DEEDS OF SHAME AND HORROR.
I could fill a whole book with the stories which have been told of the
dreadful cruelty shown by the Germans to the Belgians as the days went
by and they discovered that they could not advance as rapidly as they
had hoped to do. In order to delay the Germans the Belgians not only
fought bravely, but wrecked their railways and bridges and blew up their
roads. All this angered the Germans, for it was a matter of life and
death to them to strike a blow at France as quickly as possible. We are
told of babies slaughtered, of old men hanged and burnt alive, of
mothers with little children hanging to their skirts shot down, and
young women and girls tortured in the most horrible manner. Perhaps all
these terrible stories are not true; but no one can deny the gross
cruelty of the Germans in Belgium.
In the year 1900, when the Emperor William sent his troops to China, he
addressed them in the following words: "Whoever falls into your hands is
a forfeit to you, just as a thousand years ago the Huns under King
Attila[206] made a name for themselves in tradition and story." What
sort of man was this Attila whom the Kaiser thus set up as his model? He
was a ruthless, obstinate savage, who never felt the "dint of pity."
Wherever he passed he left his mark in wasted lands, blazing cities,
ruined homesteads, and heaps of slain. He was called the "Scourge of
God," and at the very mention of his name men trembled. The modern Huns,
urged on by their pitiless War Lord, have beaten even the shameful
record of Attila.
The Germans try to excuse themselves by declaring that the townsfolk
brought this harsh punishment on themselves. According to the laws which
civilized nations observe in war, civilians are only free from violence
if they remain quiet and peaceful. What are called "lawful combatants"
are men under the command of an officer, wearing some fixed badge or
uniform, carrying arms openly, and fighting according to the rules and
customs of warfare. All others who attack the enemy are unlawful
combatants, and are liable to be put to death if they are caught.
Now there is no doubt that some Belgian civilians, maddened by the
destruction of their homes, did actually fire on the enemy; but this is
no excuse for the awful vengeance which the Germans took upon men,
women, and children who were innocent of any such offence. Even in war
it cannot be right to punish innocent and guilty alike, nor is it lawful
to burn down whole cities because some of the inhabitants have offended.
We know, however, from the War Book which the Germans issued to their
officers, that they were encouraged to be pitiless, and to do all sorts
of deeds of "frightfulness." According to this book, any deed may be
done, however black or shameful, if it helps to defeat the enemy.
You now begin to see what the victory of Germany would mean. Not only
would the conquered lands lose their independence and be treated as
provinces of Germany, but there would be a return to the days of
savagery in warfare. Men would thereafter fight like wild beasts in the
jungle. A soldier would no longer be a knight but a fiend. We should bid
farewell to that noble ideal which Tennyson set before the warrior in
his "Idylls of the King":--[207]
"To break the heathen, and uphold the Christ,
To ride abroad redressing human wrongs,
To speak no slander, no, nor listen to it,
To honour his own word as if his God's."
* * * * *
I must now tell you how the Germans behaved in some of the Belgian
cities. You already know that even in the Middle Ages Belgium was a rich
and flourishing land. The wealthy merchants of Flanders built themselves
stately houses, and filled them with costly and beautiful things. They
also gave their money freely to build glorious churches, quaint
belfries, and noble town halls. Artists were encouraged to paint
pictures for their adornment, and craftsmen vied with each other in
beautifying them with lovely designs in wood and metal. Before the war
there was hardly a village in the whole land which could not show some
beautiful building or some priceless work of art.
[Illustration: Germans in the Church at Aerschot.
(From the painting by E. Matania. By permission of _The Sphere_.)]
Let me tell you what happened at Aerschot when the Germans marched into
the town. The men broke into the houses, stole everything of value, and
destroyed the furniture. In the cellars they found stores of wine, and
large numbers of them were soon mad with drink. They stabled their
horses in the beautiful church, broke down the carved woodwork, and
showed the utmost contempt for the sacred place. While the German
commander was standing on the balcony of the mayor's house he was shot
dead, it is said, by the mayor's fourteen-year-old son, though probably
it was the act of a drunken German soldier firing his rifle in sport. At
once one hundred and fifty of the men of the town were seized, and in
their presence the mayor, his son, and brother were shot. Then the males
of the town were forced to run towards the river while the Germans fired
at them. More than forty of these poor fellows were killed.
There is an old monkish rhyme which tells us that Brussels rejoices in
noble men, Antwerp in money, Ghent in halters, Bruges in pretty girls,
Louvain in learned men, and Malines in fools. The monks were not very
complimentary to Ghent and Malines, but you will notice that they gave
praise to the other cities. I will now tell you the fate of the city
that was famed for learned men--Louvain. You will find it on the map, by
the side of the river Dyle, about eighteen miles east of Brussels.
If you had visited Louvain in July 1914, you would probably have called
it a dull town, and said that its inhabitants were either priests or
students or landladies. But if you had been interested in history, you
would have found Louvain anything but dull. Its university, which is one
of the oldest and most famous in the world, has been called the Oxford
of Belgium. It was founded in the days when Chaucer was writing his
"Canterbury Tales," and amongst its students were many who have made a
great mark in history. For hundreds of years English scholars flocked to
it, and amongst them was our own Sir Thomas More,[208] who wrote an
account of his visit. You perhaps know that his greatest work is
"Utopia,"[209] a fanciful picture of a land in which everybody had a
chance of being healthy, happy, wise, and good. More tells us at the
beginning of his book that his friend Peter Gillies, who lived at
Louvain, introduced him to a sunburnt sailor with a black beard, and
that this man gave him that account of Utopia which he set down in his
book. When the book was written More had it printed at Louvain, for the
city was famous for its printers and booksellers. Some people think that
More built his house at Chelsea on the model of a friend's house in the
old city.
Another famous scholar who was very fond of visiting Louvain was
Erasmus.[210] You can read his very interesting story in Charles Reade's
novel "The Cloister and the Hearth." Erasmus loved Louvain, and was
charmed with its delicious skies and its studious quiet. Indeed,
scholars in all ages have loved the city. One of them wrote: "Hail, our
Athens, the Athens of Belgium! O faithful, fruitful seat of the arts,
shedding far and wide thy light and thy name!" Every year up to the time
of the war thousands of people from all parts of the world used to visit
this "Athens of Belgium."
Since 1432 the university has been housed in a handsome hall which was
first built as a warehouse for the Clothmakers' Guild. Its library,
which was founded in 1724, was one of the most valuable in Belgium. It
contained 150,000 volumes, in addition to many priceless manuscripts.
There are several other beautiful buildings in Louvain. There is the
town hall, the finest building of its kind in Belgium; and the Church of
St. Peter, which was finished in the early part of the sixteenth
century, and stands on the site of a much earlier church. Before the war
St. Peter's was full of art treasures, the wood-carving and the metal
work being specially fine. The carved rood screen and the cross were
said to be without equal in Europe, and a bronze font was specially
prized because it was the work of Quentin Matsys,[211] who was born in
Louvain, and began life as a blacksmith. As a young man he fell in love
with an artist's daughter, and asked her hand in marriage. Her father,
however, refused it, and said she should only marry an artist. Quentin
loved the girl very much, so he threw down his hammer and took up the
paint-brush. Soon he was a better painter than his future father-in-law,
and the marriage took place. In the cathedral at Antwerp there is a
tablet to his memory, setting forth that it was love that taught the
smith to paint.
[Illustration: The Town Hall of Louvain.
_Photo, Newspaper Illustrations, Ltd._]
The Germans have always told us that they are great lovers of art and
learning, and they constantly boast of their culture. You would have
thought that when they entered this glorious old city of Louvain they
would have done everything in their power to preserve it from harm. What
they actually did was to burn down a large part of it, and in a few
hours reduce several of its glorious old buildings to charred and
blackened ruins. Mr. Asquith, our Prime Minister, described their work
at Louvain as "the greatest crime against civilization and culture since
the Thirty Years' War."[212]
You know that the Germans have laid the blame for some of their crimes
on the townsfolk, whom they accuse of firing on them. They had no such
excuse in the case of Louvain, for _all the arms had been handed in by
the people some days before the Germans arrived_. The mayor had posted
placards warning the people that if they attacked the enemy in any way
they would bring down vengeance upon themselves and their city.
When the Germans in overwhelming force had beaten back the Belgians who
were trying to defend Louvain, and had placed their guns in position to
bombard it, they sent an officer to the mayor offering to spare the
place if the townsfolk would find food and lodgings for their soldiers.
They promised that if this was done the soldiers would not molest the
townsfolk, and that those of them who were not billeted in private
houses would pay cash for all the goods which they needed. To this the
mayor agreed, and the Germans marched in. Soon, however, they broke all
their promises. The German soldiers rushed into private houses and took
what they fancied, without any payment but worthless paper. They broke
open the cellars and drank the wine in them as though it were beer.
Their officers ordered the city treasurer to give them 100,000 francs,
and grumbled greatly when he could only find part of the money.
Meanwhile, though the city was full of drunken Germans, the people
remained very quiet and orderly.
On Tuesday evening, 25th August, the foul deed was done. That day the
Belgians had made an attack on a body of Germans outside the town, and
had driven them helter-skelter into it. The drunken Germans in Louvain
thought that the fugitives were Belgians, and began firing on them. This
was a bad mistake, which would be certain to bring down blame on the
officer in command. In order to cover up the mistake, he pretended that
the townsfolk had attacked his soldiers, and proceeded to punish them
for a crime which they had not committed. A number of the male
inhabitants were shot, and then he ordered his men to burn the city
down.
An eye-witness, who was threatened with death, tells us the terrible
story. "At six o'clock," he says, "when everything was ready for dinner,
alarm signals sounded, and the soldiers rushed into the streets; shots
whistled through the air; cries and groans arose on all sides; but we
did not dare leave our houses, and took refuge in the cellars, where we
stayed through long and fearful hours.
"At break of day I crawled from the cellar to the street door, and saw
nothing but a raging sea of fire. At nine o'clock there was a lull in
the shooting, and we resolved to make a dash for the station. Leaving
our home and all our goods except what we could carry, and taking all
the money we had, we rushed out. No pen can describe what we saw on our
way to the station. Everything was burning; the streets were covered
with bodies, shot dead and half burnt...
"The station was crowded with people, and I was just trying to show an
officer my papers when the soldiers separated me from my wife and
children. All protests were useless, and a lot of us were marched off to
a big shed in the goods yard, from which we could see the finest
buildings in the city burning fiercely.
"Shortly afterwards German soldiers drove before them 300 men and lads
to the corner of a street, where they were shot. The sight filled us
with horror. The Burgomaster,[213] two magistrates, the rector of the
university, and all police officials had been shot already.
"With our hands bound behind our backs we were then marched off by the
soldiers, still without having seen our wives and children. We were
taken out of the town to a neighbouring hill, from which we had a full
view of the burning town. St. Peter's was in flames, and the guns were
firing shot after shot into the unhappy place."
* * * * *
Louvain was not burned down by accident. The soldiers worked on a plan.
They began in the heart of the city and set the place on fire house by
house and street by street. For thirty-six hours or more they continued
to fire the houses. A student of Oxford, who was in the town on 29th
August, tells us that "burning houses were every moment falling into the
roads; shooting was still going on. The dead and dying, burnt and
burning, lay on all sides. Over some of them the Germans had placed
sacks. I saw the bodies of half a dozen women and children. In one
street I saw two little children walking hand in hand over the bodies of
dead men. I have no words to describe these things.
[Illustration: The Destruction of Louvain.
_Photo, Newspaper Illustrations, Ltd._]
"The town hall was standing on Friday morning last, and, as we plainly
saw, every effort was being made to save it from the flames. We were
told by German officers that it was not to be destroyed. I have no doubt
that it is still standing. The German officers dashing about the streets
in fine motor cars made a wonderful sight. They were well dressed,
shaven, and contented looking; they might have been attending a
fashionable race-meeting. The soldiers were looting everywhere;
champagne, wines, boots, cigars--everything was being carried off."
Until the Germans are driven out of the city we shall not know the full
extent of the ruin which they have wrought. The Church of St. Peter has
been terribly damaged, but not, perhaps, beyond repair; but the
buildings of the university have been almost wiped out. The great
library has been given to the flames. I think you can imagine the
anguish of a professor who watched the burning from his garden, and saw
the charred leaves of priceless manuscripts floating past him. About the
time that the English were winning England a Saracen chief named 'Amr
burned the great library at Alexandria, and the world has never
forgotten his infamous deed. What will it say of the burning of the
Louvain library, more than twelve and a half centuries later, by men of
a race which boasts of its culture?
* * * * *
Let me tell you something of the heroism of a famous citizen of
Louvain--Dr. Noyons, head of the medical school of the university. When
the Germans marched in he was in charge of the hospital, which was
filled to overflowing with wounded, both Germans and Belgians. The Red
Cross flag flew above the building, and according to all the rules of
civilized warfare the hospital should have been spared. Nevertheless the
Germans set it on fire. While some of his helpers were trying to put out
the flames, the doctor and his wife calmly went on attending to the
wounded. Next morning the hospital staff was ordered to leave the town,
as it was to be bombarded; but Dr. Noyons and his wife decided to
disobey the order and remain. They could not bear the thought of leaving
their poor wounded to perish, so they and their assistants carried them
into the cellars of the hospital, and for two days ministered to them
underground. When, however, all danger of bombardment was past they
brought the men up to their wards again, and continued to attend them as
before.
* * * * *
Now we must turn to the story of Malines, the city which, according to
the old monkish rhyme, rejoices in fools. I have spent some time in this
city, and have seen something of its people, and I can assure you that
they are very far from being fools. Malines is renowned through Belgium
for its love of education and for the large number of its citizens who
are eager to make life better and happier for toiling men and women.
Before the war, the heart and centre of the town was the Grand'-Place.
On the right as you enter it stood a sixteenth-century Cloth Hall; to
the left was the town hall; behind it the huge tower of the cathedral.
All round were quaint gabled houses. During the day the Grand'-Place was
almost deserted, but at night, when the lights began to glow in the
little cafés, the people gathered at the tables outside them in little
family groups to drink "Bock" and listen to the band. I remember
wandering through the old-world streets, peeping into little narrow
byways, stopping to examine painted shrines at the street corners,
crossing the Dyle with its many bridges, and admiring the quaint
riverside houses and the gaudy, broad-beamed barges that lay at the
quays. Everywhere I saw the little milk-carts drawn by dogs. One Sunday
afternoon the school children gathered in the Grand'-Place for a
festival. I shall never forget the heartiness with which they sang the
Belgian National Anthem, while the townsfolk, bareheaded, swelled the
strain:--
"Again, O Belgium, still our Mother,
We pledge thee in blood and in song;
Surely to thee and to no other
Our swords, our hearts, our lives belong!
While thy deeds live in history's pages,
Deathless thy fame shall ever be;
And the cry still ring through the ages:
'For King and Law and Liberty.'"
On that bright September day the Malinoise had no thought of war and
bloodshed. They could not possibly foresee that, before many months had
passed, Belgians would be called upon to give their swords and hearts to
their Mother, and that in their heroic strife they would add such a
glorious page to their history that thenceforward throughout the ages
they would win deathless fame.
Before the war, the glory of Malines was its cathedral. Its huge tower,
which soared above the city, was 318 feet high, and was intended to be
the highest tower in Christendom, but was never finished. No one could
be within the bounds of the city for more than a few minutes without
hearing the wonderful chimes that floated out from this tower. The dials
of its clock were 44 feet in diameter, and the carillon was famous all
over the world. Every Monday evening in summer it performed a programme
of music, and every quarter of an hour, day and night, it played a tune.
Robert Browning, in his poem "How they brought the Good News from Aix to
Ghent," refers to the bells of Malines Cathedral in the following
line:--
"And from Mecheln church steeple we heard the half-chime."
Mechlin is the Flemish name of Malines. All the girls who read this book
have heard of Mechlin lace, which was formerly made in the city. Now its
chief manufactures are woollen goods and "Gobelin"[214] tapestry.
The cathedral was built with money collected from pilgrims who flocked
to the city in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Within it were
more treasures than in any other Belgian cathedral, except in the most
famous church of Brussels and in the cathedral at Antwerp. The pulpit
was a miracle of wood-carving, and the altar-piece was a picture of the
Crucifixion, by Van Dyck,[215] who was a pupil of the great Rubens,[216]
and court painter to Charles I. of England, by whom he was knighted. The
stained-glass windows were of wonderful richness. There were three or
four other churches in Malines of great interest and beauty, and several
public buildings with historic memories.
[Illustration: Malines Cathedral before the Bombardment.]
Now I must tell you how the Germans treated this interesting old city.
Four separate times they bombarded it; yet there does not appear to be
any good reason why they should have turned their guns upon it at all.
It was not fortified, and it offered no resistance. The first
bombardment was on 27th August, when the town hall was battered down,
and the roof, walls, and stained glass of the cathedral suffered
greatly. The people deserted the city, and when the guns were silent it
was as quiet as the grave. A second time it was bombarded, and still
more damage was done. Happily the Malinoise had removed some of their
treasures, including Van Dyck's altar-piece, to the safety of bomb-proof
cellars.
On 2nd September the third bombardment took place. Over a hundred shells
were burst over the place: great gaping holes were blown through the
tower of the cathedral, and its superb gateway was battered into a heap
of ruins. The bells of the carillon were knocked to pieces, and never
again will the ancient chimes of Malines be heard.
Though the Germans had worked such havoc on the unoffending town, they
could not forbear to assault it a fourth time. On 26th September Belgian
troops attacked a German detachment not far from the city and drove it
back in disorder. In revenge for this reverse, the Germans next morning
shelled the place again. It was on a Sunday morning that the deadly rain
began to fall. Many of the people had returned to the city, and were
leaving the ruined cathedral after Mass, when a shell fell amongst them
and killed some of them. Shortly afterwards another shell exploded in
a café, and wounded some of the people who had taken refuge in it. The
railway station, the barracks, several public buildings, factories, and
many private houses were utterly destroyed, either by the guns or by the
fires which afterwards broke out.
On page 272 you will see a picture of the little town of Termonde as it
appeared when the Germans had wreaked their vengeance upon it. A
Scottish member of Parliament, who visited it a few weeks after the
bombardment, tells us that he went through street after street and
square after square, and found every house entirely destroyed with all
its contents. In the early days of August it was a beautiful little town
of 16,000 inhabitants; now it was utterly destroyed and completely
deserted, save for a blind old woman and her daughter who groped amongst
the ruins.
When we look at this sad picture we can realize in some degree the
sufferings of the poor Belgians. Their houses have been destroyed, their
cherished belongings have been given to the flames; tens of thousands of
their bravest and best have been slain, in some cases with the foulest
cruelty, and hundreds of thousands of those who survive are homeless and
ruined. All over the land ancient monuments of art and learning are in
shapeless ruin. The love and labour and pride of centuries have been
swept away, and a prosperous land has been reduced to beggary. And what
have the Belgians done to deserve this hideous treatment? They have
dared to defend their own country; they have dared to stand in the way
of a ruthless nation that had sworn not to trespass on their soil; they
have refused to sell that which was dearer to them than life itself--the
independence of their land; and for this they have suffered martyrdom.
Let us never forget that the Belgians have fought and suffered for us.
Had they given the Germans free passage through their country, or had
they feebly resisted them, a great and sudden swoop would have been made
upon France at the very moment when she was unprepared to meet it. Not
only might France have gone down, and the work of the Allies in
overcoming the enemy been made doubly difficult, but the Germans might
have established themselves on the north coast of France, from which
they could have seriously threatened our shores. By her splendid courage
and staunchness Belgium has saved Europe, and the civilization of the
world is her debtor.
"They gave their homes for the Huns to tread,
Their homes for the Huns to burn;
For our very lives they gave their dead,
_And what shall we give in turn?_"
[Illustration: Termonde.
_Photo, Central News._]
[Footnote 206: Ruled over Hungary, with his capital at Budapest. Became
King of the Huns, 434 A.D.; died of intemperance, 453.]
[Footnote 207: An idyll is a story poem. The king is Arthur, who "in
twelve great battles overcame the heathen hordes, and made a realm and
reigned."]
[Footnote 208: Born 1478, died 1535; became Lord Chancellor of England.
Was beheaded by Henry VIII.]
[Footnote 209: Means "Nowhere" (written 1516).]
[Footnote 210: Born 1466, died 1536; a native of Antwerp, and the
greatest scholar and critic of his age.]
[Footnote 211: Born 1466, died 1530. His best pictures are in Antwerp.]
[Footnote 212: Fought in Germany between 1618 and 1648.]
[Footnote 213: The chief officer of a Dutch or Belgian town; the mayor.]
[Footnote 214: _Go-b'lan´_, so called from Gilles Gobelin, a famous
tapestry maker of Paris in the fifteenth century.]
[Footnote 215: Sir Anthony Van Dyck, born 1599, died 1641. Many of his
best portraits are to be found in private galleries in England.]
[Footnote 216: Peter Paul Rubens, born 1577, died 1640; the greatest
painter of the Flemish school.]