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traces of memory Włodzimierz Fiszer page 9 elegant and glittering. The caps too have no less original shapes. We are driving into Hindenburg Street, leading to Tannenberg and leaving Hohenstein without stopping here; the town is very similar to Neidenburg, only more lively because of the vicinity of Tannenberg. After a dozen or so minutes of driving, we can see – on the horizon – the harsh lines of the rectangular towers of the national memorial called "Nationaldenkmal" in Tannenberg. Tannenberg is also a village. The monumental memorial prevailing over it and the whole of the surrounding area. One can sense the gargantuan size of this massive building even from a distance, having more of the semblance of a stronghold than to a monument, being surrounded by a high wall, showing the turrets of its monstrous towers, and its very flat roofs. Finally we get to stop on a special automobile park in Tannenberg. One can see a multitude of policemen here at every step now, regulating both pedestrian and motor traffic. Before our eyes – an entire sea of automobiles of every description and from the most varied nooks and crannies of Germany – there are Bremen, Gdansk, and many other cities of the Reich. And now a truck packed with travellers from Gdańsk arrives, sporting a large ribbon with the caption "Danzig bleibt deutsch!" (Gdańsk's allegiance to the Germans) Greetings everywhere – only with the gesture of a raised hand. Nearby, there is a special garden and restaurant for visitors. A whole row of kiosks and exhibition spaces for "The National German Committee for the Building of the Monument" – well furnished with photographs, books, commemorative badges, and so on. Fund-raisers are bustling about here and there with boxes for money for the same goal. We establish the hour for our return home and our 60-person excursion disperses, dissolving and disappearing in the countless crowds of Germans like a drop of water in the ocean. page 10 I direct my steps towards the memorial and discover that the entrance is closed and guarded by the police. The public near the memorial, meanwhile, has been formed into a double-row, a lane forming a passage several dozen centimetres from the road to the gate to the memorial-fortress, which is still closed at the moment. The venue I mentioned, where the crowds stand and the passage was formed, is called "vorhof", i.e. The Initial part of the Memorial, while the inside of it is called "ehrenhof". On the other side of the memorial, there is a gigantic sports field with several rows of seats, reminiscent of an amphitheatre, a construction from ancient Roman times. The Police are constantly working to keep the crowd in exemplary order. While everything is surrounded by an air of expectation. Soon, I learn that in the inner courtyard, near the central cross and at the Marshal von Hindenburg's coffin, the topmost military officials of contemporary Germany are present: that is, first, Field Marshal von Mackensen, another hero of the Tannenberg Battle being, next to Hindenburg, the other deity of today's Germany. A third statesman, General von Ludendorf, the Chief Commander of General Headquarters during the Great World War was absent, so was Hitler. Several dozen minutes passed in tense waiting, until finally the gate was opened and the highest officials of the German army appeared in bluish uniforms with glittering buttons, epaulettes and multitudes of medals, sometimes covering the entirety of the chests of the generals' uniforms. The Sun, in a clear sky, shed its rays onto the solemn procession and the peaks of helmets, "a la Wilhelm". Its rays shining even more intensely with a silver-golden gleam on the heads of the hoary members of the German generality. All of this added a specially majestic look to them, which harmonised totally with the general mood of unusual solemnity, clearly reflected in the people's faces, and the concentration and silence of the officials walking along the live corridor of people. The whole of German power and the whole majesty of its greatness seemed to have become incarnated and represented honourably by these elderly but iron-hard men – masculine figures of German generality. Everything made an unforgettable impression on the viewer, especially a viewer like myself, who has witnessed such a thing for the first time. page 11 And now, the crowds jerked as if hit by an electric current, the figure of an elderly general emerged from the greyish uniforms and shiny spiked helmets; he wore a cap totally different from the others, similar to a Russian papacha hat made of fur, but of a reddish-yellow colour. In his hand, clasped to his chest, he wielded a grey marshal's sceptre, encrusted with gold – he was, at this moment the second most important personality after von Hindenburg in terms of fame and greatness. A military man and a statesman, the deity of today's Germany – faithful to Keiserian tradition, the second-most important knight of Tannenberg: General Field Marshal von Mackensen. As if from a signal of a magic wand, hundreds of human hands were stretched up in the welcoming Nazi gesture and the shout "Sieg! Heil!!" floated over the crowd. How deep their enthusiasm was, can be judged by a small but unforgettable fragment of that welcoming vehemence of theirs. Next to me stood a woman holding a child of about 3 years old in her hands. When the generals were walking past them, the child intuitively not only rose its hand up in Nazi fashion, but also shouted "Sieg! Heil!". Possibly, these were only a number of the very few words which the child was able to say properly. After this relatively short parade, the crowd surged towards the main gate of the memorial; however, again, the gate proved to be closed. Minutes passed by, quarter hours... the merciless hour of 4, established as our time of departure back home, was approaching and the perspective of getting inside the memorial, the "ehrenfof" seemed to stretch on into infinity. Finally, having stopped at the main gate to look at and read a commemorative plaque next to it, I saw a policeman energetically gesticulating, indicating a direction along the wall and around, and explaining something. I understood. He was telling us that we were waiting here in vain, that we should go around to the opposite gate because the public would be admitted inside through the other gate. And indeed, at the proper gate, on the opposite side, the crowds gathered again, and some extremely impatient people banged the massive construction with their fists, accompanying this activity with various shouts and merry remarks. 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