FOUR WEEKS IN THE TRENCHES
by Fritz Kreisler
To My Dear Wife Harriet
The Best Friend And Stanchest Comrade In All Circumstances Of
Life I Dedicate This Little Book
In Humble Token Of Everlasting Gratitude And Devotion
Preface
This brief record of the fighting on the Eastern front in the great waris the outcome of a fortunate meeting.
The writer chanced to be dining with Mr. Kreisler soon after hisarrival in this country, after his dismissal from the hospital where herecovered from his wound. For nearly two hours he listened, thrilledand moved, to the great violinist's modest, vivid narrative of hisexperiences and adventures. It seemed in the highest degreedesirable that the American public should have an opportunity ofreading this narrative from the pen of one in whose art so many ofus take a profound interest. It also was apparent that since so littleof an authentic nature had been heard from the Russo-Austrian fieldof warfare, this story would prove an important contribution to thecontemporary history of the war.
After much persuasion, Mr. Kreisler reluctantly acceded to thesuggestion that he write out his personal memories of the war forpublication. He has completed his narrative in the midst of gravedifficulties, writing it piecemeal in hotels and railway trains in thecourse of a concert tour through the country. It is offered by thepublishers to the public with confidence that it will be found one ofthe most absorbing and informing narratives of the war that has yetappeared.
F. G.
Four Weeks In The Trenches
I
In trying to recall my impressions during my short war duty as anofficer in the Austrian Army, I find that my recollections of this periodare very uneven and confused. Some of the experiences stand outwith absolute clearness; others, however, are blurred. Two or threeevents which took place in different localities seem merged into one,while in other instances recollection of the chronological order ofthings is missing. This curious indifference of the memory to valuesof time and space may be due to the extraordinary physical andmental stress under which the impressions I am trying to chroniclewere received. The same state of mind I find is rather characteristicof most people I have met who were in the war. It should not beforgotten, too, that the gigantic upheaval which changed thefundamental condition of life overnight and threatened the veryexistence of nations naturally dwarfed the individual intonothingness, and the existing interest in the common welfare leftpractically no room for personal considerations. Then again, at thefront, the extreme uncertainty of the morrow tended to lessen theinterest in the details of to-day; consequently I may have missed agreat many interesting happenings alongside of me which I wouldhave wanted to note under other circumstances. One gets into astrange psychological, almost hypnotic, state of mind while on thefiring line which probably prevents the mind's eye from observingand noticing things in a normal way. This accounts, perhaps, forsome blank spaces in my memory. Besides, I went out completelyresigned to my fate, without much thought for the future. It neveroccurred to me that I might ever want to write my experiences, andconsequently I failed to take notes or to establish certainmnemo-technical landmarks by the aid of which I might now be able toreconstruct all details. I am, therefore, reduced to present anincoherent a