To my mother!
I spent the last summer of the previous century in Vallombrosa, that oasis of fresh Germanic forest that rises a thousand meters above the pure landscape.1
From the cool shade of the dark forest of fir trees, my gaze swept over the lovely chain of Tuscan hills. They lay at my feet, drenched in sunlight, stretching far into the distance to the blue peaks of the northern Apennines. My thoughts drifted over them to my faraway homeland beyond the Alps. I often thought of you and your cozy home, which now means the world to you, and I tried to spin between us new threads from old memories.
A lifetime ago, the war that brought political unity to our fatherland and that so mightily moved a generation (almost half of whom are now dead) affected our family deeply and gave my life a totally different direction.2 In my self-reflective seclusion, undistracted by external circumstances, I could devote myself undisturbed to my own personal impressions of that wartime, and the images came back to me vividly and persistently. I was practically the only German living among foreigners, which makes the homeland seem all the more precious.
And so, the idea gradually came to me to write down these memories in a series of episodes and send one to you every day in letter form. This way—even though we’re far apart—we’ll be able to relive together in spirit that most eventful time of my life, and probably yours too. That’s the origin, in a different form, of this book, which I dedicate to you, Dear Mother, and to the memory of my father.
With my pack on my back, I saw only a weak afterglow of the thoughts and actions of the higher-ups. But just because of that, I experienced all the more clearly the mood that prevailed down among the underlings in the marching columns.
Since I was responsible only for myself, I had more time to observe land and people than did my superiors, who were, predictably, burdened with the responsibility for others.
Basically, the point of these little sketches is to make the big historical picture more understandable to those who didn’t experience it. Above all, in an age of bicycles and automobiles, when people want to enjoy the world only on the fly and in broad outline, a look back at an almost obsolete way of getting to places, and the memories about them, may be interesting.
If this work finds favor with readers beyond my circle of friends, I hope that the younger generation will learn from this faithful account how one actually lived and thought as a rank-and-file soldier. This is in contrast to the sometimes wildly exaggerated, chauvinistic stories and legends that are frequently offered up as true “history” in order to stir up biased public opinion.
The Author
Preface to the Second Edition
I thank all of the comrades and friends who helped me with the revisions and improvements of this edition. I feel richly rewarded by the respectful recognition that these unvarnished memoirs have received from many war veterans, from all across the spectrum of the German press, and in the foreign press. May this people’s edition be equally well-received. It is dedicated to all the surviving veterans.
As a result of the events of 1866, universal conscription on the Prussian model had been introduced in my immediate fatherland of Hesse.1 Men in my age cohort retained the right to find a substitute to take our place. Everyone who had the means to do so, and who had not escaped the draft in the lottery, took advantage of this right.2 I knew a lot of people my age who had gotten out of their patriotic duty in this comfortable way. Freed from actually having to do anything, several of these people felt the need—both during and after the war—to vent their exuberant, flag-waving patriotism with all the more spirited speeches at every opportunity. At election rallies and birthday parties, in clubs and meetings, they played the role of the upholder of throne and altar, even of the savior of the fatherland. All this came with only a little effort and no danger whatsoever.
As for me, I saw in the expanded military service obligation at least a limited realization of the democratic political idea of equality before the law. I decided to serve. The artillery, which for professional reasons attracted me the most, accepted volunteers only to October. That didn’t work for me because I hadn’t yet finished my studies, so on April 1, 1870, I joined the infantry.
Of course, the atmosphere in the Hessian military differed from that in states that had had universal conscription for over 50 years. In contrast to our situation, their ranks had been filled and their barracks populated by all classes and professions, even the educated and propertied classes. Our elementary schools were supposed to be (and often really were) of higher quality, but this wasn’t enough to make up for the difference. The contrast was all the more striking during the war mobilization, when the ranks were filled mostly with urban and rural working-class reservists of limited education. Aside from the youngest age cohorts and those who volunteered for the duration of the war, the well-to-do were missing.
Most of the noncoms were of lower-class background and had no understanding of a mass-conscripted army in which everyone had to serve. They didn’t know how to treat the one-year volunteers, who were superior to them in education and yet subordinate to them during military service. Being few in number and with no tradition to model themselves on, the volunteers usually didn’t know how to adapt to the new conditions and were isolated in the great mass of soldiers. Some of the common soldiers, including some of the noncoms, disapproved of the whole “one-year-volunteer business.” In the selfish view of these men, they’d lost the potential earning opportunity of being a paid substitute.3
The spirit of the “people in arms” had not taken root among many of the officers either. Some felt unsure of themselves because they were no longer dealing exclusively with uneducated fellows, but also with people who were their equal in education and sometimes surpassed them in knowledge.
Still, even allowing for this limited intellectual horizon, it was odd when one officer could not believe that someone could study advanced subjects somewhere else besides the state university.4 He found my polite, modest, and factually correct disagreements so inappropriate that I felt the effects during my entire short period of service. In one instance, I even had to file a complaint, because of a swear word used against me. The adjutant, who had befriended me, persuaded me to withdraw it. He convinced me that the man had spoken hastily and regretted it. At that time, as is probably still true today, you had to be very cautious about using your right to complain.
Many of the positions in the senior officer ranks were filled either by Prussian officers or by those who had served in Prussia for several years after 1866. It was no easy job for them to infuse the regiments with the Prussian military spirit, while preserving the local traditions and dealing with the natural resentment left among the defeated in the German Civil War.5 The majority of them could do this with tact and skill, and that benefited the volunteers under their command.
So I considered it an advantage to serve in a company whose commanding officer was free from prejudices and narrow-mindedness, and who treated everyone in accordance with his class and education. Some of the younger officers had trained for short periods in a Prussian regiment, but had not forgotten their south German ways. In contrast, there were some, who in their thoughtless imitation of the brusque manner and buzz-saw voice, sought to outdo the north German model.
Although I was almost completely unfamiliar with rifles, I soon was among the best marksmen in the company. Possibly because I was ahead in such an important part of my military training, I got a leave from July 10 to 15 to attend an exhibition in Kassel, which was of professional interest to me. As I checked out, the captain said jokingly, “Maybe there’ll be a war by the time you get back.”
Neither of us really believed that a war with France was near—although every unprejudiced observer understood that war was inevitable given the constant cry on the other side of the Rhine for “Revenge for Sadowa.”6
Even in this tense atmosphere, we considered the Hohenzollern candidacy for the Spanish throne, which had engaged public opinion for a few weeks, of less significance for the army than the Luxembourg crisis of 1867.7
I was completely absorbed in my trip and had hardly read the newspaper, so I was a bit taken aback on July 13 when I showed my leave pass to the lieutenant on sentry duty in Kassel. He asked why I was still here and not with my battalion. There was a war! I made a point of asking, but he gave me no order to return, because the mobilization order had not gone out yet. Of course, if it had, I would have had to return by the shortest route, even without a specific order.
So I decided to make good use of my leave.
The Wilhelmshöhe Palace was the former summer residence of those German princes who a century ago had sold their subjects to the English as cannon fodder. The palace was a historical symbol of German humiliation by foreigners during the time of the kings of Westphalia. “Happy-Again-Tomorrow” spoiled the mood that the threat of the outbreak of war had put me in.8
I had no way of knowing that in less than two months the little nephew of the great Corsican would be spending his days here bemoaning his fate as a prisoner of war.9 So I decided to steel myself for the patriotic war with a more uplifting image of the German past. I went to visit the Wartburg at Eisenach.
The news of the French declaration of war reached us just as we got to the gate of the family seat of the Thuringian landgraves.10 A stolid and portly Dutchman and his corpulent wife were riding up the hill on long-eared donkeys. The news hardly stirred them at all from their lethargy. In contrast, a businessman from Bremen, who was a reserve officer, was so agitated that he wasn’t calm enough to tour the inside of the castle. With the words, “I’ll come back and do it after the war and victory, if I’m not shot dead,” he turned around and took his leave from the others. He wanted to get back home at the same time as the expected order to stand by for duty.
A druggist from Karlsruhe, who was about to take a job in Leipzig after he’d gone on a military exercise, first had to go to his new place of residence to find out whether he’d be going off to war under the green-white banner or under the yellow-red banner.11 Neither of us was in a big hurry to be shot dead. I took quiet pleasure in seeing the splendid frescos, watching the epic cycle and history of the Romanesque castle pass before me. The trip back to Eisenach took us through the picturesque and somber Landgrave Gorge with its fresh and natural forest landscape illuminated by the evening sunshine. The castle and the trip fit the present mood better than the artificial waterfall and curlicue paths with their frivolous stone figures at the “Versailles” of the former Hessian electors.12 Heart and soul now demanded nature in the raw, not human contrivances, and so the matter-of-fact calmness in the face of the upcoming events, which I’d talked myself into, finally left me.
On this evening, we swam in the river of initial enthusiasm—oblivious to the consequences. In all the streets and taverns, young and old, high and low, drank wine and beer and abandoned themselves carelessly and joyfully to the talk and singing.
My trip home on the next day, when my leave was over, had a warlike atmosphere. At all the stations, soldiers who had been on leave got on the train; during the night they had been summoned by telegraph and were already on their way to their units. It was reminiscent of the proverbial breakneck speed that had astonished the military world in the war of 1866.13 During the whole train ride people talked only of war and victory. The wildest rumors and the boldest conjectures circulated and were believed. Many thought that France had long prepared for war and at any moment would cross the undefended German border and wreak havoc with fire and sword, as they had 180 years earlier.14 Toward evening we stopped at a market town, and the news spread that the south German states, including Bavaria, had thrown in their lot with the North German Confederation and taken the French declaration of war against Prussia as an affront to them too; a huge cheer went up, and a feeling of relief shot through every patriotic heart.
At a tavern that was popular with Bavarians because of its good beer, the enthusiasm reached the boiling point. North and south Germans drank to their close friendship; not only the beer, but also the speeches (some fine, some not so fine) flowed in rivers. Comparing the “airy-light Chassepot” with the “solid needle-gun,” they quickly decided in favor of the latter because most of them knew virtually nothing about the new French rifle, even by hearsay.15
The general opinion in the tavern was that the campaign would be over in a few weeks because the French would have to make peace after losing the first battle. The main thing was to get to the border as fast as possible in order to take the war into enemy territory. For many—namely, the ones who didn’t have to march on the campaign and were always ready and willing—this couldn’t happen fast enough. Had anyone dared to speak out against these hotheads, he would have been shouted down as an unpatriotic grumbler. As always, the loudmouths wanted their fair share of the excitement. I was a bit caught up in the feverish “let’s-get-going” mood, and I felt some remorse about not having returned at the first news of the alarm. I was afraid I would be reprimanded for getting back late.
On my return I was astonished to hear that we’d been ordered on field exercises for the next day, July 16, as though everything were as peaceful as could be. Nothing came of these plans though, because during the night the mobilization order came in from Berlin.
Things got go...
