This new volume on Germany’s conception and practice of war is the work of a neutral, a fact which would alone suffice to secure it our sympathies. Moreover, it is a book which is systematically arranged, based on documentary evidence, serious and obviously sincere, qualities too weighty not to compel the respect not only of the French public, but of all those, to whatever nationality they may belong, who may care to read it or merely to glance through it with an unprejudiced eye.

The author is a Greek, who loves France and who knows her. He knows her because he has lived there; he is not blind to her weak points, but having been early captured by her, he knows the profound mistake into which a stranger falls who is content to judge her by appearances: he has fathomed the depths of her character and discovered the inexhaustible resources of will and energy concealed beneath an apparent, yet much exaggerated, levity. It is for this reason that in the dread crisis through which she is passing, and from which, as he well knows, she will emerge victorious, he has been willing to fight on our side, at least with the pen. Let us thank him, and may our gratitude extend beyond him to his noble country, to that Greece whose feelings have long been known to us, who has not changed them, notwithstanding the ebb and flow of her domestic policy or of transitory influences, and who will not change them, we are convinced: otherwise she would not be Greece.

So much for the author of these pages which we are about to read. When I add that M. LÉon Maccas belongs to the best society in Athens: that while still very young he won the degree of doctor of law in his own country by a remarkable thesis; that he came to us with the intention of pursuing further, thanks to the assistance which we can give him, his studies in international law and diplomatic history, I shall have concluded a very inadequate introduction of author to reader.

As for the contents of this volume, what is the good of dwelling upon them? It is an established fact, at the present moment, that the Germans have introduced into war a new law, a new morality. This law and this morality are obviously contrary to the ideas which humanity has hitherto formed of these great subjects and to the impulses which urged and still urge humanity to endeavour to mitigate the permissible sufferings and horrors which war between civilised nations entails. The Germans have taken quite a different line. They appear to have made it their business to practise everywhere, in different forms, the abuse of force. It is a method, and one, too, which has something spacious about it. But a method is something which confesses or proclaims itself. We do not blush for a method, we blush for an unpremeditated, precipitate act, not for conduct coldly calculated with the purpose of attaining a supreme end, the righteousness of which justifies everything in the thought of those who aim at it. What is the meaning, then, of all these shufflings, these denials, disputings or flimsy vindications of facts? Why these shameless apologies among neutrals? Why these pamphlets, these articles scattered broadcast over two hemispheres, these idyllic pictures of movements of German troops to whom the peasants, peasants of France, express (in a language which betrays clumsy falsehood) their good wishes for a safe return to their native land. Why all this effort, if not from the necessity to justify themselves, a necessity which in these souls who profess to be emancipated from the vain prejudices of the world is even stronger and more deeply rooted than the desire to compel everything by force? Is not this necessity the clearest and most invaluable of admissions?

But that is not the whole story. By a contradiction which would have something grotesque about it if the tale of bloodshed and destruction made such an expression permissible, those who every day shamelessly violate the law of nations are the first to protest with impassioned vehemence against what in their opponents they assert to be a violation of the law of nations, as if the right to trample right under foot was a privilege of Germany. I am well aware that on that point also we are critical, but even though there were some motive for being critical, a thing which is by no means proven, we must admit that a nation which has signed certain declarations designed to mitigate as far as possible the severities of war, and which, as soon as it becomes belligerent, no longer holds itself bound by these same declarations, is not justified in trying to pose as punctilious in the matter.

The only result of all this is hatred, stubborn invincible hatred, which neither peace nor victory will destroy. Some Germans, it is said, are beginning to be anxious about it; others are getting used to it, provided that with hate they reap the harvest of fear; but it is a mistaken calculation, because love, or, if you like, a minimum of sympathy, is necessary for the daily round of that common life which we call international relations. Force, admitting that those who have it at their disposal can always count upon it, is powerless to bind nations together, and by force I understand not merely material force, but a spiritual force, such as is, for example, science, of which Germany is so justly proud. If hatred persists, fostered as a religious duty, kindled in the sacred fire of memory, there is no security possible for him who is the object of it: it is the flaw which silently threatens with sudden destruction the steel upon which so much reliance is placed.

Woe to the nation which makes itself hated!

Paul Girard.