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.