WITH
THE YEAR 1915 enemy propaganda began in our country, after 1916
it became more and more intensive, till finally, at the
beginning of the year 1918, it swelled to a positive flood. Now
the results of this seduction could be seen at every step. The
army gradually learned to think as the enemy wanted it to.
And the
German counter-action was a complete failure.
In the person
of the man whose intellect and will made him its leader, the
army had the intention and determination to take up the
struggle in this field, too, but it lacked the instrument which
would have been necessary. And from the psychological point of
view, it was wrong to have this enlightenment work carried on
by the troops themselves. If it was to be effective, it had to
come from home. Only then was there any assurance of success
among the men who, after all, had been performing immortal
deeds of heroism and privation for nearly four years for this
homeland.
But what came
out of the home country?
Was this
failure stupidity or crime?
In midsummer
of 1918, after the evacuation of the southern bank of the
Marne, the German press above all conducted itself with such
miserable awkwardness, nay, criminal stupidity, that my wrath
mounted by the day, and the question arose within me: Is there
really no one who can put an end to this spiritual squandering
of the army's heroism?
What happened
in France in 1914 when we swept into the country in an
unprecedented storm of victory? What did Italy do in the days
after her Isonzo front had collapsed? And what again did France
do in the spring of 1918 when the attack of the German
divisions seemed to lift her positions off their hinges and the
far-reaching arm of the heavy long-range batteries began to
knock at the doors of Paris?
How they
whipped the fever heat of national passion into the faces of
the hastily retreating regiments in those countries ! What
propaganda and ingenious demagogy were used to hammer the faith
in final victory back into the hearts of the broken fronts!
Meanwhile,
what happened in our country?
Nothing, or
worse than nothing.
Rage and
indignation often rose up in me when I looked at the latest
newspapers, and came face to face with the psychological mass
murder that was being committed.
More than
once I was tormented by the thought that if Providence had put
me in the place of the incapable or criminal incompetents or
scoundrels in our propaganda service, our battle with Destiny
would have taken a different turn.
In these
months I felt for the first time the whole malice of Destiny
which kept me at the front in a position where every negro
might accidentally shoot me to bits, while elsewhere I would
have been able to perform quite different services for the
fatherland !
For even then
I was rash enough to believe that I would have succeeded in
this.
But I was a
nameless soldier, one among eight million!
And so it was
better to hold my tongue and do my duty in the trenches as best
I could.
In the summer
of 1915, the first enemy leaflets fell into our hands.
Aside from a
few changes in the form of presentation, their Content was
almost always the same, to wit: that the suffering was growing
greater and greater in Germany; that the War was going to last
forever while the hope of winning it was gradually vanishing;
that the people at home were, therefore, longing for peace, but
that 'militarism' and the 'Kaiser' did not allow it; that the
whole world-to whom this was very well known- was, therefore,
not waging a war on the German people, but exclusively against
the sole guilty party, the Kaiser; that, therefore, the War
would not be over before this enemy of peaceful humanity should
be eliminated; that when the War was ended, the libertarian and
democratic nations would take the German people into the league
of eternal world peace, which would be assured from the hour
when ' Prussian militarism ' was destroyed.
The better to
illustrate these claims, 'letters from home' were often
reprinted whose contents seemed to confirm these
assertions.
On the whole,
we only laughed in those days at all these efforts. The
leaflets were read, then sent back to the higher staffs, and
for the most part forgotten until the wind again sent a load of
them sailing down into the trenches; for, as a rule, the
leaflets were brought over by airplanes.
In this type
of propaganda there was one point which soon inevitably
attracted attention: in every sector of the front where
Bavarians were stationed, Prussia was attacked with
extraordinary consistency, with the assurance that not only was
Prussia on the one hand the really guilty and responsible party
for the whole war, but that on the other hand there was not the
slightest hostility against Bavaria in particular; however,
there was no helping Bavaria as long as she served Prussian
militarism and helped to pull its chestnuts out of the
fire.
Actually this
kind of propaganda began to achieve certain effects in 1915.
The feeling against Prussia grew quite visibly among the
troops-yet not a single step was taken against it from above.
This was more than a mere sin of omission, and sooner or later
we were bound to suffer most catastrophically for it; and not
just the 'Prussians,' but the whole German people, to which
Bavaria herself is not the last to belong.
In this
direction enemy propaganda began to achieve unquestionable
successes from 1916 on.
Likewise the
complaining letters direct from home had long been having their
effect. It was no longer necessary for the enemy to transmit
them to the frontline soldiers by means of leaflets, etc. And
against this, aside from a few psychologically idiotic
'admonitions' on the part of the 'government,' nothing was
done. Just as before, the front was flooded with this poison
dished up by thoughtless women at home, who, of course, did not
suspect that this was the way to raise the enemy's confidence
in victory to the highest pitch, thus consequently to prolong
and sharpen the sufferings of their men at the fighting front.
In the time that followed, the senseless letters of German
women cost hundreds of thousands of men their lives.
Thus, as
early as 1916, there appeared various phenomena that would
better have been absents The men at the front complained and
'beefed'; they began to be dissatisfied in many ways and
sometimes were even righteously indignant. While they starved
and suffered, while their people at home lived in misery, there
was abundance and high-living in other circles. Yes, even at
the fighting front all was not in order in this respect.
Even then a
slight crisis was emerging-but these were still
'internal' affairs. The same man, who at first had cursed and
grumbled, silently did his duty a few minutes later as
though
this was a matter of course. The same company, which at first
was discontented, clung to the piece of trench it had to defend
as though Germany's fate depended on these few hundred yards of
mudholes. It was still the front of the old, glorious army of
heroes!
I was to
learn the difference between it and the homeland in a
glaring contrast.
At the end of
September, 1916, my division moved into the Battle of the
Somme. For us it was the first of the tremendous battles of
materiel which now followed, and the impression was hard to
describe-it was more like hell than war.
Under a
whirlwind of drumfire that lasted for weeks, the German front
held fast, sometimes forced back a little, then again pushing
forward, but never wavering.
On October 7,
1916, I was wounded.
I was brought
safely to the rear, and from there was to return to Germany
with a transport.
Two years had
now passed since I had seen the homeland under such conditions
an almost endless time. I could scarcely imagine how Germans
looked who were not in uniform. As I lay in the field hospital
at Hermies, I almost collapsed for fright when suddenly the
voice of a German woman serving as a nurse addressed a man
lying beside me.
For the first
time in two years to hear such a sound!
The closer
our train which was to bring us home approached the border, the
more inwardly restless each of us became. All the towns passed
by, through which we had ridden two years previous as young
soldiers: Brussels, Louvain, Liege, and at last we thought we
recognized the first German house by its high gable and
beautiful shutters.
The
fatherland!
In October,
1914, we had burned with stormy enthusiasm as we crossed the
border; now silence and emotion reigned. Each of us was happy
that Fate again permitted him to see what he had had to defend
so hard with his life, and each man was wellnigh ashamed to let
another look him in the eye.
It was almost
on the anniversary of the day when I left for the front that I
reached the hospital at Beelitz near Berlin.
What a
change! From the mud of the Battle of the Somme into the white
beds of this miraculous building! In the beginning we hardly
dared to lie in them properly. Only gradually could we
reaccustom ourselves to this new world.
Unfortunately,
this world was new in another respect as well.
The spirit of
the army at the front seemed no longer to be a guest here.l
Here for the first time I heard a thing that was still unknown
at the front; men bragging about their own cowardice! For the
cursing and 'beefing' you could hear at the front were never an
incitement to shirk duty or a glorification of the coward. No!
The coward still passed as a coward and as nothing else; and al
he contempt which struck him was still general, just like the
admiration that was given to the real hero. But here in the
hospital it was partly almost the opposite: the most
unscrupulous agitators did the talking and attempted with all
the means of their contemptible eloquence to make the
conceptions of the decent soldiers ridiculous and hold up the
spineless coward as an example. A few wretched scoundrels in
particular set the tone. One boasted that he himself had pulled
his hand through a barbed-wire entanglement in order to be sent
to the hospital; in spite of this absurd wound he seemed to
have been here for an endless time, and for that matter he had
only gotten into the transport to Germany by a swindle. This
poisonous fellow went so far in his insolent effrontery as to
represent his own cowardice as an emanation 2 Of higher bravery
than the hero's death of an honest soldier. Many listened in
silence, others went away, but a few assented.
Disgust
mounted to my throat, but the agitator was calmly tolerated in
the institution. What could be done? The management couldn't
help knowing, and actually did know, exactly who and what he
was. But nothing was done.
When I could
again walk properly, I obtained permission to go to Berlin.
Clearly there
was dire misery everywhere. The big city was suffering from
hunger. Discontent was great. In various soldiers' homes the
tone was like that in the hospital. It gave you the impression
that these scoundrels were intentionally frequenting such
places in order to spread their views.
But much,
much worse were conditions in Munich itself !
When I was
discharged from the hospital as cured and transferred to the
replacement battalion, I thought I could no longer recognize
the city. Anger, discontent, cursing, wherever you went! In the
replacement battalion itself the mood was beneath all
criticism. Here a contributing factor was the immeasurably
clumsy way in which the field soldiers were treated by old
training officers who hadn't spent a single hour in the field
and for this reason alone were only partially able to create a
decent relationship with the old soldiers. For it had to be
admitted that the latter possessed certain qualities which
could be explained by their service at the front, but which
remained totally incomprehensible to the leaders of these
replacement detachments while the officer who had come from the
front was at least able to explain them. The latter, of course,
was respected by the men quite differently than the rear
commander. But aside from this, the general mood was miserable:
to be a slacker passed almost as a sign of higher wisdom, while
loyal steadfastness was considered a symptom of inner weakness
and narrow-mindedness. The offices were filled with Jews.
Nearly every clerk was a Jew and nearly every Jew was a clerk.
I was amazed at this plethora of warriors of the chosen people
and could not help but compare them with their rare
representatives at the front.
As regards
economic life, things were even worse Here the Jewish people
had become really 'indispensable.' The spider was slowly
beginning to suck the blood out of the people's pores. Through
the war corporations, they had found an instrument with which,
little by little, to finish off the national free economy
The necessity
of an unlimited centralization was emphasized
Thus, in the
year 191S17 nearly the whole of production was under the
control of Jewish finance.
But against
whom was the hatred of the people directed?
At this time
I saw with horror a catastrophe approaching which, unless
averted in time, would inevitably lead to collapse.
While the Jew
robbed the whole nation and pressed it beneath his domination,
an agitation was carried on against the 'Prussians.' At home,
as at the front, nothing was done against this poisonous
propaganda. No one seemed to suspect that the collapse of
Prussia would not by a long shot bring with it a resurgence of
Bavaria; no, that on the contrary any fall of the one would
inevitably carry the other along with it into the abyss.
I felt very
badly about this behavior. In it I could only see the craftiest
trick of the Jew, calculated to distract the general attention
from himself and to others. While the Bavarian and the Prussian
fought, he stole the existence of both of them from under their
nose; while the Bavarians were cursing the Prussians, the Jew
organized the revolution and smashed Prussia and Bavaria at
once.
I could not
bear this accursed quarrel among German peoples, and was glad
to return to the front, for which I reported at once after my
arrival in Munich.
At the
beginning of March, 1917, I was back with my regiment.
Toward the
end of I911, the low point of the army's dejection seemed to
have passed. The whole army took fresh hope and fresh courage
after the Russian collapse. The conviction that the War would
end with the victory of Germany, after all, began to seize the
troops more and more. Again singing could be heard and the
Calamity Lanes became rarer. Again people believed in the
future of the fatherland.
Especially
the Italian collapse of autumn, 1917, had had the most
wonderful effect; in this victory we saw a proof of the
possibility of breaking through the front, even aside from the
Russian theater of war. A glorious faith flowed again into the
hearts of the millions, enabling them to await spring, 1918,
with relief and confidence. The foe was visibly depressed. In
this winter he remained quieter than usual. This was the lull
before the storm.
But, while
those at the front were undertaking the last preparations for
the final conclusion of the eternal struggle, while endless
transports of men and materiel were rolling toward the West
Front, and the troops were being trained for the great attack-
the biggest piece of chicanery in the whole war broke out in
Germany.
Germany must
not be victorious; in the last hour, with victory already
threatening to be with the German banners, a means was chosen
which seemed suited to stifle the German spring attack in the
germ with one blow, to make victory impossible:
The munitions
strike was organized
If it
succeeded, the German front was bound to collapse, and the
Vorwarts' desire that this time victory should not be with the
German banners would inevitably be fulfilled. Owing to the lack
of munitions, the front would inevitably be pierced in a few
weeks; thus the offensive was thwarted, the Entente saved
international capital was made master of Germany, and the inner
aim of the Marxist swindle of nations achieved.
To smash the
national economy and establish the rule of international
capital a goal which actually was achieved, thanks to the
stupidity and credulity of the one side and the bottomless
cowardice of the other.
To be sure,
the munitions strike did not have all the hoped-for success
with regard to starving the front of arms; it collapsed too
soon for the lack of munitions as such-as the plan had been- to
doom the army to destruction.
But how much
more terrible was the moral damage that had been done!
In the first
place: What was the army fighting for if the homeland itself no
longer wanted victory? For whom the immense sacrifices and
privations? The soldier is expected to fight for victory and
the homeland goes on strike against it!
And in the
second place: What was the effect on the enemy?
In the winter
of 1917 to 1918, dark clouds appeared for the first time in the
firmament of the Allied world. For nearly four years they had
been assailing the German warrior and had been unable to
encompass his downfall; and all this while the German had only
his shield arm free for defense, while his sword was obliged to
strike, now in the East, now in the South. But now at last the
giant's back was free. Streams of blood had flown before he
administered final defeat to one of his foes. Now in the West
his shield was going to be joined by his sword; up till then
the enemy had been unable to break his defense, and now he
himself was facing attack.
The enemy
feared him and trembled for their victory.
In London and
Paris one deliberation followed another, but at the front
sleepy silence prevailed. Suddenly their high mightinesses lost
their effrontery. Even enemy propaganda was having a hard time
of it; it was no longer so easy to prove the hopelessness of
German victory.
But this also
applied to the Allied troops at the fronts. A ghastly light
began to dawn slowly even on them. Their inner attitude toward
the German soldier had changed. Until then he may have seemed
to them a fool destined to defeat; but now it was the destroyer
of the Russian ally that stood before them. The limitation of
the German offensives to the East, though born of necessity,
now seemed to them brilliant tactics. For three years these
Germans had stormed the Russian front, at first it seemed
without the slightest success. The Allies almost laughed over
this aimless undertaking; for in the end the Russian giant with
his overwhelming number of men was sure to remain the victor
while Germany would inevitably collapse from loss of blood.
Reality seemed to confirm this hope.
Since the
September days of 1914, when for the first time the endless
hordes of Russian prisoners from the Battle of Tannenberg began
moving into Germany over the roads and railways, this stream
was almost without end-but for every defeated and destroyed
army a new one arose. Inexhaustibly the gigantic Empire gave
the Tsar more and more new soldiers and the War its new
victims. How long could Germany keep up this race? Would not
the day inevitably come when the Germans would win their last
victory and still the Russian armies would not be marching to
their last battle? And then what? In all human probability the
victory of Russia could be postponed, but it was bound to
come.
Now all these
hopes were at an end: the ally who had laid the greatest blood
sacrifices on the altar of common interests was at the end of
his strength, and lay prone at the feet of the inexorable
assailant. Fear and horror crept into the hearts of the
soldiers who had hitherto believed so blindly. They feared the
coming spring. For if up until then they had not succeeded in
defeating the German when he was able to place only part of his
forces on the Western Front, how could they count on victory
now that the entire power of this incredible heroic state
seemed to be concentrating for an attack on the West?
The shadows
of the South Tyrolean Mountains lay oppressive on the fantasy;
as far as the mists of Flanders, the defeated armies of Cadorna
conjured up gloomy faces, and faith in victory ceded to fear of
coming defeat.
Then-when out
of the cool nights the Allied soldiers already seemed to hear
the dull rumble of the advancing storm units of the German
army, and with eyes fixed in fear and trepidation awaited the
approaching judgment, suddenly a flaming red light arose in
Germany, casting its glow into the last shell-hole of the enemy
front: at the very moment when the German divisions were
receiving their last instructions for the great attack, the
general strike broke out in Germany.
At first the
world was speechless. But then enemy propaganda hurled itself
with a sigh of relief on this help that came in the eleventh
hour. At one stroke the means was found to restore the sinking
confidence of the Allied soldiers, once again to represent the
probability of victory as certain,l and transform dread anxiety
in the face of coming events into determined confidence. Now
the regiments awaiting the German attack could be sent into the
greatest battle of all time with the conviction that, not the
boldness of the German assault would decide the end of this war
but the perseverance of the defense. Let the Germans achieve as
many victories as they pleased; at home the revolution was
before the door, and not the victorious army..
English,
French, and American newspapers began to implant this faith in
the hearts of their readers while an infinitely shrewd
propaganda raised the spirits of the troops at the front.
'Germany
facing revolution! Victory of the Allies inevitable! This was
the best medicine to help the wavering poilu and Tommy back on
their feet. Now rifles and machine guns could again be made to
fire, and a headlong flight in panic fear was replaced by
hopeful resistance.
This was the
result of the munitions strike. It strengthened the enemy
peoples' belief in victory and relieved the paralyzing despair
of the Allied front-in the time that followed, thousands of
German soldiers had to pay for this with their blood. The
instigators of this vilest of all scoundrelly tricks were the
aspirants to the highest state positions of revolutionary
Germany.
On the German
side, it is true, the visible reaction to this crime could at
first apparently be handled; on the enemy side, however, the
consequences did not fail to appear. The resistance had lost
the aimlessness of an army giving up all as lost, and took on
the bitterness of a struggle for victory.
For now, in
all human probability, victory was inevitable if the Western
Front could stand up under a German attack for only a few
months. The parliaments of the Entente, however, recognized the
possibilities for the future and approved unprecedented
expenditures for continuing the propaganda to disrupt
Germany.
I had the
good fortune to fight in the first two offensives and in the
last.
These became
the most tremendous impressions of my life; tremendous because
now for the last time, as in 1914, the fight lost the character
of defense and assumed that of attack. A sigh of relief passed
through the trenches and the dugouts of the German army when at
length, after more than three years' endurance in the enemy
hell, the day of retribution came. Once again the victorious
battalions cheered and hung the last wreaths of immortal laurel
on their banners rent by the storm of victory. Once again the
songs of the fatherland roared to the heavens along the endless
marching columns, and for the last time the Lord's grace smiled
on His ungrateful children.
In midsummer
of 1918, oppressive sultriness lay over the front. At home
there was fighting. For what? In the different detachments of
the field army all sorts of things were being said: that the
war was now hopeless and only fools could believe in victory
That not the people but only capital and the monarchy had an
interest in holding out any longer-all this came from the
homeland and was discussed even at the front.
At first the
front reacted very little. What did we care about universal
suffrage? Had we fought four years for that? It was vile
banditry to steal the war aim of the dead heroes from their
very graves. The young regiments had not gone to their death in
Flanders crying: 'Long dive universal suffrage and the secret
ballot,' but crying: 'Deutschland uber Alles in der Welt.' A
small yet not entirely insignificant, difference. But most of
those who cried out for suffrage hadn't ever been in the place
where they now wanted to fight for it. The front was unknown to
the whole political party rabble. Only a small fraction of the
Parliamentary ian gentlemen could be seen where all decent
Germans with sound limbs left were sojourning at that time.
And so the
old personnel at the front was not very receptive to this new
war aims of Messrs. Ebert, Scheidemann, Barth, Liebnitz, etc.
They couldn't for the life of them see why suddenly the
slackers should have the right to arrogate to themselves
control of the state over the heads of the army.
My personal
attitude was established from the very start. I hated the whole
gang of miserable party scoundrels and betrayers of the people
in the extreme. It had long been clear to me that this whole
gang was not really concerned with the welfare of the nation,
but with filling empty pockets. For this they were ready to
sacrifice the whole nation, and if necessary to let Germany be
destroyed; and in my eyes this made them ripe for hanging. To
take consideration of their wishes was to sacrifice the
interests of the working people for the benefit of a few
pickpockets; these wishes could only be fulfilled by giving up
Germany.
And the great
majority of the embattled army still thought the same. Only the
reinforcements coming from home rapidly grew worse and worse,
so that their arrival meant, not a reinforcement but a
weakening of our fighting strength. Especially the young
reinforcements were mostly worthless. It was often hard to
believe that these were sons of the same nation which had once
sent its youth out to the battle for Ypres.
In August and
September, the symptoms of disorganization increased more and
more rapidly, although the effect of the enemy attack was not
to be compared with the terror of our former defensive battles.
The past Battle of Flanders and the Battle of the Somme had
been awesome by comparison.
At the end of
September, my division arrived for the third time at the
positions which as young volunteer regiments we had once
stormed.
What a
memory!
In October
and November of I914, we had there received our baptism of
fire. Fatherland love in our heart and songs on our lips, our
young regiments had gone into the battle as to a dance The most
precious blood there sacrificed itself joyfully, in the faith
that it was preserving the independence and freedom of the
fatherland.
In July,
I917, we set foot for the second time on the ground that was
sacred to all of us. For in it the best comrades slumbered
still almost children, who had run to their death with gleaming
eyes for the one true fatherland.
We old
soldiers, who had then marched out with the regiment stood in
respectful emotion at this shrine of 'loyalty and obedience to
the death.'
Now in a hard
defensive battle the regiment was to defend this soil which it
had stormed three years earlier.
With three
weeks of drumfire the Englishman prepared the great Flanders
offensive. The spirits of the dead seemed to quicken; the
regiment clawed its way into the filthy mud, bit into the
various holes and craters, and neither gave ground nor wavered.
As once before in this place, it grew steadily smaller and
thinner, until the British attack finally broke loose on July
13, 1917.
In the first
days of August we were relieved.
The regiment
had turned into a few companies: crusted with mud they tottered
back, more like ghosts than men. But aside from a few hundred
meters of shell holes, the Englishman had found nothing but
death.
Now, in the
fall of 1918, we stood for the third time on the storm site of
1914. The little city of Comines where we then rested had now
become our battlefield. Yet, though the battlefield was the
same, the men had changed: for now 'political discussions went
on even among the troops. As everywhere, the poison of the
hinterland began, here too, to be effective. And the younger
recruit fell down completely for he came from home.
In the night
of October 13, the English gas attack on the southern front
before Ypres burst loose; they used yellow-cross gas, whose
effects were still unknown to us as far as personal experience
was concerned. In this same night I myself was to become
acquainted with it. On a hill south of Wervick, we came on the
evening of October 13 into several hours of drumfire with gas
shells which continued all night more or less violently. As
early as midnight, a number of us passed out, a few of our
comrades forever. Toward morning I, too, was seized with pain
which grew worse with every quarter hour, and at seven in the
morning I stumbled and tottered back with burning eyes; taking
with me my last report of the War.
A few hours
later, my eyes had turned into glowing coals; it had grown dark
around me.
Thus I came
to the hospital at Pasewalk in Pomerania, and there I was fated
to experience-the greatest villainy of the century.
