"WITH THE GERMAN ARMIES IN THE WEST"—VISITS TO THE GENERAL STAFF
Told by Sven Hedin, Noted Swedish Explorer—Authorized Translation from, the Swedish
by H. G. Dewalterstorff
This is one of the most remarkable narratives of the War. It is a great historical record, as well as a fascinating story of personal experiences. Dr. Sven Hedin is one of the great Swedish explorers and historians. His record as a man of intrepid daring is known throughout Europe. By special permission of the Kaiser, Dr. Hedin was commissioned to visit and observe the German Armies in Belgium and France. He is the friend of Kings and was received with open arms at the headquarters of the general staff of the German Army. These experiences he describes in a volume entitled "With the German Armies in the West," which is one of the few War books which has been accepted by the German government as a true record. Dr. Hedin's talks with the Kaiser, the Crown Prince, and the Army Officers, with his journeys along the battle grounds of the Western front, allow us to look behind the scenes for the first time. A few selections from his remarkable tales are here given by permission of his publishers John Lane Company.
[2] I—"ON MY WAY TO WILHELMSTRASSE, BERLIN"
The rain falls thick and heavy and patters down on the dripping lines outside my balcony. Berlin is dull and miserable in the autumn when the rain sweeps its long, monotonously straight streets with their heavy, dark houses. Not even the trooping of the colors and the march past at midday raise the drooping spirits, and only a few pedestrians with open umbrellas join the band and march in step with the soldiers. No calls are made, no visits paid, for the whole of the aristocracy is in mourning for lost relatives and everybody's thoughts are centered on the war. Nobody feels inclined for the futile pleasures of ordinary times when the newspapers speak of a father who has lost four sons at the front, or of a mother whose three sons have each died a hero's death for Emperor and country. But no complaints are heard, no tears seen. In the streets one seldom sees signs of mourning. There is perhaps a tacit convention not to express in black and white the sorrow which is felt at the bottom of the heart, but to make the grief subservient to the proud consciousness that the beloved one has fallen for his country, never to return!...
But the rain keeps on falling and beats against the window-panes. I hurry downstairs, jump into a taxi and in a few minutes I am sitting in an elegant drawing-room at the dainty new residence of the Swedish Minister, at the corner of Friedrich Wilhelmstrasse and Tiergartenstrasse, chatting with old friends—needless to say, about the war. When I last met Count Taube in Berlin, I had just returned from a long journey in the Far East. Now I stood on the threshold of a new journey, which might be infinitely longer than the last! Later in the day I visited another nobleman, Prince von Wedel, whom I had met in Vienna when he was ambassador there, and in Strassburg when he was Governor. We had much to talk about, but what is there to discuss in these days but the great and bloody drama which occupies everyone's thoughts—the War!
My most important visit in Berlin was to the Foreign Office. But before narrating what took place there I must say a few words about the reasons which led up to my journey. It was desirable that no one in a responsible position in Sweden should have an inkling of my journey to the front. Our country belonged to the neutral states, and thus no authority must entertain the slightest shadow of suspicion that I was traveling on any sort of secret mission. No,—the reason was a very simple one. Only a few days' journey away the greatest war of all time was being waged. It was clear that the outcome of this struggle would decide the political development for the next fifty or hundred years, or perhaps longer. In any case its shadows must envelop the remainder of the lives of the present generation....
Once this war is over, whole libraries of books will be written about it. I do not think it an exaggeration to say that on the western front alone upwards of a million and a half diaries are being kept at the present moment. In all directions, in all fighting units down to the company, the platoon and the battery, official war journals are being kept and accounts of the fighting are being prepared from the bedrock furnished on the one hand by the draft of outgoing reports and on the other by incoming papers, orders, reports and communications. The soldiers record their own personal experiences, the officers their military observations. Many a notebook has no doubt protected a heart or checked the death-dealing bullet. Thus the sections of the German General Staff, whose task it will be in due course to prepare the materials, will be occupied for many years to come with this monumental labor.
When I went out to the front, it was clearly established in my mind that my narrative would be quite different from the military accounts. I was not going to devote any attention to matters of purely military science, which could only be dealt with by experts.