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diff --git a/25573-h/25573-h.htm b/25573-h/25573-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dea2ce3 --- /dev/null +++ b/25573-h/25573-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3920 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + The Drama of Three Hundred and Sixty-five Days, by Hall Caine + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Drama Of Three Hundred & Sixty-Five Days, by +Hall Caine + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Drama Of Three Hundred & Sixty-Five Days + Scenes In The Great War - 1915 + +Author: Hall Caine + +Release Date: May 23, 2008 [EBook #25573] +Last Updated: October 6, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DRAMA OF 365 DAYS *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE DRAMA OF THREE HUNDRED<br /> & SIXTY-FIVE DAYS + </h1> + <h2> + SCENES IN THE GREAT WAR + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Hall Caine + </h2> + <h5> + J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY - 1915 + </h5> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <h3> + <br /> <br /> DEDICATED<br /> TO THE YOUNG MANHOOD<br /> OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE + <br /> <br /> + </h3> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> THE DRAMA OF 365 DAYS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE INVISIBLE CONFLICT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> PEN-PORTRAIT OF THE KAISER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> PEN-PORTRAIT OF THE CROWN PRINCE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> SOME SALUTARY LESSONS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> PEN-PORTRAIT OF THE ARCHDUKE FERDINAND </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> ONE OF THE OLDEST, FEEBLEST, AND LEAST CAPABLE + OF MEN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> “GOOD GOD, MAN, DO YOU MEAN TO SAY...” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> A GERMAN HIGH PRIEST OF PEACE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> “WE SHALL NEVER MASSACRE BELGIAN WOMEN” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> THE OLD GERMAN ADAM </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> A CONVERSATION WITH LORD ROBERTS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> “WE’LL FIGHT AND FIGHT SOON” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> “HE KNOWS, DOESN’T HE?” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> WE BELIEVED IT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> THE FALLING OF THE THUNDERBOLT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> THE PART CHANCE PLAYED </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> “WHY ISN’T THE HOUSE CHEERING?” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> THE NIGHT OF OUR ULTIMATUM </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> THE THUNDERSTROKE OF FATE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> THE MORNING AFTER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> “YOUR KING AND COUNTRY NEED YOU” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> THE PART PLAYED BY THE BRITISH NAVY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> THE PART PLAYED BY BELGIUM </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> WHAT KING ALBERT DID FOR KINGSHIP </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> “WHY SHOULDN’T THEY, SINCE THEY WERE + ENGLISHMEN?” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> “BUT LIBERTY MUST GO ON, AND... ENGLAND.” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> THE PART PLAYED BY FRANCE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> THE SOUL OF FRANCE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> THE MOTHERHOOD OF FRANCE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> FIVE MONTHS AFTER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> THE COMING OF WINTER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> CHRISTMAS IN THE TRENCHES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> THE COMING OF SPRING </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> NATURE GOES HER OWN WAY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> THE SOUL OF THE MAN WHO SANK THE <i>LUSITANIA</i> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> THE GERMAN TOWER OF BABEL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> THE ALIEN PERIL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> HYMNS OF HATE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> THE PART PLAYED BY RUSSIA </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> THE SHADOW OF THE GREAT DEATH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> THE RUSSIAN SOUL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> THE RUSSIAN MOUJIK MOBILIZING </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> HOW THE RUSSIANS MAKE WAR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> THE PART PLAYED BY POLAND </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> THE SOUL OF POLAND </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> THE OLD SOLDIER OF LIBERTY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0048"> THE PART PLAYED BY ITALY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> HOW THE WAR ENTERED ITALY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0050"> THE ITALIAN SOUL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0051"> THE PART PLAYED BY THE NEUTRAL NATIONS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0052"> THE PART PLAYED BY THE UNITED STATES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0053"> THE THUNDERCLAP THAT FELL ON ENGLAND </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0054"> A GLIMPSE OP THE KING’S SON </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0055"> THE PART PLAYED BY WOMAN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0056"> THE WORD OF WOMAN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0057"> THE NEW SCARLET LETTER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0058"> AND... AFTER? </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0059"> WAR’S SPIRITUAL COMPENSATIONS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0060"> LET US PRAY FOR VICTORY </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE DRAMA OF 365 DAYS + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE INVISIBLE CONFLICT + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Maeterlinck has lately propounded the theory {*} that what we call the + war is neither more nor less than the visible expression of a vast + invisible conflict. The unseen forces of good and evil in the universe are + using man as a means of contention. On the result of the struggle the + destiny of humanity on this planet depends. Is the Angel to prevail? Or is + the Beast to prolong his malignant existence? The issue hangs on Fate, + which does not, however, deny the exercise of the will of man. Mystical + and even fantastic as the theory may seem to be, there is no resisting its + appeal. A glance back over the events of the past year leaves us again and + again without clue to cause and effect. It is impossible to account for so + many things that have happened. We cannot always say, “We did this because + of that,” or “Our enemies did that because of the other.” Time after time + we can find no reason why things happened as they have—so + unaccountable and so contradictory have they seemed to be. The dark work + wrought by Death during the past year has been done in the blackness of a + night in which none can read. Hence some of us are forced to yield to Mr. + Maeterlinck’s theory, which is, I think, the theory of the ancients—the + theory on which the Greeks built their plays—that invisible powers + of good and evil, operating in regions that are above and beyond man’s + control, are working out his destiny in this monstrous drama of the war. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * The Daily Chronicle. +</pre> + <p> + And what a drama it has been already! We had witnessed only 365 days of it + down to August 4, 1915, corresponding at the utmost to perhaps three of + its tragic acts, but what scenes, what emotions! Mr. Lowell used to say + that to read Carlyle’s book on the French Revolution was to see history as + by flashes of lightning. It is only as by flashes of lightning that we can + yet hope to see the world-drama of 1914-15. Figures, groups, incidents, + episodes, without the connecting links of plots, and just as they have + been thrown off by Time, the master-producer—what a spectacle they + make, what a medley of motives, what a confused jumble of sincerities and + hypocrisies, heroisms and brutalities, villainies and virtues! + </p> + <p> + As happens in every drama, a great deal of the tragic mischief had + occurred before the curtain rose. Always before the passage of war over + the world there comes the far-off murmur of its approaching wings. Each of + us in this case had heard it, distinctly or indistinctly, according to the + accidents of personal experience. I think I myself heard it for the first + time dearly when in the closing year of King Edward’s reign I came to know + (it is unnecessary to say how) what our Sovereign’s feeling had been about + his last visit to Berlin. It can do no harm now to say that it had been a + feeling of intense anxiety. The visit seemed necessary, even imperative, + there-fore the King would not shirk his duty. But for his country, as well + as for himself, he had feared for his reception in Germany, and on his + arrival in Berlin, and during his drive from the railway station with the + Kaiser, he had watched and listened to the demonstrations in the streets + with an emotion which very nearly amounted to dread. + </p> + <p> + The result had brought a certain relief. With the best of all possible + intentions, the newspapers in both capitals had reported that King + Edward’s reception had been enthusiastic. It hadn’t been that—at + least, it hadn’t seemed to be that to the persons chiefly concerned. But + it had been just cordial enough not to be chilling, just warm enough to + carry things off, to drown that far-off murmur of war which was like the + approach of a mighty wind. Then, during the next days, there had been the + usual banqueting, with the customary toasting to the amity of the two + great nations, whose interests were so closely united by bonds of peace! + And then the return drive to the railway station, the clatter of horsemen + in shining armour, the adieux, the throbbing of the engine, the starting + of the train, and then.... “Thank God, it’s over!” If the invisible powers + had really been struggling over the destiny of men, how the evil half of + them must have shrieked with delight that day as the Kaiser rode back to + Potsdam and our King returned to London! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PEN-PORTRAIT OF THE KAISER + </h2> + <p> + Other whisperings there were of the storm that was so soon to burst on the + world. In the ominous silence there were rumours of a certain change that + was coming over the spirit of the Kaiser. For long years he had been + credited with a sincere love of peace, and a ceaseless desire to restrain + the forces about him that were making for war. Although constantly + occupied with the making of a big army, and inspiring it with great + ideals, he was thought to have as little desire for actual warfare as his + ancestor, Frederick William, had shown, while gathering up his giant + guardsmen and refusing to allow them to fight. Particularly it was + believed in Berlin (not altogether graciously) that his affection for, and + even fear of his grandmother, Queen Victoria, would compel him to exhaust + all efforts to preserve peace in the event of trouble with Great Britain. + But Victoria was dead, and King Edward might perhaps be smiled at—behind + his back—and then a younger generation was knocking at the Kaiser’s + door in the person of his eldest son, who represented forces which he + might not long be able to hold in check. How would he act now? + </p> + <p> + Thousands of persons in this country had countless opportunities before + the war of forming an estimate of the Kaiser’s character. I had only one, + and it was not of the best. For years the English traveller abroad felt as + if he were always following in the track of a grandiose personality who + was playing on the scene of the world as on a stage, fond as an actor of + dressing up in fine uniforms, of making pictures, scenes, and impressions, + and leaving his visible mark behind him—as in the case of the huge + gap in the thick walls of Jerusalem, torn down (it was said with his + consent) to let his equipage pass through. + </p> + <p> + In Rome I saw a man who was a true son of his ancestors. Never had the + laws of heredity better justified themselves. Frederick William, Frederick + the Great, William the First—the Hohenzollerns were all there. The + glittering eyes, the withered arm, the features that gave signs of + frightful periodical pain, the immense energy, the gigantic egotism, the + ravenous vanity, the fanaticism amounting to frenzy, the dominating power, + the dictatorial temper, the indifference to suffering (whether his own or + other people’s), the overbearing suppression of opposing opinions, the + determination to control everybody’s interest, everybody’s work—I + thought all this was written in the Kaiser’s masterful face. Then came + stories. One of my friends in Rome was an American doctor who had been + called to attend a lady of the Emperor’s household. “Well, doctor, what’s + she suffering from?” said the Kaiser. The doctor told him. “Nothing of the + kind—you’re entirely wrong. She’s suffering from so and so,” said + the Majesty of Germany, stamping up and down the room. At length the + American doctor lost control. “Sir,” he said, “in my country we have a + saying that one bad practitioner is worth twenty good amateurs—you’re + the amateur.” The doctor lived through it. Frederick William would have + dragged him to the window and tried to fling him out of it. William II put + his arm round the doctor’s shoulder and said, “I didn’t mean to hurt you, + old fellow. Let us sit down and talk.” + </p> + <p> + A soldier came with another story. After a sham fight conducted by the + Kaiser the generals of the German army had been summoned to say what they + thought of the Royal manoeuvres. All had formed an unfavourable opinion, + yet one after another, with some insincere compliment, had wriggled out of + the difficulty of candid criticism. But at length came an officer, who + said: + </p> + <p> + “Sir, if it had been real warfare to-day there wouldn’t be enough wood in + Germany to make coffins for the men who would be dead.” + </p> + <p> + The general lived through it, too—at first in a certain disfavour, + but afterwards in recovered honour. + </p> + <p> + Such was the Kaiser, who a year ago had to meet the mighty wind of War. He + was in Norway for his usual summer holiday in July 1914 when affairs were + reaching their crisis. Rumour has it that he was not satisfied with the + measure of the information that was reaching him, therefore he returned to + Berlin, somewhat to the discomfiture of his ministers, intending, it is + said, for various reasons (not necessarily humanitarian) to stop or at + least postpone the war. If so, he arrived too late. He was told that + matters had gone too far. They must go on now. “Very well, if they must, + they must,” he is reported to have said. And there is the familiar story + that after he had signed his name on the first of August to the document + that plunged Europe into the conflict that has since shaken it to its + foundations, he flung down his pen and cried, “You’ll live to regret this, + gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PEN-PORTRAIT OF THE CROWN PRINCE + </h2> + <p> + And then the Crown Prince. In August of last year nine out of every ten of + us would have said that not the father, but the son, of the Royal family + of Germany had been the chief provocative cause of the war. Subsequent + events have lessened the weight of that opinion. But the young man’s known + popularity among an active section of the officers of the army; their + subterranean schemes to set him off against his father; a vague suspicion + of the Kaiser’s jealousy of his eldest son—all these facts and + shadows of facts give colour to the impression that not least among the + forces which led the Emperor on that fateful first of August to declare + war against Russia was the presence and the importunity of the Crown + Prince. What kind of man was it, then, whom the invisible powers of evil + were employing to precipitate this insensate struggle? + </p> + <p> + Hundreds of persons in England, France, Russia, and Italy must have met + the Crown Prince of Germany at more or less close quarters, and formed + their own estimates of his character. The barbed-wire fence of protective + ceremony which usually surrounds Royal personages, concealing their little + human foibles, was periodically broken down in the case of the + Heir-Apparent to the German Throne by his incursion every winter into a + small cosmopolitan community which repaired to the snows of the Engadine + for health or pleasure. In that stark environment I myself, in common with + many others, saw the descendant of the Fredericks every day, for several + weeks of several years, at a distance that called for no intellectual + field-glasses. And now I venture to say, for whatever it may be worth, + that the result was an entirely unfavourable impression. + </p> + <p> + I saw a young man without a particle of natural distinction, whether + physical, moral, or mental. The figure, long rather than tall; the hatchet + face, the selfish eyes, the meaningless mouth, the retreating forehead, + the vanishing chin, the energy that expressed itself merely in restless + movement, achieving little, and often aiming at nothing at all; the + uncultivated intellect, the narrow views of life and the world; the morbid + craving for change, for excitement of any sort; the indifference to other + people’s feelings, the shockingly bad manners, the assumption of a right + to disregard and even to outrage the common conventions on which social + intercourse depends—all this was, so far as my observation enabled + me to judge, only too plainly apparent in the person of the Crown Prince. + 21 + </p> + <p> + Outside the narrow group that gathered about him (a group hailing, + ironically enough, from the land of a great Republic) I cannot remember to + have heard in any winter one really warm word about him, one story of an + act of kindness, or even generous condescension, such as it is easy for a + royal personage to perform. On the contrary, I was constantly hearing + tales of silly fooleries, of overbearing behaviour, of deliberate + rudeness, such as irresistibly recalled, in spirit if not in form, the + conduct of the common barrator in the guise of a king, who, if Macaulay’s + stories are to be credited, used to kick a lady in the open streets and + tell her to go home and mind her brats. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SOME SALUTARY LESSONS + </h2> + <p> + Only it was not Prussia we were living in, and it was not the year 1720, + so the air tingled occasionally with other tales of little salutary + lessons administered to our Royal upstart on his style of pursuing the + pleasures considered suitable to a Prince. One day it was told of him + that, having given a cup to be raced for on the Bob-run, he was wroth to + find on the notice-board of entries the names of a team of highly + respectable little Englishmen who are familiar on the racecourse; and, + taking out his pencil-case, he scored them off, saying, “My cup is for + gentlemen, not jockeys,” whereupon a young English soldier standing by had + said: “We’re not jockeys here, sir, and we’re not princes; we are only + sportsmen.” + </p> + <p> + I cannot vouch for that story, but I can certainly say that, after a + particularly flagrant and deliberate act of rudeness, imperilling the + safety of several persons in the village street, the Crown Prince of + Germany was told to his foolish face by an Englishman, who need not be + named, that he was a fool, and a damned fool, and deserved to be kicked + off the road. + </p> + <p> + And this is the mindless, but mischievous, person, the ridiculous + buccaneer, born out of his century, who was permitted to interfere in the + destinies of Europe; to help to determine the fate of tens of millions of + men on the battlefields, and the welfare of hundreds of millions of women + and children in their homes. What wild revel the invisible powers of evil + must have held in Berlin on that night of August 1, 1914, after the Kaiser + had thrown down his pen! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PEN-PORTRAIT OF THE ARCHDUKE FERDINAND + </h2> + <p> + Then the Archduke Ferdinand of Austro-Hungary, whose assassination was the + ostensible cause of this devastating war—what kind of man was he? + Quite a different person from the Crown Prince, and yet, so far as I could + judge, just as little worthy of the appalling sacrifice of human life + which his death has occasioned. Not long before his tragic end I spent a + month under the same roof with him, and though the house was only an + hotel, it was situated in a remote place, and though I was not in any + sense of the Archduke’s party, I walked and talked frequently with most of + the members of it, and so, with the added help of daily observation, came + to certain conclusions about the character of the principal personage. + </p> + <p> + A middle-aged man, stiff-set, heavy-jawed, with a strong step, and a short + manner; obviously proud, reserved, silent, slightly imperious, + self-centred, self-opinionated, well-educated in the kind of knowledge all + such men must possess, but narrow in intellect, retrograde in sympathy, a + stickler for social conventions, an almost unyielding upholder of royal + rights, prerogatives, customs, and usages (although by his own marriage he + had violated one of the first of the laws of his class, and by his + unfailing fidelity to his wife continued to resist it), superstitious + rather than religious, an immense admirer of the Kaiser, and a decidedly + hostile critic of our own country—such was the general impression + made on one British observer by the Archduke Ferdinand. + </p> + <p> + The man is dead; he took no part in the war, except unwittingly by the act + of dying, and therefore one could wish to speak of him with respect and + restraint. Otherwise it might be possible to justify this estimate of his + character by the narration of little incidents, and one such, though + trivial in itself, may perhaps bear description. The younger guests of the + hotel in the mountains had got up a fancy dress ball, and among persons + clad in all conceivable costumes, including those of monks, cardinals, and + even popes, a lady of demure manners, who did not dance, had come + downstairs in the habit of a nun. This aroused the superstitious + indignation of the Archduke, who demanded that the lady should retire from + the room instantly, or he would order his carriage and leave the hotel at + once. + </p> + <p> + Of course, the inevitable happened—the Archduke’s will became law, + and the lady went upstairs in tears, while I and two or three others + (Catholics among us) thought and said, “Heaven help Europe when the time + comes for its destinies to depend largely on the judgment of a man whose + be-muddled intellect cannot distinguish between morality of the real world + and of an entirely fantastic and fictitious one.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ONE OF THE OLDEST, FEEBLEST, AND LEAST CAPABLE OF MEN + </h2> + <p> + That time, as we now know, never came, but a still more fatal time did + come—the cruel, ironical, and sinister time of July 28, 1914, when + one of the oldest, feeblest, and least capable of living men, the Emperor + of Austria, under the pretence of avenging the death of the + heir-presumptive to his throne, signed with his trembling hand, which + could scarcely hold the pen, the first of his many proclamations of war, + and so touched the button of the monstrous engine that set Europe aflame. + </p> + <p> + The Archduke Ferdinand was foully done to death in discharging a patriotic + duty, but to think that the penalty imposed on the world for the + assassination of a man of his calibre and capacity for usefulness (or yet + for the violation of the principles of public safety, thereby involved) + has been the murdering of millions of men of many nationalities, the + destruction of an entire kingdom, the burning of historic cities, the + impoverishment of the rich and the starvation of the poor, the outraging + of women and the slaughter of children, is also to think that for the past + 365 days the destinies of humanity have been controlled by demons, who + must be shrieking with laughter at the stupidities of mankind. + </p> + <p> + Thank God, we are not required to think anything quite so foolish, + although we can not escape from a conclusion almost equally degrading. + Victor Hugo used to say that only kings desired war, and that with the + celebration of the United States of Europe we should see the beginning of + the golden age of Peace. But the events of the tremendous days from July + 28 to August 4,1914, show us with humiliating distinctness that though + Kaisers, Emperors, Crown Princes, and Archdukes may be the accidental + instruments of invisible powers in plunging humanity into seas of blood, a + war is no sooner declared by any of them, however feeble or fatuous, than + all the nations concerned make it their own. That was what happened in + Central Europe the moment Austria declared war on Serbia, and the history + of man on this planet has no record of anything more pitiful than the + spectacle of Germany—“sincere, calm, deep-thinking Germany,” as + Carlyle called her, whose triumph in 1870 was “the hopefullest fact” of + his time—stifling her conscience in order to justify her + participation in the conflict. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + “GOOD GOD, MAN, DO YOU MEAN TO SAY...” + </h2> + <p> + “We have tried in vain to localize the just vengeance of our Austrian + neighbour for an abominable royal murder,” said the Germans, knowing well + that the royal murder was nothing but a shameless pretext for an + opportunity to test their strength against the French, and give law to the + rest of Europe. + </p> + <p> + “Let us pass over your territory in order to attack our enemy in the West, + and we promise to respect your independence and to recompense you for any + loss you may possibly sustain,” said Germany to Belgium, without a thought + of the monstrous crime of treachery which she was asking Belgium to commit + against France. + </p> + <p> + “Stand aside in a benevolent neutrality, and we undertake not to take any + of the possessions of France in Europe,” said Germany to Great Britain, + without allowing herself to be troubled by so much as a qualm about the + iniquity of asking us to trade with her in the French colonies. And when + we rejected Germany’s infamous proposals, and called on her to say if she + meant to respect the independence of Belgium, whose integrity we had + mutually pledged ourselves to protect, her Chancellor stamped and fumed at + our representative, and said, “Good God, man, do you mean to say that your + country will go to war for a scrap of paper?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A GERMAN HIGH PRIEST OF PEACE + </h2> + <p> + Nor did the theologians, publicists, and authors of Germany show a more + sensitive conscience than her statesmen. One of the theologians was Adolf + Harnack, professor of Church History in Berlin and intimate acquaintance + of the Kaiser. Not long before the war he published a book entitled “What + is Christianity?” which began with the words, “John Stuart Mill used to + say humanity could not be too often reminded that there was once a man + named Socrates. That is true, but still more important it is to remind + mankind that a man of the name of Jesus Christ once lived among them.” On + this text the Book proceeded to enforce the practical application of + Christ’s teaching to the modern world, and particularly to propound his + doctrine of the wickedness and futility of violence, which led the author + to the conclusion that it was “not necessary for justice to use force in + order to remain justice.” + </p> + <p> + Somewhat later Professor Harnack came to this country to attend, if I + remember rightly, a World Missionary Conference at Edinburgh, and the + memory of him which abides in our northern capital is that of a high + priest and prophet of the new golden age that was dawning on the world—the + age of universal brotherhood and peace. But no sooner had war come within + the zone of Germany than this man signed (if he did not write) a manifesto + of German theologians which told “evangelical Christians abroad” that the + German “sword was bright and keen,” that Germany was taking up arms to + establish the justice of her cause and that ever through the storm and + horror of the coming conflict the German people, with a calm conscience, + would kneel and pray: “Hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be + done on earth as it is in Heaven.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + “WE SHALL NEVER MASSACRE BELGIAN WOMEN” + </h2> + <p> + One of the writers who performed the same kind of moral somersault was + Gerhart Hauptmann, author of a Socialist drama called “The Weavers,” and, + rumour says, protégé (what frightful irony!) of the Crown Prince, + Hauptmann knew well (none better) that a vast proportion of the human + family live perpetually on the borderland of want, and that of all who + suffer by war the poor suffer most. Yet he wrote (and a degenerate son of + the great Norwegian liberator, Bjôrnsen, published) a letter, in which, + after telling the poor of his people that “heaven alone knew” why their + enemies were assailing them, he called on them (in effect) to avenge + unnameable atrocities, which he alleged, without a particle of proof, had + been committed on innocent Germans living abroad, and then said, in + allusion to Mr. Maeterlinck, “I can assure him that, although ‘barbarous + Germans,’ we shall never be so cowardly as to massacre or martyr the + Belgian women and children.” This was written in August 1914, at the very + hour, as the world now knows, when the German soldiers in Liège were + shooting, bayoneting, and burning alive old men and little children, + raping nuns in their convents and young girls in the open streets. But the + invisible powers of evil have no mercy on their instruments after they + have worked their will, and Time has turned them into objects of contempt. + </p> + <p> + Nor were the German people themselves, any more than their master-spirits + and spokesmen, spared the shame of their duplicity in those early days of + August 1914. A large group of them, including commercial and professional + men, drew up a long address to the neutral countries, in which they said + that down to the eleventh hour they had “never dreamt of war,” never + thought of depriving other nations of light and air or of thrusting + anybody from his place. And yet the ink of their protest was not yet dry + when they gave themselves the lie by showing that down to the last detail + of preparation they had everything ready for the forthcoming struggle. + </p> + <p> + Englishmen who were in Berlin and Cologne on July 81, and August 1 (before + any of the nations had declared war on Germany), could see what was + happening, though no telegrams or newspapers had yet made known the news. + A tingling atmosphere of joyous expectation in the streets; the cafés and + beer-gardens crowded with civilians in soldiers’ uniforms; orchestras + striking up patriotic anthems; excited groups singing “Deutschland über + Alles,” or rising to their feet and jingling glasses; then the lights put + out, and a general rush made for the railway stations—everybody + equipped, and knowing his duty and his destination. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE OLD GERMAN ADAM + </h2> + <p> + It was the old historic story of German duplicity, and the nations of + Europe had no excuse for being surprised. When the Prussian Monarchy was + first bestowed on the relatively humble family of the Höhenzollerns, they + found their territory for the most part sterile, the soil round Berlin and + about Potsdam—the favourite residence of the Margraves—a sandy + desert that could scarcely be made to yield a crop of rye or oats, so they + set themselves to enlarge and enrich it by help of an army out of all + proportion to the size and importance of their States. The results were + inevitable. When war becomes the trade of a separate class it is natural + that they should wish to pursue it at the first favourable opportunity of + conquest. That opportunity came to Prussia when Charles VI died and the + Archduchess Maria Theresa succeeded to her father by virtue of a law (the + Pragmatic Sanction), to which all the Powers of Europe had subscribed. + Frederick had subscribed to it. But, nevertheless, in the name of Prussia, + without any proper excuse or even decent pretext, he took possession of + Silesia, thereby robbing the ally whom he had bound himself to defend, and + committing the same great crime of violating his pledged word, which + Germany has now committed against Belgium. + </p> + <p> + But there was one difference between the outrages of 1740 and 1914. The + great barrator made no hypocritical pretence of desiring peace. “Ambition, + interest, the desire of making people talk about me carried the day, and I + decided for war,” he said. It was reserved for Harnack and Hauptmann, not + to speak of the Kaiser, to cant about the responsibilities of “Kul-tur” + (that harlot of the German dictionary, debased by all ignoble uses), about + the hastening of the kingdom of heaven, and about the German sword being + sanctified by God. But the old German Adam remained, and when, two days + before the declaration of war with France, the German soldiers were flying + to the Belgian frontier there was no thought of the Archduke Ferdinand or + of the doddering old man on the Austrian throne, whose paternal heart had + been sorely wounded. Germany was out to rob France of her colonies—to + rob her, and the Germans knew it. + </p> + <p> + “A few centuries may have to run their course,” said their own poet Goethe + (who surely knew the German soul), “before it can be said of the German + people, ‘It is a long time since they were barbarians.’” + </p> + <p> + Such, then, were some of the events in the great drama of the war which + took place in Germany before the rising of the curtain. Not a theologian, + a philosopher, an historian, or a poet to recall the past of his country, + to warn it not to repeat the crime of a century and a half before, which + had stained its name for ever before the tribunals of man and God; not a + statesman to remind a generation that was too young to remember 1870 of + the miseries and horrors of war, for (alas for the welfare of the world!) + the one great German voice that could have done so with searching and + scorching eloquence (the voice of Bebel) had only just been silenced by + the grave. And so it came to pass that Germany, in the last days of July + 1914, presented the pitiful spectacle of a great nation being lured on to + its moral death-agony amid canting appeals to the Almighty, and wild + outbursts of popular joy. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A CONVERSATION WITH LORD ROBERTS + </h2> + <p> + Meantime what had been happening among ourselves? The far-off murmur of + the approaching wind had been heard by all of us, but as none can hope to + describe the effect on the whole Empire, perhaps each may be allowed to + indicate the character of the warning as it came to his own ears. It was + at Naples, not long after the event, that I heard how the late King had + felt about his last visit to Berlin. I was then on my way home from Egypt, + where I had spent some days at Mena, while Lord Roberts was staying there + on his way back from the Soudan. He seemed restless and anxious. On two + successive mornings I sat with him for a long hour in the shade of the + terraces which overlook the Pyramids discussing the “German danger.” After + the great soldier had left for Cairo he wrote asking me to regard our + conversations as confidential; and down to this moment I have always done + so, but I see no harm now (quite the reverse of harm) in repeating the + substance of what he said so many years ago on a matter of such infinite + momentousness. + </p> + <p> + “Do you really attach importance to this scare of a German invasion?” I + asked. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid I do,” said Lord Roberts. + </p> + <p> + “You think an enemy army could be landed on our shores?” + </p> + <p> + “As things are now, yes, I think it could.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think you could land an army on the East Coast of England and + march on to London?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do.” + </p> + <p> + “In a thick fog, of course?” “Without a fog,” said Lord Roberts. After + that he described in detail the measures we ought to take to make such an + attack impossible and I hasten to add that, so far as I can see and know, + the precautionary measures he recommended have all been taken since the + outbreak of the war. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + “WE’LL FIGHT AND FIGHT SOON” + </h2> + <p> + By that time I had, in common with the majority of my countrymen who + travelled much abroad, been compelled to recognize the ever-increasing + hostility of the German and British peoples whenever they encountered each + other on the highways of the world—their constant cross-purposes on + steamships, in railway trains, hotels, casinos, post and telegraph offices—making + social intercourse difficult and friendship impossible. The overbearing + manners of many German travellers, their aggressive and domineering + selfishness, which always demanded the best seats, the best rooms, and the + first attention, was year by year becoming more and more intolerable to + the British spirit. It cannot be said that we acquiesced. Indeed, it must + be admitted that our country-people usually met the German claims to be + the supermen of Europe with rather unnecessary self-assertion. If an + unmannerly German pushed before us at the counter of a booking-office we + pushed him back; if he shouted over our shoulders at a telegraph office we + told him to hold his tongue; and if, in stiflingly hot weather, he + insisted (as he often did) on shutting up again and again the window of a + railway carriage after we had opened it for a breath of air, we sometimes + drove our elbow through the glass for final answer—as I saw an + English barrister do one choking day on the journey between Jaffa and + Jerusalem. + </p> + <p> + These were only the straws that told how the wind blew, but they were + disquieting symptoms nevertheless to such of us as felt, with Professor + Harnack and his colleagues at the Edinburgh Conference, that by blood, + history, and faith the German and British peoples were brothers (ugly as + it sounds to say so now), each more closely bound to the other in the + world-task of civilization than with almost any other nation. + </p> + <p> + “If we are brothers we’ll fight all the more fiercely for that fact,” we + thought, “and, God help us, we’ll fight soon.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + “HE KNOWS, DOESN’T HE?” + </h2> + <p> + I was staying in a neutral country at an hotel much frequented by the + German governing classes when an English newspaper proprietor, after a + visit to Berlin, published in his most popular journal a map of a portion + of Northern Europe in order to show at sight his view of the extent of the + forthcoming German aggression. The paper was lying open between a group of + gentlemen whose names have since become prominent in relation to the war + when I stepped up to the table. The men were obviously angry, although + laughing immoderately. “Look at that,” said one of them, pointing to the + map and running his finger down the coast of Holland and Belgium and + France to Calais. “<i>He</i> knows, doesn’t he?” + </p> + <p> + And then, after a general burst of derisive laughter, came a bitter attack + on British journalism (“The scaremongering of that paper is doing more + than anything in the world to make war between Germany and England”), a + still fiercer and more bitter assault on our Lords of the Admiralty, who + had lately proposed a year’s truce in the building of battleships (“Tell + your Mr. Churchill to mind his own business, and we’ll mind ours”), and, + finally, a passionate protest that Germany’s object in increasing her navy + was not to enlarge her empire, but merely to keep the seas open to her + trade. “Why,” said one of the men, “nine-tenths of my own business is with + London, and if England could shut up our ships I should be a ruined man in + a month.” “Quite so,” said another, “and so far as German people go that’s + the beginning and end of the whole matter.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WE BELIEVED IT + </h2> + <p> + We believed it. I am compelled to count myself among the number of my + countrymen who through many years believed that story—that the + accident of Germany’s disadvantageous geographical position, not her + desire to break British supremacy on the sea, made it necessary for her to + enlarge her navy. I did my best to believe it when I had to sail through + the Kiel Canal in a steamer from Lubeck to Copenhagen, which was forced to + shoulder her way through an ever-increasing swarm of German battleships. I + did my best to believe it when I had to sail under the threatening + fortresses of Heligoland which stood anchored out at the mouth of the + Bight like a mastiff at the end of his chain snarling at the sea. I did my + best to believe it when I had to travel to Cologne by night, and the + darkened railway carriages were lit up by fierce flashes from gigantic + furnaces which were making mountains of munitions for the evil day when + frail man would have to face the murderous slaughter of machine-guns. I + did my best to believe it even in Berlin when German friends of the + scholastic classes accounted for their tolerance of conscription and of + the tyranny of clanking soldiery in the streets, the cafés, and the hotels + on the ground of disciplinary usefulness rather than military necessity. + </p> + <p> + And then there was the human charm of some German homes to soothe away + suspicion—the scholar’s quiet house (beyond the clattering + parade-ground at Potsdam) where we clinked glasses and drank “to all good + friends in England,” and the sweet simplicity of the little town in + Westphalia, with its green fields and its sweetly-flowing river, where the + nightingale sang all night long, and where, in the midst of musical + societies, Goethe Societies and Shakespeare Societies, it was so difficult + to think of Germany as a nation dreaming only of world-power and dominion. + Even yet it strikes a chill to the heart to recall those German homes as + scenes of prolonged duplicity, I prefer not to do so. But all the same I + see now that the wings of war were already approaching them, and that the + German people heard their far-off murmur long before ourselves—heard + it and told us nothing, perhaps much less and worse than nothing. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE FALLING OF THE THUNDERBOLT + </h2> + <p> + Into such an unpromising atmosphere of national hostility the war came + down on us, in July 1914, like a thunderbolt. In spite of grave warnings + few or none in this country were at that moment giving a thought to it. On + the contrary, we were thinking of all manner of immeasurably smaller + things, for Great Britain, although governing more than one-fifth of the + habitable globe, has an extraordinary capacity for becoming absorbed in + the affairs of its two little islands. It was so in the autumn of 1914, + when we thought Home Rule and Land Reform covered all our horizon, + although a thunder-cloud that was to silence these big little guns had + already gathered in the sky. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it was not altogether our fault if secret diplomacy had too long + concealed from us the storm that was so soon to break. That kind of + surprise must never come to us again. Many and obvious may be the dangers + of allowing the public to participate in delicate and difficult + negotiations between nations, but if democracy has any rights surely the + chief of them is to know step by step by what means its representatives + are controlling its destiny. We did not hear what was happening in the + Cabinets of Europe, under that miserable disguise of the Archduke’s + assassination, until the closing days of July. Consequently, we reeled + under the danger that threatened us, and were not at first capable of + comprehending the cause and the measure of it. + </p> + <p> + “What is this wretched conspiracy in Serbia to us, and why in God’s name + should we have to fight about it?” we thought. Or perhaps, “We’ve always + been told that treaties between nations are safeguards of peace, but here, + heaven help us, they are dragging us into war.” + </p> + <p> + So general was this sentiment of revolt during the last tragic days that + it is commonly understood to have extended to the Cabinet. Six members are + said to have opposed war. One of them, a philosopher and historian of high + distinction, could not see his way with his colleagues, and retired from + their company. Another, who came from the working-classes, is understood + to have resigned from thought of the sufferings which any war, however + justifiable, must inevitably inflict upon the poor. A third, a lawyer in a + position of the utmost authority, is believed to have had grave misgivings + about our legal right to call Germany to account. And I have heard that a + fourth, who had been prominent as a pacifist in the days of an earlier + conflict, had written a letter to a colleague as late as the evening of + August 1, saying that a war declared merely on grounds of problematical + self-interest would create such an outcry in Great Britain as had never + been heard here before—leaving us a derided and, therefore, + easily-vanquished people. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PART CHANCE PLAYED + </h2> + <p> + But chance plays the largest part in the drama of life, and accident often + confounds the plans of men. Not feeling entirely sure of his letter the + pacifist Minister put it in his pocket when he dressed that night to go + out to dinner. And when he sat down at table he found himself seated next + to the able, earnest, and passionately patriotic Minister for Belgium. + Perhaps he was urging some objections to British intervention, when his + neighbour said: “But what about Belgium? You have promised to protect her, + and if you don’t do so she will be destroyed.” + </p> + <p> + That raised visions of the work of the little nations; memories of their + immense contributions to human progress from the days of Israel downwards; + thoughts of the vast loss to liberty, to morality, to religion, and to all + the other fruits of the unfettered soul that would come to the world from + the over-riding of the weak peoples by the strong. The result was swift + and sure—the letter in the Minister’s pocket never reached the + important person to whom it was addressed. + </p> + <p> + Only God knows whether this period, however short, of indecision among our + people, and particularly among our responsible statesmen, with the + consequent delay in dispatching a determined warning to Germany (“Hands + off Belgium,”) contributed to the making of the war. But it is at least an + evidence of our desire for peace, and a sufficient assurance that if + unseen powers were working on our side also, they were the powers of good. + Yet so strangely do the invisible forces confound the plans of men that + the crowning proof of this came two days later—on August 8, in the + Commons—when our Foreign Minister defined the British position, and + practically declared for war. + </p> + <p> + It is not idle rumour that the Government went down to the House that day + expecting to be resisted. The sequel was a startling surprise. Sir Edward + Grey’s speech was far from a great oration. It gave the effect of being + unprepared as to form, so loosely did the vehicle hang together, the + sentences sometimes coming with strange inexactitude for the tongue of one + whose written word in dispatches has a clarity and precision that have + never been excelled. But it had the supreme qualities of manifest + sincerity and transparent honesty, and it derived its overwhelming effect + from one transcendent characteristic of which the speaker himself may have + been quite unconscious. It spoke to the British Empire as to a British + gentleman. “You can’t stand by and do nothing while the friend by your + side is being beaten to his knees. You can’t let a mischievous and + unprincipled buccaneer tread into the dust the neighbour whom he has + joined with you in swearing to protect?” There was no resisting that Our + own interest might leave us cold; we might even be sceptical of our + danger. But we were put on our honour, and every man in the House with the + instincts of a gentleman was swept away by that appeal as by a flood. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + “WHY ISN’T THE HOUSE CHEERING?” + </h2> + <p> + Then came our Prime Minister’s passionate, fiery, yet dignified and even + exalted denunciation of the proposal of Germany that we should trade with + her in our neutrality by committing treachery to France and Belgium—(“To + accept your infamous offer would be to cover the glorious name of England + with undying shame”); then the announcement of the ultimatum sent by Great + Britain to Germany demanding an assurance that the neutrality of Belgium + should be respected; and finally that speech of John Redmond’s, which, + spoken on the very top of the crisis that had threatened to bring a + fratricidal war into Ireland, has been, perhaps, the most thrilling and + dramatic utterance yet produced by the war. “I tell the Government they + may take every British soldier out of Ireland to meet the enemy of the + Empire. Ireland’s sons will take care of Ireland. The Catholics of the + South will stand shoulder to shoulder with their Protestant + fellow-countrymen of the North to fight the common foe.” + </p> + <p> + It was another appeal to the gentlemen in the British nation, and in one + moment it swept the bitter waters of the Home Rule crisis out of all sight + and memory. I have heard a Cabinet Minister say that, as he listened to + Redmond’s speech, he was surprised at the silence with which it was + received. “Why isn’t the House cheering?” he had asked himself. But all at + once he had felt his eyes swimming and his throat tightening, and then he + had understood. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE NIGHT OF OUR ULTIMATUM + </h2> + <p> + Our nation knew everything now, and had made her choice, yet the twelve + hours’ interval between noon and midnight of August 4 were perhaps the + gravest moments in her modern history. I am tempted, not without some + misgivings, but with the confidence of a good intention, to trespass so + far on personal information as to lift the curtain on a private scene in + the tremendous tragic drama. + </p> + <p> + The place is a room in the Prime Minister’s house in Downing Street. The + Prime Minister himself and three of the principal members of his Cabinet + are waiting there for the reply to the ultimatum which they sent to + Germany at noon. The time for the reply expires at midnight. It is + approaching eleven o’clock. In spite of her “infamous proposal,” the + Ministers cannot even yet allow themselves to believe that Germany will + break her pledged word. + </p> + <p> + She would be so palpably in the wrong. It is late and she has not yet + replied, but she will do so—she must. There is more than an hour + left, and even at the last moment the telephone bell may ring and then the + reply of Germany, as handed to the British Ambassador in Berlin, will have + reached London. + </p> + <p> + It is a calm autumn evening, and the windows are open to St. James’s Park, + which lies dark and silent as far as to Buckingham Palace in the distance. + The streets of London round about the official residence are busy enough + and quivering with excitement. We British people do not go in solid masses + surging and singing down our Corso, or light candles along the line of our + boulevards. But nevertheless all hearts are beating high—in our + theatres, our railway stations, our railway trains, our shops, and our + houses. Everybody is thinking, “By twelve o’clock to-night Germany has got + to say whether or not she is a perjurer and a thief.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, in the silent room overlooking the park time passes slowly. In + spite of the righteousness of our cause, it is an awful thing to plunge a + great empire into war. The miseries and horrors of warfare rise before the + eyes of the Ministers, and the sense of personal responsibility becomes + almost insupportable. Could anything be more awful than to have to ask + oneself some day in the future, awakening in the middle of the night + perhaps, after rivers of blood have been shed, “Did I do right after all?” + The reply to the ultimatum has not even yet arrived, and the absence of a + reply is equivalent to a declaration of war. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE THUNDERSTROKE OF FATE + </h2> + <p> + Suddenly one of the little company remembers something which everybody has + hitherto forgotten—the difference of an hour between the time in + London and the time in Berlin. Midnight by mid-European time would be + eleven o’clock in London. Germany would naturally understand the demand + for a reply by midnight to mean midnight in the country of dispatch. + Therefore at eleven o’clock by London time the period for the reply will + expire. It is now approaching eleven. + </p> + <p> + As the clock ticks out the remaining minutes the tension becomes terrible. + Talk slackens. There are long pauses. The whole burden of the frightful + issues involved for Great Britain, France, Belgium, Russia, Germany—for + Europe, for the world, for civilization, for religion itself, seems to be + gathered up in these last few moments. If war comes now it will be the + most frightful tragedy the world has ever witnessed. Twenty millions of + dead perhaps, and civil life crippled for a hundred years. Which is it to + be, peace or war? Terrible to think that as they sit there the electric + wires may be flashing the awful tidings, like a flying angel of life or + death, through the dark air all over Europe. + </p> + <p> + The four men are waiting for the bell of the telephone to ring. It does + not ring, and the fingers of the clock are moving. The world seems to be + on tiptoe, listening for a thunderstroke of Fate. The Ministers at length + sit silent, rigid, almost petrified, looking fixedly at floor or ceiling. + Then through the awful stillness of the room and the park outside comes + the deep boom of “Big Ben.” Boom, boom, boom! No one moves until the last + of the eleven strokes has gone reverberating through the night. Then comes + a voice, heavy with emotion, yet firm with resolve, “It’s war.” + </p> + <p> + When the clock struck again (at midnight) Great Britain had been at war + for an hour without knowing it. + </p> + <p> + If I have done wrong in lifting the curtain on this private scene, I ask + forgiveness for the sake of the purpose I put it to—that of showing + that it was not in haste, not in anger, but with an awful sense of + responsibility to Great Britain and to humanity that our responsible + Ministers drew the sword of our country. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MORNING AFTER + </h2> + <p> + If Mr. Maeterlinck’s theory is sound, that this war is the visible + reflection of a vast, invisible conflict, what a gigantic battle of the + unseen forces of good and evil must have been raging throughout the + universe when Europe rose on the morning of August 5, 1914! Think what had + happened. While the light was dawning, the sun was rising, and the birds + were singing over Europe, the greater nations were preparing to turn a + thousand square miles of it into a gigantic slaughter-house. After forty + years of unbroken peace, in which civilization, as represented by law, + science, surgery, medicine, art, music, literature, and above all + religion, in their ancient and central home, had been striving to lift up + man to the place he is entitled to in the scheme of creation, war had + suddenly stepped in to drag him back to the condition of the barbarian. + From this day onward he was to live in holes in the ground, to be + necessarily unclean, inevitably verminous, and liable to loathsome + diseases. Although hitherto law-abiding, and perhaps even pious, with an + ever-developing sense of the value and sanctity of human life, he was + henceforward to take joy in the destruction of thousands of his + fellow-creatures by devilish machines of death, and not to shrink from an + opportunity of thrusting his bayonet down the throat of his enemy. He was + to set fire to churches, to throw images of Christ into the road, and, + showing no mercy to old men and women and children, to destroy all and + spare none. And why? Ostensibly because one quite commonplace Austrian + gentleman had been foully murdered, but really because a vain and + ambitious and rapidly increasing nation, living on an arid and + insufficient soil, had come to consider themselves the master-spirits of + humanity, and therefore entitled to possess the earth, or at least give + law to all other nations. + </p> + <p> + “We are doing wrong, but it is necessary to do wrong, and we shall make + amends as soon as our military necessities have been served.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + “YOUR KING AND COUNTRY NEED YOU” + </h2> + <p> + What a mockery! What a waste! What a hideous reversion! What a confession + of blank failure on the part of civilization, including morality and + religion! But, happily, the invisible powers of evil had not got it all + their own way, even on that morning of August 5. Out of the very shadow of + battle great things were already being born among the children of men, and + chief among them were the spirits of sacrifice and brotherhood. Even the + cruel loss of nearly all that makes human life worth living—cleanliness + and purity and exemption from foul disease—could be borne for the + defence of truth and freedom. And then it was worth a world of suffering + to realize the first-fruits of that golden age of brotherhood among all + the nations of the earth (except those of our enemy) which has been the + peace-dream of humanity for countless centuries. + </p> + <p> + We in Great Britain have no reason to be ashamed of how our country + answered the call. A few years before the outbreak of war I talked about + conscription with a British admiral in the cabin of his flagship. “There’s + not the slightest necessity for it in this country,” said the admiral. The + moment war was declared the whole nation would rise to it. A great thrill + would pass over our people from end to end of the land, and we should have + millions flocking to the colours. + </p> + <p> + The old sailor proved to be a true prophet. None of us can ever forget the + spontaneous response in August 1914 to the cry, “Your King and country + need you.” To such as, like myself, are on the shadowed side of the hill + of life, and therefore too old for service, it was a profoundly moving + thing to see how swiftly our immense voluntary army sprang (as by a + miracle) out of the earth, to look at the long lines of young soldiers + passing with their regular step through the streets of London, to think of + the situations given up, of the young wives and little children living at + home on shortened means, and of the risk taken of life being lost just + when it is most precious and most sweet. + </p> + <p> + What was the motive power that impelled the young manhood of Great Britain + to this tremendous sacrifice? The thought of our country’s danger? The + danger to France? The danger to Belgium? The fact that a man named + Palmerston had pledged his solemn word for them long years before they + were born, or even the mothers who bore them were born, that they would go + to their deaths rather than allow a great crime to be committed or + England’s oath be broken? I don’t know. I do not believe anybody knows. + But I am not ashamed of my tears when I remember it all, and sure I am + that in those first critical days of the war the invisible powers of + justice must have been fighting on our side. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PART PLAYED BY THE BRITISH NAVY + </h2> + <p> + Perhaps the first of the flashes as of lightning by which we have seen the + drama of the past 365 days is that which shows us the part played by the + British Navy. What a part it has been! Do we even yet recognize its + importance? Have our faithful and loyal Allies a full sense of its + tremendous effect on the fortunes of the campaign? On Sunday, August 2, + two days before the dispatch of Great Britain’s ultimatum to Germany, we + saw thousands of our naval reserve flying off by special boats and trains + to their ships on our east and south coasts. On Monday, August 8, the + British Navy had taken possession of the North Sea. + </p> + <p> + It was a legitimate act of peace, yet never in this world was there a more + complete, if bloodless, victory. The great German North Sea fleet, which + (according to a calculation) had been constructed at a cost of + £300,000,000 sterling, to keep open the seas of the world to German trade; + the fleet which had, in our British view, been built with the sole purpose + of menacing British shores, was shut up in one day within the narrow + limits of its own waters! + </p> + <p> + In the light of what has happened since it is not too much to say that if + the British Fleet had taken up its cue only forty-eight hours later the + north coast of France would have been bombarded, every town on our east + coast from Aberdeen to Dover would have been destroyed, and Lord Roberts’s + prophecy of German invasion would have been fulfilled. But, thank God, the + watchdogs of the British Navy were there to prevent that swift surprise. + They are there (or elsewhere) still, silently riding the grey waters in + all seasons and all weathers, waiting and watching and biding their time, + and meanwhile (in spite of the occasional marauding of submarines, the + offal of fighting craft) keeping the oceans free to all ships except those + of our enemies. And now, when we hear it said, as we sometimes do, that + Great Britain holds only thirty-five miles of land on the battle-front in + Flanders, let us lift our heads and answer, “Yes, but she holds + thirty-five thousand miles of sea.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PART PLAYED BY BELGIUM + </h2> + <p> + One of the earliest, and perhaps one of the most inspiring, of the flashes + as of lightning whereby we saw the drama of the war was that which + revealed the part played by Belgium. Has history any record of greater + heroism and greater suffering? Such courage for the right! Such strength + of soul against overwhelming odds and the criminal suddenness of surprise! + Although the world has been told by Germany’s spokesmen, including Herr + Ballin, Prince von Bülow, and even Professor Harnack (all “honourable + men,” and the last of them a churchman), that down to a few days before + the outbreak of hostilities “not one human being” among them had “dreamt + of war,” it is the fact that within a few hours of the dispatch of + Germany’s ultimatum, to Belgium, before the ink of it could yet be dry and + while the period of England’s ultimatum in defence of Belgian integrity + was still unexpired, the German legions were attacking Liège. + </p> + <p> + It was a cowardly and contemptible assault, but what a resistance it met + with! A little peace-loving, industrial nation, infinitely small and + almost utterly untrained, compared with the giant in arms assailing it, + having no injury to avenge, no commerce to capture, no territory to annex, + desiring only to be left alone in the exercise of its independence, stood + up for six days against the invading horde, and hurled it back. + </p> + <p> + But war is a crude and clumsy instrument for the defence of the right, and + after a flash of Belgium’s unexampled bravery we were compelled to witness + many flashes of her terrible sufferings. Liège fell before overwhelming + numbers, then Namur, Ter-monde, Brussels, Louvain, and, last of all, + Antwerp. What a spectacle of horror! The harvests of Belgium trodden into + the earth, her beautiful cities and ancient villages given up to the + flames, her historic monuments, that had been associated with the learning + and piety of centuries, razed to the ground; and, above everything in its + pathos and pain, the multitudes of her people, old men, old women, young + girls, and little children in wooden shoes, after the unnameable + atrocities of a brutalized, infuriated, and licentious soldiery, flying + before their faces as before a plague! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WHAT KING ALBERT DID FOR KINGSHIP + </h2> + <p> + But there were flashes of almost divine light in the black darkness of + Belgium’s tragedy, and perhaps the brightest of them surrounded the person + of her King. What King Albert did in those dark days of August 1914, to + keep the soul of his nation alive in the midst of the immense sorrow of + her utter overthrow his nation alone can fully know. But we who are not + Belgians were thrilled again and again by the inspired tones of a great + Spirit speaking to his subjects with that authority, dignity, and courage + which alone among free nations are sufficient to unite the people to the + Throne. + </p> + <p> + “A country which defends its liberties in the face of tyranny commands the + respect of all. Such a country does not perish.” What King Albert did for + Belgium in the stand he made against German aggression is partly known + already, and will leave its record in history, but what he did at the same + time for kingship throughout the world, as well as in his country, can + only be realized by the few who are aware that almost at the moment of the + outbreak of war the Belgian Courts (much to the unmerited humiliation of + Belgium) were on the eve of such disclosures in relation to the life and + death of the King’s predecessor as would certainly have shaken the credit + of monarchy for centuries. + </p> + <p> + Nobody who ever met the late King Leopold could have had any doubt that he + was a great man, if greatness can be separated from goodness and measured + solely by energy of intellect and character. I see him now as I saw him in + a garden of a house on the Riviera, the huge, unwieldy creature, with the + eyes of an eagle, the voice of a bull and the flat tread of an elephant, + and I recall the thought with which I came away: “Thank God that man is + only the King of a little country! If he had been the sovereign of a great + State he would have become the scourge of the world.” + </p> + <p> + After King Leopold’s death, accident brought me knowledge of astounding + facts of his last days which were shortly to be exposed in Court—of + the measure of his unnatural hatred of his children; of his schemes to + deprive them of their rightful inheritance; of his relations with certain + of his favourites and his death-bed marriage to one of them; of the + circumstances attending the surgical operation which immediately preceded + the extinction of his life; of the burning of endless documents of + doubtful credit during the night before the knife was used; of the + intrigues of women of questionable character over the dying man’s body to + share the ill-got gold he had earned in the Congo, and finally of his end, + not in his palace, but in a little hidden chalet, alone save for one + scheming woman and one calculating priest. What a story it was, whether + true or false, or (as is most probable) partly true and partly false, of + shame, greed, lust, and life-long duplicity! And all this dark tale was + (one way or other) to be told in the cold light of open Court, to the + general discredit of monarchy, by showing the world how contemptible may + be some of the creatures who control the destinies of mankind. + </p> + <p> + But the war and King Albert’s part in it saved Belgium from that unmerited + obloquy. The modest, retiring, studious, almost shy but heroic young + sovereign who, with his valiant little band, is fighting by the side of + our own king’s soldiers, and the soldiers of the Republic of France, has + sustained the highest traditions of kingship. He may have lost his country + at the hands of a great Power, drunk with pride, but he has won + Immortality. He may have no more land left to him than his tent is pitched + upon, but his spiritual empire is as wide as the world. He may be a king + without a kingdom, but he still reigns over a kingdom of souls. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + “WHY SHOULDN’T THEY, SINCE THEY WERE ENGLISHMEN?” + </h2> + <p> + The next flash as of lightning that revealed to us the progress of the + drama of the past 365 days came at the end of the first month of the war + with the terrible story of Mons. That touched us yet more closely than the + tragedy of Belgium, for it seemed at first to be our own tragedy. Between + the departure of an army and the first news of victory or defeat there is + always a time of exhausting suspense. At what moment our first + Expeditionary Force had left England no one quite knew, but after we + learned that it had landed in France we waited with anxious hearts and + listened with strained ears. + </p> + <p> + We heard the tramp of the gigantic German army, pouring through the + streets of Brussels, fully equipped down to its kitchens, its smoking + coffee-wagons, its corps of gravediggers, and, of course, its cuirassiers + in burnished helmets that were shining in the autumn sun. The huge, + interminable, apparently irresistible multitude! Regiment after regiment, + battalion after battalion, going on and on for hours, and even days—the + mighty legions of the nation that a few days before had “never so much as + dreamt” of war! + </p> + <p> + At last we had news of our men. Against overwhelming odds they had fought + like heroes—why shouldn’t they, since they were Englishmen?—but + had been compelled to fall back at length, and were now retreating + rapidly, some reports said flying in confusion, broken and done. What? Was + it possible? Our army thrown back in disorder? Our first army, too, the + flower of the fighting men of the world? It was too monstrous, too awful! + </p> + <p> + The news was cruelly, and even wickedly, exaggerated, but nevertheless it + did us good. He knows the British character very imperfectly who does not + see that the qualities in which it is unsurpassed among the races of + mankind are those with which it meets adversity and confronts the darkest + night. Within a few days of the report that our soldiers were falling back + from Mons, the old cry “Your King and country need you” went through the + land with a new thrill, and hundreds of thousands of free men leapt to the + relief of the flag. + </p> + <p> + There has been nothing like it in the history of any nation. And it is + hard to say which is the more moving manifestation of that moment in the + great drama of the war—the spontaneous response of the poor who + sprang forward to defend their country, though they had no more material + property in it than the right to as much of its soil as would make their + graves, or the splendid reply of the rich whose lands were an agelong + possession, and often the foundation of their titles and honours. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + “BUT LIBERTY MUST GO ON, AND... ENGLAND.” + </h2> + <p> + What startling surprises! We of the lower, the middle, or the upper-middle + classes had come to believe that too many of the young men of our nobility + had grown effeminate in idleness and selfish pleasure indulged in on the + borderland of a kind of aristocratic Bohemia, but, behold! they were + fighting and dying with the bravest. We had thought too many of their + young women (as thoughtless and capricious creatures of fashion) had + sacrificed the finest bloom of modest and courageous womanhood in luxury + and self-indulgence; but, lo! they were hurrying to the battlefields as + nurses, and there facing without flinching the scenes of blood and horror, + of foul sights and stenches, which make the bravest man’s heart turn sick. + </p> + <p> + Some of the scenes at home in those last days of August and early days of + September were yet more affecting. The first of our casualty lists had + been published, and they were terrible. They hit the old people hardest, + the old fathers and old mothers who had given all, and had nothing left—not + even a little child to live for. At the railway stations, when fresh + troops were leaving for the front, you saw sights which searched the heart + so much that you felt ashamed to look, feeling they opened sanctuaries in + which God’s eye alone should see. + </p> + <p> + Old Lady So-and-So seeing her youngest son off to Flanders. She has lost + two of her sons in the war already, and Archie is the last of them. The + dear old darling! It is pitiful to see her in her deep black, struggling + to keep up before the boy. But when the train has left the platform and + she can no longer wave her handkerchief she breaks down utterly. “I’ve + seen the last of him,” she says; “something tells me I’ve seen the last of + him. And now I’ve given everything I have to the country.” + </p> + <p> + Ah! that’s what you have all got to do, or be prepared to do, you brave + mothers of England, if you have to defeat a desperate enemy, who stoops to + any method, any crime. + </p> + <p> + Then old Lord Such-a-One at Victoria to meet the body of his only son + being brought back from the hospital at Boulogne. How proud he had been of + his boy! He could remember the day he captained for Eton at Lord’s, or + perhaps rowed stroke—and won—for Cambridge. And now on the + field of Flanders.... He had seen it coming, though. He had thought of it + when the war broke out. “Ours is an old family,” he had told himself, + “four hundred years old, and my son is the last of us. If I let him go to + the war my line may end, my family may stop... but then liberty must go + on, civilization must go on, and... England!” + </p> + <p> + Yes, it must be night before the British star will shine. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PART PLAYED BY FRANCE + </h2> + <p> + Perhaps the next great flash as of lightning whereby we saw the drama of + the past 365 days was that which revealed at its sublimest moment the part + played by France. In those evil days of July 1914, when German diplomacy + was carrying on the indecent pretence of quarrelling with France about + Austria’s right to punish Serbia for the assassination of the Archduke + Ferdinand, there were Frenchmen still living who had vivid memories of + three bloody campaigns. Some could remember the Crimean War. More could + recall the Italian War of 1859, which brought the delirious news of the + victory of Magenta, and closed with Solferino, and the triumphant march + home through the Place de la Bastille, and down the Rue de la Paix. And + vast numbers were still alive who could remember 1870, when the Emperor + was defeated at Worth and conquered at Sedan; when Paris was surrounded by + a Prussian army, when the booming of cannon could be heard on the + boulevards; when tenderly nurtured women, who had never thought to beg + their bread, had been forced by the hunger of their children to stand in + long queues at the doors of the bakers’ shops; when the city was at length + starved into submission, and the proud French people, with their + immemorial heritage of fame, were compelled to permit the glittering + Prussian helmets to go shining down their streets. + </p> + <p> + A new generation had been born to France since even the last of these + events, but was it with a light heart that she took up the gage which + Germany so haughtily threw down? Indeed, no! Never had France, the bright, + the brilliant, the cheerful-hearted, shown the world a graver face. + </p> + <p> + A few students across the Seine might shout “A Berlin! A Berlin!” just as + our boys in khaki chalked up the same address on their gun carriages. + Idlers in blouses along the quays might scream the “Marseillaise.” Gangs + of ruffians in back streets might break the windows of the shops of German + tradespeople. Some bitter old campaigners might talk about revenge. But + when the drums beat for the French regiments to start away for Alsace and + the Belgian frontier, the heart of France was calm and steadfast. + </p> + <p> + “This is a fight for the right, for France, and for the freedom of our + souls!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SOUL OF FRANCE + </h2> + <p> + Then when the men had gone there came that anxious silence in which every + ear was strained to catch the first cry from the army. Would it be victory + or defeat? In the strength of her new-born spirit France was ready for + either fate. The streets of Paris were darkened; the theatres were shut + up; the cafés were ordered to close at nine o’clock; the sale of absinthe + was prohibited that Frenchmen might have every faculty alert to meet their + destiny; and the principal hotels were transformed into hospitals for the + wounded that would surely come. + </p> + <p> + They came. We were allowed to see their coming, and in those early days of + the war, before the Red Cross companies had got properly to work, the + return of the first of the fallen among the French soldiery made a + terrible spectacle. At suburban stations, generally in the middle of the + night, long lines of third-class railway carriages, as well as + rectangular, box-shaped cattle wagons, such as in conscript countries are + used for purposes of mobilization, would draw up out of the darkness. + </p> + <p> + Instantly hundreds of pale, wasted, generally bearded, and often wounded + faces would appear at the windows, crying out for coffee or chocolate. + Then the cattle wagons would be unbolted, and the great doors thrown back, + disclosing six or eight men in each, lying outstretched on straw, with + their limbs swathed in blood-stained bandages, and their eyes glazed with + pain. They were the brave fellows who, a few weeks before, had gone to + Flanders in the pride and prime of their strength. In some cases they had + lain like that for two whole days on their long way back from the fighting + line, with no one to give them meat or drink, with nothing to see in the + darkness of their moving tomb and nothing to hear, except the grinding of + the iron wheels beneath them, and the cries of the comrades by their side. + </p> + <p> + “Mon Dieu! Que de souffrances! Qui l’aurait cru possible? O mon Dieu, aie + pitié de moi.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MOTHERHOOD OF FRANCE + </h2> + <p> + Still the soul of France did not fail her. It heard the second approach of + that monstrous Prussian horde, which, like a broad, irresistible tide, + sweeping across one half of Europe, came down, down, down from Mons until + the thunder of its guns could again be heard on the boulevards. And then + came the great miracle! Just as the sea itself can rise no higher when it + has reached the top of the flood, so the mighty army of Germany had to + stop its advance thirty kilomètres north of Paris, and when it stirred + again it had to go back. And back and back it went before the armies of + France, Britain, and Belgium, until it reached a point at which it could + dig itself into the earth and hide in a long serpentine trench stretching + from the Alps to the sea. Only then did the spirit of France draw breath + for a moment, and the next flash as of lightning showed her offering + thanks and making supplications before the white statue of Jeanne d’Arc in + the apse of the great cathedral of Notre Dame, sacred to innumerable + memories. On the Feast of St Michael 10,000 of the women of Paris were + kneeling under the dark vault, and on the broad space in front of the + majestic façade, to call on the Maid of Orleans to % intercede with the + Virgin for victory. It was a great and grandiose scene, recalling the days + when faith was strong and purer. Old and young, rich and poor, every woman + with some soul that was dear to her in that inferno at the front—the + Motherhood of France was there to pray to the Mother of all living to ask + God for the triumph of the right. + </p> + <p> + “Jesus, hear our cry for our country! Justice for France, O God!” + </p> + <p> + And in the spirit of that prayer the soul of France still lives. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FIVE MONTHS AFTER + </h2> + <p> + The next of the flashes as of lightning that revealed the drama of the + past 365 days came to us at Christmas. The war had then been going on five + months, showing us many strange and terrible sights, but nothing stranger + and more terrible than the changed aspect of warfare itself. A battlefield + had ceased to be a scene of pomp and of personal prowess, with the + charging of galloping cavalry, the clash of glittering arms, and the + advancing and retiring of vast numbers of soldiery. It was now a broad and + desolate waste, in which no human figure was anywhere visible as far as + the eye could reach—a monstrous scar on the face of the globe, such + as we see in volcanic countries, only differing in the evidence of design + that came of long, parallel lines of turned-up soil, which were the + trenches wherein hundreds of thousands of men lived under the surface of + the ground. Over this barren waste there was almost perpetual smoke, and + through the smoke a deafening cannonading, which came of the hurling + through the air of scythes of steel, called shells. Sometimes the shells + were burying themselves unbroken in the empty earth, but too often they + were scouring the trenches, where they were bursting into jagged parts and + sending up showers of horrible fragments which had once been the limbs of + living men. + </p> + <p> + Such was warfare by machinery as the world caught its first, full, + horrified sight of it between the beginning of August and the end of + December 1914. But even out of that maelstrom of horror there had been + glimpses of great things—great heroisms, great victories, and great + proofs of the power to endure. A rigid censorship, rightly designed to + keep back from the enemy the information that would endanger the lives of + our soldiers, was also keeping us in ignorance of many glorious incidents + of the war such as would have thrilled us up to our throbbing throat. But + some of them could not possibly be concealed, so we heard of the gallant + stand of the dauntless sons of our daughter Canada, and we saw our great + old warrior, Lord Roberts, going out to the front in his eighty-third year + to visit his beloved Indian troops, dying as was most fit on the + battlefield, within sound of the guns in the war he had foretold, and then + being brought home, borne through the crowded streets of London and buried + under the dome of St. Paul’s, amid the homage of his Bang and people. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE COMING OF WINTER + </h2> + <p> + Then, as the year deepened towards winter, the rains came, torrential + rains such as we thought we had never known the like of before. We heard + that the trenches were flooded, and that our soldiers were eating, + sleeping, and fighting ankle-deep (sometimes knee-deep) in water. At + night, on going to our white beds at home, we had remorseful visions of + those slimy red ruts in Flanders where our boys were lying out in the + drenching rain under the heavy darkness of the sky. It was hard to believe + that human strength could sustain itself against such cruel conditions, + and indeed it often failed. + </p> + <p> + Towards Christmas tens of thousands of our men had to be brought home to + our hospitals, many of them wounded, but not a few suffering from maladies + which made them unfit for military service. The accident of being asked to + distribute presents enabled me to see and talk with hundreds of them. It + was a sweet and exhilarating yet rather nerve-racking experience. These + young fellows, who had looked on death in its most horrible aspects, + having had it for their duty to kill as many Germans as possible, and then + to eat and sleep as if nothing had occurred—had they been degraded, + brutalized, lowered in the scale of human creatures by their awful ordeal? + </p> + <p> + The sequel surprised me. The veil of mist with which a London winter + enshrouds the beginnings of night and day had only just risen when on + Christmas morning I reached the wounded soldiers’ ward in the first of the + hospitals I visited. The sweet place was decked out with holly and + mistletoe. Forty or fifty men were lying there in their beds, some + bandaged about the head, a few about the face, more about the body, arms, + and legs. None of them seemed to be in serious pain, and nearly all were + cheerful, even bright, boyish, and almost childlike. What stories they had + to tell of the inferno they had come from! It was hell, infernal hell. + They would go back, of course, when they were better, and had to do so, + but if anybody said he <i>wanted</i> to go back he was telling a damn’d + lie. + </p> + <p> + One boy, scarcely out of his teens, with soft, womanly eyes, light hair, + and a face that made me sure he must be the living image of his mother, + had had a narrow escape. After being wounded he had been taken prisoner to + a farmhouse. Nobody there had done anything for him, and at length, after + many hours, watching his opportunity, he had crept into the darkness and + got back to the British trenches by crawling for nearly a quarter of a + mile on hands and knees. + </p> + <p> + Another young soldier, an Irishman, told me a brave story, such as might + have been allowed, I thought, to scratch and scrape its way through the + thorn hedge of the strictest censorship. It was a story of the great days + before the armies had dug themselves into the earth like rabbits. Perhaps + I had heard something about it? I had. Eight hundred of his cavalry + regiment had ridden full gallop into a solid block of the enemy, making a + way through them as wide as Sackville Street. At length the Germans in + front had dropped their rifles and held up their hands, whereupon our men + had ceased to slay. But, being unable to rein in their frantic horses, + they had been compelled to gallop on. Then, while their backs were turned, + the treacherous Huns had picked up their rifles and fired on them from + behind, killing many of our best men. + </p> + <p> + “And what did you do then?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Turned back and——” + </p> + <p> + “And what?” + </p> + <p> + “Took one man alive, sor.” + </p> + <p> + “And the rest?” + </p> + <p> + “Left them there, sor.” + </p> + <p> + “And how many of you got back?” + </p> + <p> + “Less than two hundred, sor.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHRISTMAS IN THE TRENCHES + </h2> + <p> + Then Christmas in the trenches—we had glimpses of that, too. The + people who governed nations from their Parliament Houses might have doubts + about the peace-dream of the poets, the Utopia of universal brotherhood + which gleams somewhere ahead in the far future of humanity, but the + soldiers on the battlefields, even in the welter of blood and death had + somehow heard the call of it. + </p> + <p> + The appeal of the Pope for a truce to hostilities during the days sacred + to the Christian faith had fallen on deaf ears in the Cabinets of Europe. + In that zone of mutual deception which is another name for war, neither of + the belligerents could trust the other not to take an unfair advantage of + any respite from slaying that might be called in the name of Christ, and, + therefore, the armies must continue to fight. But the men in the trenches + had found for them-selves a better way. When Christmas Eve came they began—German + and British—to talk about Christmas Eves which they had spent at + home. Visions arose of crowded streets, of shops decorated with holly and + mistletoe, of churches with little candle-lit Nativities, of + Christmas-trees at home laden with fairy lamps and presents, of children + sitting up late to dance and laugh and then hanging up their stockings + before going to bed to dream of Santa Claus, of church bells ringing for + midnight mass, and, last of all, of the “waits” by the old cross in the + market-place in the midst of the winter frost and snow. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly in one of the trenches some of the soldiers began to sing. They + sang a Christmas carol, “While shepherds watched their flocks by night.” + The soldiers in the parallel trenches of the enemy heard it, knew what it + was, and joined in with another Christmas carol, sung in their own + language. In a little while both sides were singing, each in its turn, + listening and replying, all along the two dark gullies that stretched + across blood-stained Europe. Then Chinese lanterns were lit and stuck up + on the head of the trenches, and salutations were shouted across the + narrow ground between. “Merry Christmas to you, Fritz, old man!” “Same to + you, Tommy!” And then next morning, Christmas morning, in the grey light + of the late dawn, some daring soul, clambering over the trench head, + marched boldly up to the line of the enemy with the salutation of the + sacred day. In another moment everybody was up and out, shaking hands, and + posing for photographs, friend and foe, German and British. + </p> + <p> + After a while they became aware that the ground they were standing on was + like an unroofed charnel-house, littered over with the bodies of their + unburied dead. So they set themselves to cover up their comrades in the + earth, never asking which was British and which German, but laying them + all together in the everlasting brotherhood of death—that English + boy whose mother was waiting for him in England, and this German lad whose + young wife was weeping in his German home. + </p> + <p> + My God, why do men make wars? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE COMING OF SPRING + </h2> + <p> + But perhaps, as Zola says, it is only the soft-hearted philosophers who + are loud in their curses of war, and the truer wisdom was that of the + stoical ancients, who could look with indifference on the massacre of + millions. To keep manly, to remind ourselves that the generations come and + go, that after all people die, and that more die one year than another—this + should be the wise man’s way of reconciling himself to the inhumanities of + war. It is horrible doctrine, but certainly nature seems to speak with + that voice, and hence the pang that came to us with the next great flash + as of lightning, which showed us the battle-front at the beginning of the + spring. + </p> + <p> + The long lines in the West had hardly changed so much as a single point to + north or south since October 1914. Yet what horrors of conflict the + intervening months had witnessed, bloody in their progress, though barren + in their results! The storms of the spring (which in much of Northern + Europe is only another name for a second winter) had gone through it all. + Our soldiers had suffered frightfully, and some of us at home, awakening + in the middle of stormy nights, had thought we heard the booming of + far-off guns under the thunder of the sky. + </p> + <p> + Three millions of men were dead by this time, and that belt of green + country, which many of us had crossed with light hearts a score of times, + was nothing now but a vast graveyard stretching from the foot of the Swiss + mountains to the margin of the North Sea. Here a charred and blackened + mass of stones, which had once been a group of houses; there a cottage by + the roadside, once sweet and pretty under its mantle of wild roses, now + hideous with a gaping hole torn in its walls, and its little bed visible + behind curtains that used to be white. And yet Nature was going on the + same as ever—hardly giving a hint that the Great Death had passed + that way. Our boys at the front wrote home that the leaves were beginning + to show on the trees, that the grass was growing again, and that in the + lulls of the cannonading they could hear the birds singing. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NATURE GOES HER OWN WAY + </h2> + <p> + We found it heart-breaking. But it has been always so. I was in Naples + during the whole period of the last great eruption of Vesuvius, and, + looking through the gloom of the heavens, piled high with the whorls of + fire and smoke that were covering the Vesuvian valleys and villages with a + grey shroud, waist deep, of volcanic dust, I thought the face of Nature in + that sweet spot could never be the same again; but when I went back to it + a year later I could see no difference. I sailed south through the Straits + of Messina a few weeks before the earthquake, and, returning north a few + months later, I looked eagerly for the change which I imagined must have + been made by the frightful upheaval of the earth that had killed hundreds + of thousands, and shaken the soul of the entire human family, but I could + see no change at all, even through the strongest field-glasses, until I + came within sight of the waste and wreckage of the little works of men. + Yes, Nature goes her own way, winter and summer, seedtime and harvest, + healing her own wounds, but taking no thought of ours. + </p> + <p> + Yet, cruel as Nature seemed to be at the beginning of the spring, it was + not so cruel as man. With the better weather our enemies began to devise + and put into operation new and more devilish methods of warfare. Perhaps + this was a result of their fear, for there is no cruelty so cruel as the + cruelty that comes of fear, and no inhumanity so inhuman. Having expressed + themselves as shocked by our alleged use of dum-dum bullets, they were now + ransacking their laboratory for gases that would burst the lungs of our + soldiers, and for inflammable oils that would set them afire as if they + were criminals tarred and feathered and tied to a stake. Their + battleships, built to fight craft of their own kind, or at least + fortresses capable of replying to their fire, were now sent out to bombard + innocent watering-places lying breast open to the sea. Their air-craft, + constructed for reconnaissances, were ordered to drop bombs out of the + clouds on to sleeping cities in the darkness of the night. And their + submarines, tolerated by international courts only as weapons of attack on + warships, were authorized to sink harmless merchantmen, without any word + of warning, or any effort to save life. Could scientific knowledge under + the direction of moral insanity go one step farther? Flying in the highest + sky, hiding behind the densest clouds, stealing across the heavens in the + dark hours, dropping fireballs on to the silent earth, sneaking back in + the dawn; and then sailing through the womb of the great deep, rising like + a serpent to spit death at innocent ships, diving to avoid destruction and + scudding away under cover of the empty sea—what a spectacle of + divine power at the service of devilish passion! It was difficult to + believe that our enemies had not gone mad. They were no longer fighting + like men, but like demons. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SOUL OF THE MAN WHO SANK THE <i>LUSITANIA</i> + </h2> + <p> + The crowning horror of Germany’s barbarities came with the sinking of the + <i>Lusitania</i>. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps nothing less shocking could have made us see how much less cruel + Nature is at her worst than man in his madness may be. Three years before + the <i>Titanic</i> had been sunk on a clear and quiet night, because a + great iceberg formed in the frozen north had floated silently down to + where, crossing the ship’s course in mid-Atlantic, it struck her the + slanting blow that sent her to the bottom. Thus a great, blind, + irresistible force, operating without malice or design, had in that case + destroyed more than a thousand human lives. But when the <i>Lusitania</i> + was sunk in broad daylight, and nearly as many persons perished, it was + because our brother man, in the bitterness of his heart and the cruelty of + his fear, had been bent on committing wilful murder. + </p> + <p> + What is the present state of the soul of the person who perpetrated that + crime? + </p> + <p> + Can he excuse himself on the ground that he was obeying orders, or does + his conscience refuse to be chloroformed into silence by that hoary old + subterfuge? When he first saw the great ship sailing up in the sunshine, + its decks crowded with peaceful passengers, and he rose like a murderer + out of his hiding-place in the bowels of the sea, what were the feelings + with which he ordered the torpedo to be fired? When, having launched his + bolt, he sank and then rose again, and heard the drowning cries of his + victims struggling in the water, what were the emotions with which he ran + away? And when he returned to tell his story of the work he had done, with + what dignity of manhood did he hold up his head in the company of + Christian men? God knows—only God and one of his creatures. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE GERMAN TOWER OF BABEL + </h2> + <p> + For the credit of human nature we feel compelled, in sight of such + enormities, to go back to Mr. Maeterlinck’s theory that invisible powers + of evil are using man for the execution of devilish designs. But if so, + they have had no mercy on their creatures. We read that when, in fear of + another flood, not trusting the promises of the Almighty, the children of + Noah began to build a Tower of Babel, the Lord sent a confusion of tongues + among them to bring their design to destruction. The excuses the Germans + have offered for their barbarities suggest a confusion of intellect that + can only lead to a like result. Has the world ever before listened to such + whirlwind logic? + </p> + <p> + When a German submarine has sunk a British merchantman and left her crew + to perish we have been told that she was performing a legitimate act of + war. But when a British merchantman has mounted a gun in order to defend + herself, she has been said to violate the law of nations. When British + battleships have blockaded German ports they have been trying to starve + sixty-five millions of German people. But when German submarines have + attempted to blockade British ports by drowning a thousand passengers of + many nations on a British liner, they have been executing a just revenge. + When a neutral nation in Europe has supplied foodstuffs and materials of + war to Germany, she has been doing an act of simple humanity. But when the + United States has supplied foodstuffs and materials of war to Great + Britain she has been breaking the laws of her neutrality. When a brutal + German officer has shot a British civilian in a railway train he has + committed a justifiable homicide and becomes a proper person for + promotion. But when a Belgian civilian has killed a German soldier who + violated his daughter before his eyes he has been guilty of assassination + and quite properly shot at sight. When Germany has refused to honour her + name to a “scrap of paper” she has been a holy martyr obeying a law of + necessity. But when England has honoured hers she has been a holy humbug, + whose hypocrisy deserved to be exposed. Therefore God punish England! + Above all, when God has crowned the arms of Germany with success on the + battlefield, his most Christian Majesty, William the Pious, has always + been with Him. Therefore God bless the Kaiser! + </p> + <p> + Surely confusion of intellect can go no further, and the German Tower of + Babel must soon fall. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ALIEN PERIL + </h2> + <p> + But out of this failure of logic on the part of “deep-thinking Germany” a + danger came to us from nearer home than the battlefield. One of the most + vivid flashes as of lightning whereby we have seen the drama of the past + 365 days was that which, immediately after the sinking of the <i>Lusitania</i>, + showed us the full depths of the “alien peril.” Before the war we had had + fifty thousand German-born persons living in our midst. They had enjoyed + the whole freedom of our commerce, the whole justice of our law courts, + and the whole protection of our police. Many of them had married our + British women, who had borne them British children. Most of them had + learned to speak our language, and some of us had learned to understand + their own. A few had become British subjects, and many had been honoured + by our King. Our music, literature, and art had become theirs. Shakespeare + had, in effect, become a German poet, and Wagner a British composer. The + barriers between our races had seemed to break down, and even such of us + as had small hope of a golden age of universal brotherhood had begun to + believe that marriage, mutual interest, education, and environment were + making us one with these strangers within our gates. + </p> + <p> + Then came a startling awakening. We realized beyond possibility of doubt + that many thousands of our German aliens had been keeping up a dual + responsibility, and that the chief of their two duties had been duty to + their own country. We found beyond question that a settled system of + espionage was at work in Great Britain, under the direction of the German + authorities; that information which could only be of use in the event of + invasion had for many years been gathered up by some of the people whom we + had called our friends, and that day by day and hour by hour, as the war + went on, secrets valuable to our enemy had been filtering through to + Germany from influential places in this country. + </p> + <p> + What a shock to our sense of security, our pride, and even our + self-respect! The horror of the discovery reached its highest point at the + time of the sinking of the great liner, for then it was realized that + there could be no limit to the expression of German cruelty. It is one of + the effects of the spirit of cruelty to strike its victims with moral + blindness. If it were possible that the German conscience could justify + murder on the sea, why should it not justify it on land? Why should not + our German governesses burn down the houses in which our children lay + asleep? Why should not a German secretary attempt to assassinate one of + our public ministers? War was war, and whatever was necessary was right. + </p> + <p> + “We are doing wrong, but it is necessary to do wrong, and necessity knows + no law.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HYMNS OF HATE + </h2> + <p> + About this time also we became conscious of a fierce, delirious, + intoxicating hate of our people which was developing in the hearts of our + enemies. Before the outbreaking of the war it had been Russia and the + Russians who had (by inherited antipathy from the founder of the German + Empire) been the chief objects of German hatred. Now it was Britain and + the British. Hymns of Hate (our enemies called it “sacred hate”) were + composed, recited, and sung: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + French and Russian, they matter not, + A blow for a blow, and a shot for a shot, + We love them not, we hate them not, + We love as one, we hate as one, + We have one foe, and one alone— + England! +</pre> + <p> + England was not moved to retaliate in kind. We remembered what the German + Churchmen had said about our Teutonic brotherhood, and allowed ourselves + to believe that this was only the call of the blood in the German race—the + mad, bad blood of fratricidal hate, the most devilish hate of all. We also + reflected that it was a form of hatred not unfamiliar in asylums for the + insane, where it has always been equally tragic and pitiful in its + effects, and certain to recoil on the sufferer’s own head. But as no sane + father of a family would make free of his children’s nursery the deranged + relative who required the protection and restraint of the padded room, we + decided that there was only one safe way with our aliens as a whole—to + shut them up. God forbid that any of us should say that all our German + aliens were under suspicion of criminal intentions. On the contrary, we + know that some of them are among the sincere friends of Great Britain, + passionately opposing Germany’s objects in this war and loathing Germany’s + methods. We know, too, that a few belong to that rare company whose + sympathies can rise even higher than nationality into the realm of “human + empire.” We also know that countless persons, long resident in this + country, and deeply attached to the land of their adoption, have suffered + unspeakable hardships from the accident of German origin. It is painful to + think of some of the people who frequented our houses, whose houses we + frequented, whose wives and children are our kindred, being shut up behind + barbed wire in open encampments. But these are among the inevitable + cruelties of a war for which we are not responsible. In putting the great + body of our enemy aliens under control we did no more than our plain duty + to the soldiers who were fighting for us at the front. What will happen to + them (and us) when the war is over, and they come out of their prisons, + none can say. It seems as if the world can never be the same place as + before—the devil has played too hard a game with it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PART PLAYED BY RUSSIA + </h2> + <p> + And then Russia! Distance from the scene of action, the great length of + the line of operations and the vast area behind it have made it difficult + or impossible for us to see the drama of the Russian campaign as we have + seen that of France, Belgium, and our own Empire. But we have seen + something, and it has been enough to give the lie to certain of the + emphatic protestations with which Germany made war. We had heard it said + by the German Chancellor that the fact that Russia was mobilizing in those + last days of July 1914 made it impossible for Germany to ask Austria to + extend the time-limit imposed upon Serbia—a time-limit which would + have been indecent among civilized people if it had concerned nothing more + serious than the destruction of a kennel of dogs suspected of rabies. But + all the world knows now that Russian mobilization was a process inevitably + so slow that the German armies had flung themselves upon Belgium twelve + days before the Russian advance began. + </p> + <p> + Then we had heard it said by the German Churchmen that in taking the side + of Russia we, British and French people, leaders among the enlightened + races, were helping Muscovite barbarians to oppose the cause of + civilization. But since Louvain, Termonde, and Rheims, not to speak of the + unnameable iniquities of Liège, the world knows where the barbaric spirit + of Europe had its central home—in Berlin, not in Petrograd; in the + proud hearts of the German over-lords, not the meek ones of the Russian + peasantry. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SHADOW OF THE GREAT DEATH + </h2> + <p> + The truth, as everybody knows who knows Russia, is that “barbarous,” the + classic taunt of the German against Russia, is, of all words, the least + proper as a description of the Russian mind and character. I have myself + been only once in Russia, but it was on a long visit and under conditions + which were calculated, beyond anything that has happened since down to + to-day, to reveal to me the whole secret of the Russian soul, In 1892, + when the cholera had come sweeping up from the south, I travelled for + weeks that seemed like an eternity in the little towns of Galicia and the + cities beyond the Russian frontier. The Great Death darkened my sky over + many hundreds of miles of travel. I visited the plague spots where men’s + lives were being mown down at the devastating stride of 5000 deaths a + week, and where men’s hearts, the nerve, courage, sanity, and humanity of + men, were being sapped and quenched and consumed by terror and panic and + despair. I saw the Russian people under the black shadow and in the malign + presence of the Great Death, living in the dark clouds of inquietude and + dread and awe. And when my visit came to an end I left Russia with the + feeling that, relatively short as my life among the Russian people had + been, I knew them because I had been with them when their very souls lay + bare. + </p> + <p> + What, then, did I see? A barbaric people? No, a thousand times, no! I saw + an uneducated people; a neglected people; a people badly fed, badly + housed, and badly protected from the cruelties of a rigorous climate; but + not a people who had naturally one barbaric impulse, if by that we mean + the “will to life” which animates the savage man. And I now say, with all + the emphasis of which I am capable, that the last reproach that can + rightly be flung at the Russian people, even the least enlightened of + them, the Russian peasants, in the darkest reaches of their vast country, + is that they are barbarians. Deeds of cruelty and of barbarity there may + be among the Russians, as there are among all peoples, and the + dehumanizing conditions inevitable to warfare may perhaps increase the + number of them, but the outrages of Louvain, Termonde, Rheims and Liège + are morally and physically impossible to the Russian race. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE RUSSIAN SOUL + </h2> + <p> + The truth is, too, that there is not in the world a more religious people + than the Russian—a people more submissive to what they conceive (not + always wisely) to be the will of the Almighty, the governance of the + unseen forces. As opposed to the average German intellect, which for the + past fifty years has been struggling day and night to materialize the + spiritual, the Russian intellect seems to be always trying to spiritualize + the material. No one can doubt this who has seen the Russian peasants on + their pathetic pilgrimages to the Holy Land, standing (among the lepers, + uttering their clamorous lamentations) before the gates of the Garden of + Gethsemane, or trooping in dense crowds down the steep steps to the + underground Church of the Virgin. The literature of Russia, too, reflects + this trait of the Russian soul, and not only in the works of Pushkin, + Gogol, Tourgeneiff, Tolstoy, Repin, Dostoyevsky, and Glinka, or yet in + Kuprine, Gorki, Anoutchin, Merejkowsky, and Baranovsky, but in those + simpler and perhaps cruder writings which speak directly to uneducated + minds, the same striving after the spiritual is everywhere to be seen. + Books like Treitschke’s, Nietzsche’s, and Bernhardi’s would be impossible + in Russia, not, heaven knows, because of their “intellectual superiority,” + which is another name for braggadocio, but because of their moral + insensibility, their glorification of the physical forces of the body of + man, which the Russian mind sets lower than the unseen powers of his soul. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE RUSSIAN MOUJIK MOBILIZING + </h2> + <p> + So the flashes as of lightning that have shown us the part Russia has + played in the drama of the past 365 days have revealed a people acting + under something very like a religious impulse. We have seen the moujiks + being mobilized in remote parts of the vast country, and have found it a + moving picture. It is probable that the war had been going on for weeks + before they heard anything about it. Almost certainly they had no clear + idea of where the fighting was, or what it was about, the theatre of the + struggle being so far away and their ignorance of the world outside their + own little communities so profound and impenetrable. We may be sure that + when the echo of the great war did at length reach them it was quite + undisturbed by any foolish pretence associated with the assassination of + the Archduke Ferdinand (that lie could only be expected to impose on the + enlightened peoples of the West) and concerned itself solely with the + safety of Russia. The humblest Russian is proud of Russia; proud that it + is so big and powerful among the nations of the world. He will gladly die + rather than see it made less, so deep is his devotion to the + long-suffering giant whose blood is throbbing in his veins. + </p> + <p> + Therefore when the call of war came to the moujiks in their far-off homes, + we saw them answering it as if it had been the call of their faith. First + a service in the village church; then a procession behind the village pope + to the village shrine (“Now go away and fight for Russia, my children”), + then the setting off for the distant railway station, the mothers and + young wives of the soldiers marching for miles by their sides, carrying + their rifles and haversacks along the wide roads white with dust. What + scenes of human pathos! For a long time the officers are indulgent to + irregularities—have they not just left their own dear women behind + them?—but at length the word of command rings out, and everybody not + connected with the army has to go back. Ah, those partings! Still, God is + good! And hadn’t Masha promised to burn a candle to the Virgin every day + while her husband is away? Ivan will come back; yes, of course Ivan will + come back, and by that time baby will be born, and then what joy, what + lifelong happiness! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HOW THE RUSSIANS MAKE WAR + </h2> + <p> + From some of the greater cities of Western Russia there came flashes of + similar scenes. The memory of that time of the cholera is closely involved + for me in the thought of these tragic days, and by the light of what I saw + in Kief, in Sosnowitz, in Lublin, in Cracow, in Warsaw, and along the line + of front in poor, stricken Poland, where, as I write, men are being mown + down like grass, I seem to see what took place there at the beginning of + August 1914, and is taking place now. I see the churches crowded and the + congregations trailing out through the open porches into the churchyards + around them. Old men and women who are too lame to struggle their way + through the throng are lying under the open windows with their sticks and + crutches stretched out beside them. Others outside are on their knees, + following the services as they proceed within, clasping their hands, + making the sign of the Cross, giving the responses, and joining in the + singing. + </p> + <p> + Inside the churches, where the women kneel on one side in their bright + cotton head-scarves and the soldiers on the other in their long, dark + coats, prayers are being said for Russia, that God will protect her and + her “little Father,” the Tsar, and all his faithful children, making the + dark cloud that is on their horizon to pass them by unharmed. From porch + to chancel they bend forward with their faces as near to the floor as + their close crowding will permit. Then they sing. No one who has not been + to Russia has ever heard such singing—no, not even in Rome in the + Church of the Gesu as the clock strikes midnight on the last day of the + year. There is no organ, and if there is a choir its voices are lost in + the deep swell of the melancholy wail that rises from the people. Perhaps + the morning is a bright one, and the sun is shining in dusty sheets of + dancing light through the clerestory windows on to the altar ablaze with + gold, twinkling behind its yellow candles and the bowed heads of the + priests. When the service ends the soldiers form up in lines and march out + through the kneeling crowds within and the overflowing congregations lying + prone outside. + </p> + <p> + So do the Russians make war. Not generally to the beating of drums, or yet + the singing of their searching national anthem, and assuredly not as + bloodhounds hunting for prey, but in the spirit of a simple people, often + humble in their ignorance but always strong in their faith—in the + certainty that there is something else in God’s world besides greed and + gold, something higher than “the will to power,” something better for a + nation than to enlarge its empire, and that is to possess its soul. + </p> + <p> + And now in their hour of trial let us salute our brave Allies in the East. + Let us assure them of the sincerity of our alliance. We rejoice in their + victories. We count their triumphs as our own. When we hear of their + reverses our hearts are full. We feel that out of the storm of battle a + great new spirit has been born into Russia, awakening her from a sleep of + centuries. We feel, too, that a great new spirit of brotherhood has been + born into the world, uniting the scattered and divided parts of it, and + that there is no more moving manifestation of the unity of mankind than + the fact that the Russian and British peoples, after long years of + misunderstanding, are now fighting for the same cause from opposite sides + of Europe. May they soon meet and clasp hands! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PART PLAYED BY POLAND + </h2> + <p> + And then Poland. Down to the end of the first year of war the part played + by Poland has been that of absolute martyr. Like the water-mill in Zola’s + story she has first been disabled by the attack of her enemies and then + destroyed by the defence of her friends. Three times the armies of the + belligerents have rolled over her, and now that they are gone she lies + stricken afresh, even yet more fiercely, under the famine and pestilence + which have stalked in the wake of war. + </p> + <p> + No more pitiful and abject picture does the terrible conflict present. + Without part or lot in the European quarrel, with little to gain and + everything to lose by it, having no such right of choice as gave glory to + the martyrdom of Belgium, Poland has had nothing to do but to endure. + </p> + <p> + At the beginning of the war, when the battery of Gerrman hatred was + directed chiefly against Russia, the world was told that the measure of + her barbarity was to be seen in the condition to which the Polish people + had been reduced under Russian rule. But did the Harnacks, Hauptmanns, + Ballins and von Bülows who put forth this plea, count on our ignorance of + Galicia, in which the condition of the Poles is immeasurably more wretched + under the rule of their Ally, Austria? + </p> + <p> + In the fateful year 1892 I travelled much in Galicia, and saw something of + the effects of Austrian government. My impressions of both were + unfavorable. From points of natural wealth and beauty, Galicia is perhaps, + of all countries, the least favoured of God. Shut out from the warm + southern winds by the Carpathian mountains, and exposed to the northern + blasts that sweep down from the broad steppes of Russia, the long and + narrow stretch of Galician territory is probably the most inhospitable + region in the western world Flat and featureless; with swampy and + ague-stricken plains, unbroken by trees and hedges; with roads like + canals, dissecting dreary wastes, black in the south, where the loam lies, + light in the north where salt is found; with rivers without banks fraying + into pools and ponds and marshes; with soppy fields in formal stripes like + the patches of a patchwork quilt; with villages of log-houses, each having + its cemetery a little apart, and its wooden crucifix like a gibbet at a + space beyond—such is a great part of Galicia, the Polish province of + Austria. + </p> + <p> + But little as Nature has done to cheer the spirits of the Poles, who live + under Austrian rule, what man has done is less. It is nothing at all, or + worse than nothing. + </p> + <p> + Thickly-sown on the eastern frontier are many densely populated + manufacturing towns, ugly and squat, and giving the effect of standing + barefoot on the damp earth. As you walk through them they look like + interminable lines of featureless streets, full of those sweating, + screaming, squabbling masses of humanity that take away all your pride in + the dignity of man’s estate. The prevailing colour is yellow, the dominant + odour is noxious, the thoroughfares are narrow, and often unpaved. In the + busier quarters the shops are sometimes spacious, but more frequently they + are mere slits in the monotonous façades. When closed, as on Sunday, these + slits give the appearance of a row of prison cells. When open they present + crude pictures on the inner faces of their doors—pictures of boots, + caps, trousers, stockings or corsets, a typology which seems to be more + necessary than words to inhabitants who have not, as a whole, been taught + to read. + </p> + <p> + And then the people themselves! Perhaps there is not in all the world a + more hopeless-looking race, with their lagging lower lips, their dull grey + eyes, their dosy, helpless, exanimate expression, suggesting that the body + is half asleep and the spirit no more than half awake. To see them + slouching along the streets, or sitting in stupefied groups at the doors + of brandy-shops, passing a single bottle from mouth to mouth, is to + realize how low humanity may fall in its own esteem under the rule of an + alien government. To watch them at prayer in their little Catholic + churches is to feel that they have been made to think of themselves as the + least of God’s creatures, unworthy to come to His footstool—always + ready to kiss the earth, and never daring to lift their eyes to heaven, + having no right, and hardly any hope. + </p> + <p> + Such are the poorer and more degraded of the Poles in the Austrian + crownland of Galicia, which has lately been swept by war (along the banks + of the Vistula, the Dniester, and the Bug), and is now perishing of + hunger, and being devastated by disease. And when I ask myself what has + been the root-cause of a degradation so deep in a people who once laboured + for the humanities of the world and upheld the traditions of Culture, I + find only one answer—the suppression of nationality! In that fact + lies the moral of Galicia’s martyrdom. Let Belgium’s nationality be + suppressed as Germany is now trying to suppress it, and her condition will + soon be like that of Austrian Poland. You cannot expect to keep the body + of a nation alive while you are doing your best to destroy its soul. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SOUL OF POLAND + </h2> + <p> + It is a fearful thing to murder, or attempt to murder, the soul of a + nation. The call that comes to a people’s heart from the soil that gave + them birth is a spiritual force which no conquering empire should dare to + kill. How powerful it is, how mysterious, how unaccountable, and how + infinitely pathetic! The land of one’s country may be so bleak, so bare, + so barren, that the stranger may think God can never have intended that it + should be trodden by the foot of man, yet it seems to us, who were born to + it, to be the fairest spot the sun shines upon. The songs of one’s country + may be the simplest staves that ever shaped themselves into music, yet + they search our hearts as the loftiest compositions never can. The + language of one’s country (even the dialect of one’s district) may be the + crudest corruption that ever lived on human lips, yet it lights up dark + regions of our consciousness which the purest of the classic tongues can + never reach. Do we not all feel this, whatever the qualities or defects of + our native speech—every Scotsman, every Irishman, every Welshman, + nay, every Yorkshireman, every Lancashireman, every Devonshireman, when he + hears the word and the tone which belong to his own people only? There are + phrases in the Manx and the Anglo-Manx of my own little race which I can + never hear spoken without the sense of something tingling and throbbing + between my flesh and my skin. Why? Because it is the home-speech of my own + island, and whatever she is, whatever fate may befall her, however she may + treat me, she is my mother and I am her son. + </p> + <p> + Such is the mighty and mysterious thing which we call a nation’s soul. + Nobody can explain it, nobody can account for it, but woe to the + presumptuous empire which tries to wipe it out. It can never be wiped out. + Crushed and trodden on it may be, as Austria has crushed and trodden on + the soul of Austrian Poland, and as Germany has crushed and trodden on the + soul of Prussian Poland, when they have fallen so low in the scale of + civilized peoples as to flog Polish school children for refusing to learn + their catechism and say their prayers in a language which they cannot + understand. But to kill the soul of a nation is impossible. The German + Chancellor could not do that when he violated the body of Belgium. And + though Warsaw has fallen the fatuous Prince Leopold of Bavaria, with his + preposterous proclamations, cannot kill the soul of Poland. + </p> + <p> + At Cracow in 1892 I tried to buy for one of my children the little Polish + national cap, but after a vain search for it through many shops (where I + was generally suspected of being a spy for the Austrian police), the cap + was brought to me at night, in my private room, by shopkeepers who had + been afraid to sell it openly in the day. At Wieliezhe, I, with some forty + persons of various nationalities (including the usual contingent of + detectives), descended the immense and marvellous salt-mine which is now + used as a show place for visitors. After passing, by the flare of torches, + down long galleries of underground workings, we were plunged into darkness + by a rush of wind over a subterranean river through which we had to + shoulder our way on a raft. Then suddenly, no face being visible in that + black tunnel under the earth, the Polish part of our company broke into a + wild, fierce, frenzied singing of their national anthem which, in those + days, they dare not sing on the surface and in the light: “Poland is not + lost for ever; she will live once more.” + </p> + <p> + No, Poland is not lost for ever! She will live once more! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE OLD SOLDIER OF LIBERTY + </h2> + <p> + And Italy! Although it is only since May that Italy has stood by our side + on the battle-front, in an effort to avert from the world a new military + domination, we have known from the beginning that her heart was with the + Allies, and she was willing to stake all, when her time came, for the same + principles of humanity and freedom. A Roman friend tells me that he heard + an Italian statesman say, “Italy always meant war.” We can well believe + it. We have believed it from the first. On one of the early days of + August, when a British regiment was passing through the streets of London + on its way to Charing Cross, it was noticed that an old man in a red shirt + and a peaked cap was marching with a proud step by the side of our + soldiers. He turned out to be a Garibaldian, who had been living many + years in Soho. Having dug up from his time-eaten trunk the simple + regimentals of the army of the Liberator, he had come out to walk with our + boys on the first stage of their journey to France. In the person of that + old soldier of liberty we saw and saluted Italy—Italy that had known + what it was to make her own sacrifices for the right, and was now ready to + show us her sympathy in this supreme crisis in our history. + </p> + <p> + But she had a trying, almost a tragic, time. For ten long months she lay + under the quivering wing of war, in danger of attack from our enemies, and + liable to misunderstanding among ourselves. She was party to a Triple + Alliance which, ironically enough, bound her (up to a point) to her + historic adversary, Austria, as well as to that Germany whose emperors had + again and again sent their legions south in vain efforts to rule even the + papacy from across the Rhine. + </p> + <p> + How that alliance came to be made, and remade, against the sympathies and + aspirations of a free people is one of the mysteries of diplomacy which + Italian history has yet to solve. Perhaps there was corruption; perhaps + there was nothing worse than honest blundering; perhaps the frequent + spectacular visits to Rome of the Kaiser William (who is almost Oriental + in his “sense of the theatre,” and knows better, perhaps, than any + European sovereign since Napoleon how to apply it to real life) played + upon the eyes of the Italian race, always susceptible to grandiose + exhibitions of power and splendour. But we cannot forget the old Austrian + sore, and we remember what Antonelli is reported to have said to Pius IX + before the outbreak of the campaign of 1859: “Holy Father, if the Italians + do not go out to fight Austria, I believe, on my honour, the nuns will do + so.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PART PLAYED BY ITALY + </h2> + <p> + The Triple Alliance was a secret document, but everybody knew that it + required Italy to join with Austria and Germany in the event of their + being compelled to engage in a defensive war. Therefore the first question + for Italy was whether the war declared by Austria against Serbia and by + Germany against Belgium, although apparently aggressive, was in reality + defensive. There was a further question for Italy—what would happen + to her if she decided against her Allies? She did decide against them, + thereby giving the lie direct to the Harnacks, Hauptmanns, Ballins, and + von Bülows who had been telling the neutral nations that the war had been + forced upon Germany. By all the laws of nations Germany and Austria ought + then, if they had honestly believed their own story, to have declared war + on Italy. They preferred to wheedle her, to try to buy her, bribe her, + corrupt her, body and soul. + </p> + <p> + They failed. After flooding the peninsula with lying literature, directed + chiefly against ourselves, Germany sent back to the Italian capital its + most astute statesman, who was married to a much-admired Italian woman. It + was all in vain. Italy knew her own mind and had made reckoning with her + own heart. She had begun with contempt for the nation which could invade + Serbia, under the pretence of avenging the murder of the Archduke + Ferdinand, and with loathing for the other nation which could violate + Belgium after it had sworn to protect her, and now she went on to hatred + and horror of the perpetrators of the outrages in Liège, in Louvain, and + in Rheims, that were scorching men’s eyes in the name of war. + </p> + <p> + Still, Italy, although separating herself from her former allies, was not + yet taking sides against them. Why? If their war was an aggressive and + unjustifiable one, why could not Italy say so at once with her sword as + well as her pen? There was a period of uncertainty, impatience, even of + misunderstanding among her own people. Whispers reached them that their + King had said (he never had) that he had given his “kingly word” for it + that if Italy could not fight with her former friends she should not fight + against them. This was a blow to Italian aspirations, for Victor Emmanuel + III is the best-beloved man in Italy, the father of his people, whose + heads would bow before his will even though their hearts were torn. + </p> + <p> + Then came negotiations with Austria about the restoration of provinces + which had once belonged to Italy and were still inhabited by Italians. It + looked like paltering and peddling, like sale and barter. The people were + losing patience; they thought time was being wasted. Beyond the Alps men + were dying for liberty in a mighty struggle against the worst tyranny that + had ever threatened the world, yet Italy was doing nothing. + </p> + <p> + But the people did not know all. Even then their country was already at + war within the limits of her own frontier—silently in her tailors’ + workshops, where uniforms were being sewn for the immense army she was + soon to call into the field, audibly in the forges of Milan and Terni, + where vast quantities of munitions were being hammered out for a long + campaign. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HOW THE WAR ENTERED ITALY + </h2> + <p> + Then, by one of the most vivid, if pathetic, of the flashes as of + lightning that have shown us the drama of the past 365 days, we saw the + actual war come to Italy. It came in a profoundly impressive form—the + dead body of young Bruno Garibaldi, grandson of the Liberator. Fighting + for France, Bruno had fallen in a gallant charge at the front, and his + brother, who was by his side, had carried his body out of the trenches and + brought it home. We who know Rome do not need to be told how it was + received there. We can see the dense mass of uncovered heads in the Piazza + delle Terme, stretching from the doors of the railway station to the + bronze fountain at the top of the Via Nazionale, and we can hear the deep + swell of the Garibaldian hymn, which comes like a challenge as well as a + moan from 50,000 throats. Not for the first time was a dead Garibaldi + being borne through the streets of Rome, and those of us who remembered + the earlier day knew well that with the body of this Italian boy the war + had entered Italy. + </p> + <p> + Then, at a crisis in Italy’s internal government, our enemy, having failed + to buy, bribe, or corrupt Italy, began to threaten her. Out of the + delirium of his intoxicated conscience, which no longer shrank from crime, + he told Italy that if she dared to break her neutrality her fate should be + as the fate of Belgium. That frightened some of us for a moment. We + thought of Venice, of Florence, of Assisi, of Subiaco, of Naples, and of + Rome, and, remembering the methods by which Germany was beating and + bludgeoning her way through the war, our hearts trembled and thrilled at a + dreadful vision of the lovely and beloved Italian land under the heel of a + ruthless aggressor—of the destruction of the history of Christendom + as it had been written by great artists on canvas and by great architects + in stone through the long calendar of nearly two thousand years. But we + also thought of Savoy, of Palestro, of Cas-ale, of Caprera, and of “Roma o + morte,” and told ourselves that, come what might, victory or defeat, the + children of Victor Emmanuel III would never allow themselves to buy the + ease and safety of their bodies by the corruption and degradation of their + souls. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ITALIAN SOUL + </h2> + <p> + That was the great and awful hour when Italy stood on the threshold of her + fate; but though Great Britain’s heart was bleeding from the sacrifices + she had already made, and had still to make, and though Italy’s + intervention meant so much to us, we did not feel that we had a right to + ask for it. And neither was it necessary that we should do so. The treaty + that bound Italy to England was not written on a scrap of paper. It was in + our blood, born of our devotion to humanity, to justice, to liberty, and + to the memory of our great men. Therefore, with the world in arms about + her, let Italy do what she thought best for herself, and the bond between + us would not be broken! + </p> + <p> + How the sequel has justified our faith! And when the great hour struck at + last, after ten months of suspense, and Italy—ready, fully equipped, + united—found the voice with which she proclaimed war, what a voice + it was! Eloquent voices she had had throughout, in her Press as well as in + her legislative chambers—Morelli’s, Barzini’s, Albertini’s, + Malagodi’s, not to speak of Sartorio’s, Ferrero’s, Annie Vivantes, and + many more—but it quickens my pulse to remember that it was the voice + of a poet which at the final moment was to speak for the Italian soul. + </p> + <p> + Friends newly arrived from Italy tell me that not even in Rome (where one + always feels as if one were living on the borderland of the old world and + the new, with thousands of years behind and thousands of years in front) + can anybody remember anything so moving as the substance and the reception + of Gabriele d’Annunzio’s speech from the balcony of the Hotel Regina. We + can well imagine it. The spirit of Time itself could have found no greater + scene, no more thrilling moment. The broad highway on the breast of the + hill going up to the Porta Pinciana, faced by the palace of the Queen + Mother and flanked by the gardens of the Capuchin monastery, with the + Colosseum, the Capitol and the Forum almost visible to the right—what + a theatre to speak in! + </p> + <p> + There were 5000 persons below, all “Romans of Rome,” and the Queen Mother + was on her balcony. But the orator was worthy of his audience, and his + theme. He had the past for his prologue, and the future for his epilogue. + Cæsar, Brutus, Cicero, the story of the old oppression from which the + world had freed itself after agelong tribulation, and then a picture of + the new tyranny that was sweeping down from across the Rhine. What wonder + if the warm-hearted Roman populace, to whom patriotism is a religion, were + carried away by an appeal which seemed to come to them with the voice of + Dante, Mazzini, Carducci, and Garibaldi from the very earth beneath their + feet! + </p> + <p> + So on May 20,1915, knowing well what the terrors of war were, and how + remote the prospects of early victory, Italy took her place in arms by the + side of the Allies. And now the heart of old Rome, so long perturbed, is + tranquil. With heroic confidence she relies on her brave sons, led by her + dauntless King, to justify her. And when she hears the truculent boast of + our enemy that after he has disposed of Russia, he will destroy Italy as a + power in Europe, she answers calmly, “Yes, when the last Roman capable of + bearing arms lies dead in Roman soil—perhaps then, but not sooner.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0051" id="link2H_4_0051"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PART PLAYED BY THE NEUTRAL NATIONS + </h2> + <p> + And then the neutral countries—what is the part which they have + played in the drama of the past 365 days? I think I may fairly claim to + have had better opportunities than most people for studying one aspect of + it, its moral aspect, and therefore I trust I may be forgiven if I make a + personal reference. Seeing, in the earliest days of the war, that Germany + was doing her best to divert the eye of the world from the crime she had + committed in Belgium, and being convinced that Britain’s hope both now and + in the future lay in keeping the world’s eye fixed on that outrage, I + moved the proprietors of the <i>Daily Telegraph</i> to the publication of + “King Albert’s Book.” + </p> + <p> + What that great book was it must be quite unnecessary to say, but it may + be permitted to the editor to claim that it constituted the first (as it + may well be the final) impeachment of the Kaiser before the bar of the + nations for a crime in Belgium as revolting as that of Frederick the Great + in Silesia and a thousandfold more fatal. After the publication of “King + Albert’s Book,” Germany knew that before the tribunal of the civilized + world she stood tried and condemned. But though representative men and + women in thirteen different countries united within the covers of the + historic volume to express their abhorrence of Germany’s iniquity, the + whole weight of the world’s condemnation could not be included. + </p> + <p> + From many of the neutral nations there came pathetic cries of inability to + join in the general protest. Famous men wrote that the neutrality of their + countries imposed upon them the duty and the penalty of silence. “My + brother is a member of our Government,” wrote one illustrious man of + letters, “and if I am not to get him into trouble I must hold my tongue.” + Another, whose German name, if it could be published, would carry weight + throughout the world, said: “I know where my sympathy lies, and so do you, + but I dare not speak, for I am a German-born subject, and to tell what is + in my mind would be treason to my country.” This message came from a + remote place in Spain, the writer having been compelled to fly from + France, because his blood was German, while unable to take refuge in + Germany because his heart was French. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0052" id="link2H_4_0052"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PART PLAYED BY THE UNITED STATES + </h2> + <p> + Perhaps the most tragic of these vistas of the sufferings of great souls + in neutral countries came from the United States. Profoundly affecting + were nearly all President Wilson’s public utterances, even when, as + sometimes occurred, our sympathy could not follow them. And certainly one + of the most vivid of the flashes as of lightning, whereby we have seen the + war in its moral aspect, was that which showed us the United States, at + his proclamation, arresting for a whole day, on October 4, 1914, the + immense and tumultuous activities of her vast continent in order to + intercede with the Almighty to vouchsafe healing peace to His striving + children. + </p> + <p> + It was a great and impressive spectacle. As I think of it I seem to feel + the quieting of the headlong thoroughfares of Chicago, the hushing of the + thud and drum of the overhead railways in New York, and then the slow + ringing of the bells in the square tower of that old Puritan Church in + Boston—all calm and peaceful now as a New England village on Sunday + morning. + </p> + <p> + But truth to tell we of the belligerent countries were not deeply moved or + comforted by America’s prayers. We thought our cause was that of humanity, + and the sure way to establish it was by protest as well as prayer. We did + not ask or desire that America should take up arms by our side. We did not + wish to enlarge the area of the conflict that was deluging Europe in + blood. Confident in the justice of our cause, we thought we knew that by + the help of the Lord of Hosts, and by the strength of His stretched-out + arm, the forces of the Allies would be sufficient for themselves. Neither + did we wish to make a parade of our wounds to excite America’s pity. With + all our souls we believed that for every drop of innocent blood that was + being shed outside the recognized area of battle the Avenger of blood + would yet exact an awful penalty. But when humanity was being openly + outraged, and conventions to which America had set her seal were being + flagrantly violated, we thought, with Mr. Roosevelt, that it was the duty + of the United States, as a Christian country, to step in with the + expression of her deep and just indignation. + </p> + <p> + America was long in doing that. But, thank God, she did it at last, and + for the courage and strength of the Notes which President Wilson (speaking + with a voice that is no unworthy echo of the great one that spoke at + Gettysburg) has lately sent to Germany on the sinking of the <i>Lusitania</i>, + and the outrage thereby committed on the laws of justice and humanity, + which are immutable, the whole civilized world (outside the countries of + our enemies) now salutes the United States in respect and reverence. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0053" id="link2H_4_0053"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE THUNDERCLAP THAT FELL ON ENGLAND + </h2> + <p> + Among the flashes as of lightning that revealed to us the drama of the + past 365 days, some of the most vivid were those that lit up the condition + at home towards the end of Spring. The war had been going on ten months + when it fell on our ears like a thunderclap that all was not well with us + in England. In the ominous unrest that followed there was danger of + serious division, with the risk of a breakdown in that national unity + without which there could be no true strength. The result was a Coalition + Government, uniting all the parties save one, followed by an appeal to the + patriotism of the people through their purse. + </p> + <p> + Never before had Great Britain witnessed such a response to her call. The + first Cabinet in England that aimed at coalition had broken down in + personal corruption, but the Cabinet now called into being was beyond the + suspicion of even party interest. The first appeal to the purse of the + British people had yielded one hundred and thirty millions in a year, but + the appeal now made yielded six hundred millions in a month. It was almost + as if Great Britain had ceased to be a nation and become a family. + </p> + <p> + Nor did the industries of the country, in spite of the lure of drink and + the temptation to strikes, fall behind the spirit of the people. At the + darkest moment of our inquietude the call of health took me for a tour in + a motor-car over fifteen hundred miles of England, and though my journey + lay through three or four of the least industrial and most placid of our + counties, I found evidences of effort on every hand, The high roads were + the track of marching armies of men in training; the broad moors were + armed camps; the little towns were recruiting stations or depots for + wagons of war; the land lay empty of workers with the hay crop still + standing for want of hands to cut it, and the villages seemed to be + deserted save by little children and the feeble, old men, who had nothing + left to do but to wait for death. + </p> + <p> + The voice of the great war had been heard everywhere. From the remote + hamlet of Clovelly the young men of the lifeboat crew had left for the + front, and if the call of the sea came now it would have to be answered by + sailors over sixty. In Barnstaple two large boardings on the face of a + public building recorded in golden letters the names of the townsmen who + had joined the colours. In every little shop window along the high road to + Bath there were portraits of the King, Kitchener, Jellicoe, French, and + Joffre, flanked sometimes by pictures of poor, burnt and blackened + Belgium. + </p> + <p> + On the edge of Dartmoor, in Drake’s old town, Tavistock, I saw a thrilling + sight—thrilling yet simple and quite familiar. Eight hundred men + were leaving for France. In the cool of the evening they drew up with + their band, four square in the market-place under the grey walls of the + parish church, a thousand years old. The men of a regiment remaining + behind had come to see their comrades off, bringing their own band with + them. For a short half-hour the two bands played alternately, “Tipperary,” + “Fall In,” “We Don’t want to Lose You,” and all the other homely but + stirring ditties with which Tommy has cheered his soul. The open windows + round the square were full of faces, the balconies were crowded, and some + of the townspeople were perched on the housetops. Suddenly the church + clock struck eight, the hour for departure; a bugle sounded; a loud voice + gave the word of command like a shot out of a musket; it was repeated by a + score of other sharp voices running down the line, and then the two bands, + and the men, and all the people in the windows, on the balconies and on + the roofs (except such of us as had choking throats) played and sang “For + Auld Lang Syne.” Was the spirit of our mighty old Drake in his Tavistock + town that day? + </p> + <p> + “Come on, gentlemen, there’s time to finish the game, and beat the + Spaniards, too!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0054" id="link2H_4_0054"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A GLIMPSE OP THE KING’S SON + </h2> + <p> + One glimpse at the end of my little motor tour seemed to send a flash of + light through the drama of the past 365 days. It was of our young Prince + of Wales, home for a short holiday from the front. I had seen the King’s + son only once before—at his investiture in Carnarvon Castle. How + long ago that seemed! In actual truth “no human creature dreamt of war” + that day, although the shadow of it was even then hanging over our heads. + </p> + <p> + Some of us who have witnessed most of the great pageants of the world + thought we had never seen the like of that spectacle—the grey old + ruins, roofless and partly clothed by lichen and moss, the vast multitude + of spectators, the brilliant sunshine, the booming of the guns from the + warships in the bay outside, the screaming of the seagulls overhead, the + massed Welsh choirs singing “Land of my Fathers,” and, above all, the boy + of eighteen, beautiful as a fairy prince in his blue costume, walking hand + in hand between the King and Queen to be presented to his people at the + castle gate. + </p> + <p> + And now he was home for a little while from that blackened waste across + the sea, which had been trodden into desolation under the heel of a + ruthless aggressor and was still shrieking as with the screams of hell. He + had gone there willingly, eagerly, enthusiastically, doing the work and + sharing the risk of every other soldier of the King, and he would go back, + in another few days, although he had more to lose by going than any other + young man on the battle-front—a throne. + </p> + <p> + But if he lives to ascend it he will have his reward. England will not + forget. + </p> + <p> + When we hear people say that Great Britain is not yet awake to the fact + that she is at war I wonder where they keep their eyes. If I had been a + Rip Van Winkle, suddenly awakened after twenty years of sleep, or yet an + inhabitant of Mars dropped down on our part of this planet, I think I + should have known in any five minutes of any day since August 5, 1914, + that Great Britain was at war. Such a spirit has never breathed through + our Empire during my time, or yet through any other empire of which I have + any knowledge. Everybody, or almost everybody, doing something for + England, and few or none idle who are of military age except such as have + heavy burdens or secret disabilities into which I dare not pry. + </p> + <p> + It is not alone in Flanders or on the North Sea that our country’s battle + is being fought, and when I think I hear the hammering on ten thousand + anvils in the forges of Woolwich, Newcastle, and Glasgow, and the thud of + picks in the coal and iron mines of Cardiff, Wigan, and Cleator Moor, + where hundreds of thousands of men are working long shifts day and night, + half-naked under the fierce heat of furnaces, sometimes half choked by the + escaping fumes of fire-damp, I tell myself it is not for me, too old for + active service and only able to use a pen, to dishonour England, and her + Empire, in the presence of her Allies, or weaken her in the face of her + enemies, by one word of complaint against the young manhood of my country. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0055" id="link2H_4_0055"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PART PLAYED BY WOMAN + </h2> + <p> + The latest and perhaps the most vivid of the flashes as of lightning which + have revealed the drama of the past 365 days has shown us the part played + by woman. What a part that has been! Nearly always in the histories of the + great world-wars of the past the sympathy of the spectator has been more + or less diverted from the unrecorded martyrdom of the myriads of forgotten + women who have lost sons and husbands by the machinations of the few vain + and selfish women who have governed continents by playing upon the + passions of men. Thank God, there has been nothing of that kind in this + case. On the contrary, woman’s part in this red year of the war has been + one of purity, sacrifice, and undivided glory. + </p> + <p> + Towards the end of it we saw a procession through the streets of London of + 30,000 women who had come out to ask for the right to serve the State. I + do not envy the man who, having eyes to see, a heart to feel, and a mind + to comprehend, was able to look on that sight unmoved. Every class of + woman was represented there, the gently-born, the educated, and the + tenderly-nurtured, as well as the humbly-born, the uneducated, and the + heavily-burdened, the woman with the delicate, spiritual face, as well as + the woman with the face hardened by toil. And they were marching together, + side by side, with all the barriers broken down. It was not so much a + procession of British women as a demonstration of British womanhood, and + it seemed to say, “We hate war as no man can ever hate it, but it has been + forced upon us all, so we, too, want to take our share in it.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0056" id="link2H_4_0056"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WORD OF WOMAN + </h2> + <p> + But long before July 17, 1915, woman’s part in this war began. It began on + August 5, 1914, when the first hundred thousand of our voluntary army + sprang into being as by a miracle. The miracle (if I am asked to account + for it) had its origin in the word of woman. Without that word we should + have had no Kitchener’s Army, for “on the decision of the women, above + everything else, lay the issues of the men’s choice.” {*} + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * The Times. +</pre> + <p> + It needs little imagination to lift, as it were, the roofs off a hundred + homes, and see and hear what was going on there in those early days of the + war, after the clear call went out over England, “Your King and Country + need you.” + </p> + <p> + In the little house of a City clerk, married only a year before, the young + wife is saying, “Yes, I think you ought to go, dear. It’s rather a pity, + so soon after the boy was born... just as you were expecting a rise, too, + and we were going to move into that nice cottage in the garden suburb. + But, then, it will be all for the best, and you mustn’t think of me.” + </p> + <p> + Or perhaps it is early morning in the flat of a young lawyer on the day he + has to leave for the front. He is dressed in his khaki, and his wife, who + is busying about his breakfast, is rising to a sublime but heartbreaking + cheerfulness for the last farewell. “Nearly time for you to go, Robert, if + you are to get to the barracks by six.... Betty? Oh, no, pity to waken + her. I’ll kiss her for you when she awakes and say daddy promised to bring + her a dolly from France.... Crying? Of course not I Why should I be + crying?... Good-bye then I Good-bye!...” + </p> + <p> + Or perhaps it is evening in a great house in Belgravia, and Lady Somebody + is saying adieu to her son. How well she remembers the day he was born! It + was in May. The blossom was out on the lilacs in the square, and all the + windows were open. How happy she had been! He had a long fever, too, when + he was a child, and for three days Death had hovered over their house. How + she had prayed that the dread shadow would pass away! It did, and now that + her boy has grown to be a man he comes to her in his officer’s uniform to + say,... Ah, these partings! They are really the death-hours of their dear + ones, and the women know it, although, like Andromache, they go on + “smiling through their tears.” + </p> + <p> + With what brave and silent hearts they face the sequel too! The mother of + Sub-Lieutenant So-and-So receives letters from him nearly every other + week. Such cheerful little pencil scribblings! “Dearest Mother, I have a + jolly comfortable dug-out now—three planks and a truss of straw, and + I sleep on it like a top.” Or, perhaps, “You see they have sent me back to + the Base after six weeks under fire, and now I have a real, <i>real</i> + room, and a real, <i>real</i> bed!” The dear old darling! She puts her + precious letters on the mantelpiece for everybody to see, and laughs over + them all day long. But when night comes, and she is winding the clock + before going upstairs, thinking of the boy who not so long ago used to + sleep on her knees.... “Ah, me!” + </p> + <p> + And then the final trial, the last tragic test—the women are equal + to that also. First, the letter in the large envelope from the War Office: + “Dear Madam, the Secretary of State regrets to inform you that Lieutenant + So-and-So is reported killed in action on... Lord Kitchener begs to offer + you...” And then, a little later, from the royal palace: “The King and + Queen send you their most sincere....” Oh, if she could only go out to the + place where they have laid... But then the Lord will know where to find + His Own! + </p> + <p> + Somebody in Paris said the other day, “No one will ever make our women cry + any, more—after the war.” All the springs of their tears will be + dry. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0057" id="link2H_4_0057"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE NEW SCARLET LETTER + </h2> + <p> + It is brave in a man to face death on the battlefield, instantaneous + death, or, what is worse, death after long suffering, after lying between + trenches, perhaps, on the “no-man’s ground” which neither friend nor foe + can reach, grasping the earth in agony, seeing the dark night coming on, + and then dying in the cold shiver of the dawn. Yes, it is brave in a man + to face death like that. But perhaps it is even braver in a woman to face + life, with three or four fatherless children to provide for, on nothing + but the charity of the State. Then battle is in the blood of man, and the + heroic part falls to him by right, but it is not in the blood of woman, + who shrinks from it and loathes it, and yet such is her nature, the fine + and subtle mystery of it, that she flies to the scene of suffering with a + bravery which far out-strips that of the man-at-arms. + </p> + <p> + On the breasts that have borne tens of thousands of the sons who have + fallen in this war the Red Cross is now enshrined. It is the new scarlet + letter—the badge not of shame, but glory. And “through the rolling + of the drums” and the thundering of the guns a voice comes to us in this + year of service and sacrifice whose message no one can mistake. Woman, who + faces death every time she brings a man-child into the world, must + henceforth know what is to be done with him. It is her right, her natural + right, and the part she has taken in this war has proved it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0058" id="link2H_4_0058"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AND... AFTER? + </h2> + <p> + Such is the drama of the war as I have seen it. How far it has gone, when + it will close and the curtain fall on it none of us can say. With five + millions already dead, twice as many wounded, one kingdom in ruins, + another desolate from disease, the larger part of Europe under arms, civil + life paralysed, social existence overshadowed by a mourning that enters + into nearly every household; with a war still in progress compared with + which all other wars sink into insignificance; with a public debt which + Pitt, Fox, and Burke (who thought £240,000,000 frightful) would have + considered certain to sink the ship of State; with taxation such as our + fathers never conceived possible—what will be our condition when + this hideous war comes to an end? + </p> + <p> + It is dangerous to prophesy, but, as far as we can judge, the least of the + results will be that we shall all be poorer; that great fortunes will have + diminished and vast enterprises disappeared; that what remains of our + savings will have a different value; that some of us who thought we had + earned our rest will have to go on working; that the industrial classes + will have a time of privation; and that (most touching of human tragedies) + the old and helpless and dependent among the very poor will more than ever + feel themselves to be in the way, filling the beds and eating the bread of + the children. + </p> + <p> + Yet none can say. It is one of the paradoxes of history that after the + longest and most exhausting wars the accumulation of the largest national + debts and the imposition of the heaviest taxations, nations have rapidly + become rich. Although 1817 was a time of extreme distress in these + islands, England prospered after the Napoleonic wars. Although 1871 was a + time of fierce trial in Paris, yet France recovered herself quickly after + the war with Germany. And though the Civil War in America left poverty in + its immediate trail, the United States have since amassed boundless + wealth. + </p> + <p> + So do the nations, generation after generation, renew their strength even + after the most prolonged campaigns. But beyond the economic loss there + will in this case be the physical loss of ten millions, perhaps, of the + young manhood of Europe dead, and ten other millions permanently disabled, + with all the injury to the race thereby resulting; and beyond the physical + loss there will be the intellectual loss in the ruthless destruction of + those ancient monuments which had linked us with the past; and beyond the + intellectual loss there will be the moral loss in the uprooting of that + sympathy of nation with nation which had seemed to unite us with the + future. As a consequence of this war a great part of Europe will be closed + to some of us for the rest of our natural lives, and the world will + contain more than a hundred millions fewer of our fellow-creatures in + whose welfare we shall take joy. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0059" id="link2H_4_0059"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WAR’S SPIRITUAL COMPENSATIONS + </h2> + <p> + But, thank God, there is another side to the picture, both for young and + old. If we are to be poorer we shall be more free. If we are to be weak + and faint from loss of blood we shall rest at night without dread of that + shadow of the sword which has darkened the sleep of humanity for forty + years. If the countries of our enemies are to be closed to some of us in + the future, the countries of our Allies will be more than ever open; nay, + they will be almost the same to us as our own. France will be our France, + Italy our Italy, Belgium our Belgium, and the next time I, for one, sit by + the stove in the log cabin of a Russian moujik on the Steppes, I shall + feel as if I were in the thatched cottage of one of my own people in our + little island in the Irish Sea. So does blood shed in a common cause break + down the barriers of race and language and bind together the children of + one Father. The dead of our Allies become our dead, and our dead theirs. + That Frenchman died to save my son; therefore he is my brother, and France + is my country. “One’s country is the place where they lie whom we loved.” + </p> + <p> + Thus war, brutal, barbarous war, has its spiritual compensations, and pray + heaven the present one may prove to have more than any other. If it does + not, something will break in us after all we have gone through. Our faith + in the invisible powers to bring a good end out of all this welter of + blood and destruction has become a religion. It must not fail us if our + souls are to live. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0060" id="link2H_4_0060"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LET US PRAY FOR VICTORY + </h2> + <p> + “It is good to pray for peace, but it is better to pray for justice. It is + better to pray for liberty. It is better to pray for the triumph of the + right, for the victory of human freedom.” {*} + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * New York Times. +</pre> + <p> + Then let us pray for victory over our enemies, having no qualms, no shame, + and no remorse. We know that Christ pronounced a death sentence on war, + and that as soon as Christianity shall have established an ascendancy war + will cease. But if anybody tells us in the meantime that by Christ’s law + we are to stand aside while a strong Power, which is in the wrong, + inflicts frightful cruelties upon a weak Power which is in the right, let + us answer that we simply don’t believe it. If anybody tells us that by + Christ’s law we are to permit ourselves to be trodden upon and trampled + out of being by an empire resting on violence, let us answer that we + simply don’t believe it. If anybody tells us that by Christ’s law we are + not to oppose the gigantic ambition of a “War Lord” who claims Divine + right to stalk over Europe in scenes of blood, rapacity, and impurity, let + us answer that we simply don’t believe it. If anybody tells us that + Christ’s words, “Resist not evil,” were intended to say that spiritual + forces will of themselves overcome all forms of war (including, as they + needs must, crime, disease, and death) let us answer that we simply don’t + believe it. + </p> + <p> + Such a clumsy and dangerous interpretation of Christ’s doctrine would put + an end to government, to science, and to literature, and allow the worst + elements of human nature to rule the world. It would also put Christianity + on the scrap-heap—Christianity “with its benevolent morality, its + exquisite adaptation to the needs of human life, the consolation it brings + to the house of mourning and the light with which it brightens the mystery + of the grave.” {*} + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + *Macaulay. +</pre> + <p> + God forbid that the very least of us should say one word that would + prolong the horrors of this terrible war. But it is just because we hate + war that at the end of these 365 days we still think we must carry it on. + It is just because our hearts are bleeding from the sacrifices we have + made, and have still to make, that we feel they must be compelled to + bleed. + </p> + <p> + Let us, then, pray with all the fervour of our souls for Belgium, for + Poland, for Italy, for Russia, for France, but above all, for our own + beloved country, mother of nations, mother, too, of some of the bravest + and best yet born on to the earth, that as long as there remains one man + or woman of British blood above British soil this England and her Empire + may be ours—ours and our children’s. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Drama Of Three Hundred & +Sixty-Five Days, by Hall Caine + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DRAMA OF 365 DAYS *** + +***** This file should be named 25573-h.htm or 25573-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/5/7/25573/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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