In a German Railway Carriage

I

THE rain was falling more and more steadily. With the end of the London Times I wiped a clear spot on the window and assured myself that t he German peasants were admitting defeat for that day and starting homeward. Here and there one who had more feel for weather than his fellows was already approaching a little red-roofed village, his oxen plodding at exactly the same rate as though the May sun were shining on them; sometimes the wife walked on ahead, less patient than the males, her white headker-chief a bright dot even in the rain.

The man across from me, in the opposite seat, was old — not so old in years, perhaps, but in what some of the years had done to him. Every feature sagged; he was not really fat, but he covered all of the thin cushion he had put on the wooden seat. He looked out the window at the rain with a face that seemed to have been expressionless a long time.

‘Looks like good soil here,’ I said.

‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘this is good country. You are an Englishman?’

‘No, American.’

‘Going to Leipzig?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where have you come from?’

‘I left Paris yesterday morning. Everything seemed quiet enough.’

‘Don’t you believe it! The French will find out what it means to tie up to Soviet Russia! We are the only country in the world who understand the situation. You in America have no conception of the danger you are in. You will have more strikes, too. It’s only in Germany that those things can’t happen.’

I nodded. I could n’t argue with him. He had learned his lesson well, word for word. Why should I, a foreigner, make him repeat it?

I offered him a cigarette, lighted his and mine, and we smoked in silence. The young German who entered shortly with ‘Heil Hitler!’ seemed to feel the silence and buried himself in a collection of illustrated weeklies. In the course of time, however, he had exhausted his resources and felt drawn to conversation. He held up to view a magazine whose front page was an almost lifesize photograph of Hitler.

‘The newest picture,’ he assured us. ‘Is n’t it beautiful?’

There was certainly no malevolence in that gentle face with its childlike bright eyes. But did he really expect an answer?

‘I scarcely think anyone could call him really beautiful,’ I said.

The young man still wore his friendly smile; apparently my tone had been sufficiently objective.

‘But there is something so wonderful about his face,’ he explained. ‘So of another world, so individual . . .’

The train stopped at a small country station. A well-scrubbed, energetic young woman entered the compartment with a clearly articulated ‘Heil Hitler!’ Our responses varied. The newcomer at once heard that I was a foreigner, an American, and lost no time getting to work.

‘Your first visit to Germany?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what do you think of it all?’

‘I think it’s a beautiful country — at least here in the south.’

‘And the rest of it — the people, our new life here?’

‘I have n’t been here long enough yet to feel that I understand just what is really going on.’

‘But surely you see how united we all are behind our wonderful Leader. Nowhere else in the world is there such loyalty, such unselfish devotion, such joy! ’

‘Then it seems strange,’ I replied, ‘that the people look so sad and so without hope — the people in the subways, on the streets, in the shops.’

‘ Oh, but you ’re mistaken! The people look happy. The occasional individual, of course, may have his private cares, but the mass of the people have pride and joy in their faces.’

‘No,’ I insisted, having started the thing, ‘it’s the occasional individual who may have something pleasant to think about. The mass of the people look very depressed. It’s quite striking.’

‘Well, that can be only the effect of foreign propaganda,’ she explained. ‘You read before you came here that our people were poor and miserable. That’s the only explanation of your not seeing what is so evident. Our young people are getting such splendid training now! I’ve just come from one of the work camps for girls; have you heard about them?’

Fortunately I had heard about them. I jumped at the chance to show her that I was not entirely prejudiced.

‘I find it very interesting that they are compulsory for girls who want to attend a university. The world has had too many women, this last generation or so, who knew their books and nothing else. But do you think it’s wise to give these young girls only six hours’ sleep and no time for reading or recreation or relaxation?’

‘But they have plenty of time for relaxation. They rest an hour every day after dinner. And every evening after supper they sing songs. They don’t need to read; there are plenty of lectures during the late afternoon and evening. And as to their getting up at quarter of five every morning, country people have to do that, of course, and it’s splendid to be able to do so much work. You in America, where you have everything, don’t feel your responsibilities. Here in Germany, a poor country, under Adolf Hitler everyone is taken care of; everyone, whoever he may be, has all he needs. In your country, if a man is out of work, no one bothers about him. He can starve to death and nobody cares.‘

It was my turn to be startled. ‘Where did you get any such idea as that? We have spent billions of dollars for relief. The unemployed man in America, if he has a family, gets more than the man who works fifty-three hours a week on your auto highways.’

‘You have doubtless given plenty of money,’ she said, ‘but there’s no system, no organization. No one really cares, as Adolf Hitler does here in Germany!’

She was gathering up her things; I was glad her trip had been short; I might have become indiscreet.

Again we rode in silence. Rain continued to cloud the windows. I eyed the young German.

‘I’m afraid I did n’t make my meaning really clear when I was talking to the young lady,’ I told him. ‘What I was trying to say was that in some countries we think it is too bad for a man or woman to have to work such long hours to make a living that he is too tired to be able to think about anything else.’

He was struggling into his raincoat, still amiable. ‘I can see that,’ he said. ‘That’s something to talk over with my sister. I wish you a pleasant journey. Heil Hitler!’

II

The train drew to a stop, more slowly than usual.

‘Grüss Gott!‘

The man who stood in the doorway radiated health, confidence, success. His face was round, his smile infectious; his cheeks and his necktie were red; his black and white checked suit would have satisfied my freshman son. The diamond on his finger was conspicuously genuine.

He sat down beside the old gentleman and produced a newspaper on which Mussolini and Paris were the two most striking words. Again the old gentleman prepared to do his duty.

‘These strikes in Paris! The French will find out what it means to tie up to Soviet Russia.’

The other man eyed him, nodded slowly, and smiled genially.

‘Yes, the French will find out. The French have learned from us; they know they’ll be a lot better off to tie up with Soviet Russia than to get into the mess we’ve got ourselves into!’

The old gentleman made almost a quarter turn on his cushion. I hope I looked less startled than he, but I was conscious of a distinct sensation at the roots of my hair. The old gentleman apparently did not believe his ears.

‘But we are safe from Communists. No Communist can get foothold in Germany.’

‘What difference does it make what name you give them? What evils are there in Communism that we don’t have here in Germany, in a country whose standards of living, of education, of culture, were immeasurably higher than those of Russia? Are n’t we, too, controlled by terrorism, by force of arms and sheer brutality? How can any intelligent man think that anything based on physical force alone can endure?’

‘But the French! What do they understand about anything?’

‘The French have no capacity for painstaking research, of course; they are n’t the scientists we are; they can’t build dirigibles; they can’t write symphonies; they know nothing about organization. But when it comes to understanding human nature, they’re a lot cleverer than we dumb Germans are! When anyone pipes,’ he made the appropriate gesture, ‘we dance!’

‘As soldiers they’ll never be our equals.’

‘Soldiers? War? What difference does that make? When did war really settle anything? In 1914 I was a student in England; I was spending a holiday at home when the war broke out; I could have been over the border in no time. But I joined up instead, young fool that I was! I was wounded four times; five months I was blind from gas — but then, that did n’t matter. But look at the world to-day! Don’t you see that it’s impossible for any country, even if it calls itself victorious in war, to win as much as it is bound to lose?’

‘You’re probably right about that,’ the old man admitted, ‘but you certainly know that in order to have efficient government . . .’

‘What do I care what form of government they have? They may organize it as they like, give it any name they like, as long as there are honest men running it. But a rogue is a rogue. Communist, Monarchist, Social Democrat, Jew, Mohammedan, Christian, or National Socialist — a rogue is still a rogue! ’

The older man had met more than his equal. He could only nod and murmur, ‘Yes, you’re right, you’re right.’

But the younger one was not satisfied merely to have quieted the opposition. He went on: ‘An honest man may make a mistake. I may be sure I can accomplish a certain thing and promise someone that I will do it. And then circumstances change; something may occur to upset all my calculations, and I may find I can’t do what I promised to do. What then? Why — being an honest man, I can go to that person and say, “My friend, I thought I could do thus and so, but for such and such reasons I find I can’t. I am very sorry, but, things being as they are, we shall have to make new plans and do the best we can under the circumstances.”

‘But if I stand up,’ and in his eagerness our friend jumped to his feet, struck an heroic attitude, and pulled his hair down over one eye, ‘and say, “I have given my people work! I have given my people bread!” — then I’m nothing but a common liar!’

He sat down again and grinned across at me.

‘And of course, in addition to honesty, it would be desirable to have a little common sense. In the complicated world of to-day, where whatever happens in one country has some effect upon the economic and industrial life of every other country, we can make progress only by all working together — people all over the world working together. For one man to say, “I know all the answers! I can give my people peace and prosperity and independence and happiness” — that’s sheer presumption — sheer presumption! ’

At last he came to a full stop and leaned back in the corner next to the door. But he was not watching the occasional passer-by in the corridor. Who was this man who dared, in loud, clear tones, without peering into the compartment on either side to see who might be listening, to say a dozen things any one of which was enough to put him in a concentration camp? Thousands of men had disappeared for whispering to their ‘friends’ just one such statement. Through letters of introduction, I had met men who told me confidentially that they and many others were not behind Hitler, and were grieved and horrified at what he was doing to Germany as a nation and the German people as individuals. I knew that the vaunted unity was a tragic farce. Was this man a Nazi agent who would hand the old gentleman (who had said, ‘Yes, you’re right, you’re right’) over to the Leipzig secret police? But certainly no Nazi agent would say such things in front of a foreigner, even to trap a tired old man.

The old gentleman, too, was wondering about him.

‘You know this country around here?’ he inquired.

‘Oh yes, I know every bit of it. I live in Leipzig. I make most of my trips around in my car, but this morning my wife wanted it, so I came down by train — good thing, too, the way it turned out.’

He smiled at the streaming windows. So in Nazi Germany he was getting along well enough to drive a car!

‘These new auto highways — they’re grand, I suppose?’ The old gentleman evidently neither had a car of his own nor rode with friends.

‘The new auto highways are a menace and a curse! I steer clear of them! Straight across country, mile after mile you sit there with your foot on the accelerator, and the fellow ahead of you and the fellow behind you all do the same. Somebody goes to sleep just because there’s nothing interesting enough to keep him awake. Bang! Then if you’re still alive you go to court.’

‘ But they have given work to a lot of people; they’ve done that much good, have n’t they ? ’

‘Work? Forced labor, nothing more nor less. Fifty-three hours a week, and not enough pay to buy bread for your family. That’s not “work”!’

III

Our conversation was at an end. The train had stopped again and the corridor was full of passengers looking for convenient seats. With successive ‘Heil Hitlers’ four people settled themselves, their suitcases, and their raincoats among us: an erect, tight-lipped business man and his bustling, fullskirted, pleasant-faced Hausfrau of a wife; a tailor-made spinster who was certainly a retired school-teacher; a short, thickset, black-haired man who settled himself in the corner, across from our prosperous friend. And then came the fifth, a young soldier, one of the military service boys, in his natty gray uniform that in the World War would have been good enough for an officer. He put his cap up between the suitcases and fitted himself into the vacant space beside the checked suit. With regret I decided that the unmistakable smell of spirits that pervaded the compartment came from his breath. He sat with his hands between his knees and his attention apparently focused upon the toes of his boots.

The dark man seemed to be interested in soldiers.

‘What camp are you from?’ he asked.

The boy gave the name, but it escaped me; foreign names are hard to catch.

’I suppose you are going home on leave? To Leipzig?’

The boy looked up. ‘Yes, and I’ve a good mind not to go back. “Adolf Hitler! Adolf Hitler!” March and drill and learn to hate everybody but yourselves! Then more “Adolf Hitler!” Does the little Austrian think he owns us, body and soul?’

My rosy-cheeked friend was not smiling now. He laid a hand on the boy’s arm.

‘You’ve been drinking, son,’ he said. ‘You’d better keep quiet until you get over it.’

The young German looked at the older man. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, silently. Then he resumed his former attitude, with lowered head. Soon he stood up and, without looking at any of us, made his way into the corridor and out of sight.

The dark man in the corner next to the door crossed his legs and chuckled.

‘When he gets to Leipzig, the police will have something to say to him. Sitting there in the uniform of the Fatherland, talking like that of our Leader!’

Silence was the only answer to his remark. Each passenger was evidently occupied with his own thoughts. No one read, no one smoked. The rain, sliding down the window, was the only thing that moved. At last the gentleman in the checked suit arose and stretched himself, sauntered out into the corridor, looked out into the rain on that side, then disappeared. He returned after a short time, stood in the doorway and looked at us all with a friendly smile, then sat down and lighted a cigarette. But the young soldier did not come back. The train continued its rather leisurely way, stopping here and there, but all our fellow travelers were apparently bound for Leipzig. There were seven of us, and the soldier’s cap up with the baggage — and we were getting nearer and nearer to Leipzig.

Finally the man who put his faith in the police got up and left us. As soon as he was out of sight our prosperouslooking friend took down the soldier’s cap, stuffed it into his brief case, and resumed his nonchalant attitude. In a very few minutes the dark man was back, and at once he saw that the cap had disappeared.

‘Aha! He’s been back. What’s become of him?’

My friend was perfectly leisurely in the way he took his cigarette from his mouth and flicked the ashes into the receptacle.

‘He said something about being hungry. You’ll probably find him in the diner.’

Are there those who deny that a lie can be perfectly and absolutely white?

The dark man sat down, but he was restless. Ten minutes before we reached Leipzig he had gathered together his brief case, his suitcase, and his raincoat and was standing in the corridor at the forward end of the car. The rest of us followed his example, got our belongings together, and without a single ‘Heil Hitler!’ filed into the corridor. I managed to keep my place behind my mysterious friend.

Before the train had really stopped, the dark man had jumped to the platform and was running toward the gate. When we passed through the gate, he was standing on one side of it; on the other side were two policemen, their attention divided between the informer and the line of approaching passengers.

I kept abreast of my friend; I wondered when I should dare ask the question that kept me from saying anything else. Finally he laughed.

‘ If they wanted that boy, they should have been some fifty kilometres down the track an hour ago. They’re in for a big disappointment.’

‘But what became of him?’

‘Oh, he got off the train at one of those little stations out in the country. He came to the conclusion it would be healthier there than in Leipzig to-day,’ and he laughed again.

‘It’s lucky that man did n’t choose that particular moment to go out into the corridor; he might have chased him down the platform and there would have been a hullabaloo.’

‘Never a chance! The youngster did n’t go by way of the platform. He went out of the window on the other side. We put him in a second-class compartment that happened to be vacant, in the next coach; I pulled down the curtains and the conductor locked the door. When he opened it as we were leaving the next station, the compartment was empty. He nodded to me the next time he went along the corridor, so I knew it worked all right. You don’t need to worry about that young man to-day, my friend!’

‘The conductor!’ I gasped.

‘Yes, the conductor; they’re mostly good fellows.’

We had stopped in front of the large map of the city of Leipzig. The gentleman turned around and stood as though waiting for someone.

‘But the cap?’ I asked.

‘I’m waiting until the conductor comes along,’ he replied. ‘ I ’ll take him over to get a glass of beer in a little place near here, and slip the cap to him there. He’ll get it back either to that boy or to one of his buddies; they go back and forth here all the time. The boy’ll get his cap almost before he misses it.’

He extended his hand.

‘Grüss Gott,‘ he said with that same genial smile.

‘ Grüss Gott!’ I replied. ‘Und auf Wiedersehen! ’

I never saw him again, of course, but I hope that God has watched over him in present-day Germany.