As the chances of war continued adverse to the Kaiser’s “victorious
armies” the occupying government began to show more lenient
tendencies. In high quarters a gradual and very subtle softening was
dimly perceptible. Belgians guilty of patriotic deeds that formerly
would have brought upon them the severest punishment—deeds far more
serious than that for which Miss Cavell was shot—were now treated with
astonishing tolerance. Penalties even for flagrant acts of espionage
and defiance of military regulations were palliated through the
mysterious offices of a woman whose power no one understood. French
by birth, but the widow of a German officer fallen in battle, this
individual—a sweet-looking, _petite_ woman of about thirty, neither
remarkable for beauty, force of character, nor personal magnetism,
succeeded in having many death-penalties revoked, in liberating a
number of civil prisoners and bending the governmental will, so long
implacable, as she chose.
I made her acquaintance in the little faubourg house where she dwelt
with her mother and brother, the latter an artist, both of the same
pleasant, rather provincial and unimposing type as herself. Her
manners and speech, soft and kindly; her soft, blue, rather childlike
eyes suggested no latent power. One instance of her mediation, told
me by herself, was that of a man and his daughter condemned to death
for espionage. Damning evidence of guilt had been discovered in their
possession—drawings and writings containing important information,
some of which, it was ascertained, they had smuggled into Holland for
the enemy. And although their death-sentence had already been given,
the lady of mystery had it changed to imprisonment and a fine. The
punishment in another case (that of a Belgian youth caught red-handed
attempting to destroy a train conveying German troops) was also
altered to a milder form of penalty.
While all in Brussels appreciated the good this young widow
accomplished, they were none the less mystified; many ridiculous and,
in some cases, ungenerous explanations all equally inadequate were
given. A friend of mine, who was present while she pleaded before the
military judges, spoke highly of her persuasive powers and stated she
had won her object by appealing to their _humanity_! The case was that
of a boy who had been caught trying to cross the frontier—almost the
very crime for which Edith Cavell, Philippe Baucq, and others were
condemned to death. She begged them to consider the anguish of the
boy’s mother, to appreciate the noble patriotism of his impulse, to
put themselves in his place and ask themselves if, at his age, they
would not have done the same, and so forth—arguments that had been
uttered in that room a thousand times, enhanced by the tears and
agony of frantic mothers and wives, husbands and brothers, of those
condemned and never pardoned! Yet this familiar plea, spoken by one
lacking the deep, heart-torn passion with which it had so often been
vainly uttered, won the boy’s reprieve! Why? It is difficult for
anyone familiar with the former mercilessness of that military court
to believe that her softly spoken appeal was alone responsible. A
subtle change was coming over the spirit of German militarism. The
worlds they had sought to conquer were fading from view, and anxiety
to save something from the wreck was probably the root-incentive of
their leniency.
During October 1918 a suppressed, half-incredulous excitement could
be felt in the very air of Brussels, although contradictory reports
prevented us from knowing anything definite. Now and again rumours of
thrilling promise would sweep over the city, but disappointment had
been too frequent, hope too often quenched in despair, for the lower
classes to put much faith on them.
“_Est-ce vrai?_” was their almost invariable reply to news of
encouraging character, and scarcely any enthusiasm was shown even by
those of superior station. The dread of a new German rush forward
appeared to haunt the minds of all, a dread kept alive by the only
journals available and by the confusing accounts, always favourable to
the enemy, these contained. Even as late as 2nd October we read that
the Germans had broken through the Belgian lines, a report given with
the old triumphant bravado. Of the battle between Roulers and Warvicq
it was said the Allies had failed in their attack: “_Les Alliés ont
attaqué sans succès_.” Near Cambrai the Canadians had made a slight
advance costing them frightful losses, but were driven back on Tilloy
by one division of Würtembergers!
On the same date appeared the following report: “D’importantes
forces américaines ont attaqué à l’est de l’Argonne. Les points ou la
bataille a été la plus chaude ont été de nouveau Apremont et le bois
Montrebeau. Nous avons repoussé sur toute la ligne l’ennemi, qui a
subi hier de nouvelles et particulièrement lourdes pertes.” Equally
discouraging accounts were given of the situation in Italy, Macedonia,
and Palestine—accounts as much at variance with the Allied communiqués.
Falsification of facts may have been considered necessary in a
critical situation such as the Central Powers were facing. Surely,
however, they might have spared the unrelenting efforts to terrify
and dishearten the Belgians, who, locked in their prison, could not
have influenced the Allies’ determination to bring the war to an end
necessary for the world’s salvation.
Even when, on the 3rd of October, it was known in Brussels that
Bulgaria had asked for a separate peace, German comments robbed the
event of all encouraging significance. It was announced in our papers
that enormous forces had been dispatched to Sofia which would “settle
the Bulgarian difficulties at one stroke,” and drive the Allies back
whence they had come! Consequently there was no general elation over
an event of such tremendous significance to the outside world. We knew
too little of what had led up to it, and hope had sunk too low to
revive.
Although, of course, the ever-approaching thunder of guns told us
much, and the _feu de barrage_ for weeks roared its awful tale, the
only obvious indications we had of the vast changes brewing were the
altered sentiment and behaviour of German soldiers. They occasionally
uttered astounding opinions in regard to their Government and of
sympathy with Belgium. The poor Belgians, so long subjected to German
trickery, saw in this merely obedience to plotting chiefs who hoped
thus to overcome their hatred. No one cut off as we were from outside
news could otherwise understand it; while the journals presented
little else than vainglorious accounts of Allied reverses, German
submarine victories, and the bombardment of Paris by long-distance
cannon!
In regard to the last-mentioned outrage, the feeling in Brussels
was no less bitter than it must have been in France, and doubtless
throughout the entire world. Our papers presented us daily with
triumphant descriptions of the terror and devastation caused to the
inhabitants of Paris, even stating that the city was being generally
evacuated. The Zeppelin had not taught Germany that her uncivilized
methods of war served merely to create large and indomitable armies in
the opposing nations, once so little prepared for war and so lacking
in enthusiasm!
By the time our beds were demanded, and armed men forced their way
even into the poorest homes to rob the cold and hungry Belgians of
their last remnant of comfort, the change in the soldiers’ sentiments
became even more marked. Beds were taken, often from under the owners
before they had risen in the morning, but in many cases there was a
noticeable indifference shown by those who did the looting. The men
who came to our house only took two mattresses, and made no attempt
to search for wool that was hidden. One of them expressed very
bitterly his distaste for the duty imposed on him, and said, among
other startling remarks: “The whole war is an outrage imposed upon us
Germans by our leaders, who must pay for it some day not far distant”!
Another, whom I met in a shop, told me that if he had not a wife and
little children in Germany he would never return to the Vaterland
he had been falsely lured to protect. At mention of the Kaiser, he
exclaimed savagely: “_Kaiser!—Ach, der Kaiser!_—Wait until the troops
get back to Germany! There will be an accounting then!” and drew his
finger significantly across his throat.
It was unspeakably pathetic at this time to see the war-weary,
ill-clad, and under-fed German troops returning from the front to
Brussels; especially those called back to the trenches, after a
rest too brief to revive their strength, or dim their recollection
of horrors endured. These poor, heavily laden slaves, many so young,
with a look of yearning for home in their wide, helpless eyes, called
for sympathy despite the wrong they represented. No voice acclaimed
them, as they strode through a hating city to give up their lives for
a monstrous error; but many of those who watched forgot, for a moment,
past suffering to express a word of compassion unheard, alas, by those
columns of desperate human beings—beings forced back to be massacred
on foreign land, merely for the vanity of their ruler—merely that
the German Kaiser’s long-cherished and carefully perfected military
toy might avoid the disgrace even then inevitable! It was galling to
better-class Belgians to note about this time a certain friendliness
developing between the German soldiers and common people. At the
markets, where soldiers swarmed, it was no rare sight to see girls
hanging to their arms, and even older women talking and joking with
them. The reason of this was not indifference to all that Belgium had
suffered at German hands, but because to these people the soldiers
spoke more openly. By dint of constant association they learned that
all Germans were not criminals, that many hundreds of the men had
been ignorant of the true situation—men who, awaking too late, were
conscious of the injustice done and bitter against the power that had
deceived and enslaved them.
This recalls a confession made to me, long before, by a man who had
lived in Belgium for twenty years, but, being still a German citizen,
was called back to the army at the outbreak of war. When approaching
the Belgian frontier he and others hesitated, demanding why they were
being led into Belgium, and were told that France had violated the
country’s neutrality, and the Belgians had called upon Germany to
defend her! Only when facing Belgian troops, they realized they had
been deceived; and to hesitate then meant being shot by their own men.
Despised as the German race was, and probably will be for many
generations to come, nevertheless their long-suffering victims were
large-spirited enough to recognize the worthiness of individuals,
and not hold them responsible for their nation’s crimes. But better
qualities were shown only by the later troops brought from Germany
to fill vast gaps in the original army hurled to death _en masse_
during the first mad effort. These entered the hideous strife when
even their leaders were beginning to tremble before the gigantic storm
of vengeance they had roused through the whole civilized world. And
even these probably did not know the whole of their nation’s guilt.
At least, one tries to believe they did not; for to think that so
great a number of civilized beings could have continued the conflict
if aware, from the very beginning, of their leaders’ barbarous
devices, would destroy one’s faith in the stability of civilization.
It seems impossible that thinking and, more or less, educated men
could countenance the illegitimate aerial assaults on English and
French towns; those cowardly and inexcusable air attacks upon Paris
which began in the very first month of the war and continued, without
mercy, to the end. The glorious capital of France now presents a mass
of wounds in her very centre—in cherished localities sacred to all the
world, such as the great cathedral of Notre-Dame, on which a bomb was
dropped as early as October 1914, before adequate protection could be
prepared! It seems as though no reasoning mind could be cognizant of
these wrongs without being impressed with the conviction that right
was on the side of those nations whose courage was unbroken by mean
and unlawful assaults, viler than history has ever before recorded.
England did not waver, and France did not waver; every dastardly
blow inflicted by Germany only increased their righteous wrath; and
the armies returning from the scene where their defeat was already
inevitable were beginning to realize how justifiable was that wrath.
They had seen thousands upon thousands of their fellows brought back
mangled from invaded countries the holding of which meant nothing to
them; had read the long lists of dead, and began to wonder what it
was all for. On several occasions I have heard the soldiers ask that
question with a look of puzzled wonder in their eyes, more eloquent
than the words, “_Wofür ist eigentlich die ganze Sache_?”
Can their rulers answer it in a manner satisfactory to these men? Can
they answer it who, safely removed from the hell into which they drove
them, continued to cry: “We must go on! We must fight to our last
man rather than lose an inch of what we have gained! Victory shall
be ours, for God is with us”? It can only be hoped that the Almighty
whom they blasphemed by that diabolic decision, will not hold those
responsible who, in blind loyalty, obeyed it with the sacrifice of
their young and promising lives.