advertisements for printing, clothes-pressing and tailoring.

At Ruhleben they have what they call their "university," and here
they have classes in languages, art and science, and for the colored
prisoners they have the common school branches. All these benefits were
not gotten up by the Germans, but by the prisoners themselves. The men
are allowed to spend only a certain amount of money each month, which
keeps down the gambling, but they are allowed to buy what furniture
they wish.

  [Illustration: _Englishmen on Their Way to Ruhleben, November, 1915._]

A great cry has been raised against the small amount of food given
the prisoners at Ruhleben. I heard from all sides that this was true,
and that in winter they have very little coal. But Germany can't give
her prisoners much--she can't give even her own people much. What they
have to give the Russian prisoners is a mystery--perhaps just enough to
exist on.

  [Illustration: _A Popular French Prisoner in Germany._]

When I was in Germany, an English preacher was invited to come over
from England and inspect the Ruhleben camp. He was met at the German
frontier by a German officer and escorted direct to Ruhleben. He spent
one week in the camp, living the same life the English prisoners live.
He was allowed to bring messages to the men and to take messages from
the men back to England--censored of course. There were rumors around
Berlin about him, but there was nothing in the German papers. I read
his report in the _London Times_ after he got back to England. He said
that the men were comfortable and that they had an intellectual life,
but he added that the men surely needed the food packages sent from
England and that they received the packages sent.

One day the first summer I was in Berlin, I was in Wertheim's
department store. I saw a great many people gathered around the
sporting-goods counter. When I asked what was the matter I was told
that the two men in civilian clothes were Englishmen from Ruhleben,
and that they had come to Berlin to buy a tennis racket. They were
accompanied by a German sergeant. The Englishmen seemed to be enjoying
themselves and they took a long time to select the rackets.

  [Illustration: _French Prisoners at Work._]

This spring they left a number of men out of Ruhleben. These men
wanted to work. One day I was standing in my boarding-house hall
talking to the landlady, when a fine-looking young man came up and
asked for a room. He spoke very good German, but I could see that he
was a foreigner. Before she showed him the room he asked what kind of
boarders she had, and she said, mostly German officers. "Then there
is no use for me to look at the room," he answered, "I am an enemy
foreigner, and maybe it would not be pleasant." "Oh, it would be all
right," said the eager landlady, "all you would have to do would be to
report to the police." "Oh, yes, I know," answered the man, "I am _sehr
bekannt_ (well known) to the police. I am an Englishman."

Every prison camp has religious services according to the religion
of the prisoners. Prince Max of Saxony likes to preach, and he goes
around preaching to the Russian prisoners in Russian. At Wunsdorf and
Zossen they have mosques where the Mohammedan prisoners can hold their
services.

Some of the officers' camps are at Klausthal and Wildemann in the
Harz, at Cologne, and at Mainz. They have much better quarters than
the common soldiers. In some cases they have separate rooms, and the
meals are better and are served in better style. They are even said to
have napkins. The officers never work for the Germans, but I have seen
pictures of them knitting and doing fancy work.

The youngest prisoners are some little Russian boys from twelve to
fourteen years of age. These children were used as messenger boys to
the Russian officers and employed around the camp kitchens. In the
camps they are given a lesson in German every day.

VERBOTEN.

In Germany nowadays--

It is _verboten_ to throw rubbish on the side walks and streets.

It is _verboten_ to spit in public places.

It is _verboten_ for children and nurse girls to occupy all the benches
in the parks. Places must be left for old people.

It is _verboten_ for children to play in the halls of apartment houses.
There are sand-boxes in the rear for them.

It is _verboten_ for you to play your piano in an apartment after ten
o'clock at night. Other people might want to sleep.

It is _verboten_ to make any unnecessary noises in an apartment house
at any time.

It is _verboten_ to take dogs into restaurants and grocery stores.

It is _verboten_ to beat carpets on any day except Friday or Saturday,
and then it is forbidden to start before eight o'clock. People in
Germany don't have brooms, they beat their carpets each week.

It is _verboten_ for customers to handle fruit on the market stands. It
is also forbidden to handle poultry or game.

It is _verboten_ to sell short weights, and for this the punishment is
severe.

It is _verboten_ to put more people in a street car than it can seat.

It is _verboten_ to take dogs into any train coupé except the one
marked "For dogs."

It is _verboten_ to put more people in an elevator than it can hold.

It is _verboten_ to employ a man until he is old and then to throw him
out and give his place to a younger man.

It is _verboten_ to employ women with very young babies.

Since the war some new things have been added to this list:

It is _verboten_ to eat more food than is your share. There must be
enough for all.

It is _verboten_ for dealers to raise their prices on the common
necessary articles higher than those fixed by the government.

It is _verboten_ to bake cakes and pastry at home. The flour must be
saved for bread.

It is _verboten_ to either sell or use cream. Cream is a luxury, butter
is a necessity.

It is _verboten_ to dance during the war.

These are only a few rules laid down by the German people for the
German people. And they are not only laid down but they are obeyed
without question. The power to obey laws shows strength and not
weakness, and it is this little word _verboten_ that the world has
laughed at so much that is helping Germany to win battles to-day.

For the Germans _verboten_ means not only "forbidden," but it means
self-restraint, obedience, and the respect for the rights of others,
and it means unity as well,--the unity of working together, of hearing
commands given by those above and of heeding those commands.

A German is quite as selfish as a person of any other nation, and he is
also quite as greedy, but since the war he is forbidden to be greedy.
He has the inclination but he cannot carry it out. He can buy only a
certain amount of things each week and that at a price so sternly fixed
by the government that a man's store is closed if he charges one cent
more than allowed. Also, he is not allowed to refuse to sell things
if he has them in stock, and the laws are very strict about selling
spoiled things. If a butcher sells you spoiled meat and refuses to take
it back you can go to the police with your story. It is _verboten_ to
sell bad meat.

The drink question had become a mighty one for all the warring nations,
but Germany, the greatest beer-drinking country of the whole world, has
quietly settled the question without a fuss, and now since the war, the
breweries are forbidden to retail more than two-thirds of their output
in peace times.

The Germans say that _verboten_ is a part of patriotism, for real
patriotism consists in not only loving your country but in serving it
as well and in having respect for its laws and the rights of other men.

THE MAIL IN GERMANY.

In Germany, when a crowd of Americans got together, we had but two
topics of conversation--the food and the mail.

The mail between Germany and America came pretty regularly until
February, 1916. Since that time it is only a few straggling letters
that have gotten there at all. Even before America went into the war,
letters addressed to Germany direct were held, but most people had a
Holland or Scandinavian address, and they had their letters relayed to
them. But even many of these letters did not get through.

This relaying can still be done through Switzerland but not through
Scandinavia, as the Scandinavian boats do not carry mail; and there
is no mail service between America and Scandinavia. The relaying
of letters is very expensive, and where before the war it cost ten
pfennigs to send a letter to America on a German boat, by the relaying
it costs fifty pfennigs. The relaying is done in this way. The letter
is placed in an open envelope addressed to the person in America. On
the outside of this envelope one fastens an International Coupon which
can be bought in any country. In Germany it costs thirty pfennigs, and
it can be exchanged in any country for a five-cent stamp. A second open
envelope is placed over the first envelope with the coupon attached.
A twenty-pfennig stamp is placed on this second envelope to take the
letter out of the country. The relayer takes the coupon and buys a
stamp with it in the neutral country where he is and mails the letter.
Sometimes these letters reach their destination.

  [Illustration: _The Growth of the Field Post Mail._]

The German censor seldom opens a letter that has already been opened by
the English censor, but they open all letters marked Holland or Denmark
or Switzerland. Letters sent out of Germany must be mailed open, and
it is better to write on one side of the paper so that if the censor
takes it into his head to clip, only one side of the paper is spoiled.
If the German censor thinks that a letter is too long he sends it back
and tells you to make it shorter.

Until America entered the war, newspapers sent out by newspaper offices
to firms in Germany generally got there, but papers sent to private
people were usually held up. The American papers were about two months
old. I received several letters nine months old. An American I know
received two letters in the same mail. One was dated June, 1914, and
announced the marriage of a friend of his in Chicago. The second letter
was dated July, 1915, and it was a card telling of the birth of a boy
to the couple.

On the 1st of February, 1917, it was advertised in all the German
newspapers that any one wishing to send mail by the U-Deutschland could
do so by paying two marks extra postage, and that all the letters
should be in the post office by the 15th of February. Many people
sent letters. On the 5th of February, America broke off relations with
Germany, so the boat did not sail. Along in March all the people who
had sent letters received their two marks back with their letter and
the information that the boat had not sailed and that there was now no
mail service between America and Germany.

  [Illustration: _The Central Depot for Soldiers' Mail in Hanover._]

Before the war Germany had the finest mail system in the world, letters
came more quickly, they had more deliveries and not so many letters
were lost. Now since so many of the clerks are new and many of them
are women, the service is not as efficient as it was. One often loses
letters.

The first mail delivery in Germany comes at 7.30 in the morning and
the last delivery is at 8 o'clock at night, and there are many more
in between. Then they have what they call their _Rohrpost_ letters
and these are the special delivery letters, and they are shot through
a tube from one post office to another and are delivered by a boy at
the other end. Now a good many of the special delivery messengers are
women.

  [Illustration: _Berlin Mail Carriers._]

The most extensive mail in Germany is the _Feldpost_ or the soldiers'
mail. It does not cost anything to send a letter to a soldier or for
a soldier to send a letter to you. All you have to do is to put the
word _Feldpost_ at the top of the letter and it goes free. Even if you
know where a soldier is, you do not put the name of the place on the
envelope, only his field address which consists of the army corps, the
regiment and the company of the soldier.

  [Illustration: _Mail Wagons on the West Front._]

A one-pound package can be sent to the soldiers for twenty pfennigs.
Thousands and thousands of packages are sent each day. Just before I
left Berlin it was forbidden to send a soldier packages of food, as
the soldiers in the field had better rations than the German civilian
population. Many soldiers sent their families packages of food. I
visited a German family in Dresden in May, 1917, just the month before
I left Germany, and every day while I was there they received a package
of food from the son who was an officer in Hungary.

In the summer of 1916, the prices of postage stamps were raised in
Germany. Letters that had before cost five pfennigs now cost seven
and one-half pfennigs, and letters that cost ten pfennigs, now cost
fifteen pfennigs. The price was not changed on the letters going out
of Germany. Some of the people rather grumbled and said: "It now costs
fifteen pfennigs to send a letter from Potsdam to Berlin and only
twenty pfennigs to send a letter from Germany to America."

  [Illustration: _The Package Post in Berlin. Both Men and Women
   Workers._]

It does not take nearly as long for a letter to go to a soldier in
France as it takes to go to a soldier in Russia. A letter sometimes
comes in one day from the Somme to Berlin, but from Russia a letter
takes four or five days at the least.

All the mail that goes to the soldiers on the west front is first sent
to Hanover to a central station. Here the mail is sorted and sent
to different stations along the front. From these main stations the
mail is sent to different sub-stations. Every day each regiment sends
a soldier to its sub-branch for the regiment's mail. Nobody but the
soldier and the head of the sub-branch knows where the mail is to go,
for each regiment's whereabouts are kept a secret.

THE "AUSLÄNDEREI"

In Germany, one evening last winter I heard a German count give
a lecture on the _Ausländerei_. He started out by saying that for
years the German people had been suffering from a disease called
_Ausländerei_, which means that they have always been too fond of all
that is foreign, that they have been ashamed of being Germans, and that
they have tried to copy the manner, modes and customs of other nations
instead of sticking to their own national ideals.

He went into detail, beginning with the foreign names used all over
Germany. He said that instead of a hotel being called by the good
old-fashioned German word _Hof_, the hotel proprietors insisted on
using the word "hotel," combined, alas, too often with such words as
Bristol, Excelsior, Continental, Esplanade, Carlton, Westminster and
Savoy. He thought that much better words would be _Berlinerhof_ or
_Kaiserhof_.

He said that until three years ago messenger boys were called by the
English name "messenger boys," and he much preferred the new name
_Blitzjunge_ which means "lightning kid."

He lamented that even now English clothes for men were still being
sold in German shops, and that they were quoted as English and were
bought because they were English; that German women still follow Paris
fashions; but he said with emphasis: "A German heart under a Paris gown
is no true German heart." He said that a man who studied in England
liked to be styled "an Oxford man" or "a Cambridge man," and that
many a German woman who goes to Switzerland each year registers at the
fashionable hotels as "Madame Schultz" or "Madame Schmidt" instead of
"Frau."

He said further that when an Englishman or an American came to Germany,
he fully expected every German he met to know English, but no traveling
German expects any one to know German, and the German meekly learns the
languages of all the other races.

He ended by saying that he knew that no people had a greater love for
their country than the German people have, and that the time had come
for them to cease their imitations and to be Germans without foreign
ideals, thoughts or customs.

It is said that in Königsberg the military commander there has made it
a criminal offense for any one to use or circulate a foreign fashion
plate. There are also a small number of people who think that English
or French should not be spoken on the streets during the war, although
English and French are still being taught in the schools, and I often
saw youngsters studying their English lessons on the trains.

But I have found that the count, the military commander at Königsberg,
and the people who want nothing but German spoken on the streets
represent only a small portion of the German people; the whole cry of
the masses is for peace to come, so that they can have things from the
outside world again.

During the two years that I was in Berlin I talked English on the
streets nearly all the time, and I was spoken to only twice for talking
English. Once I went to Potsdam with an American boy, and we were
sitting in the train waiting for it to start. We thought the train was
empty, and we were talking English very fast and rather loud. Suddenly
a woman in black poked her head around from the next coupé and asked us
to stop talking English. "It hurts me," she said, "the English killed
my husband."

Another time I was talking to an American lady at the opera, when a
pinched-faced German lady turned around in front of us and said, "Don't
you know that this is the Royal German Opera House and that we are at
war with England?" She thought we were English. We said nothing but
commenced to speak German.

A funny thing happened to an American lady I knew. She was dining with
a Turkish officer dressed in civilian clothes. As the Turk knew no
German they were talking French. A nervous wounded German officer came
in and seated himself at a table near them. As soon as he heard the
French he sent the waiter over to tell them to stop. The Turk took his
military calling-card out of his pocket and sent it over to the German.
The German officer did the only thing there was to do--he came over and
apologized.

Once in a while in Berlin we were cut off the telephone when we spoke
English. This was a spy precaution, and Central would not connect us
again even when we spoke German.

In Cologne a number of dressmakers had a meeting to establish some
new styles for Germany. They dug up a lot of fashion plates from the
styles fifty years back, and had fashion plates printed from them and
model dresses made, and they tried to convince the modern German girl
that this was what she should wear. They called the new style the
_Reform-Kleid_ or "reform dress," but their scheme was not much of a
success, for if anything was ever ugly it was this dress. I never saw
more than half a dozen of these dresses on the street, but once at a
club I saw a number of them. They were made with a narrow skirt and
a loose Russian blouse for a waist. They were absolutely shapeless
and so were the women that were in them. The dresses were mostly made
of flowered silk and very little trimmed. The hat that went with the
reform costume was perfectly plain and fitted down over the head like
a pan.

The _Reform-Kleid_ is the butt of many a joke in the German weeklies,
and the German girls I know said that they would die before they
would wear them. Very wide skirts are the style in Germany, and the
government has tried to make women wear narrower ones because of the
amount of cloth it takes, but a woman's patriotism ceases where styles
are concerned, and they all manage to get the needed cloth for their
skirts.

Germany has been cut off from the world so long that her styles are
different from the rest of the world. Even the Scandinavian people
dress more like Americans. In Germany, very short-vamped, round-toed
shoes are the style; you couldn't buy a pair of pointed shoes there.
Last summer an American girl came over from the United States, and she
had been told beforehand to bring shoes. She brought eleven pairs of
pointed ones, and every time she went out the Germans stared at her
feet. The German hats sit high from the head, and short sleeves are
once more in fashion.

All the German women will be glad when they can have Paris fashions
again, and most German men try to dress like Englishmen. They love
English tweed and they think that there is nothing like a Burberry
coat. Many of the German officers wear a monocle and this is surely
English.

One old German fogey wanted to have all the letters on the German
typewriters changed to German script. But even at the mention of such a
thing the merchants and business men rose up and said they would never
have it. Café Piccadilly changed its name to Café Vaterland, but the
Russischer Hof is still so called, and the highest order in the German
army is still called _Pour le mérite_.

Of course you hear a lot of talk about _echt deutsche_ things, and
that now nothing is worth anything unless it is "made in Germany" and
is pure German. They call that patriotism, but the far-thinking German
realizes that it is the _Ausländerei_ that keeps a nation young, and
it was that which made Germany what she was before the war. The count
said that the Germans were "copy cats"--but was not this one of the
cleverest things about the German nation?

WAR CHARITIES.

Almost every day is tag day in Berlin. You can't poke your head out
of the door without a collection-box being shoved at you. Boys and
girls work at this eternally. They go through the trains and the cafés
and restaurants, not one at a time but in steady streams. You may be
walking along a very quiet street and you will see a lady come smiling
toward you. Apparently she is empty-handed, but just as she comes up
to you, she whisks a box out from behind her muff or newspaper and
politely begs a mite.

The Germans give unceasingly to these collections. They put in only
ten pfennigs at a time, but I have often watched men and women in the
cafés, and they will give to half a dozen youngsters in half an hour.
They really prefer to give their charity donations in this way instead
of in a large lump. They get more pleasure out of it.

  [Illustration: _Traveling Soup Kitchen._]

The day just before I left Berlin for Copenhagen, I had been
pestered about ten times in one square. The collection was called the
_U-Boot-Spende_, and it was a collection for the wives and children of
the sailors who had lost their lives on the U-boats. At one corner a
boy of about thirteen years stopped me by raising his hat and asking if
he dared beg a few pfennigs for the _U-Boot-Spende_.

  [Illustration: _The Roland of Brandenburg, Original Statue._]

"Now, look here," I said to him, "Why should I give to this? I am a
_feindliche Ausländerin_ (an enemy foreigner) and if I give you any
money it encourages you Germans to go on sinking American ships. I must
save my money for the wives and the children of the men who have lost
their lives by the U-boats."

  [Illustration: _The Iron Roland of Brandenburg._]

The boy blushed deeply. "That is true," he said, "I beg your pardon.
I feel for those people too. And if you will allow me I would like
to donate something for your charity," and the little fellow pulled a
mark out of his pocket and handed it to me. I found out afterwards that
the boy was the son of one of Germany's richest and most aristocratic
princes.

Besides the tag days there are many women who go around selling little
picture sheets for ten pfennigs. Countless numbers of these sheets have
sprung up since the war. The companies that publish them make only a
small profit and the rest of the money goes to charity.

  [Illustration: _The Blacksmith of Bochum in Westphalia._]

One of the best ways the Germans have of collecting money is the
driving of nails into wooden statues and charging so much to each
person for being allowed to drive a nail. The "Iron Hindenburg" is the
greatest of all these figures, but there are many more even in Berlin.
Many cafés have their own figures to nail, sometimes it is only an
eagle or an Iron Cross. In Brandenburg they have a wooden copy of their
famous old stone statue of Roland that has stood for centuries in the
Brandenburg market place. The stone figure was funny and quaint enough,
but the nailed figure looks like some queer product of cubist art.

  [Illustration: _Nailed Statue. Statue of German Landsturm Man at
   Posen._]

  [Illustration: _Entertaining "Kriegskinder."_]

The _Mittelstandsküche_ and the _Volksküche_ are also charitable
organizations and are run by women's clubs. These kitchens are places
where the middle and lower class people can get a good meal for from
fifty to seventy pfennigs,--a meal consisting of soup, meat, potatoes
and a vegetable. Compote or stewed fruit can be bought for ten pfennigs
a dish, and salad can be bought for the same price. They do not have
bread, you must bring that with you. They cut off your food cards
for meat and potatoes, but they are not very strict about it. If you
were terribly hungry and went to a _Volksküche_ you could very likely
get something to eat without a card. The city sees that these places
are well provided for, and often you could not get potatoes in the
fashionable restaurants, but the kitchens always had them.

  [Illustration: _The Iron Hindenburg on the Kaiser's Birthday._]

Besides these kitchens, club women have a traveling soup kitchen. It
consists of a goulash cannon driven around the streets on a wagon, and
the people come with their buckets to get a hot stew for thirty-five
pfennigs.

The American Chamber of Commerce had a fine soup kitchen in Berlin. It
was opened two winters ago with great pomp, and Mr. and Mrs. Gerard
were present at the occasion. Society ladies took turns helping in
the kitchen, and they made it a very great success. Everything served
in the kitchen was free and the food was splendid. They served many
hundred people each day.

In Munich the Americans have a hospital which they conduct themselves.
I don't know how it is run since America got into the war, but before
this time the Americans paid for everything. Two years ago the American
ladies in Dresden had a bazar for the German Red Cross. They made many
thousand marks. In Berlin there is a very rich American man who keeps
the families of one hundred and fifty German soldiers that have been
killed in the war. When America got into the war, it was thought that
his charity would end, but he said, "No, these poor women and children
cannot help it that America is in the war."

  [Illustration: _Frau Becker's Children Out for a Walk._]

One of the greatest charitable organizations in Berlin is a day nursery
run by Frau Hofrat Becker. The nursery is where the working wives
of soldiers can leave their babies each day while they are at work.
No children can be left with Frau Becker unless the mother shows a
certificate that she works. The children can be left at five o'clock in
the morning and they are kept there until night.

Frau Becker has five of these homes located in different parts of
Berlin, and I have visited all of them. In each home she has about
one hundred and fifty children--little babies from six weeks old up to
four years of age. Some of the children seemed very happy but others
were pinched looking little things who looked as though the battle of
life was too great for them. The babies are given milk and bread for
breakfast and at noon a warm stew.

Besides taking care of the babies, Frau Becker gives the older children
who go to school a warm noon-day meal, and after school she gives
them coffee or bread. Then she provides these larger children with
employments and amusements so they will be kept off the streets. The
larger girls sew and knit, and the boys learn songs and games. All the
helpers are voluntary, and they receive no pay.

  [Illustration: _Berlin Youngsters Going to a Fresh Air Camp in East
   Prussia._]

Nearly every family in Germany of the better middle class have what
they call a _Kriegskind_, or a "war child." They take a boy or girl of
some poor family and give them their meals. The family where I visited
in Dresden had had a little girl since the beginning of the war. When
the war broke out, Hilda was nine years old, and you cannot imagine
what a change has taken place in her during the three years. She has
now very nice manners, she is very clean and she has learned to sew and
play the piano. Hilda is one of a family of eleven children. The father
is a _Landsturm_ man in the war, and he makes thirty-eight pfennigs a
day.

One of the greatest charity collections is the gold-collection. The
Empress started this collection by giving a lot of gold ornaments,
and many people have followed her example. The story goes around in
Germany--personally I doubt if it is true--that the Crown Princess gave
to the collection all the gold plates that King Edward of England had
given her for a wedding present, and when the plates were melted down
they were all found to be plated.

WHAT GERMANY IS DOING FOR HER HUMAN WAR WRECKS.

The word "cripple" is a word that hurts, and in Germany when one
speaks of the men who have lost arms, legs, or eyes, they say
_Kriegsbeschädigte_, which means hurt or damaged by the war. It has a
softer sound.

Even now, with the war not over, plans have been carried out for these
men and many more plans are being made. Skilful doctors and makers of
artificial limbs are contriving all sorts of ways to make various kinds
of arms and legs that are suited for all kinds of work that a crippled
man might wish to do.

For instance, a man who wishes to be a carpenter must have a different
kind of a hook on his new hand from that of the man who wishes to be
a blacksmith. The man who has lost his arm at the shoulder must have a
different hook from the man who has lost his at the elbow.

  [Illustration: _One-Armed and One-Legged Soldiers Learning Farming._]

  [Illustration: _Crippled German Soldiers Learning to Letter._]

All this means much experimenting as there are so many different trades
in the world, and the crippled man wishes if possible to follow the
same trade he had before the war. In many cases it is not possible to
do this, and there have been mapped out fifty-one new trades at which
crippled men can work. The government has established schools where
these trades can be learned without any charge to the soldier.

  [Illustration: _Factory for Making Artificial Limbs in Berlin._]

  [Illustration: _Armless Soldier Learning a New Trade._]

One of the most famous of these schools is in Berlin, the
Oscar-Helene-Heim. Before the war this was a hospital for crippled
children with a school for them where they could learn trades. Since
the war they have made additions to the place, and soldiers can go here
to learn a trade. The head of this institution is Professor Biesalski,
the man who has invented many of the different kinds of arms and legs.
The Biesalski arm is very simple and is made out of nickel, and tools
fasten into the holder with screws.

  [Illustration: _Riding the Bicycle Before Receiving the New Leg._]

I went all through this home. They have a carpentry department, a
shoe-making department, a basket-weaving department, and a gardening
department. There were a number of soldiers here without legs, but the
home makes a specialty of helping soldiers without arms, and this is
the far more difficult task. I saw some men with both arms gone, and
in these sad cases they have implements for holding everything, tools,
knives, forks, spoons, cups, cigars and indeed everything that a man
would want to hold.

  [Illustration: _After Receiving the New Leg._]

The artificial legs are also most wonderful. One army captain who had
lost his leg at the thigh was able to mount his horse nine weeks after
his leg had been amputated, and two weeks later he joined his regiment
in the field. Another chap just nineteen years of age and who had lost
his leg, enlisted in the aviation squad, and now he is one of the best
flyers in the German army.

  [Illustration: _A Legless Soldier Learning to Walk._]

However, most of the men do not return to war but settle down to
peaceful labors. One soldier, a shoemaker by trade, found that he
could make just as good shoes with one foot as with two. Another
case was that of a soldier who had lost both legs at Liège. He was an
engineer by trade and now he is running the fast train between Cologne
and Brussels. A tailor had both feet cut off. The new feet made for
him were very big and now he can tread the sewing machine as well as
before.

  [Illustration: _Armless Soldier Learning to be a Carpenter._]

The most successful hand made since the war was not "Made in Germany"
but "Made in America." A famous Berlin surgeon, Dr. Max Cohen, became
infected from the wound of a soldier whom he was dressing at the
beginning of the war. The infection became so bad that it was necessary
to amputate his left hand. He sent to America for a new hand. It is
made so that the fingers have joints like a real hand, and these joints
bend and work like the joints of a real hand. The joints are operated
by pulleys fastened at the shoulder. The hand can not only hold
things, but can lift a fifty-pound article and can carry lighter weight
articles. With his good right hand and the aid of this left hand, Dr.
Cohen can still carry on his operations, and they are as successful as
before.

  [Illustration: _Dr. Cohen Lifts 50 Pounds with Artificial Hand Made in
   America._]

All over Germany they have exhibitions of dummies with artificial arms
and legs to show their workings. One dummy was a figure at a sewing
machine, and it showed how artificial legs could do the treading. The
men can go to these exhibitions and pick out the kind of an arm or leg
that suits them.

  [Illustration: _Dr. Max Cohen. He is Able to Hold a Newspaper._]

Perhaps the hardest task of the war is the educating of the blind
soldiers, for they are more or less helpless, and they are apt to
become despondent. In Berlin they have established a hospital and
a school for blind soldiers. It is called the St. Maria Victoria
Hospital. The whole inspiration of this school is a blind woman,
Fräulein Betty Hirsch. When the war broke out she was in England
studying the English methods of dealing with the blind, and she has
charge of all the training of the soldiers.

From the very beginning it was Fräulein Hirsch's ambition that
her blind soldiers should not have the old monotonous trades of
basket-making and broom-making. She wanted them to have a broader
field of activity in the world, and so she visited all the factories in
Berlin to find out what work a blind man can do. She has her soldiers
trained to fill these positions. Now she has forty-five blind men
in good munition factory positions, and they work from six to eight
hours a day. At first they received 45 pfennigs an hour wages, but
this was increased to fifty-five pfennigs an hour. Some of the men put
cartridges into frames, and others fill cartridges into pockets. Every
night the workers come home to the hospital where they are housed and
cared for free.

Every morning from eleven to twelve o'clock the men are given their
lessons, and the rest of the day they spend practising them. They learn
typewriting and how to become telephone centrals. I saw one young
fellow there who had lost both eyes at Verdun. He had been studying
typewriting four months and he could take a dictation like a person
with sight.

It is forbidden to use a dictagraph in Germany, but Fräulein Hirsch got
permission to use it for the blind people. As they had none of these
instruments in Germany, Fräulein Hirsch copied the English model and
had them made at her dictation.

One of the blind soldiers here has invented an attachment to the
typewriter that holds the machine fast when the end of the paper is
reached. It is very hard for a blind person to tell when the end of the
paper is reached, and they are very apt to go on ticking after the page
is done. This invention is a rod with a screw in the front and will
undoubtedly be used by the blind typists all over the world.

Another trade the soldiers are taught is cigarette making. German
cigarettes are not rolled but the tobacco is stuffed into papers that
come already fastened together. The blind men learn this very quickly.

Every province in Germany now issues a pamphlet each week to help the
crippled men. These pamphlets are called "From War to Work in Peace,"
and they contain everything that would interest a crippled man, trades
they can pursue, things that they can make if they prefer to stay
at home, and where they can sell what they make. They also contain
advertisements for employment for crippled men.

Near Berlin they have a farm for one-legged men, and here the
one-legged soldiers can go to live and farm. Most of the farmers are
men without families, and they intend to live on the farm all the rest
of their days.

The German government has drawn up plans to build houses for the
crippled men. Sites have been selected and plans have been completed.
The houses are to be built near factories where work will be carried
on that a crippled man can do. The plans for these houses are very
attractive. Some of the houses are single houses, cottage effects with
slanting roofs and a little garden. In each settlement there will be a
number of large apartment houses, and then one very large house like a
hotel where the unmarried men can live.

The rental of these houses will be astonishingly low. For instance
a room for a bachelor in the large house will cost from twenty to
thirty dollars a year. This includes light and heat, and in some cases
furniture. An apartment in the large apartment house will cost from
seventy-five to one hundred dollars a year with light and heat. The
single houses will be more expensive and will cost about one hundred
and fifty dollars a year. Each apartment in the large house will have a
little garden, and there will be cafés and libraries where the men and
their families can enjoy themselves.

No man is happy unless he has work to do, and the Germans are doing
everything that is possible, so that the future will not look too black
to the crippled German soldier when he comes home from war.

WILL THE WOMEN OF GERMANY SERVE A YEAR IN THE ARMY?

The greatest question before the German women is not, Shall they have
the right to vote? but, Would it not be better for them if they had one
year's special training by the Government as do the men when they serve
their time in the army?

Compulsory military service has been a fine thing for men in the
countries where it is enforced, and this is especially so of Germany
where the men are inclined to be fond of studies rather than of sports
and exercise. It makes them physically stronger, they are taught
correct ways to exercise, and the way to care for their health.

And so this war has brought to the German women the consciousness that
they, too, must have some practice and training in things, if they wish
to fulfil their duty to their families and their country. They realize
how much better they could do all the things that they are now forced
to do if they had had some special training beforehand. And so the
great question has come up: Shall the women of Germany have a year's
training by the State?

Many of the greatest women of Germany are for this issue, and they
have worked out plans for the service. All this does not mean that
the women will have to learn to shoot guns and cannons, but that they
shall be trained in the branches that make a more perfect womanhood and
motherhood.

  [Illustration: _Women Giving Soldiers Cooking Lessons._]

  [Illustration: _Society Girls Learning Gardening._]

  [Illustration: _Society Women Helping the Poor Children._]

The women will be divided into two classes for their army year--the
first class being the higher and more educated German girls, and the
second class being the poorer girls who must earn their own living.
Naturally, the rich girl who stays at home would not be taught the same
branches as a poor girl.

The better class girls will pay for their year of service. Buildings
would have to be built for them, complete in every equipment, where
they could live during that year. The other girls would be taught in
the public schools, and their training would be free, the State paying
for everything--clothes, food and training.

The most important thing for the women to learn in their year would
be housekeeping. Not merely the keeping of the house in order, such
as sweeping, dusting and scrubbing and all the branches that go with
housekeeping. They must learn cooking, not only cooking for strong
healthy people, but things that sick people can eat. They must learn
to prepare food for infants. They must learn to do washing and ironing,
and they must learn to make a bed properly.

They must learn to do scientific marketing, so that they will know what
to buy without wasting, for _Sparsamkeit_, i. e., economy, is one of
the fundamental things to learn. They will be taught what to do when
there is no fat to be had, and they will be given different menus for
times when certain foods are scarce.

Then the German women will be taught how to make a garden, when to
plant different seeds and what grows best in certain seasons. Chicken
raising will be taught to the girls who care to know about it, and
for the country girls there will be training in the making of dairy
products.

  [Illustration: _Society Women Learning to Cook._]

After housekeeping the next important thing is nursing. The women must
learn to take care of the sick, how to make bandages, and perhaps some
knowledge of medicine. If this branch is distasteful to any of the
women they will not be compelled to pursue it very far, but for those
who like the branch they can continue it until they become graduate
nurses.

The second branch of nursing which every girl must learn thoroughly
is taking care of infants. They must be taught the proper dressing for
young babies, what babies must eat and when they must sleep. Also they
must know what to do in cases of light infants' diseases and what to do
for fussy babies and for teething babies.

Then they must learn something of social settlement work, and how to
entertain sick and crippled children. They must help in the care of
orphans and be able to make things for them. They must know something
of kindergartening and know stories and games for children. Many German
women who have lost their husbands in the war will be glad to have a
place to send their children, and the army girls can take care of them.

After nursing come lessons in sewing, and besides the making of the
common things the better class of girls will learn to make lace and to
do fancy work. In the year's service the better class girls will sew
for the poor and the poorer girls will sew for themselves.

  [Illustration: _Women Learn Gardening._]

One prominent German woman thinks that it would be a good plan to
have the girls serve their first half year of service at the age of
fourteen, when they leave public school. At this time they would be
taught house-keeping and cooking. Then, later, between the age of
seventeen and twenty when it is most convenient to the girls they could
do their second half year.

Nursing, sewing and cooking will be the main branches taught to the
better class girls, but each of the poorer girls will be taught a
special branch by which she can earn her own living, and something she
can use in filling the places of the men when it is necessary, as in
this war.

The better grade of the poorer girls will be taught book-keeping and
typewriting. They will be taught to be telephone operators, and how to
wait on customers properly. But a girl will be taught only one of these
branches, and she will be allowed to choose the one that she likes
best.

Of course most German girls get married, but they must have some
specialty to fall back on in case of the men going to war, or in the
case of the loss of a husband, when they may be left with many little
children to support. When a girl has learned any specialty she must
serve the State in that capacity whenever she is called upon to do so.
That will be her duty, the same as a man's.

  [Illustration: _A Home for Soldiers' Babies._]

The plan so far is to have everything managed by women, and they are
to have officers the same as the army. This will make the bright women
more efficient in management and the duller women will learn to obey.

Already the society women of Germany have formed clubs for learning to
do things. They are learning to make gardens, to cook and to sew. Women
are now being drafted for the munition factories, and as most of these
girls have before been housemaids, many German housewives are thrown
upon their own resources.

That most of the German women would be benefitted by a year's training
cannot be denied. It would help to make them stronger in body and in
mind. This war has been a great example to the world of what military
training means to the men, and the women of Germany feel that if they
must do the work of a man, they should have the same benefits as a man.

THE KAISERIN AND THE HOHENZOLLERN PRINCESSES.

The most popular man in Germany is the Kaiser, and the Kaiserin is
the most popular woman. William II may have his critics, but no one
can deny that in him Augusta Victoria has found what she considers an
ideal husband. The only domestic tyranny that I heard of his engaging
in is, that every birthday he gives the Kaiserin twelve hats for a
present. These hats he picks out himself, and she has to wear them.
From the pictures one sees of the Kaiserin wearing a hat one does
feel that he is a sort of barbarian and rather rough on his wife. On
her last birthday when I was in Berlin, she would allow no gifts to
be given her--perhaps she wanted one year without hats--and instead,
she requested all the givers to send wine, jams and preserves to the
soldiers. This collection was called the Kaiserin's birthday gift.

  [Illustration: _The Kaiserin of Germany._]

Except for the present war, the life and reign of Augusta Victoria has
been a peaceful one, and it is now twenty-eight years since she became
the first lady in the land. She was born in the little castle of Dolzig
in Schleswig-Holstein, and there she spent her childhood with her two
younger sisters and her brother. The young Prince Wilhelm of Prussia,
the present Kaiser, was a half cousin of the young Princess, their
mothers being half sisters. Prince Wilhelm had seen her but once at an
English court party given by a mutual relative, and it was not until he
was invited to a hunting-party at her father's castle that they became
acquainted.

  [Illustration: _The Crown Princess Cecilia._]

  [Illustration: _Princess Eitel Friedrich, Wife of Second Son._]

The hunting-party was in 1878, and it brought a great booty. The story
goes that after the hunt the young Prince was walking in the garden
when suddenly he came upon the young Princess--that was the beginning
of the courtship, and a year later they were married. When Bismarck
heard the news he exclaimed, "A happy ending to a kingdom's drama."
Bismarck had probably arranged the match, for Schleswig-Holstein was
restless and needed to be bound more securely to the states of Germany.

  [Illustration: _Princess Adalbert, Wife of Third Son._]

The Prince and Princess entered Berlin through the Brandenburg Gate.
Six years later, Emperor Wilhelm I died, and less than a year later
his son died, and Kaiser Wilhelm II and Augusta Victoria ascended the
throne.

On the 6th of May, 1882, the present Crown-Prince was born. His father
was so excited that he opened the window of the Marble Palace and
yelled across to his father's palace, "Father, it is a boy. Hurrah! The
fourth German Kaiser!" The child was christened with the full name of
Friedrich Wilhelm Victor August Ernst.

  [Illustration: _Princess August Wilhelm, Wife of Fourth Son._]

After this came five more boys, one after the other--Eitel Friedrich
on July 7, 1883; Adalbert on July 14, 1884; August Wilhelm on January
29, 1887; Oskar on July 6, 1888; and Joachim on December 17, 1890. The
youngest child was a daughter, Victoria Louise, born on September 13,
1892.

All the children are now married, and strange to say every one of them
has married a German, and all of royal blood except the wife of Prince
Oskar, and she was a baroness.

  [Illustration: _Baroness von Ruppin, Wife of Fifth Son._]

The wedding of the Crown Prince and the Duchess Cecilia of
Mecklenburg-Schwerin took place on June 6, 1905. The Crown Princess has
very high connections, coming from the same family as the famous Queen
Louise. Her mother is a Russian Princess, and she is a first cousin to
the late Czar. Her sister is the Queen of Denmark, and when she goes to
Denmark to pay a visit to her sister, the two walk through the streets
of Copenhagen arm in arm with the king.

  [Illustration: _Princess Joachim, Wife of Sixth Son._]

Her democratic spirit has made her very popular with the German people,
and she is said to be the one person who dares to defy her imperial
father-in-law, and as a result he admires her very much and is very
fond of her. Four years ago, the Kaiser forbade the officers to tango.
The very next day after this edict the Crown Princess hired a tango
teacher. The Kaiser only laughed. He liked her spirit.

She is very tall, almost as tall as her tall husband. She is almost
of the Russian type and has dark hair and very bright eyes. The German
women look to her to set the styles. She dresses a great deal in white
and like the Kaiserin wears very large hats. Although very rich in her
own right she does not wear extravagant clothes but rather sensible
things.

  [Illustration: _Victoria Louise, Duchess of Brunswick, Daughter of the
   Kaiser._]

She is very active and capable, and is a splendid mother, spending
much of her time with her four boys and her little daughter, helping to
train them herself. The eldest boy is now ten years old, and the little
girl was born since the war. She has her own palace in Berlin, but she
spends most of her time at Potsdam or at Danzig, the favorite resort of
the royal pair.

At the silver wedding of the Kaiser and Kaiserin, Prince Eitel
Friedrich and the Grand Duchess Charlotte of Oldenburg were married.
The Duchess is a grand-daughter of Prince Carl, the famous general of
1870. She is quite different from the vivacious Cecilia, being of a
quiet temperament. She has no children.

A year later the fourth son of the Kaiser, Prince August Wilhelm,
was married to Princess Alexandra Victoria of Schleswig-Holstein. She
is so pretty that they call her the "Beautiful Princess." Almost any
day one can see her riding around in her carriage with her little boy
at her side. She is a first cousin to her husband, being a daughter
of the favorite sister of the Kaiserin. She is by far the favorite
daughter-in-law of the Kaiserin's, and the two are often seen together.
Her child is a beautiful boy of four years. Both she and the child are
very often photographed.

Prince Adalbert, the third son, was the next to be married, and in
1911 he married Princess Adelheid of Saxe-Meiningen. Princess Adelheid
is a very sad princess, for since her marriage she has lost both her
parents. She has no children.

  [Illustration: _The Crown Princess and Her Four Sons on the Balcony of
   Her Castle Watching the Departure of the Troops._]

The next royal child to be married was Victoria Louise, who has always
been very popular in Germany. She is the Kaiser's favorite child and
he always said that his only daughter should marry whom she pleased.
When she picked August of Brunswick every one was satisfied, for it
settled for once and all the Guelph claim to the Brunswick throne.
The Germans like to believe that this was a love match, for they do
not like to think that their dear little Princess Victoria Louise was
sacrificed to the plans of the State, but on all sides you hear rumors
that she is not happy and that her husband is always "away," and "away"
doesn't mean at the front either, for they say he doesn't care much
for fighting. She has two children. She spends most of her time in
Brunswick, but sometimes she meets her husband in Berlin, and they go
to either the Adlon or Bristol Hotel.

The fifth son, Prince Oskar, was morganatically married in 1914 to the
Baroness von Rippen, a beautiful and high-minded lady with whom he was
very much in love. Of all the royal ladies she has the most charming
face. At first the Kaiser wasn't very keen on this marriage, but when
the war broke out he gave his consent. They have one baby born in 1916.

The youngest son was married in the spring of 1916, and the wedding
of Prince Joachim and the Princess Marie of Anhalt was a quiet war
marriage. This summer a boy was born.

A STROLL THROUGH BERLIN.

When you start your stroll through Berlin, you begin at
Friedrichstrasse Station, for everything begins there and ends there
for that matter. Here is the elevated that takes you all around the
city, and the long-distance railway that takes you all around the
world.

From the station you hurry down two squares of Friedrichstrasse, and
there you are right on Unter den Linden, the heart of Berlin. Linden
trees! Linden trees! But they are all bare now, and the lights from the
other side of the street show through their empty coal-black branches.
But on days when there has been a victory, flags show through, and then
the street is very beautiful.

The center of Berlin is built on a square. On one side is Unter
den Linden, on the second side Friedrichstrasse, on the third side
Leipzigerstrasse and on the last side Wilhelmstrasse. Unter den Linden
is all fashionable shops and hotels. Here is the Hotel Adlon where most
Americans stop, but the German royalty go there as well. The Duchess
of Brunswick often makes this her headquarters. Near the hotel is a
newspaper office, the _Lokal-Anzeiger_. It always has a crowd of people
hanging around its bulletins, and its great war map which shows with
colored pins how Germany has advanced her boundaries. Then there are
jewelry and men's furnishing shops. This is the promenade side of the
street, and here the Beau Brummels and Disraelis of Berlin walk with
their fine ladies. Some of them take tea at Kranzler's, and the little
cake house is packed from early morn till night. People sitting in
Kranzler's never look at ease but as though they were there to be seen
and not to have a good time.

On the other side of the street in the midst of all this fashionable
array is a tiny little beer hall for soldiers. They always have a ham
and a dozen of eggs in the window, and beside the ham the sign "_Bier
für Militär 10 Pfennige_," and what soldier would not take advantage of
this! On the same side is the "Jockey Club," tailors who make English
clothes. The words "Jockey Club" are printed all over the front of
the store. There is only one empty store on the street, and that is a
tiny shop, and the signs are still in the window: "Chevalier d'Orsay
Perfume." The French shop-keepers left at the beginning of the war. The
"Mercedes Automobile Company" have a big show window on this street,
and in this window they have three or four giant automobiles. They are
all marked "Sold," but they can't be delivered until after the war.

Friedrichstrasse is a very narrow street, and it is always so crowded
that one can hardly get along it. Many people walk in the middle
of the street. It is full of little shops and lottery places run by
the government. They have a great many Red Cross Lotteries, and the
chances sell for three marks a chance. Last winter the winner of the
first prize of many thousand marks never came to claim it. The number
was advertised in all the papers. If the winner did not turn up in a
certain time the money was to be turned over to the Red Cross.

  [Illustration: _Wertheim's Department Store._]

On Friedrichstrasse there are several American shoe stores--the "Walk
Over," the "Hanan," and the "Vera" shoe. But it is now over two years
since they have had any shoes from America, and they have filled up
their empty boxes with German shoes which are very inferior to our
makes. Busses run along this street, and many of the conductors are
women who wear trousers--not bloomers but regular men's trousers.

  [Illustration: _The American Embassy._]

Leipzigerstrasse is all big stores, and these stores do a rushing
business. At one end of the street is Wertheim's large department
store. From the outside it looks like a public library or a government
building, but inside it is rather cheap looking and it is a regular
mirror maze to find your way in. I doubt if even Mr. Wertheim himself
finds his way through it.

Right by the door of this store they have field post boxes for soldiers
all ready packed for sending things to the front, with goose breast,
cakes, candy, wine, oranges and cigarettes. Everything tied up with a
ribbon of _Schwarz-Weiss-Rot_, and a bit of green laid on the top. What
don't they have in this store for soldiers! Clothes, caps, blankets,
pocket lamps, knee warmers, pulse warmers, sleeping-bags, folding
knives and forks, and books.

The fourth side of the square is Wilhelmstrasse, and when you read in
the papers, "Wilhelmstrasse says this to-day," or "Wilhelmstrasse is
silent," this is the street. It is a bare street without street-cars
or trees, and lined with gray government buildings. The German Foreign
Office is here, and right beside it the Chancellor's house, where
Bismarck lived so long. The American Embassy is on the other side of
the street. The Spanish Embassy occupies the building now. So many
automobiles run over this street that it looks like glass, and when
the lamps are lighted, its reflections are so bright that it looks as
though it had been raining.

At the head of Wilhelmstrasse where it meets Unter den Linden is
the famous Brandenburger Tor, and there, on the top of it, you see
the famous bronze horses that Napoleon took to Paris and that were
brought back in 1871. When you walk through its arches you are in
the Tiergarten, the great park of Berlin. This park is always full of
people, and many of them are going out to drive nails into the Iron
Hindenburg. For over two years this nailing has been going on and the
statue is not nearly finished. It is an enormous figure over fifty
feet high. The money for the nailing goes to the Red Cross. It costs
one mark to drive an iron nail into the figure, five marks to drive
a silver nail, and 100 marks to drive a gold one. Already the whole
top of Hindenburg's sword is gold, and his wedding ring is gold. The
buttons on his coat are silver. The nailing is directed by soldiers,
and every afternoon a military band plays in front of the figure.

  [Illustration: _New Underground and Elevated Railway Terminal in
   Berlin._]

If you are too lazy to walk around Berlin, you can ride around on the
city elevated, taking the train at the Potsdam Station. At this station
you can nearly always see prisoners--Arabs, Englishmen, French--waiting
to be taken out to Zossen, the great prison camp near Berlin. This
station is surrounded by coal yards, and last winter when it was so
hard to get any coal delivered, I often felt like getting out here and
stealing a lump.

  [Illustration: _Entrance to the New Underground Railway Built Since the
   War._]

At no time in the day can you ride around the loop without seeing a
troop train. There is always a troop train flying by. Very gay trains
with shouting soldiers hanging out of the windows and doors. All waving
and crying _Auf Wiedersehen_! That means "Till we meet again," but many
of them never come back.

Beside the soldier trains are the freight trains and the funny things
they haul: Parts of aeroplanes with the wings marked with the Iron
Cross; parts of undersea-boats; sleds for the winters in Russia--the
kind you see pictures of in story books, and then cannons, automobiles,
little field-kitchen wagons--everything painted gray--"field-gray."

Near the Charlottenburg Station is a _Mittelstandsküche_ or a
middle-class kitchen. These kitchens have been established all over
Berlin since the war, and here one can get a good meal for eighty
pfennigs.

  [Illustration: _Café Victoria, Corner of Friedrichstrasse and Unter Den
   Linden._]

If you get off the elevated at the Lehrte Station you are in
Alt-Moabit. Near the station is the great civil prison of Berlin. It
is built like a star with five arms running out from a center. It makes
one think of an octopus. Here the spies, the offending editors and the
troublesome socialists are imprisoned. Liebknecht is here. I knew the
prison pastor, a young man named Dr. Klatt. Dr. Klatt wanted to go to
the front, but he is so useful here that they will not let him go. He
is the go-between for the prisoners and the outside world. Some of the
prisoners begged to be allowed to go to fight for their country, and
Dr. Klatt helped these men to get free. He says there is a tremendous
amount of patriotism among the prisoners.

Near the prison is a great red barracks. It is so long that one can
scarcely see from one end to the other. There are always soldiers at
the windows, and if you look their way at all, they are very apt to
call _Guten Tag_. At the far end of the building there is a path-way,
and no matter at what time of the day you go there you can see hundreds
of new recruits coming out. They have not received their uniforms as
yet, and they have on old clothes, and most of them carry boxes in
their hands. Two hundred of them come at a time, six abreast, and when
they have reached the gateway as far back as you can see, a second
batch appears. This lasts as long as you stand there.

A little farther up from the Lehrte Station is the greatest hospital in
Berlin, and it is now used as a collecting-place for soldiers who have
been wounded and are now well and ready to go back to the front. Here
they go through their final examination to make sure that they are able
to go back.

  [Illustration: _Steuben Statue at Potsdam._]

It is an hour's ride from Berlin to Potsdam, and you can easily see
why the Hohenzollerns have chosen this as a place to live. It is so
cunning, so little. The tiny houses are of a yellow color. It is a
soldier town. Every man is a soldier, and soldiers practise all day
long in front of the Town Palace of Frederick the Great. In the street
in front of the palace is a tree, the "Petition-Linden," where people
used to come to present their woes to old Fritz. On the other side of
the palace is the statue of General Steuben, a replica of which was
sent over as a gift from the Germans to America.

Potsdam is most beautiful at sunset. One can stand on the old bridge
and look out over the water. When the shadows begin to fall, the old
knights on the bridge seem to move and to climb down from their places.
Hark! One can hear the click of their spurs, the rattle of armor. One
by one they leave the bridge and move toward the old palace in the
darkness.

A TRIP DOWN THE HARBOR OF HAMBURG.

My most unique experience in Germany was my trip down the Harbor of
Hamburg, for strangers are absolutely forbidden near the docks, and
foreigners poking around are arrested. My trip was made just by chance.

An American girl and I took a trip up to Hamburg Christmas week last
year. I was offered letters of introduction to people there, but I said
we didn't want them, that we were going only for fun, and we didn't
want to be bothered by meeting strange people. I had been in Hamburg
once several years before, but neither of us knew much about the place.

The first evening, or rather afternoon--it was dark at four
o'clock--that we were there, we started out for a walk. We went through
St. Pauli, the famous sailor quarter, where in times of peace the
sailors spent their time when their ships were in port. As this was
Christmas week, the shooting galleries and side-shows were open, but
the places were not crowded, as it was too early. Only a few soldiers,
sailors and children were walking about the place.

One place had a figure of a soldier in the window. He was stepping into
a room where a woman was holding a little baby in her arms. On a card
was printed what the soldier was saying, "Excuse me, young man, but I
would like to make your acquaintance. I am your dad."

  [Illustration: _Sailors Learning to Do a Washing in the Seamen's School
   at Hamburg._]

We branched off the main street of St. Pauli and went up a side street.
It was pitch dark, and the streets were not well lighted. At the end
of this street we came to some steps at the bottom of which was a
foot-bridge that led to the water's edge. In the distance on the other
side of the water was what looked like a great city of lights. We both
held our breath when we saw this place--it looked like New York when
you cross on the ferry. And ferry-boats were shooting all over the
water. Great iron beams with regular rows of lights on their sides made
them look like sky scrapers.

"It's New York! It's home!" cried my excited companion.

Great crowds of workmen--hundreds, thousands of them--were coming up
the foot-bridge. They had come over on the ferry. I had my geography
all mixed up and I said, "That is Altona over there. Let's go down and
take a ride on the ferry and pretend that we are landing in New York."

  [Illustration: _The Sailors' School for the Merchant Marine._]

We hurried down the narrow foot-bridge. The men that were hurrying
up bumped into us. At the foot of the bridge was a ticket place. An
elderly man in a blue uniform was standing beside it. We rushed over to
him and asked, "Are we allowed to go over to Altona on the ferry."

  [Illustration: _Vegetable Market._]

He looked at us and then laughed and answered us in English: "That is
not Altona. That is the great Hamburg docks. Where do you want to go?"

We told him that we did not know where we wanted to go, but that it
looked so much like New York that we wanted to ride over.

It was a bitter cold winter night between Christmas and New Year's, and
if he thought that we were either crazy or spies he never let on.

"Have you passports?" he asked.

We showed our papers, and he told us that if we promised to stay on the
boat and to come back to him he would let us go. We promised, and he
wrote our names, our Hamburg, Berlin and American addresses, our age
and religion in a book, and he told us to buy a ticket.

The round trip cost five pfennigs, and the old man escorted us to the
ferry and talked to us until the boat was ready to start. He said
that night and day 15,000 men were employed on the docks, and that
besides all the men coming over on the boats many more came over
through a tunnel that ran under the water. He said that they were
building many boats, and that the "Bismarck" would be the largest boat
afloat--55,000 tons--and that the "Tirpitz" would be 32,000 tons, and
that so far during the war there had been made a total tonnage of new
boats of 740,000 tons and that 100,000 tons were under construction.
Then he told us about the school for sailor boys at Finkenwerder where
boys were being trained as sailors, not for war but for the merchant
marine after the war. I said that I thought this was certainly very
enterprising.

  [Illustration: _Goulash Cannon Factory._]

I did not realize what a wild night it was until our boat got started.
The ferry tipped up and down, and the wind was like a knife. Boats were
scooting all over the harbor, and we had a time to keep from bumping
into things.

A boy of about twelve years was attending to the landings. He was a
tough little kid, and he smoked one cigarette after another. And how
he could swear! We wanted to ask him some questions, but neither of
us had the courage. But finally he came over to us and almost blowing
a puff of smoke into my face he said: "He is an old cab-driver and a
_Schreihals_, and I hate him." He pointed to the pilot.

When our boat came to the second landing it slid under the end of a
great black thing that hung over us. "That is the 'Imperator,'" said
our sailor boy. It had been raised up out of the water to keep it from
rotting, and this made it look bigger than ever. Some of its port holes
showed lights. Just back of the "Imperator" the boy pointed out the
"Bismarck." What a monster it was! It was all lighted up with electric
lights. We could see workmen moving around on it, and we could hear
the click of their hammers. The "Tirpitz" could hardly be seen. It lay
beyond the "Bismarck" and the pelting snow blinded our view.

We passed all sorts of boats, cruisers, torpedo boats, supply boats,
and steamers. I have never seen such a busy place as that harbor.

  [Illustration: _The Crowds in the Hamburg Exchange._]

"You are foreigners," said the boy, "and the old boss on the docks
doesn't allow foreigners out here. But I suppose he saw that you were
girls and you wouldn't know much. We have got to be careful of spies.
We have arrested twenty already. The last one I spotted myself. He was
drawing a plan on a paper. I can tell you nothing gets by me. I can see
you two are harmless."

We made a circle around the harbor. When we came near the cruisers,
coming back, one of the biggest ones broke loose from the group and
began to move slowly away.

"Do you see that?" said the boy, "she is going out again. She has been
here for three weeks. She has been in many a fight. I can tell you she
is a devil." The boat had but a few lights showing, and in a minute she
was lost in the darkness.

On our ferry coming back were several hundred workmen. They were not
cripples but big strong men. When we got off the dock at St. Pauli they
all jumped off and ran. We ran too, for we were nearly frozen stiff.
The old man in blue was waiting for us, and with chattering teeth we
thanked him and told him how much we had enjoyed our trip.

"Wouldn't you like to come in and get warmed up a bit?" he asked and he
took us into a little office where a great fire was burning. He talked
to us about America. I think he must have been a mate on a steamer.

  [Illustration: _View of a Grain Storage at Hamburg._]

It was just six o'clock when we ran up the foot-bridge. A boat-load
of workmen ran up with us. At the top we stood a minute and looked
out over the harbor. A sea of lights! A bay of boats! More workmen!
The old man in blue had said: "We are getting ready for the Hamburg of
to-morrow."

THE KRUPP WORKS AT ESSEN.

Standing in the main square before the town hall of Essen is a large
bronze monument, representing not a king, nor yet a hero, but a man
clad in a simple citizen's coat. His right hand rests on an anvil,
and his penetrating eyes are overhung by a thinker's brow. The granite
pedestal bears the name of "Alfred Krupp."

Long ago England knew the process of making cast steel, but she
carefully kept it a secret. In 1800 Friedrich Krupp, the father of
Alfred, began to experiment. He worked early and late. His friends
told him that he was wasting his time, but Friedrich worked on. After
eleven years he discovered the precious secret, and in 1818, on the
present site of the Essen works, he built eight furnaces, each with one
crucible. He employed only two laborers. And that was the beginning of
the great Krupp works at Essen.

  [Illustration: _Bertha Krupp, Her Husband and Children._]

His son Alfred was born in 1812, just one year after the great
discovery was made, and in 1842 Alfred assumed entire charge of the
works. His father had been able to cast steel only in small masses.
In 1855 Alfred Krupp sent a block of steel weighing 4500 pounds to the
London Exhibition, and he was able to cast steel in one mass weighing
more than 100,000 pounds. Alfred Krupp died in 1887, and it was under
him that the Krupp works grew, to such enormous proportions.

  [Illustration: _A Large Community House._]

Alfred Friedrich Krupp, the third in line, was born in 1854 and died
in 1902. He was known as the cannon king. When he died nearly all
his wealth went to his daughter Bertha. In 1906, at the age of twenty
years, Bertha Krupp was married to a plain German gentleman with only a
"von" to his name, Herr von Bohlen and Halbach. They have four children
living and one child dead, and they live very quietly at "Villa Hügel"
in Essen, a lovely villa built on the hills above the town. In 1900,
before his marriage, Herr von Bohlen was an attaché at the German
embassy at Washington. Bertha Krupp is the second richest person in the
German empire, running the Kaiser a close second, and when this war is
over her wealth may surpass his.

  [Illustration: _Community Houses in Essen._]

Essen lies twenty-two miles north of Düsseldorf on the main railway
to Berlin. This is a very thickly populated district, and the center
of a network of railways which makes it accessible to the Westphalia
coal fields. It is a gloomy-looking town of gray slate roofs, only
brightened by emerald green shutters. The whole town depends on the
Krupp plant for their livelihood, except the store-keepers and a few
hundred men who manufacture woolen goods, cigars and dyes.

The present Krupp works cover over 150 acres, and the daily output
in time of peace is 1977 tons, and many times greater in time of
war. In 1907 they employed 64,354 workmen, and each year this number
had increased. They make all kinds of guns of all calibers--guns
for naval and coast defenses, siege guns, fortress guns, field guns,
armor shields and disappearing carriages for hoisting and transporting
machinery for ammunition. They produce crucible, Martin, puddled and
Bessemer steel, and also steel castings. They make ammunition with
fuses and bursting charges, armor piercing shells, explosive steel
shells, torpedo shells, cast iron shells, shrapnel, case shot and fuse
setters. Besides these warlike productions they make railway material,
engineering material, and sheet iron for motor cars.

  [Illustration: _400 Damaged French and English Cannon Being Repaired at
   the Krupp Factory._]

Plans have been made to erect a gigantic branch of the Krupp works
at Munich. These works will cover one hundred acres, and the city
of Munich recognizing this opportunity for further developments, has
provided enough ground for private industries that are bound to follow
Krupp.

  [Illustration: _A View of the Mills._]

The house of Krupp has worked out an elaborate scheme for the benefit
of their workingmen. It is not a charity scheme, but a building scheme
for both workmen and employer. The scheme was carried out by Alfred
Friedrich Krupp. He built 5469 dwellings, well lighted houses, with as
much space between them as possible and each with a little garden. All
the houses have good water. Three thousand of the houses were built
within fifteen minutes' walk from the works. The men longest in the
firm's employ and with the largest families were given the selection of
the houses.

Policemen and teachers are eligible to become tenants of the dwellings.
The leases are very binding and forbid the carrying on of business
in the houses, sub-letting, quarreling with the neighbors, disorderly
noises, the building of additions, misuse of the drains, the keeping
of animals that are disturbing to the neighbors, smoking stove-pipes
without covers and the lighting of the fire with oil.

  [Illustration: _Another View of the Krupp Works._]

The tenant on the first floor must clean the pavement every day before
nine A. M., except Sundays and holidays when it must be done on the
preceding day between three and four P. M. The rent of the houses runs
from $15 a year for two rooms, to $85 for five or six rooms with a
cellar.

The Essener Hof is a hotel run by the Krupps, and it is intended
for the guests of the Krupps who are doing business with the firm.
Then there is a boarding-house for bachelors and widowers. This
boarding-house was started in 1855 with two hundred men and now it has
over a thousand.

For the community of workers there are many stores, twenty-five grocery
stores, two slaughter-houses, a bakery, a flour mill, an ice plant, a
brush factory, two tailors, two shoemakers, a laundry, a hotel, eleven
restaurants, three cafés, nine beerhalls and two clubhouses.

  [Illustration: _A Street in Essen at the Entrance of the Krupp Works._]

There is a whole staff of doctors to look after the workmen and
their families, and the strict medical treatment prevents contagious
diseases. The laws of the German empire require certain classes of
workmen to be insured against old age and broken-down constitutions.
This came through the efforts of Bismarck, and it applies to all
workmen with a salary not exceeding $500 a year. Alfred Krupp gave
$250,000 to the workmen, the interest of which is used as a fund to
encourage them to build their own houses and as a help for the needy.
It is loaned to the workmen at a very small rate of interest.

Besides these benefits he established private schools the purpose
of which is to qualify the children of the workmen to earn honest
profitable livings. A fee of five cents a month is charged to each
pupil, but if the child remains fifteen months, seventy-five cents is
placed in the savings bank to his credit.

Krupp realized that a contented body of workmen brings about better
results than unhappy ones, and he felt that his scheme was not only a
philanthropic one but also a good business investment.

In the war of 1870 Krupp guns were used, and in this present war they
have played a star role. The Kaiser sent his personal thanks to the
house of Krupp for all that they have done for Germany. Frau Bertha
is very proud of her works and also of the nickname of her howitzers:
"Busy Berthas."

MUNICH IN WAR TIME.

No matter what you want to do in Germany if you are a foreigner, even
a neutral, you have to go to the police. If you want to take a trip,
the first thing that you do is to go to the police and ask them if you
are allowed to go where you want to go, and then if you are allowed to
go you must return to the police exactly twenty-four hours before you
start and get your passport stamped.

Then you take your bread card, your butter card, your meat card and
your potato card to the bread commission. They cut off tickets for as
long as you are to be away, and in return they give you a traveling
bread card, a little book with twenty tickets in it. Each ticket is
good for either a roll or a piece of black bread, and for each week you
receive forty tickets. In the hotels where you stop you receive a meat
card on the days when meat is served.

  [Illustration: _The Son of the Bavarian Crown Prince._]

As soon as you arrive at your destination you must go to the police and
register. Here they write your whole history down on a field-gray card.
One would think that it was an easy matter to slip away and the police
would never know. This can be done very easily, but if you are caught
you get in an awful muddle. Police come through the trains unexpectedly
and ask to see your passport. If it is not in order you are liable to
be imprisoned, and you must pay a fine for every day that you are not
registered. Sensible people follow all the police rules. They are well
advertised and one cannot fail to know them.

  [Illustration: _The Wittelsbach Fountain in Munich._]

An American lady I know went from Berlin to Munich without registering
at the police station. A man came through the train and asked her for
her pass, and when he saw that it was not stamped she was ordered
to report to the Munich police at once. When she got to Munich she
forgot to go to the police for three days, and when she went there the
good-natured Bavarian policeman let her off.

"I am so glad," she said, "I would not know what to wear if I went to
jail.'"

It was in September, 1916, that I made my last trip to Munich. One
seldom sees French prisoners in Berlin, but all the way from Berlin to
Munich I saw them working in the fields. All of these prisoners had on
blue coats and their famous bright red trousers. They made gay spots on
the dull German landscapes.

Every little farm had geese, and every little town had its little
garrison of soldiers, training. In some places the soldiers were out in
the fields drilling. They were running, jumping and shooting.

  [Illustration: _The Frauenkirche, the Symbol of Munich._]

The center of attraction of our whole train was a young sailor from the
"Deutschland." He was a fine young fellow and he smiled at everybody.
At every station he got out and bought something to eat. He seemed to
have an endless appetite and a very long purse.

  [Illustration: _King Ludwig of Bavaria._]

As one gets farther and farther into Bavaria, the wayside shrines begin
to appear. They are everywhere along the roads and in the fields. At
different places harvest workers could be seen gathered around the
shrines in prayer.

When one is many, many miles away from Munich, one can see the two
towers of the _Frauenkirche_, red towers with green tops. These towers
are the symbol of Munich.

Outwardly, the only change that one can see in Munich is the
substituting of soldiers for students, and it really spoils the place,
for while the military spirit suits Berlin so well, it seems out of
place with these more gentle southern people. The Bavarian uniforms are
trimmed around the collar with a blue and white braid that looks like
the edging on a child's petticoat. It is hard to understand how such
artistic people could choose such a thing, but a Bavarian's artistic
sense is in his mind and not in his dress. The Bavarian soldiers have
a reputation all over Germany for being very fine warriors.

The loss of the old Prince Regent Luitpold meant much to these people,
and his son can never hope to be as popular even if he did have to wait
seventy years before he came to the throne. The Crown Prince Rupert is
more popular than his father. He is nearly always with his troops at
the front, and even when his eldest boy died, he felt that he could not
get away. He said, "This is no time for a soldier not to be attending
to his duty." His next son, Prince Albert, is now the heir to the
throne. He is a beautiful little boy and is tremendously popular in
Munich. The old Müncheners say that he is very much like what Ludwig II
was when he was a boy.

  [Illustration: _Crown Prince Ruprecht of Bavaria, "The Fighter of
   Metz."_]

Most things to eat are much more plentiful in Munich than in Berlin.
For instance, a man can have a pint of milk every day and a woman can
have more than that. Ham costs only seventy cents a pound without a
card, and on meat days it can be bought in any of the restaurants. The
meat portions in the Munich restaurants are one hundred and eighty
grams while in Berlin they range from fifty to forty grams; and in
Bavaria the price for the portion is no higher.

Vegetables and fruit are very plentiful, but butter and eggs are
scarcer than in Berlin. One person gets only fifty grams of butter each
week and one egg. In Berlin we generally got eighty grams of butter and
never less than an egg and a half a week.

In Bavaria everything is divided among the people. For instance, if a
man who lives in the country near Munich has a load of hay for sale,
he brings that load of hay to Munich to what they call the central
station. They have all kinds of central stations in Munich, for grain,
for meat, for eggs, for vegetables, and for butter. The load of hay
which the man brings is divided up and given out where it is most
needed; he does not dare to sell the load of hay himself.

  [Illustration: _National Museum at Munich._]

It is just the same with eggs. Suppose that you had a brother in the
country, and he wanted to send you one hundred eggs to pack for the
winter. He could not send you the eggs direct. He would have to send
them first to the central station, and if eggs were plentiful that
week, the central station would let you have the eggs; but if eggs were
scarce and were needed elsewhere, you are given only a small part of
the eggs. This plan is followed in everything. Even if you raise a pig,
you cannot keep all the meat yourself, you must sell a part of it to
your neighbor if he needs it.

The rolls in Munich are much better than in Berlin, and they seem to be
made of entirely white flour. Cheese is very scarce in Berlin, but in
Munich there is plenty of cheese, and it is very cheap. Pure coffee can
be bought at a dollar a pound without a card, and although there is a
sugar card the same as in Berlin, still all the restaurants and cafés
serve pure sugar.

The price of beer has not been affected much by the war and beer
that was twenty-eight pfennigs before the war is now thirty-four
pfennigs, and the Hofbräu beer, or the beer made by the royal brewery,
is thirty-two pfennigs. Fine malt beers such as Bock Beer and Märzen
Beer are prohibited from being made, as they take too much malt and
saccharine.

  [Illustration: _Karl's Gate._]

One evening when I was there we walked through the Mathazerbräu, the
greatest beer hall in the world. The place was one mass of people
drinking beer, soldiers and officers and women. Most of the guests
brought their supper with them, and everybody was smoking. It was like
walking through a thick fog, there was so much smoke.

  [Illustration: _Franz von Stuck._]

We went to a lot of theaters, cafés and cabarets, and they were always
full. Everywhere we went we had trouble in getting a seat. Everybody
seemed to be having a very nice time. They were not hilarious, but
they seemed to think that staying at home and moping would not help
matters. The most astonishing part was the vast amount of money spent
everywhere. Some cabarets only served champagne, and the spenders
ordered it by the quart. No one got drunk in spite of the amount of
fluid they poured into them.

The art show at the Glass Palace was on when I was there, but I did
not find it as interesting as the great show I had seen there the year
before the war. There were too many landscapes of a dull color. This
did not interfere with the sale of the pictures, and one-tenth of them
were marked sold.

  [Illustration: _The Home of Franz von Stuck in Munich._]

One day I paid a visit to the studio of Herr Franz von Stuck. He was
very cordial. He is a splendid, big, strong man. Lately he has built an
addition to his house so that he can have more room for his work, and
he has one of the finest studios I have ever seen. The first floor is
for modeling, and the second floor is for painting. He said that it was
very hard to get good models now as all the men of fine physique were
in the war.

"Do you get the same amount of bread as an ordinary man?" I asked him.

"Exactly the same," he answered. "The poorest workingman in the streets
gets the same as I. That is why our system is so splendid."

He hardly mentioned his work at all, indeed he seemed quite shy about
it. On his table was a dish made of Brazilian butterflies. He picked
it up and turned it so that it showed blue, then brown, and then green.
"Isn't it beautiful!" he said enthusiastically, "Look at it now!"

I looked around the room at all his wonderful pictures. I thought of
all the fame that was his and of all the honors that had been heaped at
his feet, and yet there he was admiring a butterfly's wing. I had the
feeling that a great man stood before me.

FROM BERLIN TO VIENNA IN WAR TIME.

You would naturally think that it would be a very easy matter to go
from Berlin to Vienna in war time, because Germany and Austria are
allies, and that it would be as easy as traveling around Germany; that
all you would have to do would be to pack your trunk, go down to the
station, buy your ticket and get on the train. Of course you must do
all these things, but you must do a great many other things before you
do that.

The first thing that you do is to go to the police where you are
registered and get what they call a _Fragebogen_, which means a
question sheet. You cannot get this sheet unless you have a letter from
some important person or firm stating that it is necessary for you to
go. Your reason must be a very good one.

  [Illustration: _Vienna--Along the Danube._]

You fill out your _Fragebogen_, the police look up your record
and if it is found out to be all right, they put your letter of
recommendation, your passport, the _Fragebogen_ and half a dozen
pictures of yourself in an envelope and seal it. You take this sealed
envelope to the main police station in the district in which you
live. Here the package is opened by several different men in several
different rooms, and finally, after many questions and much stamping,
you are told to write your name across your picture which has been
pasted on a card.

After you are through with the German police, you must have your
pass viséd by the Austro-Hungarian consul. Here you must go to three
different men and be "stamped" and the last man takes two more of your
pictures and pastes them on a pink card. Then you pay four marks to
another man who does some more stamping. After all these things are
done, you go back to your local police and register that you are going
away, and then, after showing your pass at the railway ticket office,
you are allowed to buy your ticket to Vienna. This was what a neutral
American had to do before we got into the war--now I doubt if an
American could go to Vienna at all.

It is a sixteen hours' ride from Berlin to Vienna with a one hour's
wait at Tetschen on the Austro-German frontier. Our first stop was
at Dresden, and like all German stations it was full of soldiers. The
ride from Dresden to Tetschen is very beautiful. It runs through the
Saxon Switzerland, a lovely country with mountains, streams of water
and little villages. How peaceful everything was! How quiet! It did not
seem like a country that was taking part in a great war.

  [Illustration: _A Station in Vienna._]

At noon we reached Tetschen, a cold, dismal looking place. First we
had our baggage examined by both Austrian and German officials. These
officials are all clever men. Some of them are dressed up to look like
common soldiers, but they are all fine lawyers and criminal experts.

A soldier stood up on a box and said that any one who had any writing
about him should give it up. In my stocking I had my money and a letter
of introduction that I had brought from America and which I was going
to use in Vienna. I understood perfectly well what the soldier said,
but for some unknown reason or other I simply didn't feel like pulling
the letter out of my stocking. This was madness on my part, for I had
learned long ago that if you follow directions in Germany you don't get
into trouble, and if you don't follow them, you are sure to get into a
mess.

After this, we were taken through a gate where we gave up our passes
and they were taken away to see if the picture corresponded with the
one sent down by the German police. The men here had a dreadful time
with my name. All Germans find my name a difficult one. One soldier
here just insisted that my name was "Auley" without the "Mc," but
finally another soldier gave him a poke and said that "Mc" was a title
and that I was of royal blood.

  [Illustration: _The Inside of a Polish Hut._]

Everybody who didn't have a German or an Austrian pass had to undress,
and as soon as I got into the searching-room, I gave the woman who was
to search me, the letter out of my stocking. She took it and gave it to
some one. My heart was in my mouth, for I had no idea what they would
do, and I knew if they did anything to me it would be my own fault for
not following directions.

I got a very good searching, and I had to take off all my clothes,
only when she told me to take off my shoes and I commenced to unlace
one boot she said never mind that one, to take off the other one. I
had hardly gotten dressed before there was a knock at the door of the
dressing-room and some one said I was wanted. I put on my hat and went
out, and there planked in front of the door with both legs spread out
and a long sword at his side, was a good-looking little Saxon officer
aged about twenty years.

He had a fierce look on his face as he demanded, "Why didn't you give
this up in the other room?"

"I couldn't," I answered, "it was in my stocking. You couldn't expect
me to take it out of my stocking before all those men, could you?"

Then we both laughed and I said, "I hope you will give it to me again."

"Of course I will," he answered.

  [Illustration: _Russian Refugees Returning Home._]

I went with him to the commanding officer, but that man would not
give me back the letter. I didn't care, I was so glad I hadn't been
arrested. When we came back from Vienna, I was the only one of our
party that had to undress. I never noticed it, but there was some
kind of a mark on my pass, and as soon as the official saw it I had to
undress. But this time I had nothing in my stocking. When they searched
my trunk they took away from me all the post cards and photos of Vienna
I had, and didn't give them back.

After leaving Tetschen, the train runs for hours through Bohemia. It
does not touch at Prague but at a number of small picturesque towns
such as Kolin and Znaim. The country is extensively cultivated and very
fertile. The train was supposed to be an express train but it stopped
at every little way-station.

At one station, a very beautifully dressed lady with a little girl got
on the train. I thought that she must be the wife of some high official
and I was surprised at her lovely clothes away out there in Bohemia.
She sat next to me, and in a short time she began talking to the woman
who sat across from her and who kept asking over and over if any one in
the coupé knew when we got to Deutschbrod. The beautifully-dressed lady
said that she knew for she was going there. And then she told the whole
coupé about the place.

To my surprise she said that she was the wife of the apothecary at the
Barracks at Deutschbrod. The Barracks is a city built since the war on
the hills above the town. It was built by the Austrian government and
is the home of the refugees of East Galicia whose homes were destroyed
by the Russians. Most of these _Flüchtlinge_, as the Germans call them,
are Polish and Russian Jews, but they have also two hundred Italians
from near Görz.

  [Illustration: _A Family of Polish Refugees._]

The wife of the apothecary, who was a Hungarian woman, said that
the refugees had everything they needed and that everything was
free--clothes, food, wine, beer, doctor's service and medicine. She
said that unless there was some contagious disease in the camp the
people were allowed perfect freedom to go and come as they pleased.
Most of the inmates have their own gardens and raise their own
chickens.

It was dark when we came to the place, but the apothecary's wife
pointed it out on a distant hill. It was like a great city, one mass
of electric lights sparkling in the darkness. When I came back from
Vienna I had a good look at it. It was a hillside town made up of new
frame houses, mostly small houses laid out in regular rows separated by
straight streets.

After Deutschbrod was passed, our compartment was empty except for a
young Jewish woman who had been sitting quietly in the corner. After a
while she leaned over to us and said, "You speak English. I can see it
that you are Americans. I was once in New York." And then she told us
that she was a refugee from East Galicia.

  [Illustration: _Galician Refugees in Austria._]

"It was terrible," she said in rather good English. "I was in
America for a whole year. I saw Niagara Falls. Then shortly before
the war broke out my mother wrote for me to come home. We had such
a nice house, and such nice things in our house. They belonged to my
ancestors. On the 4th of October we heard that the Russians were coming
toward our village and that they were only forty kilometers away. We
had already sent our best horses to the army. The ones left behind were
sent to the village for the old people. My mother and father rode, and
my husband and I walked or rather ran after them for two days as fast
as we could. We hadn't time to take anything with us, and we had to
leave even our glassware and silver behind. I had a new Persian lamb
coat that I left hanging in the cupboard. We have never been able to go
back to our homes since." She wept a little.

It was ten o'clock when we came to Vienna. We had a hard time getting
a cab, and when we did get one it rattled over the stones as though
it had no rubber on its wheels. The first thing we had to do the next
morning was to go to the police, and it took us the whole morning
until two o'clock in the afternoon to get registered. There were only
two clerks and about fifty people waiting. We came in turns, and if
any one tried to get in ahead of his turn the rest of us howled, "Wait
your turn." One fat, important-looking foreigner tried to get into the
clerk's room without waiting. Three men waiters jumped up and turned
him out. This pleased the rest of us and we all giggled with glee.

  [Illustration: _Uniform of a Viennese Red Cross Girl, Field Gray
   Trimmed in Red._]

VIENNA IN WAR TIME.

  [Illustration: _Scene Along the Danube._]

I had never realized the wonderfulness of the German food card system
until I went to Vienna. In Germany you can buy at a reasonable price
your allotted ration of food, and the poor people are just as well off
as the rich, but in Vienna the rich people have everything and the poor
people are in great need because of the lack of food regulations, and
while there is an abundance of food it is so dear that the poor cannot
afford to buy. And Vienna is not like Berlin--there are a great many
poor people in Vienna.

  [Illustration: _Funeral of Franz Josef. The Emperor and Crown Prince of
   Austria in the Foreground._]

  [Illustration: _Viennese Vegetable Woman._]

For some time there has been a bread card in Vienna, and at the time
of my visit, November 1916, the government was just beginning to take
the food question in hand, and a few weeks before Christmas a coffee
and a sugar card were issued. But the Austrians have not the gift for
organization which the Germans have, and I heard that even six months
later the food distribution was in a very poor state. I talked to many
Austrians, and they all told me that they were anxious to have the
entire German food card system established in Austria.

  [Illustration: _Collecting Books, Papers and Tobacco for the Hungarian
   Soldiers._]

Austria is a great agricultural and wheat-raising country, and yet when
I was there, there was very little bread in Vienna. The beautiful white
Viennese bread had entirely disappeared, and a soggy brown stuff had
taken its place. There was one kind called "Anker Bread" that was still
very good, and the people stood in line to get it. And all this was not
because flour was scarce but because of its poor distribution.

None of the restaurants are allowed to serve bread, even if you have
a bread card you cannot get it, and the only place a stranger can
get bread in Vienna is for breakfast at his hotel. People who eat in
restaurants carry their bread with them, and generals and all sorts of
high officials have little packages of bread concealed in their pockets
which they slyly pull out at the table.

All the white flour is baked into cakes, and the Viennese cakes are
as white and as wonderful as in their palmiest days. But the price! In
a café a piece of cake of two thin layers costs one crown twenty-five
hellers, about a quarter in our money.

  [Illustration: _Wholesale Cabbage Market in Vienna._]

In most German cities one person gets about a pound of meat a week,
but in Vienna there is no meat card and you can buy as much meat as you
like if you can afford to buy it. Every meat shop in Vienna is hanging
full of meat--sausage, ham, pork, beef, chickens and geese. I went
through the great Viennese market which is squares and squares long.
Everywhere meat, meat, meat. I had forgotten that there was so much
meat in the world. Stall after stall just loaded down with hams, but
no bacon. Mostly young pigs. But no one was buying, only looking--like
Till Eulenspiegel, as though the smell was enough. The hams were from
one dollar to one dollar and sixty cents a pound, and the beef was even
higher. Sausage was not so expensive, and geese were cheaper than in
Germany.

I had never seen such an abundance of everything. Acres and acres of
cabbages piled up as high as a house--great, hard-looking heads of a
fresh green color. Then barrels and barrels of apples. Not such good
apples as we have in America, but at such a fancy price! For thirty-two
cents we got six little dried-up apples that we could hardly eat.

From the apple market we went to the onion market. Can you imagine a
square as big as Union Square in New York where nothing but onions are
sold? Well, they have that in Vienna. And the most wonderful onions!
Small white ones, small red ones, big yellow ones and green ones! Onion
peelings flew around everywhere, and do you know that they really
smelled sweet? But the old women in back of the stalls did not look
sweet, but as though they had stood among onions so long that they had
become dried-up onions themselves.

  [Illustration: _Waiting for Soup at a Viennese Soup-Kitchen._]

They had no potatoes in the market, but the restaurants seemed to have
plenty of them. Cheese was just beginning to be scarce, and one person
could buy only a quarter of a pound at a time. We collected cheese to
take back to Berlin with us, and we took turns going into the shops
and buying a piece so that the clerks would not know that we were
together. We collected a good many pounds and we got them safely over
the frontier.

Eating in a restaurant in Vienna in war time is the most expensive
thing of which I know. Small meat or deer orders were from eighty cents
upward, and no potatoes go with this order. In Germany, you can get a
piece of meat, two potatoes and a vegetable for thirty-two cents.

There seems to be plenty of milk and sugar in Vienna, but it is
forbidden for any café to serve milk in coffee between the hours of two
and seven o'clock, when every Viennese goes to a café to drink coffee.
This restriction saves many gallons of milk. The coffee is real coffee
and very good. You can have as many eggs as you like, very nicely
cooked at fifteen cents an egg. Sugar is not served on the trains
between Berlin and Vienna, but in a café they give you three lumps with
a cup of coffee. Saccharine is served with tea.

  [Illustration: _Sick Hungarian Soldiers Receiving Gifts in Vienna._]

The war has been very hard on the Austrians, and distress shows itself
in the faces of the people you meet on the streets. They do not come
of the sturdy stock that the Germans come from. They have always been
a very religious people, and the war has made them more religious than
ever, and now they are always burning candles before their favorite
altar or saint's picture. The sacred picture in the Church of St.
Stephen is always lighted by dozens of candles, and there is never a
moment when the church is opened that some one is not kneeling before
this picture, children, soldiers and old women with their empty market
baskets. For the Catholic Viennese this picture is the center of
everything, and in the war this inanimate object has played a big part.
They pray to it to help the men in battle, to care for the wounded and
to bless the souls of the dead. Centuries ago this picture was stolen
by the Turks or some other kind of Pagan, and it is said that the eyes
of the picture shed real tears until it was brought back and placed
in a Christian church again. It stands on the ground on an easel, and
people are allowed to touch the wire over it.

Small change is very scarce in Vienna, and they have torn the two-crown
paper bills in two, and each half is good for a crown. They also use
stamps for change as they do in Germany. Now they are making crowns and
half-crowns of paper.

This winter is going to be terrible for the poor of Vienna, for last
winter was bad enough. I really wonder what the people will do to get
along.

SOLDIERS OF VIENNA.

I had been in Vienna, and each time I had thought that the most
wonderful and exquisite things were the Viennese officers. They have
always seemed to me like dainty paper dolls which had just stepped out
of a fashion plate. I had imagined that in war time they would look
less spick and span--but no indeed, they looked just the same, real war
having made no difference.

The Austrian officer is of only one type. He is very tall, very slender
and very graceful, and he is mostly rather dark than light. He has
a small head and face, a straight nose, curved lips and a short but
square chin. He may have eyes of any color, but he is clean shaven--a
mustache is no longer the fashion. His nails are polished and his
manners are delightful. He is generally well educated and very clever.
But he does not look substantial. He seems to have no inner power.

  [Illustration: _Franz Josef in Uniform._]

The uniform of the Austrian army from the commonest soldiers to the
highest official is away ahead of the German uniforms. The German
uniforms have the tendency to make the men look wide and squatty, and
the ugly little stiff flat caps of the Germans only emphasize this
fact. The Austrian uniform on the other hand makes the men look tall
and slender. The belt of the coat is high, and this makes the legs look
longer, and the straight cap adds more to the height.

Most of the officers' coats are of field-gray color, but not all as in
Germany. The artillery men, for instance, wear a coat of dark reddish
brown that is very stunning in color. The Hussars wear a short gray
coat of very heavy cloth and black trousers. Around their neck they
wear a fur collar and over the fur a heavy gold braid is tied. Other
officers wear white broadcloth uniforms, and although Vienna is by no
means a clean city these white suits are always spotless. Most of the
officers wear white kid gloves and their boots shine like a mirror. The
streets of Vienna are full of these officers. One wonders who is at the
front.

Nearly all the Austrian officers and many of the Viennese policemen
wear corsets, and you can see the corsets displayed in the men's
furnishings windows. They are not as long as a woman's corset and
are generally made of fancy silk, yellow and black--the Austrian
colors--preferred. All the officers wear such long swords that they
drag on the ground.

  [Illustration: _Emperor Carl Franz Josef and His Family._]

They do not have shoulder straps to denote rank as they have in
Germany, but stars on the collar are used instead. A single star
made out of any kind of cloth denotes a common soldier; two stars
an _Unteroffizier_, or a corporal; three stars a _Feldwebel_, or a
sergeant; a silver star means a _Leutnant_, or a lieutenant; two silver
stars an _Oberleutnant_, or a first lieutenant; three silver stars
means a _Hauptmann_, or a captain; one gold star means a _Major_, and
so on up the list.

All the uniforms are very practical and very well made. The overcoats
of the common soldiers are lined all the way down, and the gray caps
are not stiff but are made out of a soft cloth. The legs are bound in
strips of heavy cloth which wind round and round.

All the common soldiers have their hats stuck full of fancy pins of
all kinds, and the soldiers from Tyrol have _Edelweiss_ pins stuck in
their hats, for that is the flower of the mountains. The Viennese Red
Cross girls also wear many pins. They wear a gray suit and a hat that
is trimmed with bright red and is very becoming.

If Vienna is full of officers the country around is full of common
soldiers. I saw them from the train windows. Some of them were farming,
others were fishing, and still others were walking along the country
roads, perhaps going home on a furlough.

  [Illustration: _Soldiers at the Prater Park in Vienna._]

One day I went to the Central Cemetery in Vienna where Mozart, Gluck,
Beethoven, Schubert, Johann Strauss and Brahms lie buried in a little
plot of ground. Just before you come to the cemetery there is a
barracks. It had only a barbed wire fence around it and we could see
into the place. It was made up of small frame houses and looked like
a western mining town that had sprung up in a single night. Before
the door of a house near the fence a soldier was doing a good-sized
washing. He seemed to be very much worried for fear he was not getting
the things clean. I am sure he was rubbing everything full of holes.
When he saw us watching him, he first wiped the perspiration from his
brow, then he laughed. "_Sehr schwer_," (very hard), he said sighing.

The Central Cemetery is so large that nearly every one who dies in
Vienna is buried in it. When a funeral comes in at the gate the bells
are tolled, and the funerals came in one after another the day I was
there. The hearses of the soldiers were draped with the Austrian flag.
People follow the hearse walking. An old woman dressed in black and
with a black shawl tied over her head was holding on to the back of one
of these soldier hearses. It seemed as though she could not bear to be
parted from her dead. She was not weeping but had a strange grim look
on her face, a face in which all hope was gone.

From the cemetery we went to the Prater to see the less dismal side of
soldier life. The Prater is the great park of Vienna. It has splendid
drives, but one end is like a Coney Island or a Luna Park. It is
a very gay place even now in war time; there are merry-go-rounds,
roller-coasters and all kinds of side shows. The crowd was very much
mixed, but most of the men were soldiers, privates, and they looked
like men from the country. I saw one old Austrian general getting on
the loop-the-loop with a little boy. He was showing his grandson a good
time.

  [Illustration: _Kaiser Carl of Austria on a Visit to Berlin._]

Along the streets one could buy roasted peanuts, roasted chestnuts,
roasted apples, and roasted potatoes. I bought a potato. It was served
to me in a newspaper, and I had to eat the thing without the aid of a
knife or a fork. It tasted fine to me.

One morning we went to the art gallery, but it was closed. Now it is
open only one day a week. When we came out of the gallery a common
soldier came up and spoke to us. He asked us what there was to see in
Vienna. He said he only had until six o'clock that night, and he did
not know what to go to see, as he had never been in Vienna before.

He was a young man with light hair and very gentle manners. He was
dressed in field gray but I noticed something queer about him. All
German and Austrian privates wear pieces of gray linen around their
necks instead of collars, but this man had on a white collar with a
black border. Was he a priest? He asked me a lot of questions as to
whether this church or that church was open or not and then I said to
him, "Are you a priest?"

"Yes," he answered, "I am the village priest of the little town of
X.... I am a volunteer in this war, and now after a year I am returning
on my first furlough to my little parish. My people will be very glad
to see me, but in two weeks I must be back to the front again. An old
man is taking my place. He was too old to go, but I am young and my
country needed me." He walked along with us a little way and when he
left us, he raised his hands over our heads and gave us his blessing.

  [Illustration: _Austrian Soldiers in Winter Uniform._]

The guard change in the court of the city palace in Vienna is a great
spectacle. It takes about a half an hour and is much more elaborate
than the one in Berlin. I can't begin to tell all that takes place.
Soldiers stand in rows, then they come out and salute, and then they
go back again. The officers must stand without moving, they don't seem
to breathe, and this standing is so strenuous that three times in that
half hour they must be relieved. When the Austrian flag is brought out
all the men lift their hats and salute it with drawn swords. In between
the military band plays, and when the playing is over a major comes out
and congratulates the officers on their performance. It is like a piece
on the stage.

The opera in Vienna is always crowded with soldiers, and they make a
very gay assembly, officers with their gay uniforms and Viennese ladies
in their low-necked gowns. The customs in Vienna are not the same as
in America, and a real lady can take an officer to the theater or to
dinner, paying his way.

One night we were seated in a restaurant when a first lieutenant, a
tall fellow dressed in black and gold, came in with a lady. They sat
down at the table next to us. He was very polite, hanging up her coat,
taking a spot of dirt off her face, and then he read over the bill
of fare and asked her what she wanted. They were not married to each
other, for they used _Sie_ and not the familiar _Du_. He wanted her to
have either roast duck or roast goose, but she said no, that they were
too expensive, and she modestly took two "wienies" and some sauerkraut
at sixty cents a plate. "What a considerate lady," I thought, "she
doesn't want to be too hard on that poor officer." When the waiter came
around I nearly fell over to see her foot the bill, and then she gave
the officer five crowns to pay for the cab.

Another day I was in a shop buying cheese. A young lady came in with
three officers--two artillery officers and a hussar. First she bought
several dollars' worth of cakes, and then she bought each of the men
a bottle of fancy liqueur. Her bill was over thirteen dollars. She
carried the cakes and the bottle for the hussar, because he had on
white gloves and had no pockets. It is a great thing to be a Viennese
officer.

WOMEN WARRIORS.

Perhaps in no other war have there been so many women warriors as
in this one. In Russia, in Galicia, in Hungary, in Serbia, and in
Montenegro, countless women have gone out to fight. They have served in
the trenches, in the mountain passes and on ships. They have suffered
hardships the same as the men, enduring the cold, the wretched food and
the strenuous work without a murmur. Each one of the women has had love
of country and fireside in her heart, but in most cases it was love for
her husband from whom she did not wish to be separated that sent her to
the front.

The peasant women in these far eastern countries have always done
the work of men. They have tilled the soil, built houses and made
roads, and so it seems quite natural to them that they should fight. A
number of Russian women soldiers have been taken prisoners, and it is
impossible to tell them from men.

The German government does not permit her women to fight, but every now
and then one of them disguises herself as a man and enlists, fighting
for her country until she is found out. In France, a few women have
done the same thing, and in England a regiment of "Riflewomen" has
been formed, not for service on the front, but for home defense if it
ever becomes necessary. In Serbia, early in the war, women formed a
battalion known as the "Death's Head Battalion," and at that time they
were very active. Some women in the Austrian, Hungarian and Russian
armies have been made corporals and sergeants, and many of them have
received decorations for valor.

The most famous woman warrior of the present war has been the Grand
Duchess Augusta of Austria, wife of the Grand Duke Josef. Ever since
Italy entered the war she has been at the head of her regiment on the
Italian front. She dresses like a soldier, wears a helmet on her head,
carries a sword and rides her horse like a man. The Grand Duke is very
proud of her and does everything he can to encourage her activities.

Elizabeth Lorenz, also a Viennese, is the second famous woman warrior.
She is the wife of the famous surgeon Dr. Adolf Lorenz, and she went to
the front as her husband's assistant, driving a Red Cross wagon to and
from the firing line. She was decorated by Franz Josef before he died.

Another Austrian to serve her country was a little twelve-year-old
peasant girl, Rosa Zenoch, who, during the fighting at Rawaruska,
carried water to the soldiers in the trenches. In the thick of the fray
she stopped to give a drink to a wounded Hungarian soldier lying by the
wayside. Some shrapnel burst around her and she was severely wounded.
She was carried to the hospital train, but on the way to Vienna it was
necessary to amputate her leg. When Franz Josef heard about her case he
sent her a golden band set with diamonds, 10,000 crowns and a new leg.

In one Hungarian regiment the eighteen-year-old Anna Falacia served
five months without any one knowing that she was a girl. Since Anna's
mother died she and her twin brother had been inseparable, and when
he was called to the colors, she dressed herself as a boy and went
with him. During the storming of Belgrade the brother of Anna Falacia
was shot and he fell dying at her feet. When she saw him lying there
she burst into tears. They carried him away and she left her post and
followed the bier. The sergeant called her back. "I am Anna Falacia,"
she cried, "I am a girl, and now that my brother is dead, I am going
back."

A German woman who disguised herself as a man was Maria Balka. When
the Russians invaded Memel in East Prussia they killed Max Balka.
When his wife Maria saw what they had done, she swore that she would
have revenge. She dressed as a man and enlisted. No one knew her. She
was a good soldier and she rose from private to corporal and then to
sergeant. She even won a band for being one of the five best shots in
her regiment.

At Kowno, twenty thousand Russians were taken prisoners, and Maria
Balka with two underofficers and ten men were ordered to take one
thousand of them to Gumbinnen. There were no trains, and they had to
march. The orders were strict--if a prisoner got out of line he was to
be shot. It was no time for mercy.

In the village of Pilwiski they passed a hut. A Russian peasant woman
was standing in the doorway. She had a baby in her arms. When she saw
the men she rushed forward crying, "Peter! Peter Doroff!" A prisoner
broke from the ranks and rushed into her arms, although he knew the
order was death. Four German privates stopped and leveled their guns
and waited the order from Maria Balka to fire. Maria Balka's face
was all aflame; she would make at least one Russian suffer as she had
suffered. It was her moment. But the Russian woman flung herself at
Maria's feet.

"That is my husband," she pleaded, "Don't shoot him. He is all I have."

Maria's hand which had been raised to give the signal trembled and then
fell at her side.

"March," she said to the surprised soldiers.

"You may keep him," she said to the terrified woman. When Maria
reported at headquarters she explained what she had done, and she told
them that she was a woman. The next day she went back to Memel. Her
desire for revenge was dead.

One German woman, Anne Marie Reimer, the wife of a doctor in East
Prussia, served seven months as the driver of an automobile truck, and
the result of her experiences is a very interesting book _Seven Months
on the East Front as a Driver_. In this book, she tells how she guided
her automobile right up to the firing line. Once, when the fighting
was very fierce she did not have her clothes off for four weeks. When
the Kaiser came to review her regiment, she passed in review in front
of him with the rest of the men. In February, 1915, she was taken with
fever contracted by the exposure. Her husband brought her to Berlin. In
her book she says that no one knows the unselfishness and the kindness
of soldiers toward each other, and she thinks that war has an ennobling
influence on the men.

The Russian prisoners in the German prison camp at Zossen went in a
body to the German major and asked him to have a Russian prisoner,
Nicholas Nisoff, removed from their barracks. He was possessed with
the devil, they said, and he was trying to cast a spell over them. The
major sent for Nicholas Nisoff, and he came pale and trembling.

"Nicholas Nisoff," said the major, "sit down and tell me what is the
matter. What have you done that you are silent all day and cry out all
night?"

It was below freezing in the major's barnlike office, but Nicholas had
to wipe the perspiration from his brow as he staggered into a seat. He
began in broken sentences.

"It happened in Galicia. In the morning we took two hundred Austrian
and Hungarian prisoners. We shut them up in different places, and in
one hut where thirty of them were, I was detailed on night watch. All
night long I paced up and down before the cottage. It was very quiet,
but at last I heard a noise. The window was slowly opened and some
one jumped to the ground. "Halt!" I cried, "Halt! Or I will fire." The
person did not stop, so I fired into the darkness. I took out my pocket
lamp to see what kind of a Hungarian I had shot, and there on the
ground a slender figure was lying. I looked again. I could not believe
what I saw. It was a woman! Her cap had fallen off and her long yellow
hair was streaming about her. I felt her heart. It had stopped beating.
And I, Nicholas Nisoff, had killed a woman. And since that time I
cannot sleep, and in the night she comes to me with her long hair
streaming around, and pointing her finger at me she says, 'Nicholas
Nisoff! Why did you shoot me?'"

When he had finished, Nicholas again wiped the sweat from his brow and
the major wrote down something on a paper. The next day Nicholas was
taken away and brought to Berlin where he was given employment on a
railroad. He is much happier now, and it is only now and then that the
ghost of the Hungarian woman comes to haunt him.

Helene Lichowitz! When they came for Ivan Lichowitz, Helene begged
them not to take her husband. He was ill, she said. But it made no
difference, and three weeks later he was in the trenches. Once he
coughed so violently that he lost consciousness. But when he came to,
Helene Lichowitz was bending over him.

"I have come to take care of you," she said. For three weeks they were
together. Helene did the same work as a man, and most of Ivan's work
too. On a bitter cold day last December there was a night attack by
the Germans. The Russians were ordered to charge. Ivan stumbled along
blindly, and Helene supported him when she thought that he was going to
fall. When they had gone a little way, there was a great roar from the
German side, followed by a volley of bullets, shells burst in the air.

In the evening the German ambulance men came to save what they could of
the poor creatures lying there. Ivan was dead, but Helene was carried
to a field hospital. The German doctor did everything he could to
save her, but Helene Lichowitz did not want to live. She said her work
was done. In three days she died, holding the hand of the tear-dimmed
German doctor.

"Ivan Lichowitz!" she called in a low voice, "I come!"

HOW AMERICANS WERE TREATED IN GERMANY.

"Wilson Breaks with Germany!" So announced the _B. Z. am Mittag_ at
noon on Sunday February 5, 1917. It was a very cold day, almost the
coldest of that long cold winter. The chills were running up and down
my spine in our cold apartment, but this headliner froze me stiff.

"Wilson Breaks with Germany." That is a typical German headliner. They
never say "America" in the German papers, but always "Wilson," and it
is Wilson that gets the blame for everything and never the American
people.

The Monday after the break occurred the Americans flocked around
the Embassy. We were all tremendously excited. Some were talking
about "getting out" and others about "staying over." All were saying
something, but most of us were saying "We will wait and see." When war
was really declared, we took it much more calmly, we had grown used to
emotion.

Our breaking off relations was taken very quietly by the German people.
It was not flattering, and I felt that they should show a little horror
and emotion that the greatest country in the world was against them.
But the German people are sort of stunned in their emotions, and the
only real emotion they have is the wish for peace. Peace is all they
think about and long for.

When our Embassy went away all the Americans that remained behind went
to the station to see them off. It was a slushy, snowy night. German
policemen were everywhere and we had to show our passes to get out to
the train. The platform was full of people, and the people who were
going away were leaning from the train windows. Mr. and Mrs. Gerard
had a little crowd around their window. I saw two men from the German
Foreign Office in the crowd, Dr. Roediger and Herr Horstmann. Dr.
Roediger was the clever young German who censored most of the articles
of the American newspaper correspondents. His English was perfect.

When the train pulled out, there was a faint "Hurrah," and the people
turned down the steps, embassyless and ambassadorless.

Right after the break Herr Zimmermann gave out that the Americans in
Germany should be shown every courtesy, and that they should be treated
as neutrals, and that any discourtesy should be reported to him at
once.

Nothing happened to us until about the first of April all the Americans
were summoned to the Military Commandery, and here we were lined up and
registered. The _Militär_ advised us to go home. The Foreign Office too
gave us this advice. Even the American men were advised to leave, and
none of them were held.

The last of April the Americans got notices that they would have to
report to their local police every day to get official papers stamped.
Also that they could not go from one city to another without a special
permit which took three weeks to get, also that they could not go to
the suburbs of Berlin without a permit--this last included Grunewald.
The only bright spot was that we could stay out at night as late as we
liked.

But for most Americans this did not last long, and they got off with
reporting only once a week, and some of them had permanent permits for
going to certain places in the suburbs of Berlin. As I was expecting
to leave Germany, I never asked for one of these permits, for it was
an awful task to go to the Military Commandery for anything, because
there were always so many people there waiting, it took half a day
to get anything. But I got off from going to the police every day.
No Americans were allowed to go to either Potsdam or Spandau, Potsdam
because of the royal residences, and Spandau because of the military
stores. If you went any place without a permit, you were fined twenty
marks and were liable to imprisonment.

I lived at a boarding-house where there were a lot of German officers,
and on all the excursions that were made to the country by the
boarders, I was asked to go along. The officers were very nice men, and
they said that they would protect me if anything was said about my not
having a permit, but I never went with them, for I don't look like a
German and I was afraid I would be caught. I always stayed within the
law.

I lived at that boarding-house seven weeks just before I left Germany,
and I can honestly say that I never heard a word against my country.
When I first went there I felt worried, for I was afraid that they
would say things to me about America, and that I would answer back and
maybe I would get into trouble and be arrested and held in Germany.
But nothing like that happened. We hardly ever talked war--no one in
Germany talks war as we do here in America--we talked about things to
eat.

At this boarding-house I made friends with a very nice little German