Monsieur Dunant depicts some of the terrible operations performed by the surgeons who were forced to work with untrained assistants. Scenes so full of pathos and the horrors of mental and physical anguish that could men be brought to even a partial realization of their meaning war would become impossible. Nothing in the world would be worth the aggregate of human suffering unless the cause was justified by a greater aggregate of human misery and torture. “The feeling,” says Monsieur Dunant, “that one experiences of the great insufficiency under such serious conditions is one of indescribable suffering. It is extremely painful to realize that one is unable to aid all or to reply to the many supplications for relief because of the vast number needing assistance. Long hours must pass before even the most unfortunate can be reached; stopped here by one, called there by another, all equally worthy of pity, each step clogged by numbers clamoring for help. Why turn to the left when on the right so many are dying without a word of consolation, without even a glass of water to quench their burning thirst. The thought of the importance of a life one may save, the desire to assuage the tortures of the sufferers, and to revive their courage; the continued, enforced activity that such moments impose, give a supreme energy, a longing to carry succor to the greatest number possible. One becomes no longer affected by a thousand pictures of this formidable tragedy, the most hideously disfigured bodies are passed with indifference, scenes more horrible than any described, which the pen refuses to depict, are gazed at blankly. Sometimes the heart is suddenly brought near to breaking by some pathetic grief, by some simple incident, by some unexpected detail, which touches our deepest feelings, which tears the most sensitive fibres of our being and brings a realization of the horror of this tragedy. “For a week after the battle such cases as drew from the doctor a shake of the head and the observation, ‘Nothing can be done!’ were simply abandoned to their fate—to die. Though hard, this was quite natural, considering the scarcity of doctors and nurses and the enormous number of patients. An inexorable and cruel logic ordained that precious time and care should not be wasted on hopeless cases when sorely needed by so many thousands who might recover. “Search well the hospitals of Lombardy and where was there to be found that glory for which at the commencement of the sanguinary conflict these men rushed with light heart and fleet foot to shed the blood of their brethren?