Not the most determined cockney
sentimentalist could have had the heart to weep for joy at the thought of
its teeming numbers! And yet they were living, they are alive yet,
since, through the mist of print, we have seen their blood freezing
crimson upon the snow of the squares and streets of St. Petersburg; since
their generations born in the grave are yet alive enough to fill the
ditches and cover the fields of Manchuria with their torn limbs; to send
up from the frozen ground of battlefields a chorus of groans calling for
vengeance from Heaven; to kill and retreat, or kill and advance, without
intermission or rest for twenty hours, for fifty hours, for whole weeks
of fatigue, hunger, cold, and murder--till their ghastly labour, worthy
of a place amongst the punishments of Dante's Inferno, passing through
the stages of courage, of fury, of hopelessness, sinks into the night of
crazy despair.
It seems that in both armies many men are driven beyond the bounds of
sanity by the stress of moral and physical misery. Great numbers of
soldiers and regimental officers go mad as if by way of protest against
the peculiar sanity of a state of war: mostly among the Russians, of
course.
Pages:
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127