A two-line advertisement announced his arrival in the British metropolis. "Exhibition of war-cartoons by Raemaekers, Fine Arts Galleries, Bond Street, admission one shilling," was all it said. While Londoners are generally interested in new artists, Raemaekers appeared at an inopportune time. For one thing, the public had been rather surfeited with war-literature and war-pictures and the work of an unknown foreign artist was scarcely likely to attract them, and for another, it was within a few days of Christmas, everybody was leaving London, and those who remained in town were bent on giving the troops and the war-sufferers as merry a time as possible. It was quite by chance that the art critic of the _London Times_ visited the Bond Street Galleries a day or so before Christmas, and Raemaekers' world-wide fame as it exists to-day may be said to date from the day that the _Times_ in a two-column notice said, among other things, "this neutral is the only genius produced by the war." The campaign of publicity launched by the _Times_ was taken up by the British and French press. The public flocked to view, and were stunned as they had never been before by the damning record. The cumulative effect of such pictures as "The Shields of Rosselaere," showing men, women, and children forced to march in front of the German armies, "Men to the right, women to the left," in which women and children are being beaten with the butts of rifles; "The Exodus from Antwerp," "The Mothers of Belgium," "The Widows of Belgium," and others which revealed unimaginable depths of human agony, impressed the London crowd as by a solemn ritual. They saw with a vividness hitherto unapproached the hideousness of the war, the unequivocal brutality of the German method, and the naked, insatiable greed in the German purpose. Not now could the timidest soul believe that Germany was fighting a war of defense. Here was the fact inescapable that civilization itself was threatened; here was the whole carnival of lust and conquest as mercilessly depicted on the faces of its agents as they themselves had trampled onward to their shocking goal.