make up for it. Suddenly I heard the soft whirr-whirr of a Zeppelin.
I ran out into the road. The farmer left his prunes to join me. We
watched the great strange thing gliding through the sunshine. It was
flying so low that we could easily distinguish the fins, the gondolas,
the propellers. It looked more than anything else like a gigantic,
unearthly model for the little Japanese stuffed fishes I had often
seen in the toy shops. Its blunt nose seemed shining white, the rest
a soft gray. The effect of the soothing whirring and its slow gliding
through the air was indescribable; that it could be anything but a
gentle messenger of peace was unbelievable. “Ah, Madame,” said my
companion, “four years ago _I_ saw _my_ first Zeppelin! It seemed
a beautiful vision from another world, like something new in my
religion. We all stood breathless, praying for the safety of this
wonderful new being; praying that the brave men who conducted it
might be spared to the world. And to-day, Madame, may it be blown to
atoms; if necessary may its men be cut to bits; may they be burned to
ashes—anything—anything! With an undying hate I swear it shall be
destroyed! Madame, that is what war does to a man! War, Madame, is a
horrible thing!”
XVI
NEW USES OF A HIPPODROME
The cereal and fat reserves are divided between Rotterdam, the mills,
warehouses and moving lighters in Belgium and Northern France, so that
one can never see the dramatic heaping up in one place of the grain
that is to feed 10,000,000 for six days, or months. But the greater
part of the clothing reserves are held in the one city of Brussels.
Their housing furnishes another of the bewildering contrasts wrought
by the war; what was two years ago a huge, thrilling Hippodrome is
now filled with the silent ranks of bolts of cotton and flannel. And
not far away, the once popular skating-rink is piled to the ceiling
with finished garments; stage boxes, galleries, dressing-rooms,
stairways—all are heaped with cases and stacked with racks. The
ceiling is the only part of the edifice still visible; along the rear
wall, for instance, runs a big sign, “Garments for Babies,” and they
mount to the skylights. Stocks are accumulating in both these buildings
and other sub-centers during the summer, and in the autumn the work
of distribution against the approaching winter begins, October 1st
registering the high-water mark of assets. At that time there were
three and a half million pieces, yards and pairs, on the shelves of the
Hippodrome, and already hundreds of thousands of garments assembled in
the skating-rink.
The Rink is not more than a few yards and minutes from the Hippodrome,
but a bolt of flannel may travel many miles and occupy several weeks
in going from one to the other. That journey explains the marvelous
development of the clothing organization. One may go even further, and
trace the cloth from the donor in America, to the recipient in Mons or
Tournai! In fact, I once thought I recognized a finished blouse, as
plaid flannel contributed in San Francisco. I may have been mistaken,
but I let my mind follow that flannel from the hand of the little
school-teacher on the Pacific, to the unhappy mother in Tournai!
For when the C. R. B. sent out a call for new clothing materials in
January, 1916, somehow it reached a weather-beaten school-house on a
lonely stretch of coast 30 miles south of San Francisco. The teacher
hurriedly got together some wool, and began showing her eight pupils
(they happened all to be boys), how to knit caps for other boys of
their own size. Their few families gathered what they could, and on
her first free Saturday, the teacher started in an open buggy in the
rain for the C. R. B. Bureau in San Francisco. This meant 30 miles
over wretched roads, up hill and down, with her precious box. When we
opened it we found eight knitted caps, one small sack of rice, one
pair of fur-lined gloves, a bag of beans, a lady’s belt, plaid flannel
for a blouse, and 40 cents for eight five-cent stamps for the letters
the boys hoped to receive in answer to those they had carefully tucked
inside the caps. They did not know that our orders were to remove all
writing from all gifts, tho once in a while a line did slip in. I saw a
touching example of what these slips meant when I was leaving Brussels.
A group of women came to me to say, “Madame, we hear you are going
to California—is it true? And, if you are, may we not send a message
of just a single word by you? Will you not tell Margery Marshall, of
Saratoga, that the pretty dress she sent over a year ago, made a little
girl, oh, so happy! She has waited all these long months hoping to find
a way to thank Margery—and we _want_ to thank Margery. Will you tell
her?”
These offerings then were freighted to New York with the month’s
contributions, and there consigned to a C. R. B. ship, starting for
Rotterdam. In Rotterdam they were unloaded into the enormous C. R. B.
clothing warehouse, a corrugated zinc structure as big as a city block.
After the examinations, valuings and listings, they were reloaded on to
one of the C. R. B. barges that ply the canals constantly, and finally
deposited for the Comité National in the Hippodrome at Brussels. There
the women’s work began—in fact, to one woman especially is due the
credit for the completeness of the organization of this clothing
department.
On a certain day the flannel for the blouse was piled into a big gray
truck and hauled across the city to one of the most interesting places
in Brussels. This is at once the central workroom for the capital,
and the pattern and model department for all Belgium. Madame ... has
500 women and men working continually, to prepare the bundles of cut
garments that go out to the sub-sections and homes in Brussels. If the
seamstresses have children they may receive one bundle of sewing a
week; if not, but one in a fortnight. In the ouvroir itself the work is
divided between shifts who are allowed to come for a fortnight each.
This is, of course, the great sorrow of the committees. If only there
were enough work to give all the time to those whose sole appeal is
that they be allowed to earn their soup and bread! But every hour’s
work encourages somebody, and the opportunities are distributed just
as widely as possible. In this way about 25,000 are reached in Greater
Brussels alone.
The business of preparing these little packages of cut-out blouses
and trousers and bibs is amazing. The placing of patterns to save
cloth in the cutting is the first consideration; the counting off of
the buttons, tapes, hooks and necessary furnishings for millions of
garments—can we conceive the tediousness of this task? Instructions
must be carefully marked on a card that is tied across the top of the
completed bundle, everything being made as simple for the sewer as
possible. They travel from one counter to another, from one room to the
next, even up and down stairs, before compact, neat and complete, they
are finally registered and ready to go to the waiting women, who will
make them into the skirts or baby slips or men’s shirts or suits that
the relief committees will distribute.
That is the Brussels side of the work; the national side appears in
the pattern and model department. Madame has developed this to an
extraordinary degree. Here dozens of people are bending over counters,
folding, measuring, cutting heavy brown paper into shapes for every
particular article that is to be given to every particular man, baby
and woman in Belgium. There are patterns for children of every age,
and for grown-ups, of every width and length—hundreds of patterns
for all the workrooms in all the provinces. Then there are sample
picture-charts showing how the patterns must be placed for the most
advantageous cutting. Along with every type of pattern goes one
finished model for exhibition in the workroom. In the models the women
may see just how the little bundles that started originally from the
Hippodrome should look, when they are shipped back as garments to the
Rink.
[Illustration: ONE CORNER OF THE BRUSSELS HIPPODROME, NOW A CENTRAL
CLOTHING SUPPLY STATION]
And it was for one of these models for a blouse that the
school-teacher’s plaid was used! As sample blouse it traveled from the
Brussels pattern center to an ouvroir in the Southern Hainaut: it hung
in a workroom in Mons! After hundreds of blouses had been copied from
it and distributed in the province, the pattern department decided to
change the blouse model, and the old one was sent back to Brussels
to the skating-rink, to be apportioned again, as it happened, to the
relief committee in Tournai, which knew the need of the mother who wore
it the day I saw her! Too much system, you will say. But there should
be no such criticism until one has seen with his own eyes several
millions depending entirely on a relief organization for covering
(blankets and shoes, too, are a necessary part of the aid given),
and realize the terrible obligations to divide the work among as many
as possible of the thousands of unemployed, the necessity of a high
standard of work, and of justice in division among the nine provinces.
The scraps from the floors of the ouvroirs are carefully hoarded in
sacks, in the hope that the Germans may grant the committee the right
to use a factory to re-weave them into some rough materials in the
absence of cotton and wool. Some of these cuttings are at present being
used as filling for quilts.
The constant contributions of time and service at the strictly
business ends—in the warehouses, or depots like the Hippodrome, or
the skating-rink—seem more generous than all others. In these places
the committees are shut away from that daily contact with misery that
evokes a quick response. The business there has settled down to a
matter of lists and accounts: one must work with a far vision for
inspiration. It is quite a different matter in the actual ouvroir,
where grateful women come all day and sew, and are sometimes allowed to
keep their little children beside them. There you have their stories
and know their suffering; you are able, also, to teach them, while
they sew, how to care for their bodies and their homes, even to sing,
and all the while you realize that the very garments they are putting
together are to go to others even more unhappy—these are the places
where service has its swift and rich rewards! I have visited just such
blessed workrooms in Namur and Charleroi and Mons, in Antwerp and
Dinant, in fact in dozens of cities up and down the length of Belgium.
If they could be gaily flagged as they should be, we should see all
the country dotted with these centers of hope. And we should know that
they meant that thousands of women in Belgium are being given at least
a few days’ work every month.
XVII
THE ANTWERP MUSIC-HALL
Before the war the big music-hall in Antwerp offered a gay and
diverting program. Every night thousands drifted in to laugh and
smoke—drawn by the human desire for happiness. Here they were
care-free, irresponsible; tragedy was forgotten.
To-day it is still a music-hall. As Madame opened the door—from the
floor, from the galleries, from every part of the vast place floated a
wonderful solemn music—1,200 girls were singing a Flemish folk-song
that might have been a prayer. We looked on a sea of golden and brown
heads bending over sewing tables. Noble women had rescued them from
the wreckage of war—within the shelter of this music-hall they were
working for their lives, singing for their souls!
And all the time they were preparing the sewing and embroidery
materials for 3,300 others working at home. In other words, this was
one of the blessed ouvroirs or workrooms of Belgium.
Off at the left a few tailors were cutting men’s garments. High on
the stage, crowded with packing-cases, sat the committee of men who
give all their time to measuring the goods, registering the income and
output of materials and finished garments. On the stage, too, was an
extraordinary exhibit. Three forms presented three of the quaintest
silk dresses imaginable, elaborately trimmed with ribbons and velvets
and laces, and all designed for women of dainty figure. I laughed and
then rather flushed, as I remembered the stories of the white satin
slippers and chiffon ball gowns that had been included in our clothing
offering of 1914. I murmured something of apology, and referred to
the advance the Commission had made in 1915, when it had sent out the
appeal for new materials only.
But Madame protested: “Oh,” she said, “these are here in honor! And we
know that somebody once loved these dainty dresses, and for that reason
gave them to us. We love your old clothes! Our only sadness is that we
can not have them any more. One old dress to be made over gives work
for days and days, while the new materials can be put together in one
or two. What will become of all my girls now that I shall have no more
of your old clothes to furnish them? How shall they earn their 3 francs
(60 cents) a week? At best we can allow each but eight days’ work out
of fifteen, and only one person from each family may have this chance.”
“But these three dresses we shall not touch!” And she smiled as she
looked again at her exhibit.
Here the whole attitude toward the clothing is from the point of view,
not of the protection it gives, but of the employment it offers.
Without this employment, without the daily devotion of the wonderful
women who have built up this astonishing organization, thousands of
other women must have been on the streets—with no opportunity (except
the dread, ever present one) through these two years to earn a franc,
with nothing but the soup-lines to depend on for bread. Of course,
there is always dire need for the finished garments. They are turned
over as fast as they can be to the various other committees that care
for the destitute. Between February, 1915, and May, 1916, articles
valued at over 2,000,000 francs were given out in this way through this
ouvroir alone.
[Illustration: THE ANTWERP MUSIC-HALL, NOW A SEWING-ROOM
Here hundreds of women are being saved, by being furnished the
opportunity to work two weeks in each month, on an average wage of
sixty cents a week]
But one could endure cold—anything is better than the moral
degradation following long periods of non-employment. So it is not of
the garments, but of the 9,500,000 francs dispensed as wages, that
these women think. The work _must_ go on. “See,” Madame said, “what
we do with the veriest scraps!” A young woman was putting together an
attractive baby quilt. She had four pieces of an old coat, large enough
to make the top and lining, and inside she was stitching literally
dozens of little scraps of light woolen materials. Another was making
children’s shoes out of bits of carpet and wool.
In one whole section the girls do nothing but embroider our American
flour sacks. Artists draw designs to represent the gratitude of Belgium
to the United States. The one on the easel as we passed through,
represented the lion and the cock of Belgium guarding the crown of
the king, while the sun—the great American eagle—rises in the East.
The sacks that are not sent to America as gifts are sold in Belgium
as souvenirs. Each sack has its value before being worked. Many of
them—especially in the north of France—have been made into men’s
shirts, and tiny babies’ shirts and slips.
Before July, 1916, in the Charleroi ouvroir, over 30,000 sacks had been
made into 15,000 shirts at a cost of 25 centimes per sack, and a sewing
price of 30 centimes each.
Each Monday the women may work on their own garments, and on Tuesday
all the poor of the city bring their clothing to be patched or darned.
A shoe section, too, does what it can for old shoes. Such shoes and
such remnants of socks and of shirts as we saw! But the more difficult
the job, the happier the committee!
During the week, courses are given in the principles of dressmaking
and design. In the evening there are classes for history, geography,
literature, writing, and very special attention is given to hygiene,
which is taught by means of the best modern slides. These things are
splendid, and with the three francs a week wages, spell self-respect,
courage, progress all along the line. The committee has always been
able to secure the money for the wages, but they can not possibly
furnish the materials—sufficient new ones they could never have.
They are living from day to day on the hope that the C. R. B. may be
able to make an exception for the Antwerp ouvroir, and appeal once more
for her precious necessity—“old clothes!” This the C. R. B. may be
able to do—but will England feel equally free to make an exception to
her ruling that since the Germans have taken the wool from the Belgian
sheep, no clothing of any kind can be sent in?
As I was leaving, a thrilling thing happened. Picture this sea of
golden and brown heads low over the heaped tables—every square foot of
pit, galleries and entry packed, lengths of cotton and flannel flung
in confusion over all the balconies and from the royal box like war
banners—and then suddenly see a man making his way through the crowded
packing-cases on the stage to the footlights! He was the favorite
baritone of this one-time concert hall, and he has come (as he does
twice a week) to stand in the midst of the packing-cases behind his
accustomed footlights to sing to this audience driven in by disaster,
and to teach them the beautiful Flemish folk-songs. They sing as
they work. For several minutes neither Madame nor I spoke. Then she
smiled swiftly and said: “Yes, it is sadly beautiful—and you know,
incidentally, it prevents much idle chatter!”
XVIII
LACE
A full account of the struggle of the lace-workers would take us
straight to the heart of the tragedy of Belgium. At present it can only
be intimated. The women who are back of this struggle represent a fine
intelligence, a most fervent patriotism and most unswerving devotion to
their people and their country.
Before the war, her laces were the particular pride of Belgium.
Flanders produced, beside the finest linen, the most exquisite lace
known. The Queen took this industry under her especial patronage and
tried in every way to better the condition of the workers, and to
raise the standard of the output. We need to remember that when war
broke out, 50,000 women were supporting themselves, and often their
families, through this work; we need to remember the suddenness with
which the steel ring was thrown about Belgium—all import of thread,
all export of lace, at once and entirely cut off. In a few weeks, in
a few days, thousands of women were without hope of earning their
bread—at least in the only way hitherto open to them. The number grew
with desperate swiftness. And we need most of all to remember that the
chief lace centers were in the zone under direct military rule.
Women like Madame ... grappled with this situation, trying to save
their workers (most of them young girls) from the dread alternative,
trying by one means and another to give them heart, and hoping always
that America could make a way for them, till finally that hope was
realized—the C. R. B. had gained the permission of England to bring in
a certain amount of thread, and to take out a corresponding amount of
lace for sale in France and England, or elsewhere.
A fever of effort followed. Everywhere those who had been trying to
keep the groups of lace-workers alive were given thread. They organized
centers for the control of the output. The thread must be weighed as it
was given out, and paid for by the worker as a guaranty that it would
not be sold to some one else; the weight of the lace turned in must
tally. Much thought must be put in the selection of designs, into the
choice of articles to be made—things that would interest the people of
England and France and America.
[Illustration: THE SUPPLEMENTARY MEAL THE RELIEF COMMITTEE IS NOW
TRYING TO GIVE TO 1,250,000 SCHOOL CHILDREN]
Certain parts and kinds of these laces are made in certain districts
only. I am told that the very fine Malines lace, made now only in
a restricted area, will not be found much longer. All these separate
parts must be brought to the central depot to be made into tea-cloths
and doilies and other articles for export. The finest and most
necessary laces and the linen for the cloths are made in or about
Bruges and Courtrai and in other towns in Flanders, in what is known as
the “Étape,” or zone of military preparation, with which it is almost
impossible to communicate.
The C. R. B. is made absolutely responsible to England that no lace
will be sold in the open market in the occupied territory (altho it
was allowed to be sold in October and November, 1915, at exhibitions
in several of the large cities of Belgium), and that all of it be
exported. If it is not sold, it must be held at Rotterdam.
One can imagine the meaning of the first export of lace to those
whose hearts were in this work. It was not only that they saw the
lace-workers kept alive, but they saw their country reunited with the
outside world. Her beautiful laces were going to those who would buy
them eagerly, her market would be kept open.
Of necessity, the work became strongly centralized. The Brussels
bureau, where three noble women especially were giving literally every
day of their time and every particle of their energy and talent, became
the official headquarters, and 45,000 lace-workers were employed under
orders sent out by this central committee. Every day they came to
plan, to design, to direct. They were handling thousands of articles,
and hundreds of thousands of francs. They carefully examined every
yard sent in, rejecting any piece below the standard, encouraging
excellence in every possible way. Never in recent times have there
been such beautiful laces made, and they are being sold at about half
what was asked before the war. Many of the designs are copies of the
best ancient models, other lovely ones turn on the present situation,
having for motive the roses of the Queen, the arms of the provinces,
the animals of the Allies.
Madame ... made an unforgettable picture—tall, golden-haired,
exquisite, arranging and re-arranging the insets for her cloths and
cushions—and recounting, as she set her patterns, the steps in the
struggle for the lace-workers. There had been dangers, some were in
prison. As I listened I felt the fire within must consume her. I
understood why there were women in prison, why martyrdom was always a
near and real possibility.
There were always discouragements of one kind or another. At the
bureau, one day, Madame’s eyes were red when she came downstairs. She
had just had to turn off a group of workers; there was no thread to
give them. At best, in order that all may be helped a little, no one
person may work more than 30 hours a week, nor receive more than 3
francs (or 60 cents) a week as wages!
But on the whole the lace committees are overwhelmingly grateful for
the opportunities they have had. Up to November, 1916, they have
dispensed 6,000,000 francs in wages. They have given two weeks’ work a
month to 45,000 women, 25,000 of whom are skilled, 10,000 of average
ability, and 10,000 beginners. There will be a deficit when the war is
over. “But what of that?” they say, “if only we can keep on! On the
Great Day we shall give back to the Queen her chosen industry, fully
three years ahead of where she left it. She will find all the standards
raised, her women better trained and equipped to care for themselves,
and to re-establish Belgium as the lace-maker of the world.”
It has been extremely difficult for the C. R. B. to handle the lace in
the United States. Its great value necessitates much more machinery and
time than could be spared from the all-important ravitaillement duty.
The orders from England and France are much easier to take care of. On
one happy day Paquin wrote for all the Point de Paris and Valenciennes
they could supply. Certain friends in London and New York are every
now and then sending in individual requests. On a red-letter day the
Queen of Roumania ordered, through her Legation, three very beautiful
table-cloths, and quantities of other fine laces. And it is the hope of
the committee that the number of these friends will grow. Needless to
say, hardly a C. R. B. representative leaves Belgium without taking
with him some example of this exquisite work, a testimony to others of
the splendid devotion of the women of these lace committees.
XIX
A TOY FACTORY