Down the Danube

Spring came to southeastern Europe last week. Adolf Hitler could have put a canoe into a tiny stream in the Black Forest and followed the last chunks of ice down a Danube swollen by the 300 tributaries which interlace his new domain. The sights would be gruesome or inspiring, depending on where he stopped.

Austria. At his beloved Vienna, Hitler would hear from his Gauleiters about "joyous celebrations" on the fourth anniversary of the Anschluss. But if he took a bath in the Imperial Hotel, where he stayed in the spring of 1938, Hitler would have to dry himself with paper towels. Hotel owners can now be hanged as "traitors to the fatherland" unless they surrender all cloth towels. They are needed for bandages on the Russian front.

Czecho-Slovakia. At Bratislava, 40 miles east of Vienna, Hitler would see workmen feverishly camouflaging the mammoth dynamite factory so that its colors would blend with those of the freshly plowed Slovak and Hungarian fields. Authorities feared that the R.A.F. might try to repeat its Paris success in Czechoslovakia. In the newspapers Hitler would read about the desperate drive to increase armament production (in some factories it was down to 20% of capacity), but he would know that longer hours might mean more fuseless bombs, more faulty aircraft.

Hungary. Drifting past the villages near Budapest, Hitler might mistake the laughter of gaily dressed women beating clothes along the banks for a sign that all was well in Hungary. But he could hardly fail to feel the tense atmosphere pervading the old brownstone Government buildings overlooking the Danube. Small, impeccable Nicholas Kallay, who last week became Premier after the attempted suicide of Dr. Laszlo Bardossy, would explain: though Hungary and Rumania are allies against Russia, they are, in effect, fighting each other. Both countries know that the one which helps Germany the most will be rewarded with Transylvania. While Rumanian radio stations shout that Hungary is holding back in Russia in order to attack Rumania later, Hungarian troops are fortifying the Rumanian frontier.

Yugoslavia. Hitler would be tired and fretful after the 500-mile voyage south to Belgrade, but the sight of mile-long food queues along Mihilova Street and the devastation wrought by his bombers a year ago might soothe him. He would not dare to make side trips up rivers like the Bosna or the Drina, because they lead to regions held by General Draja Mihailovich's growing guerrilla army. This band of 145-150,000 Serbs, Greeks and Bulgars is becoming a symbol of freedom to all the silent people of the Balkans. The Germans and Italians have increased their armies in Yugoslavia to 400,000. They have ordered peasants to grow no tall crops within 500 yards of rail lines or main roads. It required five Nazified Bulgarian divisions to reopen the main railway from Nish to Salonika, over which Germany sends small submarines, piecemeal, to the Mediterranean.

Rumania. Passing through the twilight gloom of the Kazan defile, 100 miles east of Belgrade, Hitler would soon reach the historic Iron Gate, separating the Balkan and the Carpathian ranges. There, on the western border of Rumania, he might meet his stooge, General Ion Antonescu. The General's report would be grim:

Rumanians are disgruntled over the loss of 300,000 men in the Russian campaign. Pro-Allied feeling is mounting. Peasant Leader Juliu Maniu is openly hostile to the Antonescu regime. There are reports that ex-Foreign Minister Grigore Gafencu has gone to Switzerland to form a Government to take over if Rumania is knocked out of the war.

With manpower dwindling rapidly, General Antonescu's Government last week called up boys from 17 to 21 for "pre-military training," ordered all Bessarabians between 12 and 70 to sign up for spring labor.

Bulgaria. Bidding farewell to Antonescu, Hitler would continue along a monotonous stretch of the Danube past filthy half-Rumanian, half-Bulgarian villages to the confluence of the Danube and the Isker. A hundred miles up the Isker lies Sofia. There, if he cared to paddle his canoe against the current, he could proudly observe the full effects of Nazi propaganda. Though the Bulgars would probably refuse to fight against Russia, they are in a mood to tackle the Turks the moment Hitler says so. In the Grand Hotel, diplomats, students and businessmen gather every noon to discuss the coming attack, pore over maps put out by a local Fascist organization showing Istanbul (called "Tsarigrad--City of the Kings") as part of the new Bulgaria. But Berlin-made propaganda has not impressed everyone. Said the newspaper Zora: "We are struck by the confused psychological conceptions of a small section of our intelligentsia. . . . Their nerves do not quiver if the Allies achieve a victory. There is no single grimace at the announcement of bad news. . . ."

Greece. Southward-flowing rivers would carry Hitler into Macedonia and Thrace, where he could witness the Bulgarian invasion of Greece: several hundred thousand peasants have been turned out of their homes to make room for Bulgarian settlers. Beyond Greece would be the blue waters of the Aegean Sea, the purple minarets of Turkey and the terraced olive groves of Syria to lure him on. But some tiresome Nazi underling no doubt would urge the Fuehrer to inspect fleets of dull grey invasion barges, squadrons of bombers, fighters and troop carriers hidden away in the islands off Greece. On some later day Canoeist Hitler might travel on to new lands blessed by his new order.

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