Leaves From a Coblenz Diary. I: Being Fragments From the Notebook of Heinrich Scheinstutzen, Apothecary

November 9, 1918. — Tidings have come that our beloved Kaiser has gone to Holland, to visit one of his noble kinsmen. Some of his subjects have been unworthy enough to apply the word ‘flight’ to his departure, but in a little while they will have learned what fools they were, and will be seeking to deny that they ever uttered such a word. But we shall remember them, and they will hear from it some day!

November 10. — It appears from the newspapers that an armistice with the enemy is under consideration. What the terms are is not yet known, but we be may sure that our wise generals have guarded the Fatherland’s interests well, while arranging a much-needed rest for the brave fellows who have defended us so long from the world’s envy. No doubt we shall continue to occupy part of the conquered territory, making sure that the inhabitants provide what is needed for the support and comfort of our gallant soldiers.

There are those who talk of an occupation of part of the Fatherland by the foe, but this is not to be taken seriously. The alarmists even hint that the foreign troops may come as far as our dear city of Coblenz itself. But plainly that is nonsensical. I cannot imagine foreign soldiers daring to enter — except as prisoners, ha! ha! — a city which boasts the possession of one of the Kaiser’s most favored palaces and is privileged to call itself Residenzstadt.

It is most reprehensible that some of our own citizens (though there are not many such, God be thanked!) are talking of the Fatherland’s present state as if it were a defeat, and of the possibility of hostile ‘armies’ taking possession of the Rhineland. Precious fine armies the enemy has, after the way our troops have been killing them off year after year!

November 11. — Something in my own household has come to be more and more disturbing to my peace of mind. And that something is my wife. She is not the same attentive and obedient Maria I used to know. For more than a year, ever since the news came that our Fritz had been killed fighting for his Kaiser, I have been conscious of the change taking place in her demeanor, but never admitted it to myself till now. At first it was moods of sadness and silence; but then it began to show itself in little flare-ups — sudden remarks not at all befitting a loyal German woman. It is as if she were nursing a grievance. One day I heard her muttering something that I am almost ashamed to write down, questioning the wisdom of our Government’s ‘taking her boy away to be slaughtered.’ Of course, women are not expected to know anything of statesmanship and the affairs of nations; but I cannot help being irritated at these unfortunate outbursts. I often say to myself: Can this be the same Maria who went out to the country with me on a holiday, three years ago, when our daring sailors sank the great merchant ship of our archenemies the English?

November 12. — The conditions of the Armistice have been published, and I confess I am stunned. The Allies are to occupy all the left bank of the Rhine, and a belt of thirty kilometres east of the river. And we are to deliver over quantities of locomotives and cars and trucks and aeroplanes, and part of our great fleet. I find it difficult to take this in, and have to take up the paper again and again to prove to myself that I am not dreaming. Ah, that the Fatherland should have ever come to this! But I suppress my first feeling of despair. Our leaders know best; they would not act but for the benefit of the Empire; and, even though this arrangement does not seem on its face advantageous to us, no doubt all will come out well in the end,

November 15. — Again I have found myself impatient with Maria. When it was reported to-day that the Americans might come to take charge of our city during the Armistice, she exclaimed with eyes positively flashing, —

‘Well, what of it! We could n’t be any worse off than we’ve been this last year, with our young men being killed every day. Probably better off we’ll be!’

I find it hard to maintain my accustomed dignity when she talks like this. She is becoming most unfeminine and rebellious. But I find comfort in the fact that most of our citizens retain their sanity and loyalty. After this display of Maria’s, which I properly received with silence, I went out to the Schloss Café, and there found a group of my friends. We sat around our favorite table in the corner and conversed for two or three hours.

It was a very agreeable evening, although the beer these days is of painfully inferior quality. So it has been for the last year or two, owing to the shortness of the hop yield in the absence of able-bodied workers at the front. This has indeed been one of the most regrettable aspects of the war. It takes ten or twelve mugs to quench a thirst that would have been satisfied formerly by half a dozen. But nevertheless, as I have said, the time passed pleasantly. Upon thoroughly discussing the Armistice, we concluded that things could have been much worse. It was comforting to reflect that, after all, our troops were still unconquered. They are withdrawing in perfect order before superior numbers, — not under compulsion, but by agreement, — and will soon pass triumphantly through our city.

We could not deny to ourselves that the Armistice would bring alleviation in many respects. Men would return to their occupations, such as farming and mining and manufacturing, and the hardships that we had been bearing so willingly would be considerably relieved. We agreed that not the least welcome of the changes for the better would be the return of the brave hopworkers to their former duties. Before we parted, the good Friedrich Schnitzel sat down at the piano, and we sang ‘Die Wacht am Rhein’ and ‘Dann fahren wir gegen Eng-e-land.’

November 20. — As for two or three weeks past, the government of our city is carried on under an organization called the Soldiers’ Council. This has a sound that suggests the less perfect methods of other countries; but to us, who know so well the temper of our people, it brings no alarm. Though only an apothecary, I pride myself upon judging with creditable keenness the thoughts that are in men’s minds, and I know how our citizens feel in their hearts toward the Kaiser and his generals and statesmen. Foolish folk may talk of the great change that has taken place; it is not what men are saying, however, but what they are thinking, that counts, and we loyal Germans are thinking much as we always did. Flighty women, and a few firebrands who are having their short day of glory, may make a big stir, but I can state proudly that in substance Germans have altered but little.

The proclamation of the great FieldMarshal Von Hindenburg, bidding the people to preserve discipline and order, was all that was needed to allay surface troubles in our city. The Soldiers’ Council has recognized the excellence of our tested leadership by placing an officer of noble birth and long military experience in control, and he has matters well in hand.

November 21. — More news calculated to reconcile us to the Armistice came to-day. We cannot be sure yet, but it is reported that the Americans will ship us many thousands of tons of food, including the fats which we need so badly. While we have not suffered for food to the extent that our enemies imagined, still, there are many articles that have been sadly scarce, and naturally the Allies will be glad to send us the supplies in partial return for our agreeing to the Armistice.

November 22. — Our gallant troops, who crossed the border on their return to the Fatherland several days ago, are to enter the city day after to-morrow, and all our hearts are glowing with pride at the prospect of receiving them. As one of our newspapers well says, ‘Unconquered by a world of enemies, our heroes are now returning to their homes’; and the same paper reminds us that we are to greet them ‘as if they were conquerors.’ Flags are being brought out and displayed in great numbers.

November 25. — What a splendid day for Coblenz yesterday! The first elements of our returning soldiers marched through the streets. Flags flew from every house, the Government building was brilliantly decorated, and the streets were thronged with men, women, and children, cheering and throwing flowers to the home-comers. The officers, striding proudly ahead of their men, were tremendously admired.

A cable dispatch from Washington brings the definite announcement that the Americans are to come to Coblenz.

December 2. — The Americans reached the city of Trier yesterday in their march hitherward. There is much talk of how we Germans shall act when the foreigners come among us. I was discussing this matter with Heinrich Schnitzel and Johann Schmidt at the Schloss Café last evening, and we agreed that the only wise course was to be agreeable to the strangers. Johann has remarkably sensible ideas, considering that he is a grocer and spends most of each day rolling barrels about and weighing out potatoes and spinach for a rather low class of customers.

‘They are going to have a big meeting in Paris to decide on peace terms,’ he said, ‘and we have got to look to somebody to stand for fair terms to the Fatherland. Can we look to the French? Surely not. And not to the English, after what our wonderful U-boats and airships have done. But the Americans — they have not suffered like the others, and my cousin Gustav writes me that they are a soft and forgetful folk. So we must not offend them by unfriendliness, but must rather earn their good-will.’

‘That is right,’ I said; ‘but of course we must not mix with them socially, as no doubt they will wish us to do.’

To which they all said yes.

And then Johann looked up at the ceiling while he puffed on that monster pipe of his.

‘And do not forget that the Americans will bring much money with them; they are good purchasers, these Americans — we know that from the travelers before the war.’

A sly fellow, that Johann!

December 4. — Maria shows signs of fright when the talk is of the Americans’ arrival.

‘Will they harm us?’ she asked today. ‘I have heard they do not like some of the things that happened while our troops were in France and Belgium.’

‘Our good soldiers did only what was proper in the conquered land,’ I told her sternly. ‘And do you think our generals have not provided well for our safety during the Armistice?’

I found my little niece Marguerita in tears when she was here to-day. Somebody had been telling her stories of what the foreign soldiers would do when they came, and she was all a-tremble. We had trouble in quieting the child.

December 5. — I find that it is not only the women and children who fear rough treatment from the American troops. Some of my friends suggest that they may be revengeful. Of course, the Germans did nothing in France and Belgium but what the conditions of war compelled; but our enemies are said to be emotional and to imagine all kinds of grievances.

‘You know how all soldiers behave when they have a civil population under foot,’ said Heinrich last night, shaking his head as if he foresaw evil times.

In his gloomy moments Heinrich says the most disturbing things. But we must not let ourselves be a prey to fears. Certainly, I tell myself, our leaders have made sure that we shall not be harmed.

December 7. — The last of the German troops passed through our city today. The flags were still waving, and the soldiers were cheered, but there were not so many people on the streets as the day of the entry. With sorrow we saw the tail of the column cross the pontoon bridge, leaving the left bank of the Rhine free of the Kaiser’s fighters. As soon as they were gone, the people began to take in the flags; for the Americans are to reach here soon. Our Oberbürgermeister has seen fit to request the American chiefs to put their troops in Coblenz as soon as possible after the last German detachment has left, in order to prevent any sort of disturbances that the absence of military force might encourage.

December 9. — So this is their army! We had a big laugh over it at the café last night. A few hundred troops came in by railroad about midday, and groups of three or four soldiers began to walk back and forth through the streets, assisting our worthy police. The whole foreign force here makes only a handful. No wonder that they are so few, after the carnage caused among them during the last few months. And their officers — they are mere innocent young boys. Two or three of us went to the station to see the Americans come in, and it was all we could do to restrain our merriment at the sight of a rosyfaced youth — a major in their army, he is, too! — in conversation with our general, with his fine gray whiskers.

They were arranging the transfer of certain barracks, warehouses, and so on. The general was thoroughly polite, but we knew what pity he must be feeling for the inexperience of this child-major.

December 13. — It seems that the American soldiers who entered the city last Sunday were not their army at all, but only a detachment sent on ahead, at the request of our Oberbürgermeister, to act as military police. Yesterday the first part of the army proper arrived — the First Division, they call it. It tramped through our streets a good part of the day, preparatory to crossing the Rhine this forenoon. There were thousands upon thousands of the soldiers, with cannon and machine-guns and rifles. Naturally they do not make the appearance to which we are accustomed in the Kaiser’s troops. They wear brownish-yellow uniforms. They laugh a great deal, but some of our citizens remarked that when they were not laughing they had an unusually direct and serious gaze.

Their bands marched in front of the regiments, playing gay tunes, from one end of the city to the other, and they carried flying banners. Our people had been reminded by the newspapers that they must not show themselves gaping and curious; but one could see much by looking from behind window-curtains. How we hate to see foreign troops in our dear Residenzstadt! But we conceal our feelings, of course, and are outwardly friendly.

December 14. — I learn that the regiments passing through Coblenz were only part of those that have reached the Rhine. Farther down the river two more divisions are crossing, to occupy what they call the bridgehead, a semicircular area extending 30 kilometres from here. And there are many other divisions that stop on this side of the Rhine, disposing themselves in the district to the north and west and southwest, all the way back to the Luxembourg and French frontier. Altogether, there are a quarter of a million Americans in the Fatherland. The British are to the north and the French to the south, but of these I do not know the exact number.

When they are not in formation, the Americans, officers and soldiers both, spread throughout the city, entering the shops and buying every sort of article. I have heard of their high pay, but even at that I do not understand how they can spend so much. Their main thought when off duty seems to be to get rid of their money at once. They rarely question the price of anything. They are forbidden to buy food of any kind from civilians, but on other purchases there is no restriction. We sell to them gladly.

December 17. — What occurred this afternoon stirred me to the deepest anger. They have billeted two Americans on me; and not officers, but enlisted men! I should have thought at least that, if I had to submit to such a thing, only officers should be placed in my house. But no. Because I happen to dwell near the barracks, I am selected to accommodate a sergeant and corporal, who, it seems, must have special quarters. When the officer informed me of it, he must have seen my displeasure, for he turned gruff all of a sudden and told me to make haste and prepare the room. I forced myself to smile and speak pleasantly, but how I raged inside!

December 18. — I congratulate myself upon having had the good fortune to study English at school; that was many years ago, but it comes back to me, and I can understand what these people say I pretend not to understand, of course, and they talk freely around me. Thus I may learn something helpful to the Fatherland or the city.

December 20. — Maria has changed completely in the last day or two. Another one of her moods! It is almost humiliating to realize how little I know of my own wife. I used to think I knew her, but now there is always some new turn. It is troubling. A fortnight ago she was nervous, almost frightened; now she is smiling and content.

The American corporal knocked at our door a little while ago, and when Maria went and opened it, he took off his queer little hat and bowed and asked her for a candle. He could say only two words, ‘candle’ and ‘please,’ and when she fetched it, he said one word only: ‘Thanks.’ Maria smiled at him and bade him good-night.

‘That is right, Maria,’ I said to her when she sat down. ‘It is our duty to be agreeable to these Americans. It is to them that we must look for help at the peace meeting.’

She sat up straight in her chair and looked hard at me.

‘That was not why I smiled at him!’ she exclaimed. ‘I know nothing of your peace meetings! He is always polite to me, and kind. I am learning something.’

She said no more, but seemed to forget me and bent over her sewing again, and I could see her smiling to herself. Thus a woman speaks in riddles.

December 21. — I cannot keep that child Marguerita away from the house, though she used not to come often. I know — it is the Americans. I met her coming along the street hand-in-hand with the corporal to-day. She is only eight years old, and the top of her head reached hardly above his waist. She kept hopping and skipping along, to keep even with him, and looking up at him, shouting and laughing the way children do. He would take her by both hands now and then, and lift her far off the ground, and they would both laugh aloud. They were so busy at this nonsense that they did n’t see me as I passed.

The other, the sergeant, leaned out of the window and called, —

‘Cut out that fraternizing, bo! The M.P.’s will run you in!’

One of these silly American jokes, I suppose. They are always going on in that fashion.

December 22. — We are beginning to hear tales of the Americans from all through the occupied district, on both sides of the Rhine. They are billeted in the towns and villages — sometimes one or two in a house, sometimes half a dozen or more. From everywhere one hears the same story of how they behave toward women and children, and of how the women and children are coming to like them. A truck-gardener from below Andernach told me that one or two of the women in his village had actually ventured to compare these strangers’ bearing with that of German men, to the disadvantage of the latter! Sometimes I wonder what we are coming to, indeed, when things like that can be spoken aloud.

But the men of the Rhineland are not to be fooled. They keep their heads. They do not like the Americans. We may all seem to be friendly toward them, men and women alike, but it is for a different reason. With the women, this conduct springs from their foolishness: they have their silly heads turned because these downy-cheeked boys stand aside to let them pass and say ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ and show them a sort of reverence. With the men, it is because we know what is best for the Fatherland; we know that there is nothing to be gained at present by showing animosity, and probably much is to be gained by the opposite attitude; these men will write back home of the Germans, and their feeling will be transferred to their Congress and cabinet ministers, and will find itself reflected at the Peace meeting. Oh, we Germans are not fools!

December 23. — On the stairs this morning, I met the corporal coming up with a loaf of bread and a great lump of butter in his hands. Fine yellow butter! I had not had even a taste for days, and it made my mouth waiter. I could not resist the impulse to obtain some. I would not speak English to him, — he is not to know that I can speak it, — but I went quickly into the kitchen and brought back two eggs a friend from the country had given me. When he opened the door to my knock, I pointed to the butter on the table, then to the eggs in my hand, and smiled so that he could not miss my meaning.

‘Nothing doing, Fritzie,’ he said, talking in his own language just as if he thought I could understand. ‘Against Army Regulations. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do.’

Thereupon he seized the bread and butter, took me by the elbow, and before I could understand what he was about had piloted me downstairs and into the room where Maria was cleaning the floor. With a knife which he drew from his pocket he cut a thick slice from the loaf of bread, spread butter on it, and handed it to Maria. He pushed her gently into a chair and said, —

‘Eat that.’

The impudent, fellow then locked his arm in mine, and we stood there together looking down at Maria munching the bread and butter.

‘Now, ain’t that fine?’ he asked, looking at me. ‘The very best quality your Uncle Samuel carries.’

I made a move to break away from him, but a sudden severe pressure of his arm prevented; and so we stood there until Maria had finished the last mouthful. Then he loosed me, bounded out of the room with the rest of the bread and butter, and ran up the stairs guffawing at the top of his lungs. Maria might well have looked ashamed, but she did not. She got up from her chair and went ahead with her cleaning as if nothing had happened.

December 24. — After luncheon today I found Maria and the child Marguerita putting up a small Christmas tree, all decorated with beads and tinsel and colored candles, in the room of the two Americans.

December 27. — These Americans are soft. It is easy to see that they could not be fighters, with their mild and bashful ways. It was their luck to reach the battlefield when our men had become tired after years of war, and when our leaders had already decided it was wisest to make peace. Naturally they cannot be resisted in any manner here. It would not be prudent to cause any ill-feeling under present circumstances; besides, all the Germans have had their arms taken away from them. But what short work we could make of them if we had a fair chance!

December 28. — There is much talk of the Republic, as if it were surely a permanent affair. We are to have an election to choose delegates to a National Assembly. This is all very well. We have to go on with it and make the best of it, for a time. But one would think, to hear some of these young radicals talk, that, all eternity was embraced in a half-year. They do not seem to realize that time brings great changes. Our schoolmasters have taught us how Prussia, a short while after being under the heel of Napoleon, had trained an army and was again in the field. The peace will come; the armed forces now gathered will scatter; all the nations of the world will not necessarily be always leagued against us, as they are now. At this moment our armies are out of action, and our Kaiser is in exile; but who knows — there is much speech-making, and issuing of manifestoes, and such like. But there are several million Germans who are saying little, and thinking, and — waiting. They may be enrolling in this or that party, Majority Socialist, or People’s Democratic Party, or what not; but they are, first of all, Germans.

December 29. — This being Sunday, I remained at home. In the afternoon, while the two American soldiers sat on the front steps, in the fine weather, I was in my armchair just inside the window. After talking a few minutes about their desire to return home (in t heir ignorance not valuing the privilege of spending several months in such a city as ours), the sergeant remarked, —

‘The fat Fritzie we live with is a great old stiff, ain’t he?’

‘You know he’s in the window there and can hear every word we say,’ replied the corporal, whose name is Tanner.

‘What’s the odds? He can’t understand English. We can say what we like.’

‘That’s right; we can call the old pig all the names in the dictionary.’

I chuckled to myself at this, and the satisfaction at outwitting these foreigners outweighed the natural discomfort I felt at hearing uncomplimentary things about myself.

‘Ain’t he the selfishest one you ever saw?’ agreed the sergeant.

‘Looks out for number one every minute, you bet.’

‘You ought to’ve seen him the other day when I made him stand and watch his wife eat that bread and butter. He pretty near foamed at the mouth.’

‘Never looks so happy as when he starts out after supper every night to guzzle beer with those other Heinies in the café up the street.’

‘Treats his wife like a dog.’

‘She’s a nice sort of woman. Hard luck to be hooked up to a thing like him, eh?’

‘If we could stay here and train the children, there would n’t be any left like him after about fifty years.’

‘You ’re right. And Germany ’ll never be any good till they get rid of his kind.’

They paused a moment, and I could hear them laugh.

‘Now, let him have it, corporal,’ said the sergeant.

‘And the funniest thing about him,’ said the corporal, raising his voice, ‘is how he thinks he’s fooling us about not understanding English. We caught on to the way he was listening the first day we were here, and yet he thinks he’s kept us in the dark. And now he sits there right behind us in the window, listening to all the names we’ve been calling him, and thinking how clever he is. Ain’t it the funniest — ’

In my indignation, I shut the window with a bang at this point. As I went upstairs I could hear the two creatures shouting with laughter. I would not write down this stupid talk, except as an illustration of the brutal manners of these Americans.

(To be concluded)