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Towards the end of May the Emperor returns to Germany and goes to Wiesbaden for the opera and Festspiele in the royal theatre; but he must be in Berlin before May has closed, for the spring parade of the Berlin and Potsdam garrisons on the vast Tempelhofer Field. His return on horseback from this parade is always the occasion of popular enthusiasm in Berlin's principal streets.
A lonely stranger amidst the jostling throngs, I wandered on through the carnival of Berlin's Level of Free Women. Despite my longing for human companionship I found it difficult to join in this strange recrudescent paganism with any ease or grace.
It is the practically universal opinion, not only in America, but in other neutral countries as well, that the repeated excuses and shifty evasions by which Berlin rejected every plan for mediation, arbitration, or any other programme which would tend toward a peaceful solution of the crisis, combined with Berlin's acknowledgment that "a free hand was assured" to Austria, and the further fact that all correspondence between Berlin and Vienna is carefully suppressed, are amply sufficient to convince any fair-minded, unprejudiced man that the Berlin Government is primarily responsible for the war.
The obvious beginnings of this European tension date back several years: to the time of Edward VII. On the one hand England's dread of the gigantic growth of Germany; on the other hand Berlin's politics, which had become a terror to the dwellers by the Thames; the belief that the idea of acquiring the dominion of the world had taken root in Berlin.
The endless shops of Berlin's industrial level were very like those elsewhere in the world, except that they were more vast, more concentrated, and the work more speeded up by super-machines and excessive specialization.
The play began at six o'clock, for the camp lights are out at nine, and it was in the dusk of another one of Berlin's rainy days, after slithering through the Tiergarten and past the endless concrete apartment-houses of Charlottenburg, that our taxicab swung to the right, lurched down the lane of mud, and stopped at the gate of Ruhleben.
What was it, Merry?" But before Frank had an opportunity to speak, Bart Hodge, who was several paces distant, called Berlin's name. "See you later see you later, Merry," laughed Berlin, as he patted Frank on the back and broke away. Then, with almost boyish lightness, he ran in the direction of Hodge. Frank and Inza looked after him smilingly. Inza laid a hand on one of her husband's arms.
I have seen Berlin's East-end change from the hilarious joy of the first year of the war to an ever-deepening gloom. I have studied conditions there long and carefully, but I feel that I can do no better than describe my last Saturday in that interesting quarter of the German capital. Late in the morning I left the Stettiner Bahnhof in the north and walked eastward through the Invalidenstrasse.
The German lines seem, like the White Star Company, to have reckoned simply with the practical impossibility of a ship like the Titanic succumbing to the elements Although Germany's and Berlin's direct interest in the passengers aboard the Titanic was less than that of London, New York or Paris, there was the utmost concern for their fate.
Berlin's all right, of course, but a bit stodgy; and they're having a jolly lot of rows at Petersburg, with more to come. I say, though, what an awful shame about that poor chap Carson. Have you heard of it?" "Yes; I'm going to take his place. What do you know about him, anyhow?" "You are? I didn't know him at all; but I know a fellow who was awfully thick with him. Met him just now.
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