CHAPTER XIV
Which is serious: as becomes a parting chapter--The German from the Anglo-Saxon's point of view--Providence in buttons and a helmet--Paradise ofthe helpless idiot--German conscience: its aggressiveness--How they hangin Germany, very possibly--What happens to good Germans when theydie?--The military instinct: is it all-sufficient?--The German as ashopkeeper--How he supports life--The New Woman, here as everywhere--Whatcan be said against the Germans, as a people--The Bummel is over anddone.
"Anybody could rule this country," said George; "_I_ could rule it."
We were seated in the garden of the Kaiser Hof at Bonn, looking down uponthe Rhine. It was the last evening of our Bummel; the early morningtrain would be the beginning of the end.
"I should write down all I wanted the people to do on a piece of paper,"continued George; "get a good firm to print off so many copies, have themposted about the towns and villages; and the thing would be done."
In the placid, docile German of to-day, whose only ambition appears to beto pay his taxes, and do what he is told to do by those whom it haspleased Providence to place in authority over him, it is difficult, onemust confess, to detect any trace of his wild ancestor, to whomindividual liberty was as the breath of his nostrils; who appointed hismagistrates to advise, but retained the right of execution for the tribe;who followed his chief, but would have scorned to obey him. In Germanyto-day one hears a good deal concerning Socialism, but it is a Socialismthat would only be despotism under another name. Individualism makes noappeal to the German voter. He is willing, nay, anxious, to becontrolled and regulated in all things. He disputes, not government, butthe form of it. The policeman is to him a religion, and, one feels, willalways remain so. In England we regard our man in blue as a harmlessnecessity. By the average citizen he is employed chiefly as a signpost,though in busy quarters of the town he is considered useful for takingold ladies across the road. Beyond feeling thankful to him for theseservices, I doubt if we take much thought of him. In Germany, on theother hand, he is worshipped as a little god and loved as a guardianangel. To the German child he is a combination of Santa Claus and theBogie Man. All good things come from him: Spielplatze to play in,furnished with swings and giant-strides, sand heaps to fight around,swimming baths, and fairs. All misbehaviour is punished by him. It isthe hope of every well-meaning German boy and girl to please the police.To be smiled at by a policeman makes it conceited. A German child thathas been patted on the head by a policeman is not fit to live with; itsself-importance is unbearable.
The German citizen is a soldier, and the policeman is his officer. Thepoliceman directs him where in the street to walk, and how fast to walk.At the end of each bridge stands a policeman to tell the German how tocross it. Were there no policeman there, he would probably sit down andwait till the river had passed by. At the railway station the policemanlocks him up in the waiting-room, where he can do no harm to himself.When the proper time arrives, he fetches him out and hands him over tothe guard of the train, who is only a policeman in another uniform. Theguard tells him where to sit in the train, and when to get out, and seesthat he does get out. In Germany you take no responsibility uponyourself whatever. Everything is done for you, and done well. You arenot supposed to look after yourself; you are not blamed for beingincapable of looking after yourself; it is the duty of the Germanpoliceman to look after you. That you may be a helpless idiot does notexcuse him should anything happen to you. Wherever you are and whateveryou are doing you are in his charge, and he takes care of you--good careof you; there is no denying this.
If you lose yourself, he finds you; and if you lose anything belonging toyou, he recovers it for you. If you don't know what you want, he tellsyou. If you want anything that is good for you to have, he gets it foryou. Private lawyers are not needed in Germany. If you want to buy orsell a house or field, the State makes out the conveyance. If you havebeen swindled, the State takes up the case for you. The State marriesyou, insures you, will even gamble with you for a trifle.
"You get yourself born," says the German Government to the Germancitizen, "we do the rest. Indoors and out of doors, in sickness and inhealth, in pleasure and in work, we will tell you what to do, and we willsee to it that you do it. Don't you worry yourself about anything."
And the German doesn't. Where there is no policeman to be found, hewanders about till he comes to a police notice posted on a wall. This hereads; then he goes and does what it says.
I remember in one German town--I forget which; it is immaterial; theincident could have happened in any--noticing an open gate leading to agarden in which a concert was being given. There was nothing to preventanyone who chose from walking through that gate, and thus gainingadmittance to the concert without paying. In fact, of the two gatesquarter of a mile apart it was the more convenient. Yet of the crowdsthat passed, not one attempted to enter by that gate. They ploddedsteadily on under a blazing sun to the other gate, at which a man stoodto collect the entrance money. I have seen German youngsters standlongingly by the margin of a lonely sheet of ice. They could have skatedon that ice for hours, and nobody have been the wiser. The crowd and thepolice were at the other end, more than half a mile away, and round thecorner. Nothing stopped their going on but the knowledge that they oughtnot. Things such as these make one pause to seriously wonder whether theTeuton be a member of the sinful human family or not. Is it not possiblethat these placid, gentle folk may in reality be angels, come down toearth for the sake of a glass of beer, which, as they must know, can onlyin Germany be obtained worth the drinking?
In Germany the country roads are lined with fruit trees. There is novoice to stay man or boy from picking and eating the fruit, exceptconscience. In England such a state of things would cause publicindignation. Children would die of cholera by the hundred. The medicalprofession would be worked off its legs trying to cope with the naturalresults of over-indulgence in sour apples and unripe walnuts. Publicopinion would demand that these fruit trees should be fenced about, andthus rendered harmless. Fruit growers, to save themselves the expense ofwalls and palings, would not be allowed in this manner to spread sicknessand death throughout the community.
But in Germany a boy will walk for miles down a lonely road, hedged withfruit trees, to buy a pennyworth of pears in the village at the otherend. To pass these unprotected fruit trees, drooping under their burdenof ripe fruit, strikes the Anglo-Saxon mind as a wicked waste ofopportunity, a flouting of the blessed gifts of Providence.
I do not know if it be so, but from what I have observed of the Germancharacter I should not be surprised to hear that when a man in Germany iscondemned to death he is given a piece of rope, and told to go and hanghimself. It would save the State much trouble and expense, and I can seethat German criminal taking that piece of rope home with him, reading upcarefully the police instructions, and proceeding to carry them out inhis own back kitchen.
The Germans are a good people. On the whole, the best people perhaps inthe world; an amiable, unselfish, kindly people. I am positive that thevast majority of them go to Heaven. Indeed, comparing them with theother Christian nations of the earth, one is forced to the conclusionthat Heaven will be chiefly of German manufacture. But I cannotunderstand how they get there. That the soul of any single individualGerman has sufficient initiative to fly up by itself and knock at St.Peter's door, I cannot believe. My own opinion is that they are takenthere in small companies, and passed in under the charge of a deadpoliceman.
Carlyle said of the Prussians, and it is true of the whole German nation,that one of their chief virtues was their power of being drilled. Of theGermans you might say they are a people who will go anywhere, and doanything, they are told. Drill him for the work and send him out toAfrica or Asia under charge of somebody in uniform, and he is bound tomake an excellent colonist, facing difficulties as he would face thedevil himself, if ordered. But it is not easy to conceive of him as apioneer. Left to run himself,
one feels he would soon fade away and die,not from any lack of intelligence, but from sheer want of presumption.
The German has so long been the soldier of Europe, that the militaryinstinct has entered into his blood. The military virtues he possessesin abundance; but he also suffers from the drawbacks of the militarytraining. It was told me of a German servant, lately released from thebarracks, that he was instructed by his master to deliver a letter to acertain house, and to wait there for the answer. The hours passed by,and the man did not return. His master, anxious and surprised, followed.He found the man where he had been sent, the answer in his hand. He waswaiting for further orders. The story sounds exaggerated, but personallyI can credit it.
The curious thing is that the same man, who as an individual is ashelpless as a child, becomes, the moment he puts on the uniform, anintelligent being, capable of responsibility and initiative. The Germancan rule others, and be ruled by others, but he cannot rule himself. Thecure would appear to be to train every German for an officer, and thenput him under himself. It is certain he would order himself about withdiscretion and judgment, and see to it that he himself obeyed himselfwith smartness and precision.
For the direction of German character into these channels, the schools,of course, are chiefly responsible. Their everlasting teaching is duty.It is a fine ideal for any people; but before buckling to it, one wouldwish to have a clear understanding as to what this "duty" is. The Germanidea of it would appear to be: "blind obedience to everything inbuttons." It is the antithesis of the Anglo-Saxon scheme; but as boththe Anglo-Saxon and the Teuton are prospering, there must be good in bothmethods. Hitherto, the German has had the blessed fortune to beexceptionally well governed; if this continue, it will go well with him.When his troubles will begin will be when by any chance something goeswrong with the governing machine. But maybe his method has the advantageof producing a continuous supply of good governors; it would certainlyseem so.
As a trader, I am inclined to think the German will, unless histemperament considerably change, remain always a long way behind hisAnglo-Saxon competitor; and this by reason of his virtues. To him lifeis something more important than a mere race for wealth. A country thatcloses its banks and post-offices for two hours in the middle of the day,while it goes home and enjoys a comfortable meal in the bosom of itsfamily, with, perhaps, forty winks by way of dessert, cannot hope, andpossibly has no wish, to compete with a people that takes its mealsstanding, and sleeps with a telephone over its bed. In Germany there isnot, at all events as yet, sufficient distinction between the classes tomake the struggle for position the life and death affair it is inEngland. Beyond the landed aristocracy, whose boundaries areimpregnable, grade hardly counts. Frau Professor and FrauCandlestickmaker meet at the Weekly Kaffee-Klatsch and exchange scandalon terms of mutual equality. The livery-stable keeper and the doctorhobnob together at their favourite beer hall. The wealthy masterbuilder, when he prepares his roomy waggon for an excursion into thecountry, invites his foreman and his tailor to join him with theirfamilies. Each brings his share of drink and provisions, and returninghome they sing in chorus the same songs. So long as this state of thingsendures, a man is not induced to sacrifice the best years of his life towin a fortune for his dotage. His tastes, and, more to the point still,his wife's, remain inexpensive. He likes to see his flat or villafurnished with much red plush upholstery and a profusion of gilt andlacquer. But that is his idea; and maybe it is in no worse taste than isa mixture of bastard Elizabethan with imitation Louis XV, the whole litby electric light, and smothered with photographs. Possibly, he willhave his outer walls painted by the local artist: a sanguinary battle, agood deal interfered with by the front door, taking place below, whileBismarck, as an angel, flutters vaguely about the bedroom windows. Butfor his Old Masters he is quite content to go to the public galleries;and "the Celebrity at Home" not having as yet taken its place amongst theinstitutions of the Fatherland, he is not impelled to waste his, moneyturning his house into an old curiosity shop.
The German is a gourmand. There are still English farmers who, whiletelling you that farming spells starvation, enjoy their seven solid mealsa day. Once a year there comes a week's feast throughout Russia, duringwhich many deaths occur from the over-eating of pancakes; but this is areligious festival, and an exception. Taking him all round, the Germanas a trencherman stands pre-eminent among the nations of the earth. Herises early, and while dressing tosses off a few cups of coffee, togetherwith half a dozen hot buttered rolls. But it is not until ten o'clockthat he sits down to anything that can properly be called a meal. At oneor half-past takes place his chief dinner. Of this he makes a business,sitting at it for a couple of hours. At four o'clock he goes to thecafe, and eats cakes and drinks chocolate. The evening he devotes toeating generally--not a set meal, or rarely, but a series of snacks,--abottle of beer and a Belegete-semmel or two at seven, say; another bottleof beer and an Aufschnitt at the theatre between the acts; a small bottleof white wine and a Spiegeleier before going home; then a piece of cheeseor sausage, washed down by more beer, previous to turning in for thenight.
But he is no gourmet. French cooks and French prices are not the rule athis restaurant. His beer or his inexpensive native white wine he prefersto the most costly clarets or champagnes. And, indeed, it is well forhim he does; for one is inclined to think that every time a French growersells a bottle of wine to a German hotel- or shop-keeper, Sedan isrankling in his mind. It is a foolish revenge, seeing that it is not theGerman who as a rule drinks it; the punishment falls upon some innocenttravelling Englishman. Maybe, however, the French dealer remembers alsoWaterloo, and feels that in any event he scores.
In Germany expensive entertainments are neither offered nor expected.Everything throughout the Fatherland is homely and friendly. The Germanhas no costly sports to pay for, no showy establishment to maintain, nopurse-proud circle to dress for. His chief pleasure, a seat at the operaor concert, can be had for a few marks; and his wife and daughters walkthere in home-made dresses, with shawls over their heads. Indeed,throughout the country the absence of all ostentation is to English eyesquite refreshing. Private carriages are few and far between, and eventhe droschke is made use of only when the quicker and cleaner electriccar is not available.
By such means the German retains his independence. The shopkeeper inGermany does not fawn upon his customers. I accompanied an English ladyonce on a shopping excursion in Munich. She had been accustomed toshopping in London and New York, and she grumbled at everything the manshowed her. It was not that she was really dissatisfied; this was hermethod. She explained that she could get most things cheaper and betterelsewhere; not that she really thought she could, merely she held it goodfor the shopkeeper to say this. She told him that his stock lackedtaste--she did not mean to be offensive; as I have explained, it was hermethod;--that there was no variety about it; that it was not up to date;that it was commonplace; that it looked as if it would not wear. He didnot argue with her; he did not contradict her. He put the things backinto their respective boxes, replaced the boxes on their respectiveshelves, walked into the little parlour behind the shop, and closed thedoor.
"Isn't he ever coming back?" asked the lady, after a couple of minuteshad elapsed.
Her tone did not imply a question, so much as an exclamation of mereimpatience.
"I doubt it," I replied.
"Why not?" she asked, much astonished.
"I expect," I answered, "you have bored him. In all probability he is atthis moment behind that door smoking a pipe and reading the paper."
"What an extraordinary shopkeeper!" said my friend, as she gathered herparcels together and indignantly walked out.
"It is their way," I explained. "There are the goods; if you want them,you can have them. If you do not want them, they would almost ratherthat you did not come and talk about them."
On another occasion I listened in the smoke-room of a German hotel to asmall En
glishman telling a tale which, had I been in his place, I shouldhave kept to myself.
"It doesn't do," said the little Englishman, "to try and beat a Germandown. They don't seem to understand it. I saw a first edition of _TheRobbers_ in a shop in the Georg Platz. I went in and asked the price. Itwas a rum old chap behind the counter. He said: 'Twenty-five marks,' andwent on reading. I told him I had seen a better copy only a few daysbefore for twenty--one talks like that when one is bargaining; it isunderstood. He asked me 'Where?' I told him in a shop at Leipsig. Hesuggested my returning there and getting it; he did not seem to carewhether I bought the book or whether I didn't. I said:
"'What's the least you will take for it?'
"'I have told you once,' he answered; 'twenty-five marks.' He was anirritable old chap.
"I said: 'It's not worth it.'
"'I never said it was, did I?' he snapped.
"I said: 'I'll give you ten marks for it.' I thought, maybe, he wouldend by taking twenty.
"He rose. I took it he was coming round the counter to get the book out.Instead, he came straight up to me. He was a biggish sort of man. Hetook me by the two shoulders, walked me out into the street, and closedthe door behind me with a bang. I was never more surprised in all mylife.
"Maybe the book was worth twenty-five marks," I suggested.
"Of course it was," he replied; "well worth it. But what a notion ofbusiness!"
If anything change the German character, it will be the German woman. Sheherself is changing rapidly--advancing, as we call it. Ten years ago noGerman woman caring for her reputation, hoping for a husband, would havedared to ride a bicycle: to-day they spin about the country in theirthousands. The old folks shake their heads at them; but the young men, Inotice, overtake them and ride beside them. Not long ago it wasconsidered unwomanly in Germany for a lady to be able to do the outsideedge. Her proper skating attitude was thought to be that of clinginglimpness to some male relative. Now she practises eights in a corner byherself, until some young man comes along to help her. She plays tennis,and, from a point of safety, I have even noticed her driving a dog-cart.
Brilliantly educated she always has been. At eighteen she speaks two orthree languages, and has forgotten more than the average Englishwoman hasever read. Hitherto, this education has been utterly useless to her. Onmarriage she has retired into the kitchen, and made haste to clear herbrain of everything else, in order to leave room for bad cooking. Butsuppose it begins to dawn upon her that a woman need not sacrifice herwhole existence to household drudgery any more than a man need makehimself nothing else than a business machine. Suppose she develop anambition to take part in the social and national life. Then theinfluence of such a partner, healthy in body and therefore vigorous inmind, is bound to be both lasting and far-reaching.
For it must be borne in mind that the German man is exceptionallysentimental, and most easily influenced by his women folk. It is said ofhim, he is the best of lovers, the worst of husbands. This has been thewoman's fault. Once married, the German woman has done more than putromance behind her; she has taken a carpet-beater and driven it out ofthe house. As a girl, she never understood dressing; as a wife, shetakes off such clothes even as she had, and proceeds to wrap herself upin any odd articles she may happen to find about the house; at allevents, this is the impression she produces. The figure that might oftenbe that of a Juno, the complexion that would sometimes do credit to ahealthy angel, she proceeds of malice and intent to spoil. She sells herbirth-right of admiration and devotion for a mess of sweets. Everyafternoon you may see her at the cafe, loading herself with rich cream-covered cakes, washed down by copious draughts of chocolate. In a shorttime she becomes fat, pasty, placid, and utterly uninteresting.
When the German woman gives up her afternoon coffee and her evening beer,takes sufficient exercise to retain her shape, and continues to readafter marriage something else than the cookery-book, the GermanGovernment will find it has a new and unknown force to deal with. Andeverywhere throughout Germany one is confronted by unmistakable signsthat the old German Frauen are giving place to the newer Damen.
Concerning what will then happen one feels curious. For the Germannation is still young, and its maturity is of importance to the world.They are a good people, a lovable people, who should help much to makethe world better.
The worst that can be said against them is that they have their failings.They themselves do not know this; they consider themselves perfect, whichis foolish of them. They even go so far as to think themselves superiorto the Anglo-Saxon: this is incomprehensible. One feels they must bepretending.
"They have their points," said George; "but their tobacco is a nationalsin. I'm going to bed."
We rose, and leaning over the low stone parapet, watched the dancinglights upon the soft, dark river.
"It has been a pleasant Bummel, on the whole," said Harris; "I shall beglad to get back, and yet I am sorry it is over, if you understand me."
"What is a 'Bummel'?" said George. "How would you translate it?"
"A 'Bummel'," I explained, "I should describe as a journey, long orshort, without an end; the only thing regulating it being the necessityof getting back within a given time to the point from which one started.Sometimes it is through busy streets, and sometimes through the fieldsand lanes; sometimes we can be spared for a few hours, and sometimes fora few days. But long or short, but here or there, our thoughts are everon the running of the sand. We nod and smile to many as we pass; withsome we stop and talk awhile; and with a few we walk a little way. Wehave been much interested, and often a little tired. But on the whole wehave had a pleasant time, and are sorry when 'tis over."
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