increased with every hour. Then came the stirring events on the evening of July 3ist, when the drums beat 'general march' on the Marienplatz, and a com

crowd fell into rank to march to the Royal Palace, from a window of which King Ludwig spoke words of comfort and inspiration. Still singing the 'Wacht am Rhein,' this river of humanity flowed on to th

a terrible, united will, a single mighty thought. The whole of a great and powerful people was

ething gloomy and uncanny in the air; the lamps blinked maliciously; a spirit of still expectation rested on the people; furtive glances were cast from time to time at the near embankment. Military trains were expecte

re sinister than usual. Heavy forebodings rumbled out in the rocking and rolling of the endless coaches-the clang of a future, pregnant with death and pain. Suddenly the tables we

eginning. But the sight of the quiet, machine-like completion of the mobilization strengthened our trust, even though a justifiable indignation a

of his bearing, the culture of English social life, English art and style, have given Imperial Germany many points of contact and grounds for sympathy. Our historical interests have never collided. Then we suddenly became awar

dared to attack us. In our case, therefore, hate has sprung out of disappointed love. England has become our mortal enemy, just as Russia is Austria's. In a word, the two Central Powers are ins

station to pick up the men. During the nights a gigantic transport of troops went on to the frontiers. From that moment the sale of alcohol on the stations was pr

is said that a Serb was found bound fast underneath one of the carriages. Serbian scoundrels were found on all sides; if one of them had succeeded in destroying the Brenner line the whole plan of mobilization would have been distu

ient hills echoed again and again the 'Wacht am Rhein.' The solemnity which had marked the first days in Munich had given place to boisterous joy. Thousands of men in

in the centre of the station; the rhythm of the kettle-drums rolled mightily, and the music clashed in the huge central hall; thousands of voices joined in, then h

h Not und Tod" ("Through Distress and

s ago and we should have been quite incapable of imagining its like. The feeling that we have experienced something overpowering, something which we cannot utter, overwhelms us all. We see it

before was all unreality, mere ghosts; day has dawned and they have fled. The whole land bristles with arms and every German heart is filled with trust. If we were always as we are to-day-one heart and one voice-then the whole world wou

ow awakes like a giant refreshed, and we can hardly recollect what it was all like only three weeks ago, when each lived for himself, when we were at best only parties, not a people. Each

se be to God for this war which delivered us on the first day from German quarrelsomeness! When the days of peace return we must prove that we deser

s, great honour, and we shall win, for our cause is just!' Such utterances can be heard every day. That is German faith; human might does not decide, but God's justice! That is

this world war. I do not intend to become lyrical. Lyric is so far from me that in all these three months I have not composed a single war poem. No, I shall endeavour to count

once that in all Europe nobody believed in this war; everybody had prepa

that seemed an axiom. Further, it seemed to be true that even if a madman let loose the dogs of war, then it would be all over in a fortnight. The man in the street imagined that it would be a kind

reality of this war surpasses everything which we had imagined, and it has been glorious to experience on so grand a scale that reality always surpasses the conception. Even that is not true which we learned in

e: 'It must be a war to which the whole nation gives its assent; it must be a national war, conducted with an enthusiasm like that of 1870, when we were ruthlessly attacked. Then all Germany from the Memel to Lake Constance will blaze up like a

and vulgar in him sinks away. Any enthusiasm either of groups or societies in which the individual ego loses itself is grand, but the mighty enthusiasm of a powerful

passion. Then we were all inspired by the thought and feeling: 'Nobody can achieve that, for in order to be able to do it we have had to perform a huge

, is: to dovetail enthusiasm with discipline and order. From our Gothic, through German barock to Frederick the Great and Kant, on to the classical period-what does all that mean if it is

hard Strauss-but enthusiasm with discipline? German music has been our mobilization; it ha

er night, never a minute late and never a question for which the right answer was not ready and waiting-when we saw all this, we were not astonished, because i

ered the field, but the whole of Germany's historic past marched with them. It was this which inspired the unshakab

this eternal German yearning had never reached fulfilment, but self-interest and egoism have always been stronger; every German has been at war with all the others. 'For every man to go his own way,' said Goethe, 'is the peculiar characteristic of the German race. I have never seen them united except in their hate for Napoleon. I am curious to see what they will do when he is banished to the other side of the Rhine.' And Goethe was right: no sooner was the land freed from the oppressor, than each began

Germany has never been more joyous, in the best sense of the word, than in this time of suffering. Through our tears the noblest joy has shone; not alone at the success of our arms; it is not from pride at fighting against a world of enemies; it is not the fact that we are now assured of a future which in July las

to him, and offer the hand of reconciliation, then he loses all joy in life. Civil war is always the most terrible thing which any land

say in all calm and as something quite obvious, that his own nation engages in a civil war 'with more love' than any other war? And wherever we look in B

se to be a German in order to become some kind of -crat or -ist or -er? This time it will be more difficult, for from this war he will return no more into the same Fatherland. It will have expanded; the German

ccupied with the new organization. What the sword has won, we shall keep. 'The pike in the European carp-pond,' said Bismarck once, 'prevent us from becoming carp. They

the German peasant and give an outlet to his superfluous energies. There will be no leisure-energy to discharge itself in party strife. Further, we must build

egen" ("The Blessings of War"). Publ