Does this explain the fantastic array of soldiers, sailors, the old, the
young, grandfathers and infants, the simple rank and file and the
elegant regiments of H. M. that are continually trailing on to the
battlefield?
_September 29th, Tuesday._
The servants are dismantling the house today, putting all the art
treasures in safety--tapestries, silver, portraits, paintings, rugs,
fine china, furniture, dresses, furs, books, linen--in fact everything
of value. All this is to be taken off for safekeeping and sealed
up,--maybe, in the crystal caves of the river nymph, Aréthusa. Madame X.
does not like to imagine the _Haus Fraus_ parading in her sables.
A man in the city saw some circulars ready for distribution that were
printed by the German War Office, saying that in case of retreat of the
army, the inhabitants of Liége would have six hours to evacuate the
city.
All that horror over again? Oh! this is a more terrifying thought, even,
than the advance of an army.
Madame de H. managed to get through to us a letter from Brussels by
messenger. What dreadful things are happening, what curious things!
Three kilometres from her château on the other side of Brussels is an
old feudal castle which has been occupied for the last two years by an
Austrian family. These people were never very neighborly, preferring
their own society evidently and spending all their time and interest in
repairing the dilapidated walls of an unused wing of the château. This
had turned out an endless task, as it appears, continued for weeks and
then suddenly and unaccountably stopped for days, only to be feverishly
recommenced. But of course, people round about, accustomed to the
varying energy of workmen in general were not puzzled at this. At least
this was the explanation given and, in truth, it began to look as if the
old place would live its given quota of days and crumble away still
unfinished.
Twenty-four hours after Germany declared war on France and had already
crossed the frontier into Belgium, the Austrian family disappeared in
the night, taking with them their household goods. The next day Belgian
authorities seized the property and found a complete arsenal under the
walls with a net-work of tunnels burrowing far into the earth in all
directions.
_October 3rd, Saturday._
During the last forty-eight hours, hundreds of cattle cars have been
going back to Germany and we were very curious as to their contents.
Unhappily, we have been enlightened.
Some of the villagers at the station, this morning, looked into one car
and saw that it was full of dead human bodies, tied together in threes
and packed tightly side by side in rows. Is that not too horrible for
words? It is better not to be too inquisitive these days, for there is
horror enough on the surface of things.
The Germans have already taken some of the forts of Antwerp, although
the country surrounding the outer belt line of forts has been purposely
inundated, which does not, however, prevent the operation of big field
cannon.
About fourteen of our wounded at the Convent Ambulance were sent to
Germany today as prisoners. We went to see them off and found the poor
things absolutely overwhelmed. Against the fear of cold and
imprisonment, they put on as many clothes as possible--two suits of
underwear, two pairs of socks, two pairs of trousers, coats, shirts,
sweaters and waistcoats--until they looked like stuffed partridges.
Poor, feathered brood, with pinioned wings! At three P. M. our
(usually) gay boys were led out of the court, two by two, like convicts,
a Prussian at the head of the column and a Prussian at the foot.
Oh, these Belgians are brave and they know how to obey, which may be the
very secret of their greatness. It is glorious to see the respect with
which even grown men accept the advice of their aged parents, for at the
moment of peril to their honor and their country when the old father had
said to his son, "My boy, it is time to lay down the hoe and take up
the sword," he had answered, simply, "_Oui, mon père_," while the women
brought out the sword and buckled it on with a tearless Godspeed.
That is the way the Belgians went to war and that is the way they will
sustain themselves to the glorious end.
_October 5th, Monday._
To-day, two months after that horrible battle of Sartilmont, we found a
Belgian soldier's cap lying in the middle of the path in the woods. It
seemed like a human thing and stirred me to the profoundest depths. I
never thought that clothes could take on life and a personality all
alone, but they do. Has its owner been in hiding all these weeks or is
he lying yet unburied among the friendly trees? In these places where
Death has walked so boldly one feels his accompanying presence at every
step.
_October 8th, Thursday._
Monsieur B., a man of seventy years (Madame X.'s brother-in-law), was
taken as hostage yesterday at Spa. Fortunately for him, he was allowed
to sleep in the hotel, but can you imagine what the anxiety of those
twenty-four hours was? Every voice in the street, every foot-step in the
corridor--!
From the top of the mountain all day a continual booming was heard,
distantly transmitted through the air. It was so incessant and with such
vivacity, one could easily imagine two armies all mixed up into one. The
Red Cross trains bear witness to tremendous battles somewhere--but
where? We hardly know how to contain ourselves in this absolute
ignorance of what is happening in the world. We rush upon and tear to
bits, like beasts of prey, the least little piece of news that comes
straggling within reach and if, by chance, someone comes into the court,
it is enough for all the family, including the servants, to rush to the
windows in excitement.
The soldiers who are in the garage had the delicate idea of killing a
cow therein, which they did, and dismantled the animal then and there.
The next day they dressed themselves in Belgian uniforms, stripped from
the dead, and had themselves photographed before the château. We noticed
their laughing and pointing to the attic windows of the house, and we
finally discovered that they had festooned strings of sausages, of their
own recent make, from the window sills, to ripen.
A Baron de S. spent the night here, and told us of the ravages made by
the passing troops at his château down in the country. They had buried a
Frenchman in one corner of the garden and two Germans in another and
nothing was left but the house. All engravings and paintings were cut
with a sword; silver platters were melted in a lump in the court yard;
meat was cut up on a beautiful salon table; shoe polish was rubbed on
another; pipes in the kitchen and bathroom were cut to flood the rooms;
every glass in the house was broken and all the linen carried off except
the handkerchiefs.
_October 9th, Friday._
Baron T., another friend of the family, came to lunch. He told us of his
cousin, who was one of the unfortunate victims of the sack of Louvain.
This aged man (seventy years) with a thousand others, was obliged to
walk for twenty-four hours with nothing to eat or drink and arms
stretched up straight over their heads. The poor man, fainting with
fatigue, asked permission of the soldiers to put his hands behind his
neck, but this grace was denied, and after some hours more all the
company was pushed into a cattle train and for eight days taken over the
country, as far as Cologne, and at last released in Brussels, almost
demented.
When this Monsieur--of whom I speak, found himself free again he made
his way, laboriously enough, to his brother's house in Brussels.
The _maitre d'hotel_ opened the door and, seeing this haggard, bootless
individual, who was weakened with fatigue and dazed from his recent
horrible experience, did not recognize him, naturally enough, and
refused him admission until the old gentleman got his poor scattered
brains together enough to prove his identity. This is the story as we
have it first-hand. Can it then be possible that the others we heard are
true, too?
_October 10th, Saturday._
I have been advertised! like a stray dog, and what a feeling of
importance it gives one. A peculiar looking document with the Embassy
seals of Paris and Brussels on it, arrived from the American Consul in
Liége enquiring if such a person as "Me" still exists.
Well, rather, I should say. Fancy one's coming all the way on foot from
Brussels to find out that!
Masses of soldiers and cannon passing today and news from Brussels is
bad. The worst must have happened! "Antwerp, the untakable." How is it
possible in a few days, with fifty-two forts in triple line? We were so
depressed we could scarcely eat dinner, when about nine P. M.
came the news, from a man of affairs who is just back from Brussels,
that the rumor is false. We shall sleep tonight after this hope and the
end of the world is not today, anyway.
_October 11th, Sunday._
We have heard the raging of a distant battle for days and we tremble for
the result. It seems that Antwerp is really taken, that is, "they say"
so, but it is such a mystery to everybody.
A Dutch army nurse--but in the German Red Cross service--is here for a
few days' furlough, and related to Madame X. some horrible details of
the battlefield in France, whence she has recently come. It is just one
scene of mud and blood--pieces of limbs strewn everywhere and the dead
standing straight against masses of bodies, both living and dead. In
some towns she saw women and children pinioned with a sword through the
breast to the walls of their houses, and in Belgium the women and
children were often obliged to hold the hands of the men whom the
soldiers shot at random, according to their fancy. Here again are tales
that one hears that I cannot assert as facts, though this woman told
them as her own experiences.
Madame X. received a card from Charles, the young gardener, who is now
safe in France training with the Belgian army near Dunkirque. You are
doubtless wondering how a card arrived here, as we have had no mail
since August 2nd. It was sent to a certain bank in Holland which is not
far from the Belgian frontier and a messenger brought it on foot.
And I have sent you back a letter, dear people, scribbled at top speed
(without capitals, t's crossed nor i's dotted, probably) by the same
messenger who takes his life in his hands when he passes the guard at
the Dutch frontier again. If letters are found on this person he will
certainly be shot, so whether you ever receive my communication will be
a matter of history.
_October 13th, Tuesday._
The old concierge of the hunting box at Viel Salm (near Malmédy,
Germany), who has been dying of tuberculosis for twenty years, arrived
here tonight, having walked the whole distance of seventy five
kilometres. This shows the faithfulness of the old servant who thought
he must come to report the sacking of the villa by the German troops
which occurred in the early days of August.
The poor man could not have hobbled another step, for he was at the end
of his strength and his feet were just two great blisters. He told a
shocking tale of the troops, who entirely pillaged the villa. While he
went to complain of them at the _Kommandantur_ of the place, others came
and what they did not break up, they took off. Pictures, engravings and
mirrors were broken, the leather chairs slit up with a sabre--artistically
done in the shape of a cross--and porcelain smashed in the middle of the
courtyard. You can see by this that pillaging and atrocities began when
the troops were hardly over the frontier.
In one of the numerous pillaged châteaux around about, an extraordinary
bit of literature, in fact a masterpiece, has been found by the
châtelaine. A tiny scrap of paper sticking out from a book had these
words scribbled on it in German: "I am only a common soldier but I ask
pardon for these atrocities, committed by my superior officers."
_October 14th, Wednesday._
It is unbelievable the trainloads of soldiers that are passing about
every ten minutes, and the fighting--judging from the wounded--must be
beyond words. The army nurse told of men who have fought five days in
the trenches without relief. They were tumbling over with fatigue, rifle
in hand, and the officers were obliged to go from one to the other,
shaking them into consciousness.
[Illustration: MAP SHOWING VIEL SALM AND THE GERMAN FRONTIER]
_October 16th, Friday._
We went to Viel Salm in the automobile. The destruction at the villa,
which I saw with my own eyes, has not been exaggerated. There was
practically nothing left but the structure itself and that was far from
intact, for nearly all the great plate glass windows were broken by some
_dévot_ of vandalism who had taken the trouble and an ax to split up the
jambs of the doors so that they never could shut again.
Inside was far worse; every picture, glass and mirror was smashed, each
leather chair had a great cross on it, cut with the sword, the sofas
were ripped up the middle, curtains and portières were wrenched from
their rods, all the dishes were taken except the glass stoppers of the
water-bottles, all the linen, all the blankets, all the clothes except a
few which were carefully cut up into ribbons and the tops of riding
boots which were sawed off for gaiters. In addition to this, eighteen
beds and bedsteads as well were carried off.
We visited the Baronne de L., whose son, after refusing a demand of
forty thousand francs, was taken as a hostage, with the burgomaster and
others of the village.
One morning at two o'clock a great ox cart drove up the avenue of pines
to the château and took him off before his mother's eyes. He is now
confined in a convict's cell at Coblenz.
Baronne de L. has suffered severely at the hands of the invaders. She is
living quite alone in the château with the servants since her son was
taken and the avalanche of troops swept over the frontier at this point.
The house has been full of officers from the "first days" and she thinks
one of them was the "Kronprinz" from his photograph and because his
brother-officers always addressed him as Excellency. After one frightful
day, when the soldiers had literally despoiled the place by tearing
trophies from the wall, appropriating furniture and devastating the
stables, the household quieted down about midnight and everybody was in
bed, when suddenly a thundering of horses' hoofs was heard in the
courtyard and a new detachment of hungry, quarrelsome men piled in,
making a raid on the kitchen and pantries as usual. They were even more
boisterous and brutal than their predecessors and poor Madame de L.
crept fearfully up to the captain's room to solicit his aid and
protection. She knocked and knocked several times before the door
finally burst open and he angrily demanded what she wanted. Just as he
was in the middle of roaring out an oath, he suddenly drew himself up
haughtily, attired as he was in that great voluminous night gown
accredited to the Teutonic people, to salute a superior officer who at
that moment ascended the stair-case.
Baronne de L. said that in spite of the fearfulness of the moment, it
was one of the most laughable scenes that she ever witnessed.
On our way home from Viel Salm we saw the wonderful bridge of trees,
three hundred feet long and fifty feet high, at Trois Ponts, which the
Germans built when the tunnel was blown up by the Belgians at the
commencement of the war. It is a marvellous affair in engineering
construction and commands enthusiastic admiration. Except for iron bolts
and rivets, it is made entirely of trunks of huge trees--with the bark
yet on in places, though, when necessary, a surface was planed square
and true to meet its fellow.
We drove through the village of Francorchamps, which was also burned to
the ground, and a few miles further on met three Prussian officers who
snarled out some frightful invective as we passed. I cannot think of a
reason, except that we were in an automobile while they were obliged to
circulate in a modest, pony phaeton.
_October 17th, Saturday._
Antwerp is taken! There is no doubt about it now, and it is a sad blow
for Belgium. Antwerp! the pride and strength of the whole empire! But
there is not a person (bar the enemy) who does not expect to get it back
and all the rest of the usurped territory.
Madame de H. sent letters by a "foot-messenger" from Brussels. She left
here only to plunge into a wild vortex of experiences there. Two days
ago she saw a battle in the air between two aeroplanes and yesterday the
locomotives on the trains had chains of roses around their necks to
celebrate some good news for the enemy. It sounds wild, doesn't it? And
last week--well, one does not dare to think what might have happened at
her home, Château de H., when four different companies of soldiers
pursued each other in quick succession on the road.
First a regiment of German light infantry passed who stopped just long
enough for some hot coffee and were off again. About half an hour later
a brigade of Belgian bicycle _carabiniers_ appeared and stayed to
"lunch." They were not so _pressés_ and were leisurely laughing and
joking when one of the stable-men rushed panting into the kitchen and
said a company of Uhlans could be seen galloping hard in the distance.
Then ensued a kaleidoscopic performance which took less time than my
writing it, and they all escaped, safely guided by Baron de H. himself,
down a narrow path hidden by trees behind the stables which led them
eventually right out across the heart of that famous beet-root country.
When the last man was safely hidden from view, one breathed a sigh of
relief which only changed to an exclamation of terror as, turning from
this window to look out of another, one saw a hundred fierce horsemen
dash up, hard on the scent of their prey.
When Madame de H. (senior) looked down from her room and saw the Uhlans
ride into the court, she went right off her head, literally, and drawing
a tiny pearl-handled revolver from a secret drawer in her desk, started
to shoot from the window. But thanks to the presence of mind and rapid
action of her daughter-in-law, who pushed her unceremoniously into her
dressing-room and locked the door, she was prevented in time, which
without the least doubt saved all their lives.
It is just such circumstances as these that have given the troops
opportunities and excuses to shoot peace loving citizens and burn down
many a town.
Madame de H. (junior) then went down stairs and placated the men, who
were very insolent, as well as she could with what was left to eat in
the house. As the latter were deep in this occupation of refreshing
themselves, the sentry espied a troop of Belgian lanciers coming on the
gallop and gave the alarm.
To horse! and away they went, bridles clinking, lances clashing. Then
commenced a phantom race as they flew over the ground like the wind, the
Belgians following hot in pursuit, until they both disappeared over the
edge of the world.
_October 19th, Monday._
I went to see the American Consul, to explain that I do exist and to ask
his advice about getting back to France. He did not seem to second my
enthusiasm, which surprised me, and said, "In the first place what would
you go in, and in the second, why should you want to go, with Paris
surrounded by 2,000,000 soldiers?"
Isn't it human nature to want to get out of prison?
He has received no mail from America since August 19th and a letter
which came from his confrère, the American Consul at Aix-la-Chapelle,
Germany, took twenty-five days by the German Military Post.
_October 22nd, Thursday._
I was perfectly enraged this morning when I crossed the bridge and saw
the soldiers changing the street signs into the German language. Now it
is "_nach Brussels_" and "_nach Lüttich_."
I suppose you will say, "But why be so disturbed about things? It is not
your war." But it is my war. I cannot keep out of it--it's everybody's
war!
The new soldiers who have been in the stable at the château received
sudden orders to advance. The rest of the company, scattered about in
the vicinity, assembled here and they marched out of the court, a
hundred strong. Poor, old, nice things, these Bavarians; they did not
look very military nor very keen about moving on to the "front."
In contrast one can tell a Prussian five blocks away by his swing. His
stride is so individually overbearing that it is impossible to mistake.
_November 5th, Thursday._
Monsieur and Madame S. came back from Brussels today and oh, it was good
to get a little, first-hand, outside news! It appears that Brussels
still has a semblance of her normal activity, as the heel of oppression,
in the presence of different foreign representatives, has not cut in so
deeply there. Madame S. said, one evening when they were walking in the
street she noticed a man following them and when they reached a
particularly dark corner he came quickly up and whispered, "Would you
like to see a 'London Times'? Then come into the shadow across the way."
It is well known that a single copy has already sold for 165 francs and
also there has been quite a traffic in renting sheets of it for twenty
francs the half hour.
Coming back from Brussels, they drove through Louvain--martyred Louvain!
It was too dreadful to contemplate. First the material destruction of
those wonderful buildings, like an exquisite pattern in lace, torn by a
ruthless sword and eaten by wanton flame; then the misery and
deprivation of the people who were able to resist those hours of agony
and peril.
Every sort of device was used for shelter and hollow eyes and
terror-stricken faces looked out from the damp cellars under the ruins,
where destitute families of at least half the population had crept to
find a home.
Now we know why the taking of Antwerp has been kept so modestly in the
background and has never been advertised in Liége like all the other
victories, which were always flaunted in large print. It is because
while the Germans were studiously busy taking the city, fort by fort,
the Belgian army was walking out by the side door, along the coast to
France, so that when a big personage was sent from Germany to make a
grand, triumphal entry into Antwerp, he found an empty city and received
the sword of a general, ill and incapacitated for duty.
It is said that the Prussian general who accomplished the siege was
decorated amid a grand flourish of trumpets and then retired, since one
of the great motives was the capture of the Belgian army, which is now
safe in France and taking a week-end off somewhere. Is it not fine that
little Belgium has been able to impede the great German army two and one
half months, which has given the other actors in the play time to
change their costumes? Oh, it is fine to be brave!
Countess de M. came with Monsieur and Madame S. from Brussels and has
her passports all in order to go to France, to her husband who is in the
Belgian army near Calais. She is leaving at once, under the protection
of the Dutch Consul, who is here in Liége for a few days (a circumstance
ordained by the Fates) and who is going to conduct her in his auto over
the frontier to Maestricht, Holland. And the miracle has happened! If I
can get my papers in readiness in two days, she will take me with her. I
am wild with joy, but I feel it is like a dream that one knows cannot
come true.
_November 6th, Friday._
Just the moment I finished breakfast this morning, I dashed into town,
that is, as fast as an old tramcar could take me, to the American
Consul. In my impatience, I fancy I must have rung his bell several
times, though it was really a long while before the servant opened the
door and showed me in to the library. Then Mr. Z. (a German-sounding
name), the Consul, appeared, unshaven and with the evidence of his
morning meal upon his face--it was yellow.
But nothing mattered to me and I plunged into the subject of getting a
passport for to-morrow without preliminaries. Perhaps I took the poor
man's breath away, for certainly he was not nearly as enthusiastic as I
about it. In fact, he embarked upon a dissertation pertaining to the
invaders which made me cry out in astonishment, "Why, you surprise me,
you seem to have pro-enemy tendencies." "Well," he said, "they've done
everything they've said they have, haven't they?"
I asked him if he had seen Louvigné or Visé yet and he said, "No, I
haven't ben up t' Visé yet."
All this, however, was far from the point in question and I finally got
back to it by informing him of the good fortune I was going to have
to-morrow in getting away to Holland in the Dutch Consul's automobile if
I could get my passport from the Germans. It did not occur to me that
there would be any difficulty about it, so I calmly asked him if he
could get it for me by six o'clock to-night?
"Oh, no," he replied, "I could not get it before two or three days."
"But," I protested, aghast, "I am going to-morrow and it is a chance in
a thousand; I may not have another such opportunity during the war.
Could you not make an especial effort to get it for me?"
"Well," he answered, "I'll do what I can but I won't promise anything.
I'm not agoing to ask any favors of those people," i.e., the Germans.
"It is not a favor," I replied, "it is your right. For what other reason
is an American Consul if he is not to protect his people, particularly
in wartime?"
"Oh, my dear young lady," he answered, "you must not think that you are
the only American in Liége."
"How many are there?" indignantly.
"Well, three or four," he replied, reluctantly.
That was really too much! I was in despair. What was to be done? Seeing
my hope of freedom vanishing before my eyes, I clutched at the last
straw and entreated him with what eloquence I could whip into line to
make at least some effort to get me the passport by six o'clock, when I
would come again to his house for it.
"Oh, no," he said quickly, "I don't get back here until eight o'clock,
but if you happen to pass by 'The Golden Lion' (or some such name) you
might find me there."
Choking with rage I said to him, "I see that you cannot help me, Mr. Z.,
but if you will be good enough to give me your card (he had already
suggested it) to the German passport department, I will go to the
_Kommandantur_ myself and see what I can do; in fact, I am sure I can
accomplish far more than you." He ought to have been affronted at this
but, on the contrary, seemed jolly well pleased and handed me out his
card in a hurry, glad to relieve himself of the obligation of asking any
favors of "those people."
I then made my way to the _Palais de Justice_. A man accosted me in the
square and told me if I were going for passports it would be of no use,
as there were hundreds and hundreds of people there before me. But I
kept on. With the glorious end in view, viz., to be a free person and to
see the scenes that, in a morbid way, I had begun to feel would never be
my privilege again, I kept on, threading a path through the throngs
until I stood right in front of the guard of the sacred chamber. He was
an enormously fat sentry, with the usual little round cap and fixed
bayonet. I thought he would eat me, he looked so offended, and roared
out, "_Nein, nein, das Zimmer ist voll._" Then was my moment. I pulled
out the little white card and addressed him--not too timidly either, for
hadn't I the great American people behind me? He caught the words,
"American Consul," which drew him up to salute and in the most
lamb-like voice he murmured, "_Ach, ja, Amerikaner_," and let me pass. I
cast one look at the multitude back of me--poor things, who may have
stood there two days already, and I felt despicably mean, as if I were
not playing fair.
Once inside, I was put through a category of questions, worse than an
"Inkwhich." "Why had I come to Liége?" "How long had I been there?" "Why
did I want to go away?" "Where to?" "How?" etc. Finally my inquisitor
became suspicious, or feigned it, and said, "But what have I to prove
that you are an American?" Then I was furious and I answered, "Monsieur
(I suppose he hated the French appellation), since you have the card of
the American Consul asserting it, in your hand, is not such a question
an indignity to my government?" He answered with a wry smile and said
nothing.
At 4 P. M. I returned for my passport with half a dozen
photographs to be affixed thereto. I had no difficulty in getting into
the _Bureau des Passeports_ as I still had the Consul's card upon which
Herr Bauer, one of the German secretaries, had scribbled some mysterious
symbols which probably meant "let her pass," or its equivalent. At any
rate, the sentry and I regarded each other superciliously and I skidded
past his saw-toothed bayonet without hurt.
When I entered the crowded room I saw that I was about fiftieth in the
line and I said to myself that if I waited my turn I should still be
there at midnight. Luckily, an idea came to me, and waving that fateful
little white card in the air, I called out over the heads of everybody,
"Oh, Herr Bauer." A Belgian gentleman standing next me was quick enough
to catch the name and shouted out also, "Herr Bauer." But Herr Bauer was
far too clever for him and said with a mocking smile, "Ah, no, Monsieur,
you will have to wait your turn. Mademoiselle, come this way."
I detached myself from the crowd and stepped behind the rail, horribly
conscious of unpleasant scrutiny. My face got hotter and hotter and I
could only see a host of uplifted Belgian eyebrows. Even the clerks
looked up and stared, unaccustomed as they evidently were to Herr
Bauer's benignity. And I had to bear all that humiliation because--well,
why?
Having exposed the facts, I will give you the privilege to form your own
opinion which will be every bit as good as mine, I know.
11 P. M. My passport signed, sealed and written all over by the
Imperial Government, is in my hand. I shall dream of long journeys, of
bitter struggles and at last--freedom! Will the daylight never come?
_November 7th, Saturday._
Saturday dawned cold, gray and shivery. _Madame de M._, _Monsieur le
consul hollandais_, and I left the château at eight A. M. I was
heartbroken to part from the dear people with whom I had experienced so
much and I fancied their eyes looked longingly at the departing
automobile. They, too, would have liked to come out into the sunshine of
Freedom--how much!
From Liége to the frontier sentries stopped us often, but the consul's
much-used passport, framed and glassed in like Napoleon's Abdication or
the Declaration of Independence, was very convincing. Half an hour's
cold drive along the Meuse brought us to Visé. On approaching it, we did
not dream that we were nearing a town and in truth we were not--only the
remains of one, for not a single building was standing. I had thought
that Louvigné with its one lane was desolate and awful, but here were
streets and streets of ashes and crumbled brick--and I seemed to see
again the ruins of ancient Troy in Asia Minor, which are not more
complete. Someone murmured, "Pompeii." But it is not comparable. The
ages have woven about the broken columns of Pompeii a light film of
romance and a bit of tender beauty springs up with the tiny, flowering
weeds which push their way to the sun between many colored tiles. Here,
the tragedy is too new; too crude; too bleeding!
The only living things I saw were a cat scampering down a deserted
alley, and one man--half-dazed, looking at what was probably his own
ruined home; the only wall to be seen which was, even in part, standing.
It must have been an ironmonger's shop, for some black kettles still
hung on nails against the stone, and iron stoves in all their bleakness
stood up in bold relief on piles of ashes.
When the Germans came to Visé the commanding officer called the people
together in the market place and harangued them at length, threatening
them with dreadful punishments if they did not do so and so. He felt he
had to, doubtless, as the town and the surrounding country are well
known centers of the firearms industry; the peasants work in their own
homes to a large extent and are very expert in the making of delicate
weapons and also in their use.
So, when the sturdy Belgians could not digest another single threat,
apparently, somebody fired a shot from the crowd which killed the
officer while he was speaking. Then followed that frightful slaughter
and the firing of the town, the remnants of which we saw to-day. Nobody
on earth will ever know who fired the shot, probably, for the soldiers
hate their officers and already German bullets have been found in German
soldiers.
9 A. M. Over the frontier! Oh, the joy of it--the indescribable
relief--the wet-eyed thankfulness! Shall I ever forget it? I did not
know until then what depths Tyranny had furrowed into my consciousness.
Here were men and women laughing and talking in the streets and people
daring to drive in their own carriages, and everybody reading
newspapers--I felt as if I would spend my last sou for one.
The day was spent in wandering aimlessly over the old town. The wind was
bitterly piercing and a fog hung over the canal but I was not altogether
aware of bodily discomfort. My mind, trying to adjust itself to new
conditions, was in a haze, staggering back and forth from the
consciousness of regained freedom to servitude and from barbarism to
freedom again.
At three P. M. the train left for Flushing, where we were to
take the boat for Folkestone, England. Just before it pulled out of the
station, a friend of Comtesse de M. rushed up to the car window and
said, "Madame, must you go? We have just received a dispatch saying that
a big boat has been sunk today by a mine near Boulogne." But nothing on
earth could have deterred us then.
All through the country of Holland, Dutch soldiers were "preparing"
everywhere. We arrived at Flushing at two A. M. and went aboard
at once, but not before being well looked over by English commissioners,
who examined our foreheads and wrists for German measles. Shall I ever
get away from that word?
_November 8th, Sunday._
A long day on the Channel and I was seasick--miserably, hopelessly,
endlessly seasick, but when somebody shouted I managed to lift my head
in time to see a floating mine--just a tiny, black buoy bobbing about,
but I did not mind. I asked the stewardess if she were not afraid,
making the journey every day, and her answer awed me by its conciseness
and its confidence. "Oh, no," she said. "Our Admiralty has arranged a
path for us between the mines." That was a sublime faith, but I should
choose a more winsome path--bordered with marigolds, perhaps, or phlox.
About four P. M. the gaunt, chalk cliffs of Dover hove into
sight, rising up in their grimness and seeming yet to shadow the awful
tragedy of the previous day, when an auxiliary cruiser had struck a mine
a quarter of a mile from shore and sunk in five minutes.
_November 9th, Monday._
Folkestone! The busiest town on earth, I should say, and soldiers
everywhere. There were ruddy-looking troops, singing also, and
apparently quite content to be "going over," for an Englishman is always
game; and there were pale ones, just out of hospital, in every kind of
uniform, and bands of refugees and exiles who had not a franc among
them.
Comtesse de M. went with me to the English Embassy to see if they would
give me a passport to France with her, for in my haste in leaving Liége,
it had not occurred to me that I would need a passport ever again
anywhere.
It seemed to me that there were millions of people at the door of the
Embassy, but fortunately Madame de M. found an acquaintance who must
have had considerable influence, for he took us around to a secret door
and we were soon in the audience room. Well, of course, there was
nothing to prove that I was an American but our honest word, which was
not enough, so I offered to hand out my German passport, which was
certainly maladroit.
Fancy, an Englishman viséing a German passport!
Then Madame de M. pulled out hers and asked them to sign my name on it
as companion to her. The august head looked troubled at this; however,
he took his pen and was just in the act of putting it to paper when his
assistant or rather accomplice interposed and they argued a bit. He took
his pen for the second time and plunging it into the inkwell was just
about to sign when somebody else expostulated and another discussion
ensued.
For the third time (he pulled himself together as a man who knows what
he is about) he took his pen and would certainly have achieved his
object if the door had not opened at the inexpressible moment to admit
an authoritative-looking person who vetoed the whole proceeding.
What those moments were to me I shall never be able to describe--that
pen so near the paper! A naked sword three times across my throat would
not have been greater suspense. Marie Antoinette could not have suffered
more.
Well, the game was up anyway, and as there was no American Consul nearer
than London, I decided to try the amiability of the French Consul which
I found impeccable.
At the French Embassy again was that rush and struggle for papers, and
there I witnessed a pathetic scene. A Belgian man, of middle age, and
well dressed, came to the consul literally asking alms. "Monsieur," he
said, "to ask you for help is the hardest thing that I shall ever do in
my life, but I have lost everything and I must go to my wife, who is ill
in France, and I have but five francs. Could your Embassy aid me?"
At five P. M. the boat left Folkestone, containing a
conglomerate parcel of humanity--sailors and soldiers of different
nations and in divers uniforms, singing alternately the "_Marseillaise_"
and "God Save the King"; Red Cross assistants eager to reach the field
of their work; white-haired mothers in search of their wounded sons,
trembling for the message that land would have in store for them and
despairing exiles awaiting at least the welcome sound of their beloved
tongue. Night fell like a soft mantle and we forged on, into the
darkness, chancing what might befall. What impressed me among the people
aboard was the apparent lack of anxiety for personal safety. Past
sufferings and the great future issue were the predominant thoughts.
The dock at Calais was crowded with anxious friends and Belgian
soldiers. Madame de M. found several acquaintances among the
latter--friends of her husband. After the usual Custom House proceedings
we started on a quest for rooms for the night. A subdued excitement
trembled over the city; the whole population was in the streets; throngs
were seething up and down; hundreds of soldiers were hurrying to and fro
and intense groups of men discussed probabilities, while anxious women
pressed in on the crowd to catch a hopeful word. We heard that the
German army was about to plunge through to Dunkirque and would shell
Calais from there. The civil population was therefore expecting every
moment the order to evacuate the city.
As we crossed the railroad near the pier, we saw in the half light a
small company of Belgian soldiers limping along, each with a forlorn
bundle on his back. Their aspect was _complètement démoralizé_, and the
young lieutenant with us, moved by his quick sympathy, shouted, "Oh,
say, _camarades_, have you heard of the new victories on the Yser and
the brilliant defense of the Belgians?" The poor, despondent things,
fired at once by the spirit of his enthusiasm, straightened themselves
up and cried, "Oh! Ah! Is it true? _Merci, mon lieutenant, vivent les
Belges!_"
A few yards further on we passed a group of refugees who were stumbling
aimlessly along in the dark--there were men and women, trying to console
each other, and whimpering children, sick with hunger, clinging to their
mothers' skirts. Their plaintive cry was like a knife through the heart.
After picking a toilsome way through the crowds we arrived in the
quarter of the big hotels and found there was not a room to be had. Not
at all daunted, we retraced our steps and sought the small hotels--there
were no rooms. Still, with courage--even amusement (the affair was
taking on a spirit of adventure) we attacked the _pensions de
famille_--not a cot; not a corner. Then we stopped in the _Place_ to
review the situation, which began to look dull gray. There were still
the _cabarets_, or we could sit in the street all night. We chose the
_cabarets_ and with newborn hope started on, systematically taking one
street after another, knocking at most dreadful-looking places, even
along the waterfront. A woman's voice from behind barred shutters
usually responded. Every chair, every table, every square inch of floor
was spoken for. Then the warm, brightly-lighted railroad station,
opposite the pier, leaped into our numbed consciousness--why had we not
thought of it before? The military authorities forbade loitering there.
Out in the dark, once more we looked at each other inquiringly. That was
a curious joke. Fate had never dealt us such a hand of cards before! We
viewed the landscape--half of it was water and the little waves lapping
against the _quai_ were rather mocking.
Suddenly, dark and smug, a swaying object which we had not observed till
then, took monstrous form before our eyes and in it we recognized an old
friend, the Channel boat _Elfrida_, which lay basking in the velvet
shadows like a dozing cat and gently pulling on her cables. Why not? We
did! Nothing prevented our going aboard but a sleepy guard, who was
quickly consoled with a five-franc piece, and we made ourselves
comfortable for the night on the yellow, velvet cushions in the
captain's salon, behind the wheel-house.
Who can assert that it has not all been arranged for us? Otherwise, I
fear, our own poor efforts would land us too often in the mud.
_November 10th, Tuesday._
Left Calais at nine A. M. The sun was pouring its cheerful rays
over the glorious land. It ought to be free--this smiling France!
Wherever the eye rested were soldiers drilling, building, maneuvering
and digging. Every few hundred yards the railroad was intersected by
lines of trenches. These latter appeared to be about seven feet
deep--cut true as a die into the ground and were braced with a lining of
woven reeds, like basket work. The front wall of these trenches was
crenated about every two feet, forming little niches for the soldiers
and protection against flank shots. The poppies and corn flowers blowing
over the edges were holding on for dear life to their tiny inch of soil
and nearly obliterated those brutal gashes in the earth which had
swallowed up their brothers and sisters. An unsuspecting army might well
be lured into such a pleasant bear-trap.
Train progress was very slow for we had to switch off continually to
allow ammunition trains and troops to pass. All the railroad stations
were packed with soldiers and grieving women, though there was nothing
in the way of heroics in these leave-takings, just grim resolve on the
faces of the men and silent sorrow on the lips of the women. It seemed
as if clasped hands could not release each other and eyes held eyes in a
long farewell. Husbands were tearing themselves from their wives;
white-haired mothers were adding one word more of caution to their
departing sons; and there were young boys, of perhaps the last class,
who, touched at the moment to say _au revoir_, were yet eager to plunge
out into the future. I shall never know how many last good-byes I
witnessed this day.
Train after train of cattle cars passed us, with a big cannon in the
middle, three horses stabled in one end and three in the other. Along
the road were several regiments of Indian troops--the _Girkhas_. They
were tall, splendidly handsome men of fine features, light,
chocolate-colored skin and brilliant, black eyes. They wore long, khaki
coats, belted in like a Russian blouse, and khaki turbans and they waved
their hands and smiled continually, showing flashing, white teeth. They
were evidently well pleased with the turn of events which had led them
to this wondrous, new world, where was plenty of opportunity for
killing--this reputed trait, however, was quite belied by their amiable
faces.
About four P. M. (three hours yet to Paris) I was dead with
fatigue and seeing so much. Also I had not had a bite to eat since eight
A. M., having counted on a basket lunch on the road, or at
least a solitary sandwich, but all the convenient station buffets have
been closed up since the war and civilians are tacitly understood to
look after themselves and not to bother the Government by racing
needlessly over the country. But I do not think there were many making
aimless journeys.
Since noon the cars had been steadily filling up, until the compartments
destined for ten persons were accommodating twenty, not including
bundles, lapdogs, bandboxes and bird-cages--even then there was always
room for one more. And nobody was indignant, but rather complacent and
obliging, for had they not all sons at the front and the same great
grief at heart? The conversation was general as to people and on one
sole topic, the "War," including the strategic achievements of the
French army, "Eux" (they, i.e., the Germans), and the marvellous
qualities of their beloved Général Joffre, affectionately termed
"Grandpère" by the soldiers.
And so we rolled slowly and more slowly on, packed like sardines, the
removing of one meaning the displacement of all, as when one heedlessly
snatches a potato from the middle of a bushel basket. But very few got
down except the soldiers, the objective point for all being Paris.
The twilight shadows were welcome, for they swallowed up all the
phantasmagoria of the day and we relapsed into silence. It was one of
those moments when Reality, or the fear of it, battles with our courage
and each one grew thoughtful as he neared the great city, dreading to
meet the spectre he feared.
The wheels of the cars sang on in a hollow, monotonous tune, the windows
rattled systematically and outraged brakes screeched at every recurrent
jolt. Finally we saw a dim row of lights and a long, thin whistle from
our engine told us that the journey was done. Again was that noticeable
lack of excitement: everyone calmly took his personal belongings and
prepared to get down when the guard, in an unimportant voice, should
call out "_Paree_," which you would not hear if you were not listening.
After the Customs, I was in a frenzy to get out into the street, to be
welcomed back, as one always is here, and to be cheered and warmed by
the bright lights--the flashing eyes of Paris. But the streets were dim,
the shops and restaurants closed and few people circulating about. How
different it all was! I felt like Rip van Winkle after his twenty-years'
sleep, for at the apartment (I thought I had come to the wrong house)
was a new concierge, young and pretty, replacing the old, white-haired
one. Had we gone back twenty years instead? The rooms were empty--all my
friends had disappeared, the dust was inches thick, the furniture pushed
mostly into the middle of the rooms and some of the beds were gone.
Thickly sprinkled over the floor of my room and on my bed were pieces of
the window glass, broken like all the others in the house, by a German
bomb which fell and exploded in front of the Prince of Monaco's house,
two doors from us--not one hundred and fifty feet away. Half dazed, I
dusted a place large enough for my hat and coat, extracted some clean
linen from the closet and went to bed, sick at heart.
_November 12th, Thursday._
Paris! after a four days' tiring journey which in happier times takes
only five hours. But it doesn't matter--it is home again. Anywhere is
home which is out from under that yoke of infamous tyranny. I rage in
proportion as the minutes separate me from this odious thing that closes
its iron fingers around the necks of my friends.
No! It is not to be borne. Let every man, woman and child on the earth
rise up until we have right. Do I not know? Have I not experienced the
mailed fist? And yet, how little in comparison to others; but it is
enough.
The concierge gave me coffee and rolls and I dressed quickly in order
to get out into the street where I knew the dismal impression of the
indoors would be dispelled by the habitual smile of the enchanted city.
But the day was dull--the summit of the Eiffel Tower was hooded in a
cloud of fog and a cold blast swept over the Place de La Concorde which
froze me to the marrow. I kept on, however, somewhat protected by the
arcades of the rue de Rivoli, expecting to see, at least, familiar faces
in the shop-keepers of that gay, little Rialto--but the doors were all
closed and the blinds down. One place was open--the art shop of the
little, old, white-haired man with the twinkling eyes, who has sold me
marvellous Venus de Milos, etc., times without number. I greeted him
with real feeling and enthusiasm, for here was somebody I knew. He did
not recognize me and stared dully, without answering, as one who is
dazed; he was unshaven and dirty, his usually clear eye was lifeless and
his face was thin and drawn. Could it be that he had not enough to eat,
or was it despair? He must have had nephews and perhaps sons and
grandsons at the front. But do the people who stay at home change like
that? I went on--the Hotel Meurice was closed; the Continentale had a
section open for the Red Cross; the Bristol was closed; the Ritz was
made into an Ambulance; not a living soul on the Place Vendôme. All the
famous hat shops were closed--who would have a reason to buy hats? All
the big dressmakers were closed and every jewelry shop but two in all
that dazzling, brilliant rue de la Paix was closed. There were perhaps a
dozen people on the Boulevards, a single taxicab crawled listlessly out
of a side street, but not an omnibus to be seen. They, like all the
world, had left for the "front" and will go down in history as having
transferred the valiant French army in all haste to Victory on the
Battlefield of the Marne.
The only thing unchanged was the Opéra, which stood there, in all its
splendor, looking on at the grievous spectacle of Paris, in anguish.
Will she live? Can she die? Is the burden of her woes too great? O,
Beautiful City of Dreams! Some call you very wicked--you, whose brave
smile has endured through all your sorrows. Is that so little? And the
valor of your Sons--was it ever surpassed? Did one of the hundreds, one
of the thousands, one of the millions, hesitate the fraction of an
instant at your call?
O, Paris! Inimitable Paris! with the death shadow on your lovely
face....
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| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the |
| original document have been preserved. |
| |
| Typographical errors corrected in the text: |
| |
| Page 9 interment changed to internment |
| Page 52 officiers changed to officers |
| Page 67 Kommandatur changed to Kommandantur |
| Page 74 wth changed to with |
| Page 93 pertubation changed to perturbation |
| Page 94 stupified changed to stupefied |
| Page 115 gods changed to goods |
| Page 126 Coblentz changed to Coblenz |
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