True, O Liebknecht, it is indeed a war of rapine, engendered, planned,
and brought about by the nation to which you belong. Yet, foul as is
that nation, its foulness is not greater than your futility, by which
you show up the strength of that which you oppose with as much effect
as our own Snowden and Casement can claim for their efforts to arrest
the work of the Allies.
Men who claim British birth claim also the quality of loyalty, as a
rule, and thus there can be little sympathy with such a one as this
Liebknecht, whom Raemaekers shows as a little ascetic in the presence
of the sombre War Lord. It is part of the plan of Nature that every
country shall breed men like this: men who are constitutionally opposed
to the current of affairs, ridiculously futile, blatantly noisy, the
type of which extreme Socialists and Syndicalists are made. Possessed
of a certain obstinacy which is almost akin to courage, they accomplish
nothing, save to remain in the public eye.
Such is Liebknecht, apostle of a creed that would save the world by
the gospel of mediocrity, were human nature other than it is. But, in
considering this Liebknecht, let us not forget that he has no more
love for England, or for any of the Allies, than the giant whom he
attempts so vainly to oppose; he is an apostle, not of peace, but of
mere obstruction, perhaps well-meaning in his way, but as futile as the
Crown Prince, and as ludicrous.