CROSSING SWITZERLAND

Lieb Vaterland, magst ruhig sein.…

No, one simply has to die so that the country one loves may live.

Love is an easy word to say. We have so often been told that the Germans loved Germany, that they were the true patriots, while we, the French, were nothing but anarchists. Yet, after a year of war, these Gallic “grumblers,” who are always wrangling, who take ideas into their heads, and who hold to these ideas so firmlythat you sometimes hear them cry, “Perish countries, so long as principle lives and humanity becomes established”—these ungovernable and intractable “anarchists” remain a single body and soul, exhibit infinite patience, and continue the most formidable warlike efforts. Why? Are they inconsistent? Not for a moment. For them, France is justice; France is the human ideal. They save their souls by saving France. They can die, for they would not wish to go on living if beautiful Europe were to fall beneath the German yoke.

But why should you expect these little Michaels of Germany to die cheerfully? Why, as the slaughter increases, should they stand shoulder to shoulder round their leaders, firmly resolved to conquer or to perish? Is Germany really worth dying for?

This much is certain, that the mystical admirers of justice and liberty, who, in time of peace, filled the men of order with dismay, are to-day the most disciplined in the world; whilst the pillars of order, the singers of unity, the adorers of powerful Germania, those who made a mystical cult of force and force alone, have taken to grumbling, are reasoning like ill-conditioned individualists, have denied their faith.

I have noticed a thousand times that these Teuton soldiers who, through dread of their leaders, are not yet traitors in fact, are nevertheless traitors in soul.

This no longer surprises me. I understand why they regard us without hatred, why they long for peace at any price, and why, if the war is to continue, they lookforward to being made prisoners. They suffer too much, and their suffering has overwhelmed their patriotism.

Those only who love greatly can accept great suffering. Their boasted affection for Germania was nothing more than a fever of the imagination, a fictitious suggestion, a sentiment for display. It was the fascination felt by the ignorant for everything that glitters and makes a brave noise. They loved Germania in her success. They loved her triumphant, colossal, brobdingnagian. They loved her as a parvenu loves wealth and a gourmand good cheer. They loved her carnally, a power of the flesh. Has any one ever seen such a love accept sacrifice cheerfully and outlast misfortune? No, the ideal alone is worth more than life. The ideal alone evokes that wonderful love which increases with suffering, the chaste and shy love which shuns display, and which does not chant its pæans or unfurl the beauties of its splendid wings until the hour of absolute surrender. Now Germany has long ere this ceased to be an ideal.

This is what it means to have nothing but force to depend upon. When we lose it, we have lost all. This is what it means to build upon egoism and the political nullity of the masses. When the hour strikes for an appeal to their heroism, we encounter nothing but a soft and melancholy passivity.

But what an astounding organization it is which is capable of neutralizing so much inadequacy of will, and is able to make tough and efficient armies out of this assemblage of worthless material!

July 31, 1915.

Our convoy crossed Switzerland last night. I should have been sorry to be ill, ill with relief and happiness, for this would have made it impossible to describe our reception. It delighted and I must say it surprised me.

I know Switzerland well. I love it like a second motherland. I am familiar with its history and its institutions. I have made prolonged stays by the shores of Lake Geneva, and dear friendships convinced me long ere this that our two nations are animated by the same instinct, the instinct of independence and humanity. In the terrible duel now in progress I was assured beforehand of the freely given sympathy of our predecessors in the art of republican government.

I believed, nevertheless, that on our way through the country we should find this sympathy, however true and however certain, veiled and restrained.

From prudential considerations, first of all. Switzerland is such a paradox! When a citizen of Lausanne manifests his love for French civilization (in which he has just as strong and legitimate an interest as anycitizen of Orleans or Nancy), can he ever do so without being afraid lest he may be wounding a fellow-Confederate of Basle or Zurich? Supposing that his manifestation should become generalized, and that it should provoke a counter-manifestation, has he not good reason to dread the consequences to Switzerland of this spontaneous plebiscite? Would it not involve the ruin of this nation with two hearts, if within its frontiers war should suddenly be declared between the two rival civilizations? If during our nocturnal journey from Constance to Geneva we had encountered nothing but gentle and calm faces, I should not, on that account, have harboured any suspicions of my dear Switzerland.

I should have said to my companions:

“Continue to trust her; she loves us. This democracy is tranquil, healthy, little inclined to use lofty phrases, and by no means fond of scenes in the street; but she has a robust faith in the right of nations. With all her heart she detests aggressive imperialism and the cultured barbarism of Germany. You will find her shy, reserved, and circumspect; you will perhaps blame her for her silence. But this would be wrong, for her silence is a duty she owes to her patriotism. She is intensely patriotic. She would like to hail you with acclamations, but a great national obligation seals her lips. You could not possibly wish her light-heartedly to do anything owing to which German civilization and Latin civilization might suddenly come into hostile conflict within her closed borders, for she exists solely in virtue of their mutual accord, and it is her historic mission tomaintain the contact between them, to harmonize them, to interpenetrate each with the other. This abominable war is a difficult hour in her inner life. Even in times of peace she has to walk circumspectly; but now, if she is to avoid a disruption which is always possible, she must control her every movement, must bridle her tongue, swallow her burning words, the words of love and admiration which, if she followed the dictates of her heart, she would utter to her valiant sister and neighbour. Believe me, my friends, the mountain democracy is praying in her heart for the victory of right, for our victory. Her silence is but a mask; she is mute for reasons of state.”

I did not have to deliver this address. From one end to the other of Switzerland, the Helvetian people, so hostile to demonstrations, hailed us with acclamations. They sat up all night. They overwhelmed us with gifts. The seats of the train were heaped with ribbons, cockades, flowers, boxes of cigars, baskets of food, bottles of the celebrated vintages of Neuchâtel, La Côte, Lavaux, and Yvorne. In my compartment alone we filled six haversacks with cigars, which we sent to the front to the 30th of the line, the regiment of poor Robequain, of whose death I learned on reaching Bellegarde.

Do not imagine that this explosion of generosity was inspired by mere pity for the wreckage of war. I am absolutely confident that it was inspired by love for France. Burghers and peasants, children and old men, in German Switzerland just as much as in French, theyall sang theMarseillaise. They waved the tricolor. They cried, “Vive la France!” At the stops they talked to us frankly, like brothers. They handed us addresses which were hymns to “The Nation of Valmy and of the Marne,” to “The Champions of the Rights of Man,” to “The Citizen Army which has sworn to conquer or die for the Advent of a Free Europe.”

It seemed to me that the proud Helvetians of Morgarten and Sempach, these forefathers of democracy and liberty, had emerged from their national Grütli to line the road in our honour, and to give their blessing to the sons of the young republic.

I cannot describe the mad jubilation which surged through our veins. France! France the beloved! France of our blood and our heart. France the eternal, resuscitated by the German aggression, once more become the champion of freedom. France hailed by the neutrals, and by all men who respect the right! I was drunk with happiness. This single night was a compensation, for you, noble fellows mutilated in the war; for you, my brother, with broken ear-drums and split skull; and for you, my friends, all my dear dead friends, who sleep in Lorraine, in Belgium, in Flanders, and on the Marne.

FOOTNOTES[1]On this point I am in entire agreement with my friend François Poncet. His little book, published a year before the war,Ce que pense la jeunesse allemande, besides being couched in an admirably concise and clear style, is of substantial value.[2]Many German liberals have held the opinion, in all good faith, that the new generation of France is reactionary. I do not know why, but a young man coming from Paris, and having nothing to do with either royalism or clericalism, was regarded by them as a remarkable exception.[3]Videsupra, note on p. 17.[4]The system of having no more than one or two children.[5]M. Deschars was killed by the Germans in Belgium, in August 1914, together with all the wounded and the staff of Dr. Sedillot’s ambulance.[6]Let me repeat once more that such is the belief of every German liberal. In their view we are all nothing more than replicas of Charles Maurras.[7]Are you not ashamed, you, the French democracy, to be allied with the Russian barbarians?[8]Provençal execration.[9]Are any of you sick? Any tropical fevers?[10]Sergeant-major.[11]A slang word, universally employed, meaning “smashed” or “ruined.” Accent on second syllable.[12]Treat a ruffian gently and he will knock you about; knock a ruffian about and he will fawn upon you.[13]It need hardly be said that this story has no pretensions to historical accuracy. The current talk among soldiers is, as a rule, no less “imaginary” than the chatter of the drawing-rooms.[14]Refer to previous note.[15]O my native place! O my native place!O Toulouse! O Toulouse!…[16]Old city of Cahors, so old and so smoky![17]A few days later the regulations established the right to send four cards and two letters each month.[18]Dear fatherland, calm heart be thine,Firm stands and true the watch by Rhine![19]Hail to thee in the victor’s crown,Ruler of the fatherland![20]The men would rather have a little more bread than so much spiritual nourishment.[21]The word “tub” alarms me, and the reader must excuse me for writing it as we really pronounce it in France.[22]A handsome Frenchman and an ugly German.[23]Back with the mob![24]Now then, gentlemen, can’t we work a little harder?[25]There, old chum! There’s something to grease your dirty palm![26]This war will be the greatest stain on the history of Europe![27]“Upon what nation, in days to come, will the verdict of ‘guilty’ be passed by the tribunal of world history? One thing, at least, is certain. Germany can look forward to the verdict with a clear conscience.” (Otto von Gierke,Internationale Monatschrift für Wissenschaft, Kunst, und Technik, November 1, 1914, 3rdKriegsheft, “Deutsches Recht und Deutsche Kraft.”) At this identical time, the Protestant theologians of England, in the celebrated letter they sent to Adolf von Harnack, assured that illustrious German historian and personal friend of William II: “Doch wir sind der festen Ueberzeugung, dass Grossbritannien in diesem Kampfe für Recht und Gewissen; für Europa, die Menschheit und dauernden Frieden fecht.” [“We are, however, firmly convinced that, in this struggle, Great Britain is fighting for right and conscience, for Europe, humanity, and permanent peace.”] It is a remarkable fact that throughout Europe every one has a “clear conscience”![28]The German authorities subsequently rifled all the notebooks containing “memoirs.” It was only by continued stratagems that I was able to save part of my own.[29]The Vandals have taken Berlin! Oh, what a spectacle!The pagans are at Danzig! The Mongols at Breslau!In my mind all this rises simultaneously,Pell-mell, as chance wills; it is horrible!… O shame!…Germany, Germany, Germany.… Alas![30]The little FrenchwomanWho awaits me at homeHas eyes that glowAnd a heart of lilac.…[31]After repeated requests I had been allowed to subscribe to theFrankfurter Zeitung. Three other prisoners have subscribed respectively to theMünchener Neueste Nachrichten, theBerliner Tageblatt, and theKölnische Zeitung.[32]Potato bread.

[1]On this point I am in entire agreement with my friend François Poncet. His little book, published a year before the war,Ce que pense la jeunesse allemande, besides being couched in an admirably concise and clear style, is of substantial value.

[2]Many German liberals have held the opinion, in all good faith, that the new generation of France is reactionary. I do not know why, but a young man coming from Paris, and having nothing to do with either royalism or clericalism, was regarded by them as a remarkable exception.

[3]Videsupra, note on p. 17.

[4]The system of having no more than one or two children.

[5]M. Deschars was killed by the Germans in Belgium, in August 1914, together with all the wounded and the staff of Dr. Sedillot’s ambulance.

[6]Let me repeat once more that such is the belief of every German liberal. In their view we are all nothing more than replicas of Charles Maurras.

[7]Are you not ashamed, you, the French democracy, to be allied with the Russian barbarians?

[8]Provençal execration.

[9]Are any of you sick? Any tropical fevers?

[10]Sergeant-major.

[11]A slang word, universally employed, meaning “smashed” or “ruined.” Accent on second syllable.

[12]Treat a ruffian gently and he will knock you about; knock a ruffian about and he will fawn upon you.

[13]It need hardly be said that this story has no pretensions to historical accuracy. The current talk among soldiers is, as a rule, no less “imaginary” than the chatter of the drawing-rooms.

[14]Refer to previous note.

[15]O my native place! O my native place!O Toulouse! O Toulouse!…

[15]

O my native place! O my native place!O Toulouse! O Toulouse!…

O my native place! O my native place!

O Toulouse! O Toulouse!…

[16]Old city of Cahors, so old and so smoky!

[17]A few days later the regulations established the right to send four cards and two letters each month.

[18]Dear fatherland, calm heart be thine,Firm stands and true the watch by Rhine!

[18]

Dear fatherland, calm heart be thine,Firm stands and true the watch by Rhine!

Dear fatherland, calm heart be thine,

Firm stands and true the watch by Rhine!

[19]Hail to thee in the victor’s crown,Ruler of the fatherland!

[19]

Hail to thee in the victor’s crown,Ruler of the fatherland!

Hail to thee in the victor’s crown,

Ruler of the fatherland!

[20]The men would rather have a little more bread than so much spiritual nourishment.

[21]The word “tub” alarms me, and the reader must excuse me for writing it as we really pronounce it in France.

[22]A handsome Frenchman and an ugly German.

[23]Back with the mob!

[24]Now then, gentlemen, can’t we work a little harder?

[25]There, old chum! There’s something to grease your dirty palm!

[26]This war will be the greatest stain on the history of Europe!

[27]“Upon what nation, in days to come, will the verdict of ‘guilty’ be passed by the tribunal of world history? One thing, at least, is certain. Germany can look forward to the verdict with a clear conscience.” (Otto von Gierke,Internationale Monatschrift für Wissenschaft, Kunst, und Technik, November 1, 1914, 3rdKriegsheft, “Deutsches Recht und Deutsche Kraft.”) At this identical time, the Protestant theologians of England, in the celebrated letter they sent to Adolf von Harnack, assured that illustrious German historian and personal friend of William II: “Doch wir sind der festen Ueberzeugung, dass Grossbritannien in diesem Kampfe für Recht und Gewissen; für Europa, die Menschheit und dauernden Frieden fecht.” [“We are, however, firmly convinced that, in this struggle, Great Britain is fighting for right and conscience, for Europe, humanity, and permanent peace.”] It is a remarkable fact that throughout Europe every one has a “clear conscience”!

[28]The German authorities subsequently rifled all the notebooks containing “memoirs.” It was only by continued stratagems that I was able to save part of my own.

[29]The Vandals have taken Berlin! Oh, what a spectacle!The pagans are at Danzig! The Mongols at Breslau!In my mind all this rises simultaneously,Pell-mell, as chance wills; it is horrible!… O shame!…Germany, Germany, Germany.… Alas!

[29]

The Vandals have taken Berlin! Oh, what a spectacle!The pagans are at Danzig! The Mongols at Breslau!In my mind all this rises simultaneously,Pell-mell, as chance wills; it is horrible!… O shame!…Germany, Germany, Germany.… Alas!

The Vandals have taken Berlin! Oh, what a spectacle!

The pagans are at Danzig! The Mongols at Breslau!

In my mind all this rises simultaneously,

Pell-mell, as chance wills; it is horrible!… O shame!…

Germany, Germany, Germany.… Alas!

[30]The little FrenchwomanWho awaits me at homeHas eyes that glowAnd a heart of lilac.…

[30]

The little FrenchwomanWho awaits me at homeHas eyes that glowAnd a heart of lilac.…

The little Frenchwoman

Who awaits me at home

Has eyes that glow

And a heart of lilac.…

[31]After repeated requests I had been allowed to subscribe to theFrankfurter Zeitung. Three other prisoners have subscribed respectively to theMünchener Neueste Nachrichten, theBerliner Tageblatt, and theKölnische Zeitung.

[32]Potato bread.

Printed in Great Britain byUNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED, THE GRESHAM PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON

Battles and Bivouacs

A French Soldier’s Note-book

By JACQUES ROUJON

Translated by FRED ROTHWELL

Large Crown 8vo.5s. net.

“Battles and Bivouacs,” by Jacques Roujon, is a vivid recital of the first six months of warfare. The language is direct and unaffected, soul-stirring, and free from exaggeration; every page, nay, every line, compels attention and evokes the most sympathetic interest. The book is alike authentic and restrained in tone, but what most strikes the reader is its extraordinarysincerity. No war book has yet appeared that gives so strong an impression of reality, or which, on its own sheer merits, is more worthy to survive the rage and tumult of battle.

My Experiences on Three Fronts

By SISTER MARTIN-NICHOLSON

Crown 8vo.4s. 6d. net.

A vivid account of the author’s experiences in Belgium and Russia and afterwards with the French and English troops.

Practical Pacifism and its Adversaries: “Is it Peace, Jehu?”

By Dr. SEVERIN NORDENTOFT

Crown 8vo.4s. 6d. net.

In addition to making definite suggestions as to the lines on which the Peace Movement should go to work after the war—suggestions which are both obvious and practical—the book contains a reprint of a pamphlet written by an upper-class native of Schleswig, with footnote criticisms by a Prussian scholar of unbiassed views, which renders very sensational and personal testimony to the terrible discontent and bitter rage which a conquered nation feels in its humiliating position of subjection—thus proving beyond all doubt that the chief obstacle that the Peace Movement has to face is this unnatural denial to the conquered people of the Rights of Peace.

Above the Battle

By ROMAIN ROLLAND

Translated by C. K. OGDEN, M.A.

Crown 8vo, Cloth.Third Impression.2s. 6d. net.Postage 4d.

“We must leave unnoticed many fine and penetrating thoughts and many stirring passages in these golden pages. In them, let us say, once for all, speaks the finest spirit of modern France.”—The Times Literary Supplement.

“At last it is here … the book we have been waiting for.”—Labour Leader.

Poland’s Case for Independence

Demy 8vo.7s. 6d. net.

This notable book is a reprint of certain remarkable pamphlets illustrating the vitality of Polish nationality, and written mostly by representative Poles. Introductions have been furnished to the pamphlets by Lord Bryce, Lord Weardale, Mr. G. P. Gooch, Mr. Sidney Webb, Dr. Seton Watson, etc.

Poland Past and Present

By J. H. HARLEY

Crown 8vo.4s. 6d. net.

Some new and vital details of the recent history of this unfortunate country are conveyed to British readers in Mr. J. H. Harley’s vividly interesting volume. It will be preceded by a preface from the pen of Mr. Ladislas Mickiewicz—the son of the great Polish poet—which will state the attitude of the Polish people to Germany, and reveal how deeply their sympathies are enlisted in the cause of the Allies. A notable feature of the book will be a record of the attempts made by the Germans in Poland during the last few months to seduce Poland from her confidence in the justice of the Western Powers.

Antwerp to Gallipoli

By ARTHUR RUHL

Small Demy.7s. 6d. net.

Contents.—“The Germans are Coming!”—Paris at Bay—After the Marne—The Fall of Antwerp—Paris Again; and Bordeaux: Journal of a Fight from a London Fog—“The Great Days”—Two German Prison-Camps—In the German Trenches at La Bassée—The Road to Constantinople: Rumania and Bulgaria—The Adventure of the Fifty Hostages—With the Turks at the Dardanelles—Soghan-Dere and the Flier of Ak-Bash—A War Correspondents’ Village—Cannon Fodder—East of Lemberg: Through Austria-Hungary to the Galician Front—In the Dust of the Russian Retreat.

FICTION

Crown 8vo.6s. each.Postage 5d.

The Financing of Fiona

By DOROTHEA CONYERS

“The Financing of Fiona” is a sporting story with love interest running through it. The plot turns on Colonel Beresford’s will, written hurriedly on notepaper, in which he leaves everything to his niece Fiona; but he dies suddenly, and his nephew Challoner, though he does not think of suppressing the will, takes out the centre sheet, so completely altering everything that Fiona gets her uncle’s lovely old home but no income with it. By this Challoner thinks that the girl is sure to marry him, and that he will have both Kinvarragh and the money. But Fiona, left penniless, determines to struggle and to take paying guests for the hunting. Two men, Major Bohun and his nephew, come to her, and bring their horses. Fiona fights with many troubles, and Major Bohun’s fears that his nephew will marry her, together with hunting and shooting, make the rest of the book. The troubles end in an unexpected manner, and Fiona is left at Kinvarragh, but not alone.

When the Wicked Man …

By GUY THORNE

Author of “When it was Dark”

Mr. Guy Thorne’s new novel, “When the Wicked Man …,” is one of unusual and penetrating interest. It is a profound study of a bad man’s soul, stripped bare and naked without equivocation or evasion. If Maupassant had written this story it would have stopped at the third book, and a brilliant but unutterably painful document would be all that remained. Mr. Guy Thorne goes farther. He shows us the dark and sensual soul of Sebastian Warde moving towards the Light, until the wicked man at last turns from his wickedness, and, crushed, broken, and empty, casts himself at the feet of God. The action of the story takes place in Paris, at Athens and the Bay of Nauplia in Greece, at Weymouth in Dorsetshire, the French battle-front, and finally in London. These are the main divisions into which the tale naturally falls.

This is not a story without a plot. The action is continuous and intense throughout, and from first to last is as inevitable as a Greek tragedy. “When the Wicked Man …” is written with an economy and precision of effect that is stereoscopic. The people, places, and dramatic situations stand out from the page. They have perspective; one sees them.

In fact, the novel is quite unlike anything published in England for very many years.

Redwing

By CONSTANCE SMEDLEY

Miss Smedley’s latest novel displays her usual skill in the presentation of character; and her characters do not stand still, but grow as we watch them. Her two leading characters in this book are a boy and girl, both of whom are lonely, misunderstood, and, to some extent, unwanted; and in each case the experiences of childhood create a determining bias. Their development of strength and courage not only helps them mutually, but finally brings the three people who are the dominating influences of their lives into happier conditions. The book is planned on a large scale, covers a wide range of social life, and deals with explorers, business gamblers, and men and women of large ambitions.

Families Repaired

By J. S. FLETCHER

Mr. J. S. Fletcher’s new novel is of the samegenreas the author’s well-known humorous stories, “The Paths of the Prudent” and “Grand Relations,” both of which have gone through several editions. It deals with a highly complicated matrimonial arrangement, proposed by an Anglo-Canadian multi-millionaire as the means of repairing the fortunes of two noble families which have fallen upon bad times, and the plot involves numerous amusing and piquant situations and quaint embarrassments. The various characters are drawn with great fidelity, especially those of an old bachelor about town, a couple of young ladies of high rank, who live their own very modernized lives in a Camden Town flat, and an Irish-American widow of a lively and original type. The story is full of smart and bright dialogue, and though it is essentially one of farcical humour, the plot is exciting and even sensational.

The Farm Servant

By E. H. ANSTRUTHER

The central theme of this remarkable first novel is the passionate love-story of Anna Murrell, “The Farm Servant.” But the study of Frank Harding and the manner in which his life was affected by three women is of equal importance. Few modern novels have been so varied in setting, for the two largest sections of the book deal with a quiet village in East Anglia and with the Latin Quarter of Paris just before the War. It is a book with passages of great tragic power; but these are interspersed with chapters delightful for their quiet humour and acute observations of the little “actions and reactions” of everyday life. It is a long book: but only in a long book could the author, besides working out the main theme, have created such a host of minor characters. Mr. Harding, the Carringtons, the Juleses, Dr. Emmersley, Lucie Dubels, and a dozen others are all as real as the people one meets every day.

The Long Divorce

(John Bogardus)

By GEORGE A. CHAMBERLAIN

Author of “Through Stained Glass,” “Home,” etc.

Another brilliant, fascinating, out-of-the-ordinary Chamberlain novel. The panoramic setting is Europe, America, Africa, and the seas between. The style is the author’s swiftest, that whirls the reader along. And John Bogardus’s love-story, or series of love-stories, is a beautiful, tender, and extraordinarily illuminating record. Behind the rushing style, the astonishing fire of epigrams, the groups of memorable characters, and the stream of the alluring plot, the reader is gratefully conscious of a deep and rich background of seeing and thinking and feeling.

Moll Davis

By BERNARD CAPES

“Written with all the liveliness one is accustomed to associate with the name of Mr. Bernard Capes.”—Pall Mall Gazette.

“If witty dialogue and a sense of atmosphere can make a good comedy, here is one of the best.”—T. P.’s Weekly.

An Outraged Society

By A. BROWNLOW FFORDE

Some Opinions on Mr. Fforde’s Previous Novels:

“Might well have been written by Mr. Kipling in one of his lighter moods. Brimful of humour and extremely racy.”—Daily Chronicle.

“Is a vivacious writer, and possesses a considerable fund of humour.”—Manchester Examiner.

The Duel

By ALEXANDER KUPRIN

“One has no hesitation in recommending ‘The Duel’ to any one on the look-out for really good fiction.”—Globe.

“Kuprin writes with the vividness and the authority that come from first-hand experience. It must be read to appreciate its power.”—Aberdeen Journal.

LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LIMITED

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