Part 3

As the German military element was increasing daily at the hotel, all persons of other nationalities departed, save those obliged to remain. We, the British nurses, and some few Belgians, unable to return to their homes in other parts of Belgium, were consequently in constant association with numerous high officials, who, in the first pride of victory, discarded their war-raiment for brilliant blue dress-uniforms, ornamented with gold or silver. They strutted about with a domineering air of superiority which later became greatly modified, but at that time was insufferable.

One evening, immediately after the fall of Reims, when the Belgian spirit was more depressed than ever before, a dinner was held in the public dining-room by a number of high-grade officers. They were seated at a long table close to ours, all in gala attire, and evidently jubilant over some new disaster to the Belgian forces—a satisfaction which they appeared particularly anxious should be noted by the Belgians present. But the latter, who hid their aching hearts under lowered eyelids, appeared not to heed them. Outside, however, there were many interested watchers. As the evening was warm, windows had been left open, and at them gathered the idle street crowds, with nothing, night or day, to divert their thoughts—no business, no theatres, no cafés—and too anxious to remain in their homes.

No slight consideration for their helpless and ruined victims, looking in on the joyous party, stayed the gay laughter and toasts of those at that table! Triumph, which common decency should have impelled them to indulge privately, was flagrantly flourished in the wan faces of men who knew not how they were to feed their families in a week’s time, of youths cast out of employment and unable to give their country the aid they longed to give.

Soldiers bearing dispatches constantly entered the room, trod heavily, with clatter of spurs, to within a few paces of the table, drew up, brought their heels together, and stood at salute until given permission to approach. Officers of lower rank paused, on seeing the august and radiant gathering, saluted, and continued to bow and salute while passing the table to find a smaller one in another part of the room. Judging by their servility and that of the soldiers, the two in general’s attire at the dinner must have been of high rank, but their identities were not known in the hotel. To my eyes each looked as important as the other, puffed up with pride, betraying, in every glance and movement, confident conviction that the present satisfaction was but a fore-runner of greater triumphs.

Again and again when a dispatch was read, evidently containing satisfactory news from the front, the joyous cry, “_Hoch! Hoch! Hoch!_” rang out to that pathetically wistful audience, who knew it was in celebration of a fresh wound dealt to the country they loved. And yet in their pale, troubled faces no sign of hatred or rage could be detected, only the same childlike curiosity expressed on the first day, and a sort of puzzled wonder, as though they found it difficult to believe that atrocities such as were committed in their land had been ordered by men of such good appearance, and apparently so civilized. Even to us it seemed incredible, while watching that gathering of smart-looking, intelligent beings, who might have won the respect, possibly even the admiration, of a people accustomed throughout their history to the wrongdoings of mightier nations; who, as a whole, would have appreciated a generous recognition of their noble and courageous stand for honour. But those men, whose close-cropped, sabre-scarred heads were held so high above a uniform they gradually made odious to the entire world, were blinded by vanity, delirious with success. The long-awaited hour of opportunity had arrived, as pregnant with great promise as those that bred the first Roman and the first French empires; an hour when Europe, lulled by the harmony of peace, might be shocked to submission before Germany’s secretly-created Frankenstein!

It was amazing to see, during the first week or so of the occupation, with what naïve interest the Belgians clustered about even minor units of the army that had so ruthlessly afflicted them. They would pause to stare at a common soldier with something of the awed perplexity the Indians of America evinced on their first introduction to firearms; or gather, silent and gaping, about the great automobiles to watch imposing officers alight. This unconscious flattery, evidently relished, disappeared, however, in a short time, not only because Prussians became so prevalent that they no longer attracted attention, but because the more intelligent citizens took a stand against it, and reproved those who thus gratified the vanity of their enemies. And the people were not slow to realize an error due more to their lack of occupation than to tolerant interest in the intruders. Disaster, in fact, had come so suddenly upon them; their lives had been so abruptly changed from the even tenor of prosperity to want and misery, that they were too stunned at once to realize the cause. Some among the lower classes, indeed, appeared incapable of seeing the situation as other than a temporary, inexplicable calamity, not likely to endure more than a week or two. For this reason, no doubt, there was very little resentment in speech or action. The general attitude was one of patient endurance of incomprehensible ills, a fact which made the lying German excuses for their atrocities ring false to all who had witnessed the inoffensive bearing of the inhabitants at the time of their bitterest hour, when the enemy entered Brussels.

Better-class Belgians, who understood the situation, were bitter enough in private speech, and in their determined and unflinching efforts to hamper the invaders by every possible means which their unarmed and imprisoned condition permitted. That they accomplished much secretly, and despite the severe and ever-increasing espionage, was acknowledged by the Germans themselves, when information of their every movement was proved to have reached the Allied forces within an hour. Every effort was made by the Government to solve the mystery, and discover the secret means by which the exact locality of a Zeppelin garage or ammunition depot, army movements, etc., was at once conveyed to their adversaries. Many suffered death or long imprisonment on mere suspicion of connection with these secret societies, and spies in civil dress were set to watch even such as were not suspected, whose intelligence or standing made it possible they might be in the secret. Another mystery especially galling to the Prussians was the inexplicable publication and distribution of the _Libre Belgique_, a small truth-telling journal, which spared neither the Kaiser nor his army in its caustic and often insulting criticism, and served as a tonic to the oppressed people; an antidote to poison injected with malignant persistency by the occupying Powers. No amount of persecution, investigation, or bribery led to the discovery of where this brave little sheet was published, or who managed it; but several entire families were arrested and subjected to the torture of military inquisition, to fines and long terms of imprisonment, on very slight grounds of suspicion.

Although the _Libre Belgique_ seldom contained any definite news from outside, its free voice, speaking openly what everyone longed to utter but dared not, was a delight to us all. Persons of the very highest social standing undertook its circulation, carrying copies in hollowed-out walking-sticks, lining of hats, and so forth, in order to distribute them as widely as possible. Some day the story of its origin, its compositors, and indiscoverable place of publication will be known and welcomed with intense interest by all who drew from its single page almost the only ray of encouragement and hope those dark years offered for jaded spirits.

On the evening of the military dinner above referred to, which was in the early part of September, an incident occurred serving, in an impressive manner, to relieve the fretting recollection of that callously gay party, which had forced us and, I think, many others to leave the hotel immediately afterwards.

In the midst of that discordant levity, when the Prussians’ laughter and noisy toasts were ringing through the room, there suddenly sounded from without a wild and excited cry that swelled to a very thunder of voices as it was taken up by the throngs in the street. Naturally, we all sprang from table and hurried to the entrance door, anticipating we knew not what, for the cries were too glad in tone to suggest any fresh blast of all-too-familiar calamity.

Outside many persons from near-by houses had gathered in the middle of the boulevard—men in shirt-sleeves, women only partly dressed, children, and aged grandparents, all electrified by a note of joy such as they had not heard since they had cheered their departing army only a few weeks ago; weeks already seeming like years! All were gazing upwards into the pale sky of a summer-like twilight. “_Le voilà! le voilà!_” was shouted on every side in rough men’s voices, the shriller tones of women, and the piping treble of children. When the object of interest became visible to all—an Allied aeroplane soaring, like a bird of good omen, just above the street—those disjointed cries blended into one universal roar, that seemed to shake to their foundations the lines of massive buildings against which it rang.

So hysterically intense was the excitement that it looked for some moments as if the people had lost control of themselves, and as if some perilous outbreak would be the consequence—an event that could only lead to ruthless slaughter of the unarmed citizens. But the pathetic, almost tragic, poetry of the scene made one oblivious of everything threatening. One felt only the doleful significance of that high-soaring, unapproachable friend from the outer world, at whose message of encouragement we could only guess; whose coming only made clearer the fact that all who watched it from the dusk-shadowed streets were prisoners, as much cut off from the free world as though interned on some island far removed from the sphere of former interests, and denied all communication with it.

I had not fully realized our woeful position before the air-craft’s appearance, which stirred me to echo the excitement and joy of that helpless throng, watching, many with tears in their eyes, this proof that they were not forgotten by the nations they had so bravely served.

Although it was nearly eight p.m., daylight still lingered in the heavens, or rather a soft, green aftermath of day where the great bird circled, high above the house-tops, dark and awe-inspiring in that sea of pale light.

“_C’est un Anglais!_” cried some; and others: “_C’est un Français!_” “_C’est un Belge!_” while again and again a wild shout of glad greeting rose from the streets to that far visitor, which was presently recognized as a Belgian.

Suddenly a still louder sound shocked these cries to a brief silence. The echoing report of cannon, already set up at advantageous points in the city, told that the visitor had been espied by less loving eyes. However, he seemed to know that nothing could reach him at that particular point. At any rate, he never wavered, and while the cannon roared, and cries rose again, now in frantic applause of his courage, he hovered as before, quietly winging in a circle above the darkening capital, seeming, by easy and fearless movement, to express sympathy and encouragement.

When light deepened and lamps began to flare in the sombre streets, the air-craft, whose driver evidently realized he would soon be invisible, turned with a wide sweep and, heading southward, flew off into the violet mist of distance, dying into a mere speck still passionately watched by yearning eyes from that sea of upturned faces.

Later on these aerial visits became frequent; but this one, the first sign we had had since the occupation from the outside world, made a lasting impression. It was said later that printed slips—a sample of which I unfortunately never saw—had been dropped from the aeroplane bearing this cheering message: “Have courage for a little time; we shall soon deliver you.”

That, alas, was in the first days of autumn 1914!

V

Conditions in Brussels became day by day more like those of a vast prison. The prospect of escape only grew slighter with time, and the yoke of German methods more and more bitter. Their _affiches_, recounting the marvellous achievements of “_nos troupes victorieuses_,” their proclamations of all sorts with which the walls were constantly papered, were like hot irons turned in the wounds of the Belgians, painful to everyone in sympathy with the victims. Even announcements derogatory to the Belgian army were not spared them. In one German report, which I read, a Belgian prisoner was quoted as having praised the German army to the detriment of his own, and as having added: “If we were led by German officers, we should do as well as German soldiers.” Of course everyone understood this as only another sample of _la vérité allemande_, but nevertheless it brought the blood of anger to the face of many a man longing, but unable, to strangle the armed liar with his shackled hands.

There was an ungenerous spirit expressed in every announcement of events such as the Belgians were most eager to hear—a spirit especially inexcusable in a victorious power. Every success of the Allied armies was either ridiculed or ignored; only the Germans’ progress was set forth in glowing words, and victories of real importance were presented in exaggerated detail, on bright blue bulletins which no eye could avoid seeing. No event, however trivial—as compared to their own rapid advance—that might awake even a brief thrill of enthusiasm or hope in their prisoners, was allowed by the Germans to reach them. Even the Marne victory was so disguised that I have since heard German officers, engaged in administrative duty in Brussels, state how neither they, nor any of their friends in Germany, knew the reason of that astounding reverse, never definitely acknowledged by official reports.

On 2nd September 1914 the Governor, von der Goltz, had published a proclamation luring the Belgians to obedience by pretended sympathy with their patriotic feelings. This began as follows: “Belgian citizens: I demand of no one to renounce his patriotic sentiments. I expect of you all a sensible submission and absolute obedience in regard to the Governor-General’s orders. I invite you to show him confidence and lend him your assistance.”

Two weeks later von Luettwitz, the Military Governor, demanded the withdrawal of the Belgian flag—the sole expression of patriotic sentiment possible to a people whose speech, action, and will were under subjection. This was the first step in an administration of tyranny, which rapidly developed to unprecedented brutality under the odious governments which followed.

The noble Mayor of Brussels, Bourgmestre Max, fought Luettwitz and von der Goltz with unrelenting obstinacy and courage, in every instance where they sought to ignore agreements which they had solemnly made at the time of their entrance—and quickly set aside when safely installed! It was only then that the flags were forbidden, which had been allowed to float until the iron hand had closed firmly on the city; only then that demands were made contrary to primary agreements. All manner of injustice was resorted to under the plea that, “_nécessité faisant loi_,” the former contracts no longer held good.

On the 29th of August the Military Governor of Liège had a bulletin posted in that city announcing that Monsieur Max had stated that the French Government declared itself unable to assist Belgium in any way. The following day Monsieur Max proved the indomitable courage that made him so hateful to the Germans, by publishing, in wall-posters with enormous headlines, a flat denial of this utterly untruthful assertion. His _affiche_ was as follows:

“Aux Habitants de la Ville de Liège

“Le Bourgmestre de Bruxelles a fait savoir au Commandant allemand que le Gouvernement français a déclaré au Gouvernement belge l’impossibilité de l’assister offensivement en aucune manière, vu qu’il se voit lui-même forcé à la défensive.”

To this repetition of the German announcement M. Max added in the largest available type:

“J’oppose à cette affirmation le démenti le plus formel.

“ADOLPHE MAX.”

It must have been a staggering surprise to the invaders, who thought their frightfulness had killed the Belgian spirit, and consequently that their trick would succeed.

Von Luettwitz at once publicly forbade the posting of any bulletin without his permission.

To be rid of a man who so energetically defied them on undeniable grounds of right, they arrested Adolphe Max alleging that he had failed to deliver the whole amount of war indemnity within the specified time. Although Echevin Jacqmain offered himself as hostage in place of the Bourgmestre so greatly loved and needed by the people of Brussels, his offer was declined; and on the 26th of September Monsieur Max was carried away in an automobile—followed and preceded by others filled with armed men!—to be imprisoned in a fortress. With his departure, Brussels was more than ever at the mercy of those who ruled her with the despotism and unnecessary severity which newly-won power always develops in men of shallow mind and ignoble character.

So it was not sufficient that the flags had been withdrawn in response to the beautiful appeal Monsieur Max had made to the people—an appeal which, after referring to the inconsistency of the German order with former agreements, ended in these words: “Je demande à cette population de donner un nouvel exemple du sang-froid et de la grandeur d’âme, dont elle a fourni déjà tant de preuves en ces jours douloureux. Acceptons provisoirement le sacrifice qui nous est imposé. Retirons nos drapeaux pour éviter des conflits, et attendons patiemment l’heure de la réparation.”

The beloved tricolour was hidden from sight, but after the departure of Max, even the wearing of a tiny button or bit of ribbon presenting the colours, became a crime punishable by imprisonment. Women had these roughly dragged from their dress in the street by any passing officer who wished to make a public exhibition of power, and one whom I know was ordered by a young stripling wearing the Prussian uniform, when seated opposite her in a tram, to hand over a tiny brooch whereon the three colours were scarcely perceptible.

I shall never forget the grief that swept through the city when the Belgian flag was put away. It was as though the prisoners’ last connection with their king and happy prosperous past were broken. Even the children felt it; one saw them, when no German was in sight, drag a faded bit of tricolour ribbon from their pockets and wave it in gleeful defiance of a government that had robbed their young days of all happiness, and later ground down so many of them through poverty to death.

Gradually the adamant walls of oppression closed more narrowly about us, and the pervading mood became subtly affected by crafty German efforts to kill hope. Prisoners we were, and prisoners likely to remain for indefinite time, with a monster for gaoler pitiless as he who guarded the “cellar of the dead” at the ill-famed Luxembourg. Indeed, the moral and physical misery to which the people of Brussels were soon reduced was probably not less, measured by duration, than the concentrated horror of those September days during the first French Revolution. Streets never actually flowed with blood, but many a life was extinguished on that crime-stained spot where Miss Cavell was placed before a wall and shot in secret; many a mind was crazed in futile efforts to save an innocent son, father, or brother. It was not for days the people of Belgium suffered, but for months that dragged on into years of ever-increasing oppression and tragedy.

But daring courage and heroism were not lacking. Many a man, still unknown to fame, risked his life for his country within the city walls; many a woman of high standing, secretly serving her nation, scorned peril and drained a cup of moral anguish no less repellent than that drunk by the Marquis de Sombreuil’s daughter—a cup, to speak figuratively, not seldom containing the life-blood of those dearest to her. It cannot be pretended that all whom the Germans suspected were innocent, but Prussian astuteness was usually more successful in trapping the guiltless than the guilty. Fretted by failure, the Germans vented their passion on these innocent victims, in order at least to obtain the advantage of a terrifying example.

Despotism waxed strong and incredibly barbaric, when every Teuton was swelled to bursting with pride and the Allies seemed helplessly retreating before the onrush of his mighty legions. Petty laws, senselessly fretting, were imposed on the people of occupied Belgium. Citizens were ordered indoors at seven p.m., all shops and other public places had to be closed and street lights extinguished, often without reason given; sometimes as punishment for the refractory act of some peasant whose very existence was unknown to those who paid the penalty. In Bruges and other towns, citizens were forbidden to walk on the pavement which a German officer happened to be traversing, and had to salute him deferentially from the centre of the street.

In time all liberty was extinguished, and efforts were made even to suppress the French language. Flemish, closely related to German, and consequently offering a means of facilitating future control of the country, was ordered to appear first on all public announcements and documents, legal or other; also tram conductors were obliged to announce the names of streets in Flemish. The privacy of homes was invaded with or without excuse, while of course all correspondence, even in the city, and any other writing, was subjected to the severest censure.

The English language was looked upon as an affront to the enemy. Even we neutrals were made to feel it objectionable to speak our native tongue in public because of the Teuton hatred of England, for an English word affected the invaders as a red rag does a bull. Had they dared then to offend America, which would have forced them to feed the Belgians themselves, they would no doubt have officially forbidden it.

VI

After the battle of the Marne, the incredible outcome of which we only learned days later through secret outside sources, the spirit of Brussels revived a little, and the people’s wonderful, almost unreasoning, confidence became stronger than even before the occupation. Gradually the city began to assume a more normal aspect; certain cafés reopened and many shops, also street trams were run at unsatisfactory intervals. But existence was constantly haunted by the knowledge that every act and look was watched by the ubiquitous spy in civil dress eagerly seeking an excuse to drag a citizen to the Kommandantur. No one dared speak aloud of topics uppermost in the minds of all, or betray in public by so much as a glance his knowledge of that great victory which the Germans endeavoured to conceal. The city walls became more universally papered with _affiches_ curtailing liberty, or announcing penalties inflicted upon well-known citizens. “_A la peine de mort_,” in enormous lettering that could be read several yards away, frequently attracted crowds to read the names of friends or prominent men condemned to death for such faults as later on, when Germany was less confident of becoming the world’s master, were punished by clement terms of imprisonment.