pressing time of action! Forget their petty carping and cavilling at
“the female element” in workmanship and endeavour; laugh at the rough
and childish hands that beat and batter the woman’s breast with all
the petulance of spoilt children; fling every other thought aside but
the will and intent to help them on to victory! Make, and buckle on
their armour--let your hands prepare them for both attack and defence.
Nothing nobler will you ever find to do than this!
In old Arthurian legends, many were the fair women eager to buckle
on the armour of the peerless Knight Lancelot; but to-day there
are a million and more Lancelots in the field--young, brave,
dauntless--heroes all! Arm them, women!--and by arming them, defend
them! Thousands of you, strong and willing, are already at work--but
we want thousands more! Even you “toy-women” who dance half-nude o’
nights at restaurants and in basement saloons of “fashionable” hotels,
wreaking a sly vengeance on men by poisonous lure and seduction,
even you can be brave and helpful if you will! Give up your foolish
sensualities, and take to sturdy, sensible Work; wash the paint from
your cheeks, the dye from your hair, and clothe yourselves as fit women
who mean to help, and not to destroy men.
And you, too--you who turn your private homes into “Bridge Clubs”
where “officers on leave” may become members “without the payment of
a fee”--rookeries, where silly young subalterns are “rooked” indeed,
of every penny, losing not only cash but honour--can you not give up
this unprincipled and unwomanly “way of doing business” and come out
of your dens? You have hands deft enough for something better than
“Bridge”--and eyes that can see how to make shells for killing the
enemy, which is better than studying how to change a card that shall
cheat a friend! Put these ephemeral nothings of an ephemeral “society”
aside, and WORK! Work is the saviour of both body and soul!
I admit that as Women, we have long and old scores to settle with the
men who have denied us any place in their counsels, and who elect of
themselves to treat us merely as “toys” and fools. We shall have our
revenge upon them, but not now. Now is the time when we have the chance
to show our ability, our powers of organisation, our reasonableness,
our courage, our industry, and patience. Let us not fail! The curse of
the Jew who wrote Genesis and swore to Eve “I will greatly multiply
thy sorrow” has been upon woman ever since the days when courteous old
Abraham yoked her with his cattle and drove her with his sheep; but
there are evidences nowadays that the modern Abraham will not always
triumph, even though every true son of Israel who attends religious
service in his synagogue still says with Pecksniffian fervour:--
“Blessed art thou, O Lord our God, King of the universe, who hast not
made me a woman!” (See Authorised Jewish Daily Prayer Book.)
But, despite this most manly thanksgiving, it is paramount that now,
whether Jew or Gentile, men want the women!--not for pleasure, not for
fooling, not for seduction, not for betrayal, but for work! Man’s work
must be done in the absence of men. For men must be set free, like
uncaged wolves and lions, to fly at the throat of the foe and strangle
him for good and all! Therefore, man’s work must be accomplished by
women. O women, be glad and proud of this! Lady Frances Balfour, who
has a brain sufficing for three of our modern statesmen, has recently
written on “The Discovery of Women,” describing it wittily as similar
to “the discovery of America by Christopher Columbus.” She reminds us
of Lord Lansdowne’s “early Victorian” pronouncement that “the place
for women is the home.” But the worthy peer forgot to mention that it
is not given to every woman to have a home, or to run the cooking, the
child-bearing, and general washing-up business for any special one of
the male sex. On the other hand, there are thousands of women who not
only earn the money to make a home and keep it, but who also have the
affectionate unwisdom to keep a lazy loafer of a man also; some drone
who finds as many plausible excuses for idleness as he does for living
on the woman’s work. He, by the way, is generally the sort of fellow
who speaks of woman with sniggering contempt, and while taking her
earnings with the left hand stabs her in the back with the right. But
even such rogues as these have to go forth to the battle to-day; so let
us not grudge the buckling on of their armour if we can inspire courage
in cowards! Just now, when omens and portents are thick in the air, and
unnatural threatenings hover above us like shapeless spectres of evil,
our Ministers and statesmen are chattering for all the world like the
feeblest “patriarchs of the village” that ever waggled grey pates over
pipes of tobacco. They who complain of women’s “talk” are talking the
heads of the nation off into impatience and fury; let women not talk,
therefore, but act! Come to work, women of all classes!--the more the
better!--the more silently, the more swiftly! There is a great climax
at hand; the “push” is about to begin. EVERY ABLE-BODIED MAN IS NEEDED
TO ENSURE VICTORY. Let us make no mistake about that! Every woman is
likewise needed, to put her hand to the plough, and NOT look back.
Munitions must not fail us. Show your resolve, brave women of England,
Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, and nerve your slender hands to the task
of turning out the weapons of attack and defence that shall flame our
conquest of the foe on land and sea and in the air! And--when the war
is over--when “Peace with Honour” shines once more above us like a
glorious rainbow after storm--shall we--we Women who have worked, sink
to our old footing of debasement and exclusion from the counsels of
men? No! To paraphrase a famous Asquith utterance: “We have taken our
place, and we shall continue to take it, and to keep it!”
THE QUALITY OF MERCY
AN APPEAL TO AMERICA FOR SUFFERERS IN THE GREAT WAR
(_Written by special request for the American “Committee of Mercy”_)
There is no greater virtue in the human character than mercy; it is the
nearest attribute and approach to the Divine Perfection towards Whom
all creation instinctively moves. We, the offspring of that infinite
Thought and Will, are still far away from such sweet and strong
attainment of power as can find infinitude of joy in the infinitude
of Giving--but we can in some measure bless and purify our brief poor
lives with somewhat of that everlasting plenitude and beauty by an
effort, no matter how feeble, towards a God-like perpetuity of grace
and pity. The golden opportunity for that effort is Now and Here; we
may never have so great a chance again. For Now and Here, in the fair
days of spring and summer, when singing, blossoming Nature breaks out
in its Te Deum of thankfulness for yet another space of time wherein
to express the gladness and glory of life, we are confronted with the
hideous, ravaging spectacle of War; War, in its most cruel, pitiless,
and appalling shape--War, to the grimmest death! The groans and
shrieks of wounded, tortured, and dying men are forced upon our ears;
a monstrous Devil of Self, black with the crimes of treachery, lust,
and murder, stalks abroad seeking what it may devour of faith, freedom,
and civilisation--a demon possibly born of mankind’s own neglect of the
highest ideals, and indifference to countless blessings long bestowed.
And the most evil part of this evil visitation is that the terrific
whirlwind of disaster sweeps over the innocent as well as the guilty,
and men of valour and worth in all the nations now at war with one
another are driven by the force of a barbarous necessity into the agony
of wounds and death for no fault of their own, but for the mistakes and
aggressions of their governmental rulers. They are as falling leaves
blown before a storm--as smoke before fire--drifting into darkness! Yet
every one of them is moved by the inspiration and love of liberty--by
the sense of right and justice--and by the desire to help in doing what
is good and true for the larger benefit of the whole world. And in
this sense every one of them is noble; each life is worth our grateful
care. We, who appeal for them, take no part in the contest. To us they
are all our brothers in humanity; _their_ mothers, wives, sisters,
children, and lovers are ours also! We wish to lift them in our helping
arms out of the blood and mire of battle, and by our impartial love and
tenderness, to comfort them as much as we may, and relieve their bitter
need.
We want every American citizen to help us in this great, this divine,
work; for so best shall we prove the largeness of our thought, and the
wideness and scope of the civilisation of the Republic and it ideals;
so shall we best display the spirit of the young New World, uprising on
the waters of this deluge like another ark of the covenant, sending
forth the dove of hope and promise to those who are struggling for
life in the overwhelming waves. We would like to write the noble words
of Man’s universal Poet, Shakespeare, across the doors of all our
fellow-countrymen upon whom we now call for aid, convinced of their
generous response:--
“The quality of mercy is not strained;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blessed;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes;
’Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The thronèd monarch better than his crown--
... We do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy.”
In this mind and mood we appeal for help: for ungrudging, tenderest,
quickest help!--the help that brave persons would instantly give if
they saw children drowning. For every man disabled, sick, or deprived
of his strength is as a struggling child in the flood of adversity,
and indeed more pitiful than a child, for the child’s day may be
yet to come, while his is past. Moreover, he has been snatched from
all that made life pleasant and useful to himself, to fight his
country’s battle, for which he, personally, is not responsible, but
which he enters upon for the sake of a duty which is purely heroic
self-sacrifice. Let us therefore accept this free gift of his manhood
in the cause of Right and Justice and Freedom, with no less cheerful
and willing gifts and self-sacrifices of our own; let us give and
still give, in the all-beneficent spirit of the daily sunlight which
pours itself out unasked over the fields and pastures to bless and
fructify them! And let us never weary of giving! From every man and
woman of the teeming population of the United States we ask a donation
for our Holy Cause--our new Crusade of the Lord’s Sepulchre--for
such it is, inasmuch as we seek to raise from the grave of silence
and despair those who have been giving the best of their lives in
suffering the horrors of this terrific War. Be the gift small or great
it will add to the sum of what we hope to make the most wonderful and
munificent gift and act of homage to martyred heroes that has ever
been known in the world! We are a Committee of Mercy, and we make this
Appeal to all the merciful, in God’s Name, and for the sweet uplifting
of a Star of Hope in the darkness!
STARVING BELGIUM
AN APPEAL
(_Written by request for Mr. Hoover’s “Belgium Relief Fund,” and
circulated through the United States Press_)
“_Six million of people are on the verge of starvation in Belgium!_”
Such news as this writes itself across the brain in letters of fire!
Great Goddess of Liberty, think of it! You, America!--you, who
represent that goddess, with the light of an ever-widening glory on her
brow, think of this shame to the very name of Freedom!--this blot on
civilisation--this degrading result, as it were, of our long-boasted
intellectual supremacy and scientific advancement! _Six million
people on the verge of starvation!_--through no fault of their own,
an industrious, peaceful, marvellously heroic little nation, deprived
of its honestly-earned right to live, and dragged from its altars of
prayer to weep in the dust of beggary and famine! You, America!--you,
Star-crowned States of Freedom that have already done so much and
_are_ doing so much for this broken and bleeding victim of bitter
circumstance--you cannot stay your hand now!--you cannot--you will not!
You will do _more_!--and still _more_! You cannot see a brave nation
die of sheer hunger!--it is not in your heart to look on at such a
frightful thing unmoved; therefore you will listen to all unprejudiced
appeal--even to mine, though I have little claim to your hearing save
that of the affection freely given to me by thousands of my readers
in your country--an affection gratefully accepted and as warmly
reciprocated! I have naught to do with the quarrels and murderous
onslaughts of men filled with blind fury and lust of world-power; all
that I can see or hear is the sorrow and suffering befalling those who
are innocent of any quarrel--the wives, the mothers, the young girls
and boys, the little children--the helpless and bewildered old people!
Cruel famine is already torturing these piteous and patiently enduring
souls, on whom such a black cloud of unmerited disaster has fallen that
it seems as if it would never lift! All who have power to visualise
their unparalleled distress _must_ and surely _will_ take every
possible means to soften and mitigate the horrors of their situation.
Generous America!--you have done and are doing much!--you have worked
and are working strenuously to relieve the burden of Belgium’s heavy
affliction, but work to you is the very pulse of your large life,
and bigness of conception in noble deeds is your breathing power!
Therefore, no hesitation need be felt in asking you to go on _Working_
and _Doing_ all you can for the tortured, half dying people of a
devastated country--a people whose magnificent heroism has blazoned
itself in a chronicle of glory for the wonder of the future years--a
nation that has faced her foes unflinchingly in the simple defence of
her freedom, and whose noble King, a hero to the manner born, has not
uttered one undignified word of complaint against the sudden and harsh
calamities meted out to him by the cruel caprices of a cruel destiny.
To America all grand things are possible--America, as yet aloof from
combat, can accomplish what other nations, involved in difficulties at
this juncture, can barely attempt: America can approach Germany with
the ease of one at peace in the midst of strife, and can with humane
forethought and certainty secure such distribution of food supplies
to the Belgian civil population as may save them from the sufferings
which now confront them every day. This is what America can do and with
all our hearts and souls we pray that it may be quickly done! _We_, in
Great Britain, are never weary of helping, to the best of our ability,
those exiles who have lost their homes and means of livelihood--we
strive to make their hard lot less bitter--and to one and all we
accord a welcome as to those of our own blood and kindred. But we are
at war, and though our Government is using all the means available to
prevent the threatening disaster of millions of non-combatants, women,
children, and the aged, being sacrificed to what is called “military
necessity,” such means are not enough, being perforce obstructed by
the difficulties of the situation. The grim idol of Militarism must
have its burnt offerings--that pitiless god of Battle so aptly and
magnificently described in Lord Byron’s _Childe Harold_:--
“Lo! where the Giant on the mountain stands,
His blood-red tresses deep’ning in the sun,
With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands,
And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon;
Restless, it rolls, now fix’d, and now anon
Plashing afar--and at his iron feet
Destruction cowers, to mark what deeds are done;
* * * * *
All join the chase, but few the triumph share,
The Grave shall bear the chiefest prize away,
And Havoc scarce for joy can number their array!”
Time presses! The wolf of famine is at the very doors! Our hearts grow
cold with terror and with pity as we see once prosperous and happy
Belgium, a land of prosperous and happy people, shadowed by the fearful
spectres of Hunger and Disease. And while we do all we can and all we
may to keep back these menacing destroyers of the innocent, we clasp
hands across the sea with America, and look to her reasonableness,
her boundless compassion and benevolence, for wider, more continuous
help, feeling that she can, and will, most assuredly move the German
administration in Belgium to see to the free distribution of food, and
to guarantee that such distribution shall be made for the benefit of
the Belgian civil population. I believe the Germans would willingly
consent to this, if they have not already consented, for it cannot be
even to their own advantage that disease should be sown broadcast in
Belgium, and the entire industrial population decimated by famine.
Indeed, as a matter of fact, Mr. Whitlock, the American Minister at
Brussels, has made definite and official statement to the effect that
he is satisfied by close investigation on the spot that not an ounce
of food sent in by the Commission for Relief is being appropriated
by the Germans. It should, perhaps, be considered that Germany has a
heart somewhere! There are natural emotions in the mortal composition
of a German as well as in a Frenchman or a Briton--differently strung,
no doubt, and differently placed--but no man of any nationality
whatsoever is made solely of “blood and iron,” according to that
hackneyed catch-penny phrase which seems to have been coined by some
tall-talking journalist. I am not one of the many who “thrill” over
the various and sensational reports gotten up by the world’s press,
whether such reports emanate from Great Britain or the “Wolff Bureau.”
I am as doubtful of statements circulated by British journalism as
of those which are unblushingly “made in Germany.” Each newspaper
proprietor has his own axe to grind, and not always does honesty or
unsullied patriotism have much to do with the grinding. More mischief
than can be easily calculated is caused by irresponsible journalists
who are allowed to print their wholly useless and unnecessary personal
opinions on some great world-crisis in leading newspapers. When Edward
the Seventh ascended the British Throne he had something to say on one
occasion to “the gentlemen of the Press,” and he expressed the hope
that they would “do their best to foster amity and good-will between
the British Empire and other nations.” That the “gentlemen” have not so
acquitted themselves is a sad and sober fact; and in these very days of
the most terrific contest the world has ever seen, many of them show
an unworthy eagerness to “work up” suspicion and ill-feeling between
the combating parties, rather than to hold the balance equably and
with dignity. Insult, cheap sneers, and vulgar jesting are all out of
place in the present tremendous clash of conflicting powers; when the
gods grasp their thunderbolts it is no time to listen to the chattering
of apes. And when we are told by the Irresponsible Journalist of more
battle horrors and outrages than seem humanly possible of occurrence,
it does us good to learn through plain, unvarnished fact conveyed in
simply-written, straightforward letters from brave men at the front
and in the “firing line,” that, left to themselves, the Germans and
their Allied foes would be glad enough to play football together, if
allowed, like healthy schoolboys, and that even as it is they give each
other cigarettes across the trenches, proof positive that when not
acting “under orders,” they are human, normal, and friendly, and have
no thirst for each other’s blood. I quote the following from the letter
of a brave young Englishman serving in the Third Battalion of the Rifle
Brigade:--
“On Christmas morning some of us went out in front of the German
trenches and shook hands with them, and they gave us cigars,
cigarettes, and money as souvenirs. We helped them to bury their
dead, who had been lying in the fields for two months. It was
a strange sight to see English and German soldiers as well as
officers shaking hands and chatting together. We asked them to play
us at football, but they had no time. I got into conversation with
one who worked at Selfridge’s in London, and he said he was very
sorry to have to fight against us.”