Four years of uncivilised warfare, of barbarity unprecedented in the annals of modern history, have since taught us how terrible was the meaning of these words, and if the possibility is conceded that tragedy and comedy may, on occasion, run riot hand in hand together, the climax was perhaps never more nearly approached that when in August, 1914, the arch-criminal himself, Wilhelm II, that "born actor and master of mis-statement,"[3] indited an agonising epistle to his doddering confederate the Emperor Francis Joseph of Austria: "My soul is torn," so ran this apostolic lamentation--"my soul is torn, but everything must be put to fire and sword. Men, women, children, and old men must be slaughtered, and not a tree or house left standing. With these methods of terrorism which alone are capable of affecting a people as degenerate as are the French, the war will be over in two months, whereas if I admit humanitarian considerations it will last years. In spite of my repugnance, I have been obliged to recommend the former system." [3] A comment of King Edward's on the German Emperor, 1906. "In spite of my repugnance," however, or perhaps because of it, in spite of or because of this recommended system of terrorism, the more difficult it became to affect, to demoralise the "degenerate" French people, the more seemingly impossible became the task of breaking "those proud English hearts"; the war was not over in two months, in fact, contrary to the prognostications of the "All Highest," it lasted several years! The nation, as it so happened, was never in more determined "bull-dog" frame of mind; this determination moreover to "see things through" "coûte que coûte" was amply voiced by Mr. Asquith, then Prime Minister, at the Guildhall on November 9th, 1914--"We will never sheath the sword until the military domination of Prussia is wholly and finally destroyed," and floating back on the breeze away from the stricken fields of France came echoing the refrain:-- "When the strife is fierce, the warfare long, Steals on the ear the distant triumph-song, And hearts are brave again, and arms are strong." Dimly distant though the final victory might seem, fierce and protracted though the strife, England continued unflinchingly pouring forth her bravest and her best, while she herself, with a determination grim and set, was of a truth turning "to swords her ploughshares," for experience had taught her that the Prussian was born not only a brute but a bully, and that the only way to deal with bullies was to hit them back, to keep on hitting until they were down, and once down to keep them there and prevent them from getting on their feet again.