The Drama of Three Hundred and Sixty Five Days/Hymns of Hate
HYMNS OF HATE
About this time also we became conscious of a
fierce, delirious, intoxicating hate of our people
which was developing in the hearts of our enemies.
Before the outbreaking of the war it had been
Russia and the Russians who had (by inherited
antipathy from the founder of the German
Empire) been the chief objects of German hatred.
Now it was Britain and the British. Hymns of
Hate (our enemies called it "sacred hate") were
composed, recited, and sung:
French and Russian, they matter not,
A blow for a blow, and a shot for a shot,
We love them not, we hate them not,
We love as one, we hate as one,
We have one foe, and one alone—
England!
England was not moved to retaliate in kind. We remembered what the German Churchmen had said about our Teutonic brotherhood, and allowed ourselves to believe that this was only the call of the blood in the German race—the mad, bad blood of fratricidal hate, the most devilish hate of all. We also reflected that it was a form of hatred not unfamiliar in asylums for the insane, where it has always been equally tragic and pitiful in its effects, and certain to recoil on the sufferer's own head. But as no sane father of a family would make free of his children's nursery the deranged relative who required the protection and restraint of the padded room, we decided that there was only one safe way with our aliens as a whole—to shut them up.
God forbid that any of us should say that all our German aliens were under suspicion of criminal intentions. On the contrary, we know that some of them are among the sincere friends of Great Britain, passionately opposing Germany's objects in this war and loathing Germany's methods. We know, too, that a few belong to that rare company whose sympathies can rise even higher than nationality into the realm of "human empire." We also know that countless persons, long resident in this country, and deeply attached to the land of their adoption, have suffered unspeakable hardships from the accident of German origin. It is painful to think of some of the people who frequented our houses, whose houses we frequented, whose wives and children are our kindred, being shut up behind barbed wire in open encampments. But these are among the inevitable cruelties of a war for which we are not responsible. In putting the great body of our enemy aliens under control we did no more than our plain duty to the soldiers who were fighting for us at the front. What will happen to them (and us) when the war is over, and they come out of their prisons, none can say. It seems as if the world can never be the same place as before—the devil has played too hard a game with it.