As I have taken occasion to tell them from time to time, God is sparing no effort in favour of My brave armies. The noble courage with which they have crushed a defenceless peasantry (who, by the way, do not seem to share My recognition of the Deity's support of Our methods) has proved them to be the authorised medium of the Divine vengeance. I am very pleased with both them and God.
The destruction of Louvain, seat of a culture wholly distinct from the Prussian ideal, was an inspiration, in which I once more detect the Hand of Heaven. Unfortunately it has been misunderstood in neutral countries; and, to appease their protests, I have had to explain that this feat of righteous wrath has given me an attack of bleeding heart.
I am despatching an an Imperial telegram to the President of the Oxford University Boat Club to say that when My armies reach that city I may possibly spare Oriel for the sake of My Rhodes Scholars. This generous thought occurred to Me in church when I was returning thanks for the demolition of the library of Louvain.
I have also instructed My intrepid aviators to reserve a pew for Me intact among the ruins of Notre Dame de Paris—for thanksgiving purposes.
I have repeatedly warned Nicholas that God is against him. It is like his impious self-assurance to imagine that One whose services I have exclusively secured for My side could for moment entertain the idea of supporting My enemies. I confess, however, that I had expected Franz-Josef, as My ally, to receive a larger portion of the Deity's favour than has so far fallen to him. From what I hear of the Lemberg affair, it looks as if his independent arrangements for Divine support had been inadequate. I am afraid I must leave him to get on without it as best he can. I shall want all I've got for my own use.
I see that a new Pope has been elected at Rome. At any ordinary moment this this world-event must have attracted the attention of Heaven. But the present attitude of Italy towards the Triple Alliance naturally precludes Divine cognisance of her concerns. On the other hand T have Myself thought expedient to address congratulations to the Italian who now occupies the Pontifical Chair, and have ordered the fact to receive due publicity as part of My subsidised Press campaign.
In order that the organisers of this campaign may the better persuade neutral countries to accept My version of the justice of Our cause, I have given directions for them to appeal throughout to the God of Truth. We were, as usual, first in the field, and the Father of Lies has a lot of ground to make up.
My dear son Wilhelm tells Me that his own army has a proposition in front of it. I sometimes fear that he lacks the unquestioning piety of his Imperial Parent.
I note that services are still permitted to be held in the English church at Dresden, but that no prayers for the success of British arms are allowed. In view of My monopoly of Divine protection I regard this precaution as unnecessary.
Some blundering operator in Berlin has circulated the ridiculous report of a disaster to My army in France. I have ordered the fear of God to be put into him.
Even I cannot be in two places at once, and I am too busy in in exchanging felicitations with My Creator in the background of Our western sphere of operations to be able to give My benediction in person to the brave defenders of My beloved Prussia. My lack of the gift of omnipresence has always been rather a sore point with Me in My otherwise co-equal relations with the Almighty. I hope in course of time to have this corrected.
Or, a Word to the Children of England on the Importance of Sea-power.
[As a part of our campaign to capture Germany's trade, it has been suggested that Noah's Arks should in future be made in this country.]
Remove yon odious concern
That once outrode the mimic storm,
And deep in darkest shelves intern
Her captain and his pirate swarm:
Sweep, sweep, that Dreadnought from the seas
Of England's carpets, if you please,
And set no more by two and two
On Sabbath days her bestial crew,
That mask with peace the Prussian uniform.
I seem to see the War-Lord's lace
Bedeck that bosom mild and stout;
Athwart yon patriarchal face
The Kaiser-like moustaches sprout;
The wideawake becomes a helm,
The staff a sword to overwhelm,
Hypocrisy stands writ and cant
On yonder pale-blue elephant
Tusk-less (Maud did it when Mamma was out).
What makes he with a lilac dove
This Corsair desperate and daft?
Behold the conning tower above
The big stern chasers pointing aft!
This is not he that saved mankind
With pards and pigs from tempests blind,
But rather he that forged a flood,
And not of water but of blood,
And filled with worse than wolves his impious craft.
But come, we 'll build a larger boat
Of English breed, no Teuton shams,
Where sheltered animals shall float,
The lion couchant with the lambs:
See from the cabin's open door
What mild-faced dromedaries pour!
What Shems are these? what host arrives
Of gentler Japhets with their wives?
What antelopes? what un-Westphalian Hams?
And sometimes, should the pageant cloy,
Supposing Nurse has left the room,
We'll take again that outcast toy
From the deep cupboard's inmost gloom;
We'll shell that buccaneering barque
With the good guns of England's ark;
We'll chase it flying like a rat
For some fort-guarded Ararat,
And leave it flotsam for Jemima's broom.
Peace: Old and New Style.
Now that the Allies have all agreed not to make separate peaces, we can look forward to the War stopping all at once, and not just a bit at a time, though of course the calendar of the Russians will allow them the option of keeping at it for twelve days after the others have finished.
"Glorious Compeagne.—For ever memorable in the annals of the country will be the name of Compeigne."—News of the World.
Nor shall Compiègne, we hope, be utterly forgotten.
