a war, but a crusade. I get one clue to this
in the new phrase of leave-taking that has gained an astounding currency
in the past few weeks. Instead of saying "Good-bye" or "Auf
Wiedersehen," the German now says: "God punish England!" to which the
equally fervent rejoinder is, "May He do so!" This new, polite formula
for leave-taking originated among the officers and men in the field, but
you hear it on all sides now, uttered with a sincerity and earnestness
that is peculiarly impressive. The new style of saying "good-bye" has at
least the merit of being no longer a perfunctory piece of rhetoric.

This optimism is no nation-wide attack of insanity, for the German,
thorough even in forming his opinions, is the last person in the world
to harbor delusions, and there is a perfect realization of the titanic
task that still confronts Germany. Nor is this confidence in ultimate
victory due to lack of information or to being kept in the dark by the
"iron censorship," for the "iron censorship" is itself a myth. It is
liberal, even judged by democratic standards, and surprisingly free from
red tape. There is no embargo on the importation of foreign newspapers;
even the anti-German journals of neutral countries have free entry and
circulation, while at a number of well-known cosmopolitan cafes you can
always read The London Times and The Daily Chronicle, only three days
old, and for a small cash consideration the waiter will generally be
able to produce from his pocket a Figaro, not much older. Not only
English and French, but, even more, the Italian, Dutch, and Scandinavian
papers are widely read and digested by Germans, while the German papers
not only print prominently the French official communiques, the Russian
communiques when available, and interesting chunks from the British
"eyewitness" official reports, but most of their feature stories--the
vivid, detailed war news--come from allied sources via correspondents in
neutral countries. The German censor's task is here a relatively simple
one, for German war correspondents never allow professional enthusiasm
to run away with practical patriotism, and you note the--to an
American--amusing and yet suggestive spectacle of war correspondents
specializing in descriptions of sunsets and scenery.

The German was never much of a newspaper reader before the war, but now
he can challenge the American commuter as an absorbent of the printed
word. And not only has the German been sudden