He went on in this tone for a long time more—now with oily mildness, with sunken head, in the softest tones speaking of love, humility, “little children,” salvation, and “precious things”—now with military voice of command, with a proud, erect attitude, talking of strict morals and stern discipline—sharp and cutting—of sword and shield. The word “joy” was never used otherwise than in composition with death, battle, and dying. From the point of view of the army chaplain, to kill and to be killed seemed to be the most exquisite delights in life. Everything else is exhausting, sinful pleasure. Verses, too, were recited. First this of Körner:—
Father, do Thou guide me!
Guide me to victory—guide me to death!
Lord, I confess Thy command.
Lord, as Thou willest, so guide me!
God, I confess Thee.
Then the old popular song of the Thirty Years’ War:—
No happier death on earth can be
Than one good stroke from mortal foe,
On fresh green turf, in breezes free—
No woman’s tears, no cries of woe:
No grim deathbed, whence, lone and slow,
From life’s gay scene your soul must go.
Like swathes of grass, in lusty row,
’Mid shouting friends, Death lays you low.
And then the song by Lenau of the war-loving armourer:—
Peace steals on, and, mining slowly,
Saps our vigour, dims our story.
While she boasts her “influence holy,”
Cobwebs gather o’er our glory.
Hark! then sounds War’s joyous rattle.
Wounds may yawn, blood flow, in battle!
We need yawn in sloth no longer,
War’s pruning makes mankind the stronger.
And, to conclude, the saying of Luther:—
“When I look at war as a thing that protects wife, child, house, land, goods, and honour—and in doing so gains peace and secures it—in that view war is a right precious thing.”
“Oh, yes; if I look at the panther as a dove, in that case the panther is a very gentle beast,” I remarked unheard.
The military chaplain did not allow himself to be disturbed in his flow of eloquence; and, when he ended and took leave, I found myself with two convictions: that war from the Christian point of view is a justifiable, and in and by itself is a precious thing. It was visibly a very agreeable thing to him to have, by means of this rhetorical victory, both fulfilled the duty of his profession, and in doing so rendered a considerable service to the foreign colonel; for, as he rose to go, and we expressed to him our thanks for the trouble he had been so good as to undertake, he deprecatingly rejoined:—
“It is for me to thank you for having given me an opportunity of chasing away your doubts through my feeble word (whose entire efficacy is to be ascribed to the Word of God, which I have so often quoted), doubts which are of such a nature as to bring nothing but pain to a person who is not only a Christian but a soldier’s wife. Peace be with you.”
“Oh,” I groaned, when he was gone, “that was a torture!”
“Yes,” said Frederick; “it was. Our want of straightforwardness especially was uncomfortable to me, and particularly the false premises under which we got him to display his eloquence. At one moment I was on the point of saying to him: ‘Stop, reverend sir, I myself entertain the same views against war as my wife, and what you are saying only serves, as far as I am concerned, to enable me to see more clearly the weakness of your arguments.’ But I held my tongue. Why interfere with an honest man’s conviction—a conviction which is besides the foundation of his profession in life?”
“Conviction? Are you certain of that? Does he really believe that he is speaking the truth, or does he purposely deceive his common soldiers, when he promises them an assured victory through the assistance of a God of whom he nevertheless must know this—that He is invoked in exactly the same way by the enemy? These appeals to ‘our people’ and to ‘our cause’
