The Serbs Chose War, Ruth Mitchel 32. SHOPPING FOR GUN EMPLACEMENTS THE JOY OF THE INHABITANTS of Dubrovnik at the arrival of their dear "saviors," the Axis, quickly waned. They had hoped and expected to see the Germans march in, if not first, then immediately after the Italians, and take over the protection of the newly created "Independent State of Croatia," which had been proclaimed amidst general rejoicing on April 10. But, alas, it turned out differently. The Germans came in, it is true; there was a sharp dispute between the two loving allies, and for a day or two we breathlessly awaited the decision. Then the Germans moved out and the Italians-for centuries the hereditary hated foe of Dalmatia-the despised little Eyetees were allowed by the Big Boss to remain. Dubrovnik became Ragusa, and intense was the disappointment of its people, heirs of the proud tradition of the once rich and powerful Republic of Ragusa, which in its great days had been second only to the Republic of Venice. The Italians were noticeably embarrassed but imperturably good-natured and patient as they watched the noisy demonstrations of the populace yelling: "UP, UP, HITLER-down, down, Mussolini!" (groans). By expert maneuvering they quietly arrested the worst shouters but quickly released them again. They tried various expedients to flatter the people. They even went to the length of again proclaiming a new Independent Republic of Ragusa ("Independence" now being scattered about this part of the world like so much poisoned cat's meat.) In the charming old central place of the crowded town, a hollow square of Alpini buglers blew a fanfare and hoisted a scarlet fish-tail banner with Patron Saint Blasius embroidered in the center. I examined it. The hand embroidery was fine and the likeness almost man-sized. Could it have been produced in just those few days ? No-and not by Italian needles: someone here must have known what was coming months in advance! Mr. Macatee, the American consul general, and members of his staff with their families passed through on that day on their way back to their posts at Belgrade. He told me he would have renewed my American passport there and then, but all his seals had been lost in the bombardment. Old Mrs. Oonah Ball, widow of an Oxford don and for decades one of the landmarks of Dubrovnik, died peacefully at this time, and her famous English library was sealed up. During her long illness news of the World War had been kept from her, and she passed away knowing nothing about it. I should also mention the bizarre and faintly sinister American who called himself Captain Kahn. He had a small auxiliary yawl lying in Gruzh harbor, which he kept in an appalling mess. He was violently pro-German and had little swastika flags stuck all over his boat. He spent his time gathering herbs and making weird ointments and hellish brews. With these he hoped to bewitch us, especially Laura McCullaugh, whose stern rejection of his impassioned advances gave us much merriment. He was determined that she and I should flee with him, and he promised to remove enough herbs from the furniture for us at least to sit down. At her steady refusal to listen I detected a speculative gleam in his eye, as if I might take her place in his heart. In between these pursuits he spent his time cultivating the Germans. He succeeded in paying for the dinner of one of the highest passing officers. Apparently this got him oil and other favors. One morning he was gone, complete with boat, perhaps to the wars in the service of his dear Nazis. If so I wish them joy of him. For, though possibly useful in some obscure way, he was certainly quite mad. The experiment of the Republic didn't work as well as had been hoped. The inhabitants remained hostile. But the Italians just went on smiling. The remarkable thing was that it wasn't just a victorious or artificial grin. They smiled as if they meant it, as if they just liked smiling. So that after a time the people began to melt. They just couldn't help it. You can't stay angry when your despised conqueror, whom you have invited to come in, hops out of the road for your comfort, salutes you with smiling eagerness, and offers to carry the parcels of every woman he sees, old or young, but especially old. Before many days had passed, the prettiest, most well-bred and sheltered girls of the Dubrovnik aristocracy were discreetly accompanied by faultless Italian cavaliers. Who should blame them? I confess I myself often felt a pig at what I was doing, though I certainly didn't let it Stop me. It seemed like stealing money from a blind beggar. The little Italians seemed so guileless and good-natured. Yet I knew well that if I made the slightest slip all their good nature would vanish. It only needed a sight of the occasional groups of wooden, contemptuous, surly German airmen to recall me to caution. It was now my business to get certain information. It was not the same information as that required by an invading army, not even exactly the same as required for a commando raid. It was strictly for guerrilla work. For obvious reasons I cannot particularize here. I had to get it. I used for the purpose a large-scale map of the town and neighborhood on fairly thin paper. I seldom carried it with me, preferring to leave it in a safe place and to work on it in the evening. The sun was now bright enough to justify sun glasses, which are very useful. They permit one to face one way and look another without one's eyes being visible. A market basket, since all housewives here and in Italy go to open market, and a large straw hat gave me the bona-fide look of a good housekeeper intent on economy. I decided it would be best to move to some place outside the town, so that I should have a good excuse for coming into town by different roads and paths. I found a small hotel on the extreme edge of a well-wooded peninsula near the harbor of Gruzh, within two miles of Dubrovnik. I was lucky enough to get a room that hung almost over the sea. My windows gave me an exquisite view across the calm Adriatic, with its scattered rocky islets and its broken mountainous shore line. I had little time to look at it, however, as I was ceaselessly strolling now in this direction, now in that, either "shopping" or "seeking secluded beaches to bathe." There had once been plenty of these. Now they were all filled with lively little Italian soldiers, laughing and singing, and being altogether too friendly. The thing one had to fear from these brown fellows was not their suspicion but, alas, their amorousness. Anything in a skirt, especially, of course, if alone, was fair game. When I envisaged this business I had not expected that the affection of my enemy would be my greatest danger. But so it was, and the difficulty of steering a middle course was very tiring. A too abrupt repulse turned these tough soldiers, just off a long campaign, very nasty, and I was in a quandary more than once. Of course, I could "not understand one word of Italian"; "non capisco!" I was always just an American stranger; always just "taking a short cut and anxious to get back on the main road," as I followed the rocky paths. I got by, but not always pleasantly. There were very disagreeable as well as funny and even delightful incidents. I cannot resist telling the funniest of all. The promontory near my hotel was covered with tall, thick, prickly bush. Troops were encamped all over it, and the dirty little devils found the path which ran all the way round it the most convenient place for certain morning and evening physical routines. One morning I descended midway onto this path from above, where I had suspected and found two batteries of mountain guns. To my horror I saw the path both ways lined with squatting figures in dishabille, while other eager ones were coming down behind me. And their peaceful occupation was being made joyous with song- Italian love songs in charming harmony. Far from being perturbed by my sudden appearance, they raised their voices to bright delight: right and left I was saluted con amore! Fortunately I knew of an old ruined fortress near by, and I fled to its far recesses-chuckling to myself, I must admit. I lodged a complaint about this disgusting habit with the major in command. And it was actually stopped-for my pleasure and convenience ! The Alpini in their green uniforms, their smartly cocked hunters' caps, each with perky feather, moving or lounging round their bivouac fires in the terraced groves of gnarled, silvery olive trees under the hot blue sky, and singing the lovely old arias from Carmen, Il Trovatore, or Il Barbiere, often made the whole thing seem unreal to me. This, surely, must be just a stage play and soon we would come to the happy ending! In contrast, when a regimental dinner was given in my hotel directly under my room and the officers afterwards dutifully sang their fascist war songs composed on German models, even their mellow Italian voices seemed to have grown thin and strained and the famous end bark sounded ridiculous. Now came a grim interlude: the return of the victorious German troops from Greece. In three days something like 60,000 men passed through in fast motor transport whose efficiency, solidity, weight of guns, and care for the finest detail was staggeringly impressive. How childishly pathetic were the few Italian armored cars that got mixed in the procession! After such a sight one could well understand the hopelessness, the defeatism of some of the conquered peoples. It seemed suicidal to oppose such power, such scientific perfection. Yet all the time my heart kept singing: "They can't get up our mountains. However fast and powerful, they can't pierce our pathless forests. There it will be man to man, and man for man, our men are better!" So it has proved. For the Nazi soldiers themselves were not impressive. Their extreme youth was a surprise. Some looked not more than fifteen. In spite of their victorious, excited air, in spite of their big frames (compared with the Italians but not compared with our own men), in spite of their pink northern cheeks, they looked softened, dwarfed by their dependence on their machines. The eternal German tourist came out in them too. I stood watching on the road just where the beautiful Gruzh harbor came into view. In every car, as it reached that point, every man rose, every single one sighted a camera, and a volley of clicks ran down the lines. Most of those cameras had been stolen, of course; no camera is ever left behind where Germans pass. Cameras are "requisitioned" without payment. I wonder how many of those victorious films will be treasured in the bitterly humbled years to come! Previous Chapter | Content | Next Chapter The Serbs Chose War, Ruth Mitchel