ganzen kompanien Soldaten
ââ
They waved another cheerful greeting to Anthony and Marcia without slackening pace or rhythm â
â
Käpitan, Leutenant
,
Fahnerich, Serjeant
,
Nimmt das Mädel â¦
â
The petrol attendant had appeared to take no notice of them and had busied himself finding a sponge and paying some perfunctory attention to the windscreen of the Morris.
â
Nimmt das Mädel bei der Hand
!â he muttered. âThatâs all theyâre good for.â
âThey seem happy youngsters!
Sorgenlos
!â
â
Ach, ja, Sorgenlos
,â grunted the man. He grimaced and turned away.
âI think Herzenburg is about two kilometres, Anton. If we are where I think we are.â
âThen I donât think we are, darling sister. Weâve just passed the âHerzenburgâ town sign. We must be coming into it now.â
âHow odd!â Then they were both silent. Ahead of them, five hundred yards away, high walls extended each side of a tall brick gatehouse. The walls, also of dark red brick, were crowned with tiles along ancient ramparts. The gatehouse was built over a narrow way, penetrable by only one car at a time and regulated by an incongruous traffic light. A few modern houses had been built outside the walls of Herzenburg. Within, under the sharp but fading light of late afternoon, the place held promise â or threat â of entry to an earlier, an enchanted age. Behind those walls, which the Marvellsâ guidebook assured them still entirely surrounded the mediaeval town, surely anything might happen.
âI want a photograph of this before the light goes.â
There was space to park in front of the great gate, and Anthony dismounted with Leica camera and walked away from the walls to compose a shot. Marcia strolled to the gatehouse itself and inspected it. Its barrel roofing extended to a surprising depth. These were formidable walls, massive, serious. The town might have prettiness,
gemütlichkeit
within. Through the gateway Marcia could glimpse a narrow street, steep gables, brilliant window boxes and gaily painted shutters. But the place had been built to withstand war.
Her attention was caught by something on the outer wall itself.
âAnton, come and look at this.â
Nailed to the wall, about seven feet from the ground and distanced some five yards from the gateway so that it could not fail to catch the eye of every traveller entering Herzenburg whether by car, bicycle or on foot, was a rectangular wooden board some three feet tall. It was varnished to withstand weather. In the centre of the board was painted, with some skill, a bearded face. The face, surmounted by black ringlets, was dominated by a huge, hooked nose and adorned by a grinning mouth and hooded eyes. Within the limits imposed by his crude medium the artist had conveyed, with a good dealof ingenuity, a countenance of avarice, lechery and cunning. It was a horrible face.
âWhat a ghastly thing!â said Marcia, laughing uncertainly. âWhoâs it meant to be? Whatâs it advertising against? I canât ever read that writing of theirs.â For beneath the caricature were lines in heavy Gothic script. Anthony translated them slowly aloud.
âI am a Jew.
I suck the blood of Christian merchants.
I exploit German workers.
I
verderbe
German maidens. (âWhatâs that?â said Marcia.
Anthony was not sure â ââCorruptâ I think. Iâll check.â)
âI make my home, like a maggot in the flesh, in the German
State,
In order to destroy it.â
âCharming,â said Marcia, shakily. âDo you suppose the City Fathers put that up?â
âThe Party, I expect,â said Anthony. It was the most disturbing phenomenon they had yet seen and it revolted them both.
âIâm going to photograph it.â It was already getting dark but Anthony was skilled with camera and the photograph
Michael Patrick MacDonald