The German State of Mind

MIDDLEBURG, April 30, 1917.
MY DEAREST HUSBAND, - Since my last letter to you, my physical condition has greatly improved. Fortunately the food agrees with me better and I am gaining in weight. In this respect therefore everything is as fine as I could desire. Your Dutch relatives are pleasant and kind as always. Notwithstanding the occasional wrangle with Henk (and I have to confess that I am always the one who starts), I appreciate his fine qualities and his good intentions. Of course he is a little cool and matter-of-fact, but then, he is a Dutchman, like your good father. Anna is very thoughtful; one could wish for nothing better. And the children are generally very obedient, even though from time to time they are more boisterous than suits me.
And yet — I had better come right out with it — every day I long more and more to get back to Frankfurt: on your account in the first place, of course; but also on account of the friendships, and on account of the whole atmosphere. Do not think that I have any reason to complain. Every one is politeness and kindness itself. No one ever forgets that I am a German and that I am their guest. But sometimes I get the feeling that they try so very hard not to hold it against me that I belong to Germany, heart and soul. And that hurts. And the spirit all around me causes me to feel grieved; the spirit which is evident everywhere, in the children as well as
in the adults, in the newspapers, in the magazines, in the caricatures, in everything.
I must repeat that I have no reasons for complaining of any one. Every one is as good as he can be. And when occasionally one of the children comes home with an exciting bit of news and begins to tell the story in terms which are not strictly neutral, a single look from the mother or father suffices to remind him of my presence.
The description which you had given me of your Dutch relatives was quite accurate. You told me not to be afraid that Henk and Anna would be proEnglish. And they are not pro-English. They have a good many grievances against the English. You also said that they would appreciate many good things in the Germans. And indeed they do.
And yet — if I could have suspected how far removed my point of view is from that of your cousins, I should never have consented to have you appeal to their hospitality on my account. How can I make this clear to you?
You see, I had hoped so fervently (and I really felt that it was so) that everybody in the whole world who was not blinded by rage would be compelled to admire us for all that we have done in these years of trial: courageously to have accepted a war which we know was forced upon us; to have sacrificed wealth and health and everything else, everything. It is true, they concede that much without argument here in Holland, but also without the least bit of enthusiasm. They deny that the war was forced upon us. I have had a good deal of discussion on this point with Henk—in a calm and friendly way, at least externally, but terribly painful to me. We could not agree. Do you know what I have discovered? They do not trust the Germans. Whenever I fall back upon an utterance of a cabinet minister, of the Chancellor, or even of H.M. the Emperor himself, I am answered by an ironical look, by a shrug of the shoulders, or by an indifferent ‘after all.’ I really believe that the British slander that we Germans look upon treaties as scraps of paper has done a lot of harm. And our issue with Belgium they completely fail to understand.
Another element enters in, however: the submarine war, which makes it inevitable that Dutch vessels should get into trouble occasionally. That, they cannot realize at all; and when an accident occurs they take it much more seriously than we do.
I was thinking about these things all last night, and I asked myself whether perhaps we take them too lightly. Probably you will think that this is a foolish question: but let me tell you how it happened to come into my head. When Adalbert was with us last February he was justly proud of the fact, that he, a young submarine commander, had already sent fourteen ships to the bottom. If I am not mistaken, they were an English armed trawler, some unarmed British and French fishing-smacks, and—I believe—eight neutral ships. That evening you were at a meeting in the town-hall, and when Otto von H. came in, there was of course a lively discussion of the submarine war. On his last trip, Adalbert had sunk four ships. It had been a hard job to catch them, he said; but before his departure he had faithfully promised Erna that it would be four at least, and of course he had to have them.
’But how can you make such a promise?’ Otto asked. ‘The sea is immense — and you might have had bad weather or some other bad luck.’
’I’ll take care not to come home with an empty bag,’ Adalbert replied. ‘Rather than do that I would go into forbidden territory.’
‘ I suppose you can always find something there.’
‘Oh, yes, even though they be only Norwegians or Dutchmen.5
The boys laughed; I shook my head, for it seemed not altogether right.
‘ May that not get you into trouble, Adalbert? ’ I asked.
But he set me at rest.
‘Of course not, auntie. If the neutral vessel should be a little too near to the edge of the free zone for our purpose, we make our calculations in such away as to bring him a mile or two outside. But even if he should be right in the zone, it would then be an easy matter to conceive the idea that he is making suspicious movements or that he is carrying a hidden gun, if once I have made up my mind to catch him.’
‘But is that allowed?’ I asked hesitatingly.
They laughed at me — both. What in heaven did it matter if a neutral did get hit once in a while? The neutrals were getting fat on the war. And besides, every ship sent to the sharks meant so much less tonnage at the disposal of the English. This I had to concede.
‘Do they ever investigate such an affair?’ Otto asked.
‘Of course; diplomatic red tape, you understand. But the admiralty is firm as a rock whenever they have the declaration and the word of a German officer to fall back upon.’
I kept silent, and really did not know whether he was speaking the truth or whether he was boasting.
That conversation came back to me last night after a discussion with Henk and his wife concerning one of these miserable submarine affairs. A Dutch trawler had just been torpedoed. Or rather, it had been torpedoed a few days before, but the skipper, who had landed after a terrible period in his rowboat, had told the newspaper men a long story of his innocence and his hardships.
I said, ‘This matter will of course be investigated, and it will become clear whether the guilt was with the German captain or with the skipper.’
Henk looked angry; but he kept still.
Anna said, ‘Investigated? Will that do any good? The submarine commander took the skipper’s papers; who knows what has become of them?’
‘They will of course demand a report.’
‘ Very well: but suppose that this report should disagree with the declarations of the skipper. In that case the skipper will not be believed.’
‘And that is fair, it seems to me. The officer’s word should be credited.'
‘Yes, at least,’ Anna conceded hesitatingly.
Then Henk broke into the conversation. ‘Wait a moment,’ he said; ‘I must fetch something.’
He went to his room and soon returned with a new spaper. ‘ Look here,’he said, ‘make this clear to me. The word of a German officer can be trusted, can it not?’
‘Without any doubt.’
‘Very well. Here is the report of a number of cases of interned German officers, some of them named in full, who had given their word of honor to return at the expiration of the leave which had been granted them, and who broke their pledge. How is that?’
‘It must be a false report.’
‘I do not think so. It has been published in a number of newspapers. Had it been libelous, the German ambassador would unquestionably have protested.’
‘Possibly. But even if it should be true, what does it prove? Suppose there were ten who broke their pledge. The German army has perhaps half a million officers. These ten form the exception which proves the rule.'
‘If you are satisfied with such an explanation, I have nothing to add,’ he said.
But I lost my temper and I burst out, ‘No, of course, I am not satisfied. But do you know what the trouble is? You cool-blooded Dutchmen cannot understand what is going on in the heart of an interned German officer. He knows that Germany needs every head and every hand; that she cannot spare a single one, not a single one. And for years we have all been accustomed to sacrifice everything for our fatherland. With us Germany comes before everything else. If need be, even before our personal honor.’
I really expected an angry reply. But he looked at me with kindness and said, ‘ I can understand this position, at least partly. But I fear that Germans who feel that way and who act accordingly are making a great mistake, which will cost them dearly later on. You are thinking of this accursed war only. But some day the war will be over; perhaps soon. And if in the mean time the whole world outside Germany has become convinced that the word of a German cannot be relied upon, it will take Germany far more time and trouble to reënter the community of nations upon a basis of equality than if she had suffered a defeat much more serious than — she may suffer now.’
I could not sleep last night and these words continued to come back to me. While in Frankfurt I imagined that everything would be glorious if once peace were restored. The old enemies would be stiff and unyielding at first, but that would soon wear off. And I thought that the neutrals would be the bridge which would lead us back to the countries, and eventually to the hearts, of the Russians, and the French, and the Italians, and all the other enemies. Have I been mistaken?

The feeling that even the neutrals do not trust us and that they believe they have cause for not trusting us, that feeling frightens me. It is unbearable and makes me miserable.
Your loving wife
OLGA.

P.S. If Adalbert should come again, do not forget to read to him what I have written about the submarine war.