( democrat的名词复数 ) | |
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130
fatten
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| v.使肥，变肥 | |
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131
fowls
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| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
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132
slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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133
herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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134
bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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135
plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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136
subscribing
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| v.捐助( subscribe的现在分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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137
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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138
censored
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| 受审查的，被删剪的 | |
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139
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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140
woes
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| 困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉 | |
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141
grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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142
numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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143
phlegmatic
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| adj.冷静的，冷淡的，冷漠的，无活力的 | |
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144
arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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145
apathetic
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| adj.冷漠的，无动于衷的 | |
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146
citizenship
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| n.市民权，公民权，国民的义务(身份) | |
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147
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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148
wastrels
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| n.无用的人，废物( wastrel的名词复数 )；浪子 | |
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149
revert
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| v.恢复，复归，回到 | |
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150
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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151
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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152
alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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153
despoiled
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| v.掠夺，抢劫( despoil的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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154
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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155
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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156
improvised
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| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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157
heterogeneous
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| adj.庞杂的；异类的 | |
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158
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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160
civilian
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| adj.平民的，民用的，民众的 | |
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161
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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162
cantankerous
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| adj.爱争吵的，脾气不好的 | |
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163
vented
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| 表达，发泄（感情，尤指愤怒）( vent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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165
dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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166
rescinded
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| v.废除，取消( rescind的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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167
pandemonium
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| n.喧嚣，大混乱 | |
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168
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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169
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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170
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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171
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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172
confiscated
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| 没收，充公( confiscate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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173
leniency
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| n.宽大（不严厉） | |
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174
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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175
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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176
sycophant
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| n.马屁精 | |
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177
affront
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| n./v.侮辱，触怒 | |
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178
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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179
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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180
smirked
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| v.傻笑( smirk的过去分词 ) | |
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181
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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182
foodstuff
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| n.食料，食品 | |
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183
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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184
bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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185
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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186
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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187
jurisdiction
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| n.司法权，审判权，管辖权，控制权 | |
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188
strut
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| v.肿胀，鼓起；大摇大摆地走；炫耀；支撑；撑开；n.高视阔步；支柱，撑杆 | |
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189
flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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190
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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191
slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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192
viands
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| n.食品，食物 | |
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193
arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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194
loam
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| n.沃土 | |
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195
sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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196
leisureliness
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| n.悠然，从容 | |
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197
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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