The German Spy
Ridiculeis the rapier which pierces the pachydermatous hide of the Hun.
William of Potsdam, portrayed in this cartoon as a Cook’s tourist, chatters with rage whenever he is laughed at. Behold here the All Highest in a composite portrait of Himself in a few of his favourite “stunts.” Mark the hat of the mighty hunter who slays hecatombs of wild boars without running any risk to his august person, the asker of innumerable and importunate questions (he expected one of our generals to tell him the official length of our ballet dancers’ skirts!), the snapshotter, the wearer of English clothes of sporting cut, and first, last, and all the time—the SPY. Britons forgive and forget easily, but we may well wonder whether, after this war, high-born Huns all of them now revealed as spies will be received as of yore by our magnates and lavishly entertained? Shall we see immense Junkers mixing champagne and stout in our clubs? Shall we lose our own appetites at the sight of gracious ladies wolfing our best food with all four feet in the trough?
I hope not, but I hae ma doots.
What rankles in my humble breast is not so much the barbarity of the Beast, but the humiliating reflection that we allowed him to prowl amongst us masquerading as a fat sheep, grazing peacefully in our verdant pastures!
I submit that all Huns, male and female, should be sent to Coventry by the Allies for at least one decade. It would be fatuous to suppose that any Hun could change his character during so brief a period, but “doing time” may teach him—as it has taught other criminals—that it pays to be honest. It is not likely that the Baby Killers and Pirates will recognise any principle except expediency.
It is a comforting thought, also, that the Hun, after this war, will be ill provided with what schoolboys call—“journey-money.” In the pleasant land of France, sur les côtes d’azur et éméraude, our ears will not be split by their raucous, spluttering accents; our eyes will not be offended by their obese, ridiculous persons. We shall, I hope, wander in peace through the Eternal City. I remember a young Hun at Wengen who barged into every skater on the rink not adroit enough to avoid him. I do not expect to meet him again.
For this alone may the Lord be praised!
HORACE ANNESLEY VACHELL
THE GERMAN SPYThe Spy: “Military secrets behind? Eh?”Policeman: “Much more dangerous things for Germany—Raemaekers’ cartoons.”
THE GERMAN SPYThe Spy: “Military secrets behind? Eh?”Policeman: “Much more dangerous things for Germany—Raemaekers’ cartoons.”
THE GERMAN SPY
The Spy: “Military secrets behind? Eh?”
Policeman: “Much more dangerous things for Germany—Raemaekers’ cartoons.”