been killed along its scarred pathway than along any other road in all
the world. Not even the road to Calvary was as sad as this road.

Along this road when the French held it, during the first year of the
war, they gathered their dead together and buried them in a little
cemetery. Above the sacred remains of their comrades these French
soldiers erected a simple bronze cross as a symbol not only of the
faith of the nation, but a symbol also of the cause in which they had
died.

A few months later when the Germans had recaptured this spot, and it
had been fought over, and the bronze cross still stood, the Hun, too,
gathered his dead together and buried them side by side with the
French. Then he did a characteristic thing. He got a large stone as a
base and mounted a cannon-ball on top of this stone, and left it there,
side by side with the French cross.

Whether he meant it or not, his sacrilege stands as a fitting
expression of his philosophy, the philosophy of the brute, the religion
of the granite rock and the iron cannon-ball.

He told his own story here. Side by side in those two monuments the
contrast is made, the causes are placed. One is the cause of the
cross, the cause of men willing to die for brotherhood; the other is
the cause of those who are willing to kill to conquer.

And these two monuments, side by side on the Baupaume Road, stand out
as one of the Silhouettes of Sacrilege.

Then there is St. Gervais. On Good Friday afternoon a Hun shell