Part 14
At the present time more than at any other period of history we of the British Empire should bless God for our enemies! What they have done and what they are doing for us, albeit unconsciously and unwillingly, can hardly be accurately estimated--not while they are still attacking us. We must wait some years before we can measure up the advantages they are bestowing upon us--advantages which we might not in a century have obtained for ourselves.
We were too satisfied with our apparent “friends”; we were, and still are, much too sure of them! We were comfortable, contented, lazy. We had everything we wanted and more. We spent money freely, and being eminently good-natured and trustful, we allowed every one to come in at our open doors and partake of our hospitality. Out of our full bags of gold we poured rivers of charity in every direction; we helped everybody that asked for help; and we allowed all sorts of folk to exploit us and make money out of us. We could not believe that the “friends” we entertained and whose hands we had filled with good gifts could ever turn upon us. We seemed to have no foes; and we trusted these “friends” of ours implicitly. Too casual and easy-going to heed the teachings of philosophy we forgot that it takes a far nobler nature to receive benefits than to bestow them.
Mean minds resent generosity while taking advantage of it, and nothing goads and envenoms some dispositions so much as the near consciousness of a superior force and ungrudging hand. This was, and is, the trouble with the Kaiser and his particular following--we will not say Germany, for German without the Hohenzollern autocracy would be a very different and far greater Germany than it has been since the days of Goethe and Schiller.
The Emperor William, as an eminently theatrical monarch, loving grease-paint and the limelight, and obsessed by various crazes, such as hate for his English mother and intensified hate for his mother’s country, filled even with a morbid revulsion against the English blood in his own veins, cannot abide the thought of the greatness and far-reaching protective influence of the British Imperial Power. To bend, break, and destroy THAT has been his dream from boyhood--a dream never to be fulfilled! His visits to our shores were the visits of a seeming “friend,” and we treated him as an honest people treat an honest man. He took our kindness for stupidity, our trust for ignorance, our faith for credulity, and his complete misconception of the British character has led him into a trap which he set for us, but by which he himself is snared--the usual Nature-law enacted surely and remorselessly on every treacherous soul.
What would be said or thought of a man invited to the house of a kindly hostess and permitted to enjoy the full freedom of the place, its hospitality, its food, its comfort and shelter, who, on having used it as a convenience and gained personal pleasure and advantage therein, even to the making of money, suddenly turned roughly upon his entertainer, abused her manners, her voice, her speech, her friends, her servants and mode of living, and having got all he wanted out of her personally insulted her? Probably not one man in ten thousand would conduct himself so vilely, but if that one man did so forgo all manliness, there would be not a few of his own sex ready and more than willing to put him in his place at the point of the boot.
Yet such has been the “honorable code of chivalry” of the Emperor William--the “Kultur” which boasts of treachery to his own kindred, of injury to his mother’s native land, of wantonly murderous attacks on innocent civilians who are not in any way concerned with the diseased obsessions of his brain--a “Kultur” which is more than anything else the “cult of stupidity”--the stupidity of a blinded bull charging into everything with unreasoning fury. But for us the bull-onslaught is a saving grace, for through the blindness of the beast we see!
Yes, we see, and see clearly! We have discovered our foe behind the disguise of our “friend,” and instead of opening our doors to him we shut them. Instead of holding out the hand of welcome and confidence we put up the curtain of our artillery fire!--and the valour of Britain, wrongfully supposed to be asleep or dead, is up in all its pristine might and mettle, full-armed with a strength and magnificent courage unmatched in all our history.
This is what our enemies have done for us: they have brought us to realise the truth Ourselves! Had it not been for their “stab-i’-the-back” we might still have played away our time, and with it our commerce. Our enemies have roused our grip and grit; they have taught us that we can turn out as many fighting men and munitions in twelve months as they could do in forty years. Even we, accustomed for a century to a peace unbroken save by small foreign skirmishes, are now with our Allies winning the greatest war of the world.
Assaulted in new and brutal ways from the air, from the underseas, as well as on land, Imperial Britain holds her own, for which she may thank, not her friends, but her foes. True it is that, as Christ taught, “A man’s foes shall be they of his own household,” and this saying is markedly fulfilled in the Kaiser’s hatred of his mother’s country and people. But whether of one’s own household or not, nothing is so salutary, so rousing, so inspiring and vivifying to the mind as the consciousness of enemies, the knowledge that some one envies you, grudges you success, and would be glad to hear of your failure in some great effort. It rouses all your latent forces and makes you stronger, bolder, more irresistible than ever you were before.
A fair woman never looks fairer than when she is being “picked to pieces” by a yellow-skinned scandal-monger, and to any individual possessing gifts above the ordinary the spite and malice of the envious and jealous are as light on the path and music in the air, invigorating the heart, bracing the energies, and emphasising the fact that any one so envied is _worth_ envying, any one so hated is _worth_ hating, because so far above the reach of either envy or hatred!
So let us praise God for our enemies! They are adding to our triumphs and renewing our glories. When we chant the “Te Deum” let us mentally include an extra strophe which shall say, “We bless Thee, O Lord, for our foes, that Thou dost suffer them to teach us the sure way to victory! We thank Thee for their broken faith, their cruelties, and their falsehoods, as from these we renew our own resolve to keep our promised word to all nations, and even in the bitterness of battle to be honest and humane!
“From their unjust cause we draw fresh justice: from their defeats we derive our conquest. Without them we might have forgotten what we _were_ and what we _are_! We thank and praise Thee, O God, that through these our enemies we have found our best friends--OURSELVES!”
RECRUITING SPEECH
(_Delivered in the De Montfort Hall, Leicester_)
In the De Montfort Hall, Leicester, at the conclusion of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Lecture on the Great War, Miss Marie Corelli, who presided as Chairman, made an appeal for recruits in the following terms:--
“There is very little for me or for any one to say, after what we have heard to-night. The moving and magnificent panorama which Sir Arthur Conan Doyle has brought before our eyes by the force of his eloquence should inspire us more to deeds than words. He has told us what our men have already done; he has hinted at what they have yet to do. This fearful war is not a game at football; we cannot play at it, or put it aside as something to be thought of casually after we have consulted our own humour and convenience. It is a time of self-sacrifice; we owe the best of all we have to our country. We must give, not only ourselves, but those we love to the country’s service. In these fortunate islands, mercifully protected by the sea, we have not as yet experienced the horrors of invasion; but invasion _may_ come, and _will_ come if we are not prepared, alert, and watchful! We must grudge nothing to prevent such disaster. We must put aside our own concerns entirely, and think of what this Great War means. It means wider freedom for the whole world! It means an end to the tyranny and savagery of Prussian militarism; it means greater progress and broader civilisation. And being such a war, every man should be proud and eager to bear his part in it. Any man, physically “fit” who hesitates or hangs back at such a crucial moment in his country’s hour of trial is a coward! And any woman who holds him back is also a coward, and a selfish one! We love our men--yes!--but love is not true love if it hinders a man from doing his duty. There is danger--there is chance of death on the field of battle; but death comes to all of us sooner or later; and we may question whether it is not better to pass away gloriously with honour, than to creep languidly out of existence in bed, surrounded by physic bottles. A soldier must face all possibilities, and a brave man must be willing to risk the worst for the chance of winning the best. As Shakespeare tells us,--
“‘Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant only taste of death but once.’
“There is urgent necessity for every able man (who is not employed in turning out munitions of war) to join the colours--and if he is a man at all, he should have no hesitation. After such a moving history as that told us by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, is there a ‘fit’ man here who is not willing and eager to join his brothers-in-arms, and do his best to make their task easier? Is there a man whose work lies, not abroad, but at home in the making of shells and ammunition, that would grudge a single hour of labour for his country in such urgent need? If there is, he must be of bad blood and not a true-born Briton!
“If I had the right, the eloquence or the power to plead with you, I would ask every man here present who can join the colours, but who has not done so, to do it now! And I would also ask every man whose skill and strength are needed for the manufacture of war material, to work steadily, cheerfully, and ungrudgingly, in the full consciousness that by urging on the necessary output he is helping to save hundreds of the lives of his countrymen. He, the worker, is as necessary to the Empire as the soldier; he also is fighting the King’s enemies.
“And, if I had any force to persuade, I would pray every woman in this audience to prove her love for the men belonging to her by inspiring them to do their duty to ‘King and country’; either by sending them away to join the Army, with all good blessing and trust in God for their safety--or by ‘heartening’ them up to their work in war munitions, and putting no difficulties in their path of honour. For every man that hangs back from military service, or ‘shirks’ his work refuses to help his brothers; and every woman that keeps a man away from the great fight, or encourages him to grudge and shorten his hours of labour is wronging other women’s husband and sons. In this great test of national character none of us must fail. In the war, as in work, we must all pull together, shoulder to shoulder to win the victory which must and shall be ours--
“‘If England to herself do rest but true!’”
The speaker concluded by asking her hearers to join in a hearty vote of thanks to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle for his “fine, instructive, and impressive lecture.” This proposal was seconded by the Mayor of Leicester (Alderman J. North) and Sir Samuel Faire, and carried with acclamation, the vast audience being evidently moved to exceptional enthusiasm.
SPLENDID CANADA
A TRIBUTE
To you, brave Canadians, to you who have fought so magnificently for the old Mother-Country, and of whose valour and dash and spirit never too much can be said or sung, I would address Tennyson’s noble lines:--
“A People’s voice, we are a people yet Though all men else their nobler dreams forget, _Confused by brainless mobs and lawless powers_; Thank Him who isled us here and roughly set His Briton in blown seas and storming showers, We have a voice with which to pay the debt Of boundless love and reverence and regret, _To those great men who fought and kept it ours_ And keep it ours, O God, from _brute control_: O Statesmen, guard us, guard the eye, the soul Of Europe, keep our noble England whole, And save the one true seed of Freedom sown Betwixt a people and their ancient throne.”
The one true seed of Freedom! This is deeply implanted in our Empire, and you Canadian boys are fostering it and helping it to grow. Your help is needed in peace as much as in war; we want your strength, youth, and resolution as a firm bulwark against internal discords and mischievous disloyalty. It is as brave a thing to face and overcome the Evil Spirit at home as it is to face him in the field, and showers of fiery shrapnel are less disintegrating than the showers of personal malice and intrigue directed only too often against the men to whom we owe the amazing and almost miraculously sudden downfall and humiliation of our enemies in the greatest war of history.
You Canadians have strongly helped to bring this downfall and humiliation to pass; like a fine family of stalwart sons, you have formed a guard of honour round your Motherland, and defended her from the hands of the spoilers. All honour to you! We want you to know and to believe that we are grateful, and that we shall never forget your dauntless daring and heroism! Ingratitude is the commonest and yet the deadliest of sins--ingratitude to God in the first place, and, in the second, ingratitude to the men whom God has given us to be our saviours. The first part of the indictment is a matter for each private and individual conscience; it is for every man and woman to try and visualise the devastation and misery which have been mercifully spared to the uninvaded British Isles, and to decide whether his or her thanksgiving is real, and deeply felt. The second part concerns the whole people of Great Britain and her Overseas Dominions--whether they, in very truth and earnest, sufficiently realise what they owe to the sorely-tried military and naval leaders upon whose shoulders has fallen the gigantic responsibility of conducting the war to a victorious issue. _Not_ to realise it is to be guilty of a mental crime so monstrous as to be almost unimaginable. And yet, the moment political pawns are set on the chess-broad, every claim to integrity and patriotism is questioned and argued from the base point of view of “personal interest.” Personal interest is a powerful motive force with most men, but it does not count with heroes like Sir Douglas Haig, Admiral Beatty, or Marshal Foch. Think of these men! for it is _they_ who won the war--_they_, who through God, have given us the victory! Not the talkers, but the doers; not the politicians, but the fighters, among whom you, brave Canadians, held your part like the heroes of an epic. You are rough, perchance, but you are ready! Some there are who say you have not received half your rightful share of honour in this country; if this _is_ so, then your Motherland is indeed unworthy of your prowess! But I hardly think this is, or can be so. You do not get the true voice of the British People in the British Press--always remember that! The People know their best men, and honour them accordingly. And if, by chance, they are misled occasionally, and those leaders whom they have believed their “best” prove false to the trust placed in them, none so swift, sure, and deadly as the British People to rend them for their broken word. They know you, Canadians, as their blood-brothers; and as such will resent any wrong inflicted on your liberties and commerce. They applaud your patriotism and rejoice in your courage; you are the younger sons of the Empire, and in the name of one Throne, one Flag, we salute you and give you our heart’s gratitude!
SHELLS; AND OTHER SHELLS
(_Written by request for the Magazine published on behalf of the Munition Workers of Georgetown, Paisley_)
A THOUGHT
In one of the finest and tenderest poems ever written by our last great Laureate, Alfred Tennyson, whose departure from this world closed, for the time, the reign of true English lyrical melody, there occur these delicately beautiful lines:--
“See what a lovely shell Small and pure as a pearl Lying close at my foot, Frail, but a work divine, Made so fairly well With delicate spire and whorl How exquisitely minute! A miracle of design.
The tiny cell is forlorn,-- Void of the little living will That made it stir on the shore. Did he stand at the diamond door Of his house, in a rainbow frill? Did he push, when he was uncurl’d, A golden foot or a fairy horn Through his dim water-world?”
How often we have seen such shells as these!--and how little have we associated the familiar name of “shell” with any thought of war or “shock” or bloodshed! Holding a sea-shell close against our ears we listen in fancy to the solemn music of the ocean surging through its hollow cavity,--the ocean with its sweeping thunderous harmony,--though all the time we know it is but the sound of our own life-blood pouring through our veins and pulsing upon our senses. And now, when we talk of “shells,” we mean something vastly different to the “small and pure as a pearl” object which moved a great Poet to song--for the “pure” thing was the work of God, and “a miracle of design” wrought to suit the needs of the “little living will that made it stir on the shore”; but the “shells” _we_ have to do with are man’s work, made to destroy all living wills that come in contact with them! In their terrific way they too are “miracles of design,” for their cavities hold death and scatter it broadcast. Still more wonderful it is to realise the fact that women’s hands have been taught and trained to prepare this flying death--women’s hands, surely formed by nature for tenderness and caressing, for soothing and consoling! How, then, has it chanced that they should adapt themselves to such dire uses? Why do they labour so strenuously and eagerly to make weapons for the armoury of the King of Terrors? Women’s hands! What charming and poetic things have been said and written about them! Think of the hands in Fra Angelico’s picture of the “Angel of the Annunciation” where the dainty tapering fingers are as exquisitely delicate as the buds of the lilies they hold! Or, recall the subtle beauty of Heine’s description of the hand of an unknown lady, resting white and beautiful on the carved edge of a confessional in a dark cathedral aisle, the owner of the hand being too enshrouded in shadows to be visible.
“So still and pure was that lovely hand,” wrote the poet, “that whatever sins its mistress might be admitting to her confessor, it was evident that of itself it had nothing to do with sin or folly. It was a stainless sweetness alone and apart, and shone in the gloom of the vast cathedral like a sculptured ivory emblem of innocence.”
Nevertheless!--women’s hands that are, or that might be, as delicate and caressable as those of Fra Angelico’s model, or Heine’s unseen lady, are now at work in the strangest kind of “annunciation”!--the most amazing form of “confession”! Why do they toil in such a contrary fashion to their natural bent and inclination? The answer is swift and conclusive. Because Evil is let loose on the earth, and because Good must use all force to overcome it. And, out of sternest necessity, Good must arm itself with weapons that shall not only match but surpass those employed by Evil. In a fight against devils, angels must join battle. In some of the most magnificent scenes of Milton’s “Paradise Lost” when war rages between the warriors of God and the followers of Satan, the good are described as fighting against the bad with terrific weapons of attack, and the outbursts of fire hurled against the devilish foe were none the less potent because wrought by the angelic hosts. Our women workers who prepare the munitions of war are one and all inspired by the same fixed motive and desire--namely, to end the sorrows and suspense of the suffering nations who are involved in the disastrous upheaval which is the result of a people’s pitiful belief in the “divine right,” of a crowned madman. And as they turn out “shells” and yet more “shells,” we know that they hope and believe that for every one completed, at least one of the fiendish murderers of the innocent may be dismissed from a world which his presence has darkened. Perchance they may, as they press on with their work, hear more mystic sounds than are conveyed in the cavity of an empty shell “void of a living will” on the sea-shore--for their filled shell speaks of their own blood, burning with grief and indignation at the slaughter of their kindred--and of the roar and thunder of the guns instead of the crashing billows of the sea. Who shall count the throbbing thoughts of the women who fill these “shells”?--women who look calm enough and resolute enough, and who work on tirelessly and almost wordlessly, as though moved by a single heart, beating through each one’s separate labour! A visitor to a shell factory in the Midlands said to me,--“They work quite mechanically; I think they hardly know what they are about.” _Don’t_ they know what they are about? Indeed they do! They know they are making weapons of destruction that shall bring reprisals for the deaths of brave men--they know that they are helping to save the lives of their own kinsmen, and with all their strength they “speed up,” because they feel that by so doing they are pushing on the end of the war. We shall never be able to realise how much they have done for us, and alas!--the ingratitude of nations to its workers is proverbial. It takes a woman to understand woman’s enforced labour, and to enter with sympathy into all she loses by taking the place of man in hard and difficult times--what sacrifices in health and vitality she makes by long hours of steady application to monotonous factory work--what temptations she has to resist--what bribes--yes!--bribes of cash and comfort she has to forgo. For the enemy is busy elsewhere than on the field--insidious and indefatigable in stirring up strife in this country and sowing the seeds of disloyalty and discontent, and it says much for our women that they are awake and alert to the fact. Of the contemptible few who “make love” to “Fritz” in his prison camp, one can only be sorry that they are so “weak in the upper story!” The real women of the Empire--the women who, in the after-war days that are coming, will have so much of the country’s destiny in their guidance, are in the majority sound, sane, and loyal--we can trust them with work even more momentous than the making of shells! Meanwhile, we can try to be grateful to them for their steadiness and perserverance, their pluck and patience, and let us not forget at any time what we owe to them. It should be graven deep on the records of the nation that--_Without Women’s Work the War Could Not Be Won!_ And in the hour of victory let us not fail to pay them our debt of Honour!
DARKNESS AND LIGHT
(_Written at the request of Sir Arthur Pearson as the Prologue to an Entertainment on behalf of St. Dunstan’s Hostel for Soldiers and Sailors Blinded in the War_)
“Oh, dark, dark, dark amid the blaze of noon, Irrecoverably dark! Total eclipse Without all hope of day!” Samson Agonistes.