RED CROSS & IRON CROSS

No one accustomed to the cheerful, affectionate way the French and English soldiers are wont to speak of their leaders, could avoid being struck by the way these German soldiers talked of their officers. They all spoke of them with fear and bitterness and often with hatred. Even as they lay there safe in one of our ambulances they seemed to be afraid of lying next to their own officers. Luckily this did not happen often and never for long, for the German officers always protested furiously against being placed with their own men. Besides, it mattered little where they were placed, they were invariably dissatisfied anyhow. Those I saw were sullen, arrogant and often insolent; displeased with everything and everybody and most difficult to deal with. They always spoke of their rank and their Iron Cross—unavoidable it seemed to me, as I never came across an officer without it—as if entitling them to privileges shared by no one else. They were well pleased with themselves and their doings, frightfulness and all, and never did I hear from any of them a word which sounded like disapproval of the atrocities they had witnessed. Personally I only know of one German officer who disapproves this frightfulness, and his mother was a Russian. On the contrary, I heard a captain say that the Belgians had been treated much too leniently, and that all the civil population ought to have been driven out of their country and those who resisted shot on the spot. This officer was a Prussian. The marked difference between Prussians and South Germans, well known to those who have visited Germany in times of peace, has been amply illustrated by the conduct of the different units in this war.

"The Prussian is cruel by birth, civilization will make him ferocious," said Goethe, who knew his country well. It is true that the French soldier always singles out the Bavarians as particularly brutal and violent and especially fond of looting; but I wonder if this evil reputation of theirs is not to a certain extent founded upon vague reminiscences from the war of '70. It must be admitted though that their record at Nomély, Blamont and several other places is a terrible one. But I do not forget that the unnamed hero of this little book was a Bavarian soldier.

It matters little that I could not identify the band of barbarians who had established themselves in the château mentioned in this book—similar scenes have occurred everywhere ever since the war began, and hundreds of châteaux in Belgium and France, have had a much worse fate. I admit though that when I wrote down the description of the devastated nursery I believed that this particularly revolting deed was unique of its kind. Not at all; I was mistaken. I have read since then from the pen of a distinguished English surgeon in Belgium a description of a similar act of incredible barbarism. But I am very sorry I do not know more of the German officer who after a prolonged contemplation in front of the Venetian mirror smashed it with a knock of his sword-hilt—the old caretaker just entered the drawing-room in time to witness this performance.