September 30th, Wednesday.
We went again to Spa in the auto. Passing again through the pitiful village of Louvigné, we saw, in a meadow, the graves, covered with wayside flowers, of the farmers who were shot. The soldiers picked out forty of the villagers, stood them up in a line, then shouted, "Save yourselves." Thirteen were shot in the back and the rest escaped. What words to find for this barbarism? But is it barbarism and not rather the refined cruelty of civilization? Is it not better then to remain a primitive, with a beautiful faith in the Sun-god?
October 1st, Thursday.
The siege of Antwerp has begun. Here is a dialogue between the Kaiser and his belle armée.
K. "I need Antwerp."
A. "Your Majesty shall have Antwerp, but we need five hundred thousand men."
K. "You shall have them."
Does this explain the fantastic array of soldiers, sailors, the old, the young, grandfathers and infants, the simple rank and file and the elegant regiments of H. M. that are continually trailing on to the battlefield?