Now the simple printed list of stations on the heavy train about to start from the capital of Germany to Vilna, deep in Russia, was an awe-inspiring tribute to the great military machine of the Fatherland.  For a moment I believed in von Bethmann-Holweg’s talk about the “map of Europe.”

I was eager to see how much Berlin had changed, for I knew it at various stages of the war, but I cannot honestly say that the changes which I detected later, and which I shall deal with in subsequent chapters of this book—­changes which are absorbingly interesting to study on the spot and vitally important in the progress and outcome of the war—­were very apparent then.

In the dying days of 1915 I found the people of Berlin almost as supremely confident of victory, especially now since Bulgaria’s entrance had made such sweeping changes in the Balkans, as they were on that day of cloudless blue, the first of August, 1914, when the dense mass swayed before the Royal Palace, to see William II come out upon the balcony to bid his people rise to arms.  Eyes sparkled, cheeks flushed, the buzz changed to cheering, the cheering swelled to a roar.  The army which had been brought to the highest perfection, the army which would sweep Europe—­at last the German people could see what it would do, would show the world what it would do.  The anticipation intoxicated them.

An American friend told me of how he struggled toward the Schloss, but in the jam of humanity got only as far as the monument of Frederick the Great.  There a youth threw his hat in the air and cried:  “Hock der Krieg, Hock der Krieg!” (Hurrah for the war).

That was the spirit that raged like a prairie fire.

An old man next to him looked him full in the eyes. “Der Krieg ist eine ernste Sache, Junge!” (War is a serious matter, young man), he said and turned away.  He was in the crowd, but not of it.  His note was discordant.  They snarled at him and pushed him roughly.  They gloried in the thought of war.  They were certain that they were invincible.  All that they bad been taught, all the influences on their lives convinced them that nothing could stand before the furor teutonicus once it was turned loose.

Delirious days when military bands blared regiment after regiment through lines of cheering thousands; whole companies deluged with flowers, long military trains festooned with blossoms and greenery rolling with clock-like regularity from the stations amid thunderous cheers.  Sad partings were almost unknown, for, of course, no earthly power could withstand the onslaughts of the Kaiser’s troops.  God was with them—­even their belts and helmets showed that.  So, “Good-bye for six weeks!”