To-day on my way to the General Headquarters of the Belgian Army,
whither I am bound on a mission from the President of the French
Republic to His Majesty King Albert, I pass through Furnes, another
town wantonly and savagely bombarded, where at this hour of the day
there is a raging storm of icy wind, snow, rain, and hail, under a
black sky.
Here as at Ypres the barbarians bent their whole soul on the
destruction of the historical part, the charming old town hall and
its surroundings. It is here that King Albert, driven forth from his
palace, established himself at first. Thereupon the Germans, with that
delicacy of feeling to which at present no one in the world disputes
their claim, immediately made this place their objective, in order to
bombard it with their brutal, heavy shells. I need hardly say that
there was scarcely anyone in the streets, where I slowed down my motor
so that I might have leisure for a better appreciation of the effects
of the Kaiser's "work of civilisation"; there were only some groups
of soldiers, fully armed, some with their coat-collars turned up,
others with the back curtains of their service-caps turned down. They
hastened along in the squalls, running like children, and laughing
good-humouredly, as if it were very amusing, this downpour, which for
once was not of fire.
How is it that there is no atmosphere of sadness about this half-empty
town? It is as if the gaiety of these soldiers, in spite of the
gloomy weather, had communicated itself to the ruined surroundings.
And how full of splendid health and spirits they seem! I see no more
on any faces that somewhat startled, haggard expression, common at
the beginning of the war. The outdoor life, combined with good food,
has bronzed the cheeks of these men whom the shrapnel has spared,
but their principal support and stay is their complete confidence,
their conviction that they have already gained the upper hand and are
marching to victory. The invasion of the Boches will pass away like
this horrible weather, which after all is only a last shower of March;
it will all come to an end.