On the 15th the Germans launched their great offensive. On the 20th they
recrossed the Marne, and are now entitled to complain that General Foch not
only took over the French and British armies, but has recently started
taking over a good part of the German army. The neighbourhood has never
been a healthy one for the Huns since the days of Attila.
Fritz has crossed the Marne and recrossed it--according to plan--and is
already on the way to the Aisne. The battle of the rivers has begun again,
but on new lines. Yet this amazing turn of the tide has been taken very
quietly in France and England. The Allies have rung no joy-bells; they are
content with doing their best to give Germany no occasion for further
indulgence in that form of jubilation. And Germany is meeting them more
than half way, their authorities having ordered a supplementary requisition
of those church-bells which were exempted when the first confiscation was
made. "At this heavy hour," said von Kühlmann to the Reichstag, "none of us
fully realise what we owe to the German Emperor." That was a month ago; the
realisation of their indebtedness has since advanced by leaps and bounds.
There are now 1,000,000 Americans in France. But the Kaiser and his
War-lords are still passing their victims through the fire to the
Pan-German Moloch, and threatening to send German generals to teach the
Austrian Army how to win offensives. It is even reported that the Germans
contemplate placing the ex-king of Greece on the throne of Finland.
Fantastic rumours are rife in these days; but there is only too good reason
to believe the report that the ex-Tsar, the Tsaritsa, and their daughters
have all been murdered by their brutal captors at Ekaterinburg. It seems
but yesterday when Nicholas was acclaimed as the Saviour and regenerator of
his people, and now Tsardom, irrevocably fallen from its high estate, has
gone down amid scenes of butchery and barbarity that eclipse the Reign of
Terror in France.
Little has happened at Westminster to indicate a consciousness on the part
of the members of the great and glorious events in France. The Irish
Expeditionary Force, after an absence of three months and a severe training
at home, has returned to the Parliamentary Front, and their war-cry is
"Devlin's the friend, not Shortt!" But the Chief Secretary was able to make
the gratifying announcement that the voluntary recruiting campaign is to be
assisted by several Nationalist M.P.'s, including Captain Stephen Gwynn,
who has been serving in the trenches, and Colonel Lynch, who, having raised
one Irish brigade to fight against us in the Boer War, and been sentenced
to death for doing it, has now, with an inconsistency we cannot too
gratefully recognise, undertaken to raise another to fight on our side. Mr.
Bonar Law has revealed the interesting fact that only 288 members of the
House of Commons have received titles, decorations, or offices of profit
since it was elected in December, 1910. The unnoticed residue are probably
wondering whether it is their own modesty or the shortsightedness of
Ministers that has caused them to be passed over. Mr. Billing, after
several pathetic but futile efforts to regain his place in the limelight,
has at last succeeded in getting himself named, suspended, and forcibly
assisted by four stalwart officials in his exit from the House--the most
salutary movement, in the opinion of most members, with which he has yet
been connected.
Admiral Sir Rosslyn Wemyss, in a recent speech, said that the association
between the two Services, the Royal Navy and the Mercantile Marine, had
been so close during the War, whatever that association might have been
before, that it seemed to him almost incredible that it could ever be
broken asunder. The First Sea Lord's statement is welcome and natural. But
there is nothing really new in this solidarity of the seas. The Secret of
the Ships is an old story:
On their ventures in the service of a Tudor King or Queen
All the ships were just as like as they could be,
For the merchantman gave battle, while the Royal ship was seen
As a not too simple trader over-sea:
Being heirs to ancient customs, when their upper sails came down
As a token of respect in passing by,
They would add the salutation in a language of their own,
"God speed you, we be sisters, thou and I."
As the centuries receded came a parting of the ways
Till in time the separation went so far
That a family was founded who were traders all their days,
And another who were always men-of-war;
But whene'er they dipped their colours, one in faith, they understood--
And the sea, who taught them both, could tell you why--
That the custom never altered, so the greeting still held good,
"God speed you, we be sisters, thou and I."
Then in days of common sacrifice and peril was it strange
That they ratified the union of the past?
While their Masters, unsuspecting, greatly marvelled at the change,
But they prayed with all their souls that it would last;
And the ships, who know the secret, go rejoicing on their way,
For whatever be the ensign that they fly,
Such as keep the seas with honour are united when they pray,
"God speed you, we be sisters, thou and I."
[Illustration:
"WAR PICTURES"
THE MOTHER: "Of course, I don't understand them, dear; but they give me a
dreadful feeling. I can't bear to look at them. Is it really like that at
the Front?"
THE WARRIOR (who has seen terrible things in battle): "Thank heaven, no,
mother."]
England deplores the death of Lord Rhondda, who achieved success in the
most irksome and invidious of offices. He undertook the duties of Food
Controller in broken health, never spared himself, and died in harness. It
is to be hoped that he realised what was the truth--that he had won not
only the confidence but the gratitude of the public.
Spain has rendered herself unpleasantly conspicuous by developing and
exporting a new form of influenza, and a Spanish astrologer predicts the
end of the world in a few months' time. But we are not going to allow those
petty distractions to take our minds off the War. Here we may note that
Baron Burian's recent message indicates that but for the War everything
would be all right in Austria. Our artists are certainly determined not to
let us forget it. But the most valuable pictures do not find their way into
galleries, though they do not lack appreciative spectators.
[Illustration: