VISÉ DESTROYED: A PREMEDITATED CRIME
ONE of the first things I have to deal with is also one of the most
fearful I ever saw, and I only hope that I may never again witness the
like of it.
I have mentioned already the reign of terror with which the Germans
ruled the wretched townlet ever since they entered it. Something
fateful might happen any moment, and actually occurred during the night
of August 15th and 16th.
On that evening the soldiers, rough fellows from East Prussia, had been
revelling in the cafés, shouting filthy ditties in the streets, and
most of them in a very advanced state of intoxication. At ten o'clock
suddenly a shot was heard. The fellows took their rifles, which they
had placed against the walls, or on the tables of the cafés, and ran
into the street shouting in a mad rage: "They have been shooting!"
The most tipsy began to shoot at doors and windows simultaneously in
various parts of the town, which made the people in the houses scream,
and this excited the mad drunken soldiers all the more. They forced
their way into several houses, knocking down the frightened inhabitants
when these tried to stop them.
It is stated that some of the wretched people were even pinioned and
beaten. Their assailants then stumbled up the stairs and began to shoot
wildly from the upper stories into the dark streets, where their own
raving comrades were rushing about like madmen. Some civilians who in
great fear had come to their front door to see what was happening were
shot down.
After this game had been going on for some time, the order was given:
"Everybody must come outside." Doors and windows were forced open and
broken, and men, women, and children driven out of the houses. They
were at once ruthlessly separated. Men who assisted their aged mothers,
or carried their little babies, were taken away from their families,
and driven away, leaving their wailing and weeping wives and children
behind, while the flames from burning houses threw a lurid light on the
sad scenes of that terrible evening.
The poor wretches, who expected to be killed at any moment, were driven
into squares or the meadows, where they were exposed to the chilly
night air, so that several babies perished. Only the next morning were
the women and children allowed to leave--that is to say, they were told
to take the shortest way to Maastricht.
A number of the men were taken to Germany, the others were kept as
prisoners in the neighbourhood, and by and by had to suffer the shame
of being compelled to work for the enemy. Amongst them were men who
had never done any manual work, such as an aged notary public.
Even a doctor of the Red Cross established at St. Hadelin College had
been removed in his white overall and wearing his Red Cross armlet.
This was Dr. Labye, who already had rendered signal services to the
wounded Germans. In consequence of his detention twenty of them were
left in the hospital without medical attendance....
During the night only a few houses were burnt down; the general
destruction followed the next morning, Sunday, August 16th, and just as
I reached the little town the flames were raging all over the place in
a fierce blaze.
I shall never forget that sight. The Meuse separated me from the
raging blaze on the opposite bank. The flames roared violently, roofs
and rafters and walls crashed down, and the wood of living trees was
burning and screeching loudly. I saw but a sea of fire, one glaring
glow, and the air was scorchingly hot. A light breeze blew through
the place, and made clouds of smoke to whirl through the streets like
avalanches of snow. The view down the longer streets leading straight
from the hill-tops to the Meuse was very fantastic.
The wind seemed to play with the smoke, rolling dense volumes down the
slopes which dispersed only when they reached the bank along the river.
Whilst the flames soared high up from the roofs, the walls of the
houses stood still erect, and everywhere in the windows one saw those
miserable little white flags, symbols of submission, mute prayers that
submission should be rewarded by sparing the life and possession of the
inhabitants....
I stood near the spot where the ferry-boat used to take people across;
but to cross was now out of the question, for any one alighting on
the opposite side would be landed in the scorching glare. Therefore,
I returned to Lixhe, where I might try to cross the river by the
pontoon-bridge, and get to Visé along the other bank of the Meuse.
On the way I was stopped by two soldiers, one of whom examined my
papers, and, finding that I was a journalist, revealed himself as a
colleague, in ordinary times editor of the _Kölnische Zeitung_. He
shook both my hands quite excitedly, glad to meet a colleague, and,
better still, one from the "friendly" Netherlands.
I had to listen to a prolonged hymn of praise of the Netherlanders,
who were such sensible people, and the best friends of the Germans;
protestations which did not interest me in the least at that moment. On
the contrary, it struck me as deplorable that this man did not say a
single word of his own accord about the horrible thing happening close
by: the destruction of an entire community! He did not seem to attach
any importance to it....
As soon as the "friendly" Netherlander thought that he had swallowed
sufficient praise, I began to ask questions about the meaning of that
wanton devastation, and why it was inflicted on the population! Before
answering, he looked round in a casual manner, as if thinking: "Oh,
it's that bit of fire you refer to!" And then exploded in a string of
imprecations against the population.
It is a lamentable sign that this German, probably well educated,
had not taken the slightest trouble to find out the reason for this
wholesale wrecking of a town, that the whole affair impressed him
so little. "Somebody" had said that those cursed civilians had been
shooting, that explained it to his satisfaction, and gave him ample
cause for coarse abuse of the wretched people.
How many soldiers had fallen in consequence of this attack by
francs-tireurs he knew not; which troops had witnessed the occurrence
he could not say. All he did know was that these troops had left in the
morning, leaving a small force behind to impose the punishment.
The bridge-command at the pontoon-bridge near Lixhe allowed me to
cross, after requesting me very pressingly to make _very clear_ what
swine these Belgians were, who fired so treacherously at unsuspecting
soldiers, put out the eyes of the wounded, cut off their hands and
genitals. When I asked where all these things had happened, the answer
was: "Everywhere!" Of course, I promised them to do everything they
wanted.
Very large divisions marched from Visé to the pontoon bridge in the
direction of Tongres. After the Liège forts had been taken the bridge
might be passed in perfect safety. All day long troops came along that
road without interruption. I could quite see that the soldiers who were
at Visé the previous day, and brought about the conflagration, were
gone, for they had left their traces behind. All along the road lay
parts of bicycles, shoes, instruments, toys, and so on, everything new
and evidently looted from the shops. Very valuable things were among
them, everything crushed and smashed by the cavalry horses, the clumsy
munition and forage waggons, or the heavy wheels of the guns.
A little farther on a few houses were left undamaged, because they
stood outside the town proper. A woman who had remained in her house
stood outside with cigar-boxes under her arm. She offered cigars from
an open box to the soldiers of the passing divisions. To me she seemed
to be out of her mind, as she stood there trembling, her face distorted
from hypernervousness. Her cringing kindness was of no avail, for I
noticed a couple of days afterwards that her house too had been totally
destroyed.
On the first houses of the town large bills had been stuck, intimating
that they were a Netherlander's property, but obviously that had not
impressed the tipsy soldiers to any extent, for they had been wrecked
all the same for the greater part.
The whole town was like a sea of fire. The Germans, who are nothing
if not thorough, even in the matter of arson, had worked out their
scheme in great detail. In most houses they had poured some benzine or
paraffin on the floor, put a lighted match to it, and thrown a small
black disc, the size of a farthing, on the burning spot, and then
immediately the flames flared up with incredible fury. I do not know
the constituents of this particular product of "Kultur."
Nor did I see any inhabitants in the burning town. It was practically
impossible to stay in the streets; burning walls and roofs and gutters
crashed down with a great noise, so that the streets were as much on
fire as the houses themselves. Only at the crossings were any soldiers
to be seen, who, in various stages of intoxication, constantly aimed at
the burning houses, and shot everything that tried to escape from the
burning stables and barns: pigs, horses, cows, dogs, and so on.
Suddenly I saw a boy about twelve years old in one of the burning
streets. He waved his arms, rushed madly to and fro, calling for his
father and mother, and his little brother and sisters. He was in danger
of perishing in the fire, or being killed by the murderous bullet
from a rifle. I ran after him, laid hold of him, and in spite of his
resistance pulled him back. Fortunately I met a couple of kind, sober
soldiers to whom I told the story, and who promised to send the boy
away from the burning town.
Shortly afterwards I met a Netherland Red Cross motor-car. The male
nurses, who had met me already on former occasions during the war,
recognised me, rushed up to me, and forced me to come with them to the
car. Here they tried to explain with a torrential flow of words that I
exposed myself to the greatest danger by coming here, as nearly all the
soldiers were drunk, shot at every civilian, and so on.
They insisted upon my staying near the car, and be a little safer under
the protection of the Red Cross. They told me how they had to drag an
old woman out of her house, who refused to come with them, and in her
despair shouted nothing but: "Let me die!--let me die!"
I could not say or do anything, for I felt as if stunned, and let them
lead me where they liked; so they gave me a glass of claret, and that
revived me.
A few moments after they went away I went also, and entered the burning
town once more. A Netherland family lived in Villa Rustica, and I had
promised to make inquiries about them.
As I stood there looking at the ruins of what was once so fine a house,
a small group of refugees approached, carrying as usual their miserable
parcels in which they had hurriedly collected the things that had the
least value. As they saw me they shuddered and shivered and crept
closer together. Most of them wept and sobbed, and their faces were
twisting nervously.
I went up to them and explained that there was no need at all to be
afraid of me. They were able to give me news of the inhabitants of
Villa Rustica. The owner had died a few days since, from a paralytic
stroke, brought on by the emotions caused by the German horrors,
whereas madame, who had heroically intervened on behalf of some
victims, was probably at St. Hadelin College.
My poor informants had not yet made up their mind where to go, fearing
that they might not be permitted to enter The Netherlands as they
were without means of subsistence. I assured them, however, that our
conception of neighbourly love and charity was different, and that they
would be hospitably received.
I showed them the way to Eysden, and they had scarcely started when
a cavalry patrol came racing on, the men tipsy and their seat rather
unstable. Seeing the refugees, they aimed their rifles at them and
roared "Hands up!" The poor creatures not only put up their hands, but
fell on their knees, and muttered incoherent words. The women folded
their hands, and stretched them out to the cavalry, as if praying for
mercy. The soldiers looked at the scene for a moment, burst out in a
harsh laughter, spurred on their horses, and raced on without a word.
Two of them stopped near me. I gave them, however, no time for threats,
but quickly showed them the old pass to Visé. As soon as they saw the
German writing they said: "All right!" and went off.
I came now to the eastern boundary of the town, whence the streets
slope gently towards the bank of the Meuse. Here I had an atrociously
fantastic view of the burning mass of houses. I fell in with a crowd of
dead-drunk soldiers, who first handed my papers on from the one to the
other, but as soon as they understood that I was a Netherlander they
showed no hostility.
They sang and shouted and waved their arms. Most of them carried
bottles full of liquor, which they put to their mouths frequently,
smashed them on the ground, or handed them to their comrades, when
unable to drink any more themselves. Each of a troop of cavalry had a
bottle of pickles, and enjoyed them immensely.
Other soldiers kept on running into the burning houses, carrying out
vases, pictures, plate, or small pieces of furniture. They smashed
everything on the cobbles and then returned to wreck more things that
would have been destroyed by the fire all the same. It was a revelry of
drunken vandalism. They seemed mad, and even risked being burned alive
at this work of destruction. Most of the officers were also tipsy; not
one of them was saluted by the soldiers.
The beastly scenes which I witnessed in the glaring, scorching heat
benumbed me, and I looked on vacantly for a long time. At last I went
back and called at St. Hadelin College, the Head of which I had visited
already once or twice. The building was still undamaged.
As soon as the Reverend Head, Dr. Frits Goffin, saw me he burst out
sobbing, and, taking me by the hand, speechless, he pressed it a long
time. I myself also was quite dumb. At length he muttered:
"Could you ever have thought ... that ... that ... such ... a cruel ...
fate would overwhelm us? What crime did these poor people commit? Have
we not given all we had? Have we not strictly obeyed their commands?
Have we not done more than they asked for? Have we not charitably
nursed their wounded in this House? Oh! they profess deep gratitude to
me. But ... why then? There is nothing left in the House for the aged
refugees whom we admitted, for the soldiers we nurse; our doctor has
been made a prisoner and taken away, and we are without medical help.
This is nothing for the Sisters and myself, but all these unfortunate
creatures ... they must have food...."
The excellent man went on weeping, and I was not able to console him
and did not know what to say. He took my arm, and led me to the large
common hall, where twenty wounded Germans lay, who had been hit in the
fight for the forts. He went to one bed after the other, and, with
tears in his eyes, asked each man how he felt, and inquired, "Are you
... properly ... cared for ... here? Are you?" The sick men turned
round, their eyes beamed, and they stammered words full of gratitude.
Others said nothing, but took the Head's hand and pressed it long and
warmly.
The wounded civilians had been put up in the small schoolrooms. Some
of them must soon die. Some had burns, but most of them were hit
the previous night during the mad outbreak, the mad shooting of the
drunken and riotous Germans. In another room a number of old women were
crowded together, who had to fly but could not walk all the way to the
Netherland frontier.
Near each staircase stood a blackboard on which the Germans had written
that to go upstairs was prohibited under penalty of death. The Head
explained that the Germans alleged that light signals had been given
from the top storey.
Two South-American boys, about twelve years old, had stayed on and
heroically assisted the Head at his charitable work. Dr. Goffin was
not allowed to take anybody with him except these two children in his
search for the wounded, and to bury the dead. It is scarcely credible
how courageously these boys of such tender age behaved. Later the
Chilean ambassador made inquiries about them and asked for their
portraits.
I also met there a compatriot, who had got permission to go to The
Netherlands, but declined to leave. She was Mrs. de Villers, _née_
Borret. On August 27th I wrote about her to _De Tijd_:--
"Four days ago her husband was buried. As he was addressing the
League of Old-Retraitants at Cherath he was seized by a paralytic
stroke, which proved fatal. She has no longer a home, beautiful
Villa Rustica being completely burnt out, and now in ruins. But she
refuses to return to The Netherlands, as she is still able to be of
service to the people here.
"In Cherath she saved the life of a good many. As it was alleged
that there had been shooting, the priest, the chaplain, a retired
priest, eighty years old, the mayor, and several leading citizens
were condemned to be shot. None, not even the priest, was able to
defend himself, as they knew not a word of German, and could not
make themselves understood. Mrs. de Villers, who speaks German
fluently, explained that the spot where the shooting was alleged to
have taken place was not part of Cherath at all.
"So this brave lady succeeded in getting the sentence of death
withdrawn. But the Germans wanted to torture their wretched
prisoners on any or no plea. They were placed near the church wall,
kept standing there all night, were told that they would be shot by
and by, and threatened by the soldiers with their bayonets.
"In the morning sixty soldiers escorted them out of the village to
the hamlet Wandre, where the populace was told they would be shot.
Should one shot be fired by one of the inhabitants--thus Mrs. de
Villers was told--the prisoners would be shot out of hand; if not,
they would be released at Wandre. Mrs. de Villers had, of course,
secretly warned the inhabitants in time.
"She hopes to be able to render further services to the populace,
thanks to her knowledge of German, and stays on, occupying her
time with charitable work. A respectful salute is due to this
courageous compatriot."
On the same day I wrote as follows about Dr. Goffin:--
"His face, unshaven since ever so long, is quite emaciated, and
presents all the symptoms of nervous exhaustion. Once more twenty
German soldiers are being nursed in his college, where only once
a German doctor came to see them. He (Dr. Goffin) and a couple of
Sisters have to manage everything by themselves, and the Germans do
not even dream of providing food for their own wounded, although
the college is so inadequately provisioned that the Head and the
Sisters have to deny themselves the necessary nourishment that they
may feed the wounded.
"And how are they thanked for it?
"The Reverend Head has been notified already ten times that he
would be shot, and he is frequently being arrested for alleged
shooting from the building. This shooting is actually done by
German soldiers alone, who are loafing and looting, as I myself
noticed a short time ago. The Head took me to a room where an old
man of ninety, who had just received the extreme unction, lay
dying. By his side sat a broken-hearted little old woman, his wife.
This old man had been taken prisoner with other men of Visé, and
forced to work at a new bridge. The poor fellow broke down under
the strain; it cost him his life."
I left burning Visé deeply impressed by the savage scenes I had
witnessed: men turned into beasts by drink, passion, and anger, doing
all manner of wrong to the wretched inhabitants; but the impression
became deeper by the great contrast: the perfect, charitable devotion
of a virtuous priest, a courageous lady, and ever kind and commiserate
Sisters. Never have I experienced so many emotions in one day as at
Visé.
After taking warm leave of the Head of St. Hadelin College, I continued
my walk to the Netherland frontier.
I was scarcely outside the townlet when I met another little group of
refugees, probably all members of one family. The mother was being
supported by her daughters, all wept, and nervous exhaustion made them
totter as they walked. Every moment the mother looked back pitifully
at the conflagration which devoured all around, including her slender
property, for which she had worked so many years.
From the other side came two soldiers, one of whom she recognised, as
he had been billeted on her. Constantly weeping, her face distorted,
she sent another glance towards that fiery blaze, looked at the soldier
as if reprovingly, hesitated a moment, but then pressed the enemy's
hand, sobbing: "Adieu!--adieu!"
Sometimes I felt as if I were dreaming and wanted to call myself back
from this nightmare to another, better, and real world. And I thought
constantly of the man who, by one word, had given the order for these
murders, this arson; the man who severed husbands and fathers, wives
and mothers, and children, who caused so many innocent people to be
shot, who destroyed the results of many, many years of strict economy
and strenuous industry.
The first acquaintance whom I met on Netherland territory was a
Netherland lady married to a Walloon, who kept a large café at Visé.
Before the destruction she had asked me, full of anxiety, whether the
Germans would indeed carry out their threat and wreck everything. I
had comforted her, and answered that I did not think them capable of
doing such a thing. Weeping, she came to me, and reminded me of my
words. The whole business, in which these young people had invested
their slender capital, had been wrecked.