Part 12

It is the essence of great cartooning to see things simply, and to command the technical resources that shall show the things, so simply seen, in an infinite variety of aspects. No series of Raemaekers' drawing better exemplifies his quality in both these respects than those which deal with Germany's sea crimes.

In the cartoon before us the immediate message is of the simplest. The Kaiser counts the head of British merchantmen sunk. Von Tirpitz counts the cost. But note the subtlety of the personation and environment. The Kaiser has those terrible haunted eyes that have marked the seer's presentment of him from quite an early stage of the war. There can be no ultimate escape from the dreadful vision that has set the seal of despair on this fine and handsome visage. He is shown, not as a sea monster, but as some rabid, evasive, impatient thing, dashing from point to point--as from policy to policy--with the angry swish that tells the unspoken anger failure everywhere compels. For the victories do not bring surrender, nor does frightfulness inspire terror. The merchant ships still put to sea--and the U boats pay the penalty.

The futility of this campaign of murder is typified by making Von Tirpitz, its inventor, an addle-headed seahorse, the nursery comedian of the sea. Stupid and ridiculous bewilderment stares from his foolish eyes. Another submarine has failed to find a safe victim in a trading ship, but has been hoisted with its own sea petard. The impotence of the thing!

This conference of the Admirals of the Atlantic, held in the sombre depths, is a biting satire, in its mingled comedy and tragedy, on the effort to win command of the sea from its bottom.

ARTHUR POLLEN.

HIS MAJESTY: "Well, Tripitz, you've sunk a great many?"

TIRPITZ: "Yes, sire, here is another 'U' coming down."]

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MATER DOLOROSA

You thought to grasp the world; but you shall keep Its crown of curses nailed upon your brow. You that have fouled the purple, broke your vow, And sowed the wind of death, the whirlwind you shall reap.

Shout to your tribal god to bless the blood Of this red vintage on the poisoned earth; Clash cymbals to him, leap and shout in mirth; Call on his name to stay the coming, cleansing flood.

We are no hounds of heaven, nor ravening band Of earthly wolves to tear your kingdom down. We stand for human reason; at our frown The coward sword shall fall from your accursed hand.

We do not speak of vengeance; there shall run No little children's blood beneath our heel. No pregnant woman suffers from our steel; But Justice we shall do, as sure as set of sun.

Or short, or long, the pathway of your feet, Stamped on the faces of the innocent dead, Must lead where tyrant's road hath ever led. Alone, O perjured soul, your Justice you shall meet.

No sacrifice the balance of her scale Can win; no gift of blood and iron can weigh Against this one mad mother's agony: In her demented cry a myriad women wail.

The equinox of outraged earth shall blaze And flash its levin on your infamous might. Man cries to fellow-man; light leaps to light, Till foundered, naked, spent, you vanish from our gaze.

EDEN PHILLPOTTS.

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"GOTT STRAFE ITALIEN!"

When Italy, still straining at the leash which held her, helpless, to the strange and unnatural Triplice, began to show signs of awakening consciousness, Germany's efforts to lull her back to the unhappy position of silent partner in the world-crime were characteristic of her methods. Forthwith Italy was loaded with compliments. The country was overrun with "diplomats," which is another name in Germany for spies. Bribery of the most brazen sort was attempted. The newspapers recalled in chorus that Italy was the land of art and chivalry, of song and heroism, of fabled story and manly effort, of honour and loyalty. Hark to the Hamburger Fremdenblatt of February 21, 1915:

"The suggestion is made that Italy favours the Allies. Preposterous! Even though the palsied hand of England--filled with robber gold--be held out to her, Italy's vows, Italy's sense of obligation, Italy's word once given, can never be broken. Such a nation of noblemen could have no dealings with hucksters."

Germany is, indeed, a fine judge of a nation's "word once given" and a nation's "vows," which its Chancellor unblushingly declared to be mere scraps of paper. Now let us see what the Hamburger Nachrichten had to say about Italy immediately after her secession from the Triple Alliance: "Nachrichten, June 1, 1915. That Italy should have joined hands with the other noble gentlemen, our enemies, is but natural. It would, of course, be absurd--where all are brigands--were the classical name of brigandage not included in the number.... We do not propose to soil our clean steel with the blood of such filthy Italian scum. With our cudgels we shall smash them into pulp."

"Gott strafe Italien" indeed! Bombs on St. Mark's in Venice, on the Square of Verona, on world treasures unreplaceable. The poisoned breath of Germany carries its venom into the land of sunshine and song, whose best day's work in history has been to wrest itself free from the grip of the false friend.

RALPH D. BLUMENFELD.

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SERBIA

Serbia has suffered the fate of Belgium. Germany and Austria, with Bulgaria's aid, have plunged another little country "in blood and destruction." Another "bleeding piece of earth" bears witness to the recrudescence of the ancient barbarism of the Huns. Serbia's wounds,

"Like dumb mouths, Do ope their ruby lips,"