Vagabonding Through Changing GermanyFranck, Harry Alverson
History
Vagabonding Through Changing Germany
Franck, Harry Alverson
Germany -- Description and travel; Germany -- Social life and customs
Though it sap all the succeeding pages of the “suspense” so
indispensable to continued interest, I may as well confess here as later
that I moved about Germany with perfect freedom during all my stay
there, far more freely than I could have at the same date in either
Allied or neutral countries, that neither detectives nor spies dogged my
footsteps nor did policemen halt me on every corner to demand my
authority for being at large. Lest he hover menacingly in the background
of some timorous reader’s memory, embittering any dewdrops of pleasure
he may wring from this tale, let me say at once that I never again heard
from or of the dreadful Herr Maltzen. Indeed, the castle of Bentheim had
scarcely disappeared below the wet green horizon of a late spring when I
caught myself grumbling that these simple Germans had wrecked what
should have been a tale to cause the longest hair to stand stiffly erect
and the most pachydermous skin to develop goose-flesh. Saddest of
all—let us have the worst and be done with it—they continued that
exasperating simplicity to the end, and left me little else for all my
labors than the idle vaporings of a summer tourist.
Contrary to my expectations, the train was an excellent _Schnellzug_,
making rare stops and riding as easily as if the armistice conditions
had not so much as mentioned rolling-stock. The plush covering of
several seats was missing, as beyond the Rhine, but things were as
orderly, the trainmen as polite and diligently bent on doing their duty
as if they had been under the military command of an exacting enemy. In
our first-class compartment there were two American lieutenants in
uniform, yet there was not so much as a facial protest that they should
be occupying seats while German men and women stood in the corridor.
There was, to be sure, a bit of rather cold staring, and once what might
have been called an “incident.” At Osnabrück we were joined by a
cropped-headed young German, wearing the ribbon of the Iron Cross in the
lapel of his civilian clothing, but whom a chance word informed us was
still a captain, accompanied by two older men. They sat in
expressionless silence for a time; then one of the older men said,
testily:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account