I do not in the least wish to suggest that there has been little kindness on this side and much on the other. I am simply trying to restore the balance. So far (as is usual in war-time) the game of hatred has been played with loaded dice. Let us welcome kindness everywhere.

Here, then, is a different kind of story from one of the Friends'

reports:

A young man, smart and erect three months ago when he was in employment, intelligent, speaks and writes four languages, with excellent references, now but a sad wreck, wants to go to South Africa, where he has friends, but, alas! the permit is refused-has written abroad to his father, who is in a good position, for money, but it takes so long to get a reply. His English landlady, though poor, "has been so kind," he had his last dinner three days ago from her. We give temporary help, but if this money does not come before January 1 he will have to go into camp. Quite willing to do so, "but can we not give his poor landlady something?"

The kind landladies and other kind hearts exist, thank G.o.d, on both sides.[68] To enquire on which side there are most would (even if we could do so without bias) probably be profitless. The important point is that the kind hearts on the other side are there, and that a brotherhood of blessing will help the world more than a brotherhood of revenge-if, indeed, this last could be any brotherhood at all.

Miss G. H. writes: "I am particularly anxious to do something for interned Germans. For four months of the war I was in Germany with my mother, sister, nephew and niece, and we were all most kindly treated and helped in every possible way both by friends, by my lawyer, my banker and the neighbouring peasants. Also by all the guards and waiters along our journey on November 21. Friends, peasants, and my lawyer are still looking after my property in Germany, and I have left everything in the hands of a neighbouring peasant, who sends me accounts of it. I would like to be able to do some kind acts here in return, and for the furtherance of better relationships later on." Yet it can never be pleasant to be in an "enemy" country. Miss H. writes further: "In spite of having such unspeakable sympathy, really understanding sympathy, shown me by not only friends, but the common people-though I hardly like using this term, as no one with so much fellow feeling could really be termed common-in spite of this kindness, I know so well how one can suffer. Over there _we_ are looked upon in the same way that Germans are looked upon here, as quite outside the pale of common morality. Fully realising what this must mean for me, these kindly Germans would go off into a day dream of wonderment as to how _they_ might feel in a similar plight, and one ended up with the reflection, 'Ja, es ist halt jetzt die Zeit der Martyrer' (it is indeed the time of the martyrs once more)."

Surely there is something strangely poignant about the convinced and steadfast martyrdom and self-sacrifice of both sides. Surely the peoples who can thus offer themselves in destroying each other must both have n.o.ble gifts to give together one day in a n.o.bler cause.

The following is from the _Nation_ (Jan. 19, 1918):

A clergyman sends me the following. I think it best to publish the story as it stands:-

"Some years before the outbreak of war there lived in a certain German town, now frequently raided by air squadrons, an old Englishwoman. She was a semi-invalid; difficult and cantankerous. Subject to illusions, she imagined that the good nuns, who received her as an unremunerative paying guest, were in league against her mangy, but beloved dog. Yet both she and her dog continued to receive the half-humorous tolerance of their benefactors.

"Then came the 4th of August, 1914, and Miss X. pa.s.sed into the mists of war.

"A year later she emerged from the mists.

"A letter came, forwarded through a neutral in Switzerland; but the letter was not from the pen of Miss X. It had been dictated.

Briefly, it said: 'I am bed-ridden and almost blind. I have hardly anything to live upon; and the Germans will not let me go.'

"Certain details were added which clearly established ident.i.ty to the recipient of the letter. There followed, on the same sheet of paper, and in the same handwriting, a postscript: 'Sir, I have taken this poor Englishwoman into my house. How can she live on 10 marks a month?

Yours, Fraulein ...'

"Intervened the British Foreign Office and the American Emba.s.sy. Then came another letter: 'Sir, your efforts have not been in vain....

Fraulein ...'

"But that is not the end of this incident of war. 'Hate.' had still its 'uses.'

"'Sir. I thank you for your good letter and your very kind question. All is paid, hospital and funeral. There were 30 marks left to have the grave a little arranged.

Fraulein ...'"

My correspondent adds the following comment: "I was an enemy, and ye took me in."

In Vienna newspapers there were in 1915 many advertis.e.m.e.nts in which French, English, and Russian natives offer their services as teachers, thus:

London Lady (Diploma) gives lessons.-L. Balman, VI Bez.

Gumpendorferstra.s.se 5, Th. 14.

Frenchman and Frenchwoman give instruction in French.-VIII, Lerchenga.s.se 10.

An Irishwoman, brought up in England, gives lessons.-Letters to Miss Morris.

Such advertis.e.m.e.nts, we learn from the _International Review_ of July, 1915, appear daily in Vienna.

From _Die Hilfe_, June 22, 1915: "in a weekly concert in Noyon the collaborators were Prof. Riviere, Sergeant Bonhoff, and Director Gunzel.

The performance of the Frenchman from an organ composition of his own was most effective." There are, of course, also exhibitions of narrow-mindedness. In Halle the police forbade a performance because one of those who took part was an "enemy alien." (_Vorwarts_, June 1, 1915.) On the other hand, when some Italian musicians complained of unjust dismissal, the court awarded them damages of 700 marks. The _Volksstimme_, of Frankfurt a.M., June 8, 1915, writing of Italy, deprecates any hatred of Italians. As soon as the responsible authorities had decided on war, obedience was the duty of each Italian citizen, just as of each German.[69] This outspoken deference to "responsible authority" is characteristically German, but the doctrine is here applied with great fairness. Some of our militarists apply it less fairly. And, alas, when the Italian _Avanti_ published an article "Against the Blunders of International Hate," the wisdom of the Censor caused it to be largely blanked out. The Censors seem to have strict orders to keep us hating each other.[70]

BROTHERHOOD AGAIN.

And yet-"We picked up sc.r.a.ppily the hint, however, that 'some of the Germans were all right.'" This from an article in the _Times_ on a homecomer from the front. With unconscious self-revelation the writer adds: "That somehow sounds depressing. One has heard the opposite." Just so, it is disconcerting and depressing to have it suggested that the enemy is a man very much like ourselves; it injures our feeling of superiority. We "confess" any favourable impression of him as if it were a fault of our own. A correspondent of the _Pet.i.t Parisien_ tells of the capture of a German officer of Hussars, near Arras. "I confess," he says, "that the impression he produced was rather favourable than otherwise." (_Daily Telegraph_, June 11, 1915.)

With others the confession is less reluctant.

There's one spot in Ploegsteert Wood that German sh.e.l.ls ought never to reach. It's a grave with a carefully made wooden cross on it, and the lettering says:

"Here lie two gallant German officers."

"That's rather unexpected," said a civilian who was with us.

"But they were brave," said the major. "The Germans aren't always so bad. Five officers from my regiment were missing one time, and we never even expected to find their bodies. But when we drove the Germans back we found a grave on which was marked: 'Here lie five brave English officers.' We identified them all, and their bodies were taken back to England."

We followed another sidewalk and came to a huge mound covered with yellow flowers, which had been planted by the English soldiers. On a neatly made cross at the head of the mound an English soldier had patiently printed the words: "Here lie seventeen German soldiers."

There wasn't an English grave in Ploegsteert Wood that was better tended or more heavily beflowered than these mounds of fallen Germans.-Mr. W. G. SHEPHERD, Special Correspondent of the United Press.

_Daily News_, June 1, 1915.

If all the episodes of this action were recorded they would make a long as well as a grim narrative revealing the ghastliness, the wild pa.s.sion, the self-sacrifice, and the cool cunning of such an hour or two of modern war.

Some of the tales of the men would have been incredible except that I heard them from soldiers who told the truth that lives on the lips of men who have seen very close into the face of death.

It is, for instance, difficult to believe-yet true-that amidst all this tumult and terror of noise one German prisoner was taken as he sat very calmly in his dug-out reading a book of religious meditations through gold-rimmed spectacles. Perhaps it was the man-I only guess-in whose pocket-book was found a letter to his wife saying, "The position here is h.e.l.lish, and death is certain. I only pray that it may come soon."

_Daily Telegraph_, August 16, 1915.

From Belfort in September came the report: "A German aviator this morning flew over Belfort, dropping a wreath on the spot where Pegoud was killed. The following inscription was placed on the wreath: 'To Pegoud, who dies a hero. (Signed) His Adversary.'"

The following is from the _Daily News_ of October 9, 1915:

The parents of a Lance-Corporal in a Highland regiment who was killed in the recent fighting have received particulars about their son's death from a German lady in Frankfurt-on-Main.

The lady's eldest brother was killed last year near Ypres and she knows, she says, how glad they were to receive any details of his death. Another brother, who is an officer in the German army, had written from the front, begging her to inform the dead soldier's relatives of his fate.

In her letter the lady says: "Although we are enemies, pain and mourning unite us. So thought my brother, too, for he wrote everything about your son he could find out. I am sure my brother and his comrades did all honour to their enemies."

The next extract is from the _Nation_ of November 13. 1915:

Soldiers are not reluctant to speak well of their foes. The officer son of a friend of mine relates that beyond his line of trenches is a German commemoration of a British advance in the shape of a carefully wrought cross, bearing the inscription: "Sacred to the memory of Lieutenants A-- and B-- of the Staffordshire Regiment, who died like heroes."

From a private letter: "What impresses one most are the graveyards. All these are beautifully kept, all the graves have been cared for, and no distinction has been drawn between German, English, and French, who lie side by side. 'Hier ruht ein tapferer Englander, gefallen im Luftkampf'

(Here lies a brave Englishman, fallen in the air fight), etc., etc."