Part 23 (1/2)
Again, ”On the whole the Germans behaved well at St. Quentin. Their rule was stern but just, and although the civil population had been put on rations of black bread, they got enough, and it was not, after all, so bad.” This testimony is the more noteworthy because, ”as one of the most important bases of the German Army in France the town was continually filled with troops of every regiment, who stayed a little while and then pa.s.sed on.” (Philip Gibbs, ”The Soul of the War,” p. 152.) It is a little startling to read some more that Mr. Gibbs has to say.
French-women were ready to sell themselves to German soldiers, and ”such outrageous scenes took place that the German order to close some of the cafes was hailed as a boon by the decent citizens, who saw the women expelled by order of the German commandant with enormous thankfulness.”
I am not so surprised at this now as when I first read it. An English soldier has since told me that the ”silliness” (as he called it) of women for soldiers leads them, in more cases than he could have imagined, to bestow themselves on either friend or enemy. Women with child had said to him quite proudly that it was by a German soldier!
From a private letter: ”One of the party is a French officer who tells the tale. After the Marne retreat he was crossing over the territory evacuated by the Germans, and made inquiry of the villagers who had housed the enemy, how they had been treated, what barbarities had been committed, and so forth. The villagers were surprised. The Germans had behaved like gentlemen, had paid for what they used, and had treated them with perfect courtesy. What, no looting? On the contrary, the German officer had a soldier shot for a very small act of pillage....
'We're soldiers, not robbers,' he said.” I cannot vouch for this story, but it gives just the same impression as the account given by Dr.
Scarlett-Synge (see pp. 149ff). It is also remarkably similar to experiences recounted by C. A. Winn (Baron Headley) who was with the Prussians in 1870. (”What I saw of the War,” p. 44.) When he himself had taken some vegetables from a garden, he was told by his officer friends that any sort of pillage was the ”greatest offence a friend of the Prussians could be guilty of.” And Mr. Winn speaks of ”the many instances of the remarkable efforts of the authorities of the Prussian army to prevent plunders by their soldiers.” It must be remembered that deliberate destruction for military reasons, or as punishment (carried out by all armies) is very different from theft. I do not for a moment suppose that this standard is always reached by the German armies. That it has often been aimed at is something to remember.
I may add here a rather interesting quotation from Colonel F. N. Maude's book, ”War and the World's Life.” On page 11 he writes: ”I do not suggest that life in the Prussian army has at any time been ideal, but I do a.s.sert, from personal knowledge, that relatively to their respective stages of civilisation the treatment of the Prussian soldier, since 1815, has at all times been fairer and more humane than in any other army. The fact is proved by the very high standard of discipline maintained, together with the extraordinary absence of military crime which has so long distinguished it.”
I am reminded, too, of one of the first experiences of a friend of mine in France. He reached a village through which the Uhlans had pa.s.sed. Had the inhabitants any complaints of their behaviour? None whatever.[62]
Their only indignation was directed against some English soldiers who (if their story be correct) had behaved abominably. It was a curious shock of reality for my friend. He realised that sometimes the enemy might behave well, and sometimes bad stories of English soldiers might be circulated (even amongst Allies). I am quite sure that no soldiers in the world would, in general, have more natural humanity than the British, and perhaps none would have as much. I contend only against the belief that one side is impeccable, and the other hopelessly barbarian.
FROM THE INTERNATIONAL REVIEW; A COMMON MEMORIAL.
Here are a few extracts from the _International Review_, a periodical published at Zurich, and with co-operators in Russia, Denmark, Germany, Austria, Italy, America, Great Britain. ”The yearning of human beings towards mutual understanding needs to-day a new organ for its expression.” Hence this review-a review naturally p.r.o.nounced pro-German by our Junker Press, since it presents, amongst other things, moderate statements of the German standpoint. The only internationalism which this Press can recognise is one that is exclusively English. So exactly, _mutatis mutandis_, do German and English chauvinism coincide. The extracts which follow are taken from the first number of the review.
”Under the t.i.tle, 'German-French Chivalry,' the _Volksstimme_, of Frankfurt a.M. (June 19, 1915), describes the dedication of a memorial to three thousand dead at Sedan on June 12. The leaders of the German army were present, and the French authorities officially shared in the proceedings. The short inscriptions on the simple monuments are in both French and German. They refer alike to the seventeen hundred French and the thirteen hundred Germans who fell on August 27 during the battle on the heights of Noyers.”
A STORY FROM FRANCE.
From _L'Action Francaise_, Paris (June 12, 1915), is cited a description of the poignancy of war, of which the following is a translation:
There had been a fierce fight in front of a fortress. Many dead lay on the ground, and a few wounded who were dying. In the night we heard weak cries, 'Kamerad, Kamerad!' We answered, thinking it was a German who wished to give himself up. The cries were repeated. We thought of treachery, and each took his stand in readiness. Suddenly, there came in pure French: 'Camerades Francais!' 'What is it?' 'A wounded man lies near you.' 'No.' 'Yes, in front of the trench.' 'We have just made a round, and found only dead.' 'Yes, but there _is_ a wounded man there who is calling. Can you not look for him?' 'No.' And then in the silence we hear again, 'Kamerad, Kamerad!' The German officer speaks again, very politely: 'French comrades, may we go to look for the wounded man?' An inflexible 'No' is the answer.
Is not some trick concealed under his apparent humanity and his persistence? 'Well, then,' calls the German again, 'go yourself and look; we shall not shoot.' Can we trust a German's word, after all that they have done? But there is no long delay. A man from Lille springs forward: 'All right, I will go to fetch him,'
he says. 'I will go with him,' I say to the Lieutenant. The leader of my squadron brings some others. The wounded man calls: 'Kamerad! Do not kill me!' We rea.s.sure him as to our intentions, and as he has a shattered hip we carry him to our lines, and on the way in spite of his suffering, he keeps on repeating with every kind of modulation, 'Good comrade.' He was a young man, scarcely eighteen years old, of the 205th Infantry.
I call to the enemy trenches: 'We have brought in one wounded man, are there any others there?' 'Yes. 20 metres further to the right.' We look round. 'There are none there, only dead.' 'Wait, we will give you some light.' A few words in German which we cannot understand. Will they simply shoot us down? Suddenly two splendid rockets go up: we can see as if it were midday. We are half a dozen marines and are standing twenty metres from the German trenches. On the other side of the wire entanglements an officer and men, behind the breastwork pointed helmets and caps.
All remains quiet. We look round carefully. 'Nothing. There are only corpses here. We are going back, you go back, too.' 'Merci, camerades francais!' calls the officer, and his men repeat the greeting of their superior. As soon as we are behind our breastwork our Lieutenant gives a command loud enough to be heard at sixty metres. 'In the air-Fire!' From over there once more, 'Thank you, comrades,' as answer to our salvo, and all falls back once more into the silence of the night; the work of death can go on again. But for this one night not a shot was heard around us.
How much sanity is there in a world that sets such men to kill each other, and eggs them on to hate?
GERMAN HELP OF ”ALIEN ENEMIES.”
In Germany (as already mentioned in Chap. IV.) is a 'Committee for advice and help to natives and foreigners in State and international affairs.' It deals with those of all nationalities, and one branch of it corresponds in many ways to the similar Emergency Committee in England for a.s.sistance of Germans, Austrians and Hungarians in distress.
What, however, is most striking is the number of cases of individual kindness shown by Germans to ”alien enemies.” The minds of many might be cleared on this subject if they would read a charming and unpretentious little book, ”An English Girl's Adventures in Hostile Germany,” by Mary Littlefair, published by John Long, Ltd. The auth.o.r.ess saw and heard absurd Press charges on the other side, and something, too, of the irrational hatred of war-time, but the little book is a record of almost nothing but kindness, and gives fresh hope to those who had begun to despair of human nature.[63] Here are two cases of singular beauty from Nauheim. A postman ”happened to know of a poor English lady whose funds had come to an end, and who had in consequence offered to wash up the crockery at her pension in return for her board and lodging, and he told her one morning that he had forty pounds saved up which she should have, and welcome, if she was in need.” The case of the bath-chair woman was not less touching and generous, for she and her husband, a crossing-sweeper, also put their savings at the disposal of an invalid lady his wife used to wheel out every day, telling her that, though their cottage was only small, they did possess a tiny spare room, and they would be so glad if she would come to them as their honoured guest, supposing-as at present seemed likely-the English would have to spend the winter in Nauheim; they would indeed do their best to make her happy and comfortable.[64]
On more than one occasion in the railway trains the ”enemy” character of Miss Littlefair and those who were with her was revealed, but no unkindness was shown. The last occasion was in October, 1914. ”'Shall you have to travel farther, or does your journey end in Munich,' 'No,' I said, 'we hope to go on to Switzerland to-morrow.' 'O, how delightful!
You are lucky. It is such a beautiful country. Tell me, are you foreigners by any chance-American, or perhaps English?' she queried.
'English,' I replied. The truth was out, and I looked to see a change of feeling reflected in her pleasant, winsome face; but her expression remained as kind and as interested as before, and her manner as cordial, so I told her more about ourselves, as there was no longer any need of reserve, and she had told me so much of their affairs.” There was, of course, the usual patriotic bias, but it was expressed with real good feeling. ”'Of course, we don't hold the English people personally responsible for the war,' she said, 'but we think that England[65] has behaved very shabbily. It is very grieving, though, that the two countries should be at war.' She had two or three English friends, and told me about them till our arrival in Munich, where our confidences were necessarily cut short, and we took an affectionate leave of one another.” (p. 123.)
The following incident also shows simple folk made clear-sighted by kindness of heart: ”On another occasion Christine and one of the ladies in our hotel went into a shop to buy some beautiful lace which was being sold at half-price. 'We have to sell it cheaply because of the war,'
explained the a.s.sistant: 'ach! it is terrible! We never wanted this war, and I am sure you did not either. You and I are not enemies, it is ridiculous. Let us shake hands to show we are friends. Yes!' And they did.”[66] Good! That handshake, let us hope, will outweigh many a hysterical outburst on both sides.
An English schoolmaster was, with his wife and family, in Germany at the outbreak of war. He testifies to the quite wonderful kindness he received. Almost daily he was taken by his hosts to other houses, and at the _Kaffeeklatsch_ which ensued there was never anything but a finely chivalrous courtesy. So grateful did the schoolmaster feel that (just as with Germans befriended here) he felt he must make some sort of return to the ”enemy.” He explained the situation, and obtained permission to take two interned enemy nationals into his house. They in their turn felt that movement of grat.i.tude which the preachers of hate refuse to believe in. They wanted to make some return to the schoolmaster, for schoolmasters are usually poor men. ”If you do that,” he said, ”I shall feel I am doing nothing.” There was a dispute of kindness, and in the end a _modus vivendi_ of grat.i.tude was arrived at. How strange the methods of force seem by comparison. The two men are now interned once more-surely a sorry end to a story of such fine humanity.