“MAD” AUTHOR ON THE WAR.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18544, 18 August 1928, Page 4

“MAD” AUTHOR ON THE WAR.

BOOK THAT ANGERED THE HIGH COMMAND. (Special to the “Star.’’) LONDON. July 8. It is a fantastic irony that the auther of one of the most vivid stones of the war was officially declared insane. His book, “The Way of Sacrifice,” by Fritz von Unruh, is published to-day, and will probably become a classic. It is claimed for “The Way of Sacrifice” that it is “the most devastating picture of the soul-shattering futility of modern war ever penned," and the cream of the irony is that the German High Command ordered von Unruh to write it, little imagining that he would explode a mine under their feet. Fritz von Unruh comes of a Prussian military family, and he entered a crack Prussian regiment. He wrote a play, called “Officers," dealing with military life, which Max Reinhardt produced in 1912. It was a success and it scandal. The production of a second play, “Louis Ferdinand, Prince of Prussia.” was prevented by the Crown Prince—“ Little Willie." When the war came the High Command ordered him to write “a propaganda novef which should spur on the army before Verdun.” He wrote “The Way of Sacrifice." The High Command decided that von Unruh’s family was too influential for him to be shot or even disgraced. He was therefore officially declared insane. Lunacy of War. Von Unruh's mine exploded all along the German line, in spite of the High Command’s efforts to suppress it. Typewritten and longhand copies were circulated from hand to hand in the trenches, and its exposure of the lunacy of war exercised a tremendous influence on the German soldiers.

Here is a typical passage from von Unruh’s description of the German onslaught on Verdun: —

“The general came far forward. He stared Into the horror. When he drew near the gaunt misery of the destruction, he leaned helpless against a trtee and plastered olay over the red of hie tabs that bragged so foolishly above the grim reality of dark blood-stains on the ground. Suddenly a shudder went through his body and he fell like a hollow tree-full at the feet of the cook, who had ruahed away from the field-kitchen like _ a hunted animal. “When Flpa saw the golden collar gleaming under him he remained aa though rooted to the spot. Then he bent ov*r the general, laughed shrilly aloud, and tickled him under the chin, saying, ‘Yes, yes, Athsns Is a pleasant place to live in. Verdun Is no dove even If you do hold your gullet open like a wolf.* He laughed again, and coughed, and laughed, till a stretcher-bearer creeping back with wounded aelxed him and dragged him with him, saying, ‘Another one ripe for hospital.* The cook, who had preserved his philosophy so far, had gone mad. There is also a curate who works a machine-gun, and ends by having both eyes shot out. The story is far from being merely an account of battle horrors. It is a thrilling impression of battle, seen through the eyes of men half-crazy with their incredible experiences.