To-day everybody knows the story of Gerbeviller, the martyred.
To the northwest is that glorious capital of Lorraine, Nancy. Farther
northwest are Verdun and Toul, with our American boys. The region round
about the martyred town is a region of rich iron ores.
Some years ago, Germany found herself at bay, by reason of the
threatened exhaustion of her iron mines in Alsace-Lorraine. The news
that France had uncovered new beds of iron ore stirred Germany to a
frenzy of envy and longing.
High grade iron ore meant a new financial era for France. The exhaustion
of Germany's iron mines meant industrial depression, and finally a
second and third rate position. Rather than lose her place Germany
determined to go to war with France and Belgium and grab their iron
mines. To break down resistance on the part of the French people, the
Germans used atrocities that were fiendish beyond words. The richer the
province she wished to steal, the more terrible her cruelties.
At nine o'clock in the morning on August 27, General Clauss and 15,000
soldiers entered Gerbeviller. Ten miles to the south was the remainder
of the German army, utterly broken by the French attack. Clauss had been
sent north to dig his trenches until the rest of the German army could
retreat.
Every hour was precious. The Germans remained in the little town from 9
A. M. until 12:30 P. M. They found in the village thirty-one hundred
women, girls and children, fifteen old men (the eldest ninety-two), one
priest and one Red Cross ambulance driver. Even the little boys and men
under seventy had gone to the front to dig ditches and carry water to
the French.
It took the Germans only two and one-half hours to loot all the houses
and load upon their trucks the rugs, carpets, chairs, pictures, bedding,
with every knife and fork and plate. At half-past eleven General Clauss
was in the Mayor's house, when the German colonel came in and reported
that everything in the houses had been stripped and that they were ready
to begin the firing of the buildings.
The aged wife of the secretary to the Mayor told me this incident:
"We find no weapons in the houses, and we find only these fifteen old
men, one Red Cross boy, and this priest," said the colonel.
"Line up the old men then and shoot them," shouted General Clauss. "Take
the priest as a prisoner to do work in the trenches."
The old men were lined up on the grass. General Clauss himself gave the
signal to fire. Two German soldiers fired bullets into each one of the
old men.
One of the heart-broken onlookers was the village priest. The Germans
carried him away as prisoner and made him work as a common labourer;
through rain and sun, through heat and snow, he toiled on, digging
ditches, carrying burdens, working eighteen hours a day, eating spoiled
food that the German soldiers would not touch, until finally
tuberculosis developed and he was sick unto death. Then the Germans
released him as a refugee, so the priest returned to Gerbeviller to die.
Then came the anniversary of the murder of the fifteen old men and of
the one hundred and two women, girls and children. On the anniversary
day of the martyrdom the noble Governor of the province assembled the
few survivors for a memorial service about the graves of the martyrs.
Knowing that the priest would never see another anniversary of that day
the Prefect asked the priest to give the address at the memorial
service. No more dramatic scene ever occurred in history. At the
beginning the priest told the story of the coming of the Germans, the
looting of the houses, the violation of the little girls, the collecting
of the dead bodies. Suddenly the priest closed his eyes, and all
unconsciously he lived the scene of those three and a half hours.
"I see our fifteen heroes standing on the grass. I see the German
soldiers lifting up their rifles. I hear General Clauss cursing and
shouting the command to fire.
"I see you, Thomas; a brutal soldier tears your coat back. He puts his
rifle against your heart. When you sink down I see your hands come
together in prayer.
"I see you, Francois. I see the two big crutches on which you lean. You
are weary with the load of ninety years. I hear your granddaughter when
she sobs your name, and I see your smile, as you strive to encourage
her.
"I see you, Jean. How happy you were when you came back with your
wealth to spend your last years in your native town! How kind you were
to all our poor. Ah! Jean, you did us good and not evil, all the days of
your life with us!
"I see you, little Marie. You were lying upon the grass. I see your two
little hands tied by ropes to the two peach trees in your mother's
garden. I see the little wisp of black hair stretched out under your
head. I see your little body lying dead. With this hand of mine upon
that little board, above your grave, I wrote the words, 'Vengeance is
mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.'
"And yonder in the clouds I see the Son of Man coming in His glory with
His angels. I see the Kaiser falling upon Gerbeviller. I see Clauss
falling upon our aged Mayor. But I also see God arising to fall upon the
Germans. Berlin, with Babylon the Great, is fallen. It has become a nest
of unclean things. There serpents dwell. Woe unto them that offend
against my little ones. For, lo, a millstone is hanged about their necks
and they shall be drowned in the sea with Satan."
The excitement was too much for the priest. That very night he died.
Henceforth he will be numbered among the martyrs of Gerbeviller.