A TALK WITH THE KING OF THE BELGIANS
The letter announcing that I was to have an audience with the King of
the Belgians reached me at Dunkirk, France, on the evening of the day
before the date set. It was brief and to the effect that the King
would receive me the next afternoon at two o'clock at the Belgian Army
headquarters.
The object of my visit was well known; and, because I wished an
authoritative statement to give to America, I had requested that the
notes of my conversation with His Majesty should be officially
approved. This request was granted. The manuscript of the interview
that follows was submitted to His Majesty for approval. It is
published as it occurred, and nothing has been added to the record.
A general from the Ministry of War came to the Hôtel des Arcades, in
Dunkirk, and I was taken in a motor car to the Belgian Army
headquarters some miles away. As the general who conducted me had
influenza, and I was trying to keep my nerves in good order, it was
rather a silent drive. The car, as are all military cars--and there
are no others--was driven by a soldier-chauffeur by whose side sat the
general's orderly. Through the narrow gate, with its drawbridge
guarded by many sentries, we went out into the open country.
The road, considering the constant traffic of heavy transports and
guns, was very fair. It is under constant repair. At first, during
this severe winter, on account of rain and snow, accidents were
frequent. The road, on both sides, was deep in mud and prolific of
catastrophe; and even now, with conditions much better, there are
numerous accidents. Cars all travel at frightful speed. There are no
restrictions, and it is nothing to see machines upset and abandoned in
the low-lying fields that border the road.
Conditions, however, are better than they were. Part of the
conservation system has been the building of narrow ditches at right
angles to the line of the road, to lead off the water. Every ten feet
or so there is a gutter filled with fagots.
I had been in the general's car before. The red-haired Fleming with
the fierce moustache who drove it was a speed maniac, and passing the
frequent sentries was only a matter of the password. A signal to slow
down, given by the watchful sentry, a hoarse whisper of the password
as the car went by, and on again at full speed. There was no bothering
with papers.
On each side of the road were trenches, barbed-wire entanglements,
earthen barriers, canals filled with barges. And on the road were
lines of transports and a file of Spahis on horseback, picturesque in
their flowing burnouses, bearded and dark-skinned, riding their
unclipped horses through the roads under the single rows of trees. We
rode on through a village where a pig had escaped from a
slaughterhouse and was being pursued by soldiers--and then, at last,
army headquarters and the King of the Belgians.
There was little formality. I was taken in charge by the King's
equerry, who tapped at a closed door. I drew a long breath.
"Madame Rinehart!" said the equerry, and stood aside.
There was a small screen in front of the door. I went round it.
Standing alone before the fire was Albert I, King of the Belgians. I
bowed; then we shook hands and he asked me to sit down.
It was to be a conversation rather than an interview; but as it was to
be given as accurately as possible to the American people, I was
permitted to make careful notes of both questions and answers. It was
to be, in effect, a statement of the situation in Belgium as the King
of the Belgians sees it.
I spoke first of a message to America.
"I have already sent a message to America," he informed me; "quite a
long message. We are, of course, intensely appreciative of what
Americans have done for Belgium."
"They are anxious to do what they can. The general feeling is one of
great sympathy."
"Americans are both just and humane," the King replied; "and their
system of distribution is excellent. I do not know what we should have
done without the American Relief Committees."
"Is there anything further Your Majesty can suggest?"
"They seem to have thought of everything," the King said simply. "The
food is invaluable--particularly the flour. It has saved many from
starvation."
"But there is still need?"
"Oh, yes--great need."
It was clear that the subject was a tragic one. The King of the
Belgians loves his people, as they love him, with a devotion that is
completely unselfish. That he is helpless to relieve so much that they
are compelled to endure is his great grief.
His face clouded. Probably he was seeing, as he must always see, the
dejected figures of the peasants in the fields; the long files of his
soldiers as they made their way through wet and cold to the trenches;
the destroyed towns; the upheaval of a people.
"What is possible to know of the general condition of affairs in that
part of Belgium occupied by the Germans?" I asked. "I do not mean in
regard to food only, but the general condition of the Belgian people."
"It is impossible to say," was the answer. "During the invasion it was
very bad. It is a little better now, of course; but here we are on the
wrong side of the line to form any ordered judgment. To gain a real
conception of the situation it would be necessary to go through the
occupied portions from town to town, almost from house to house. Have
you been in the other part of Belgium?"
"Not yet; I may go."
"You should do that--see Louvain, Aerschot, Antwerp--see the destroyed
towns for yourself. No one can tell you. You must see them."
I was not certain that I should be permitted to make such a journey,
but the King waved my doubts aside with a gesture.
"You are an American," he said. "It would be quite possible and you
would see just what has happened. You would see open towns that were
bombarded; other towns that were destroyed after occupation! You would
see a country ruthlessly devastated; our wonderful monuments
destroyed; our architectural and artistic treasures sacrificed without
reason--without any justification."
"But as a necessity of war?" I asked.
"Not at all. The Germans have saved buildings when it suited their
convenience to do so. No military necessity dictated the destruction
of Louvain. It was not bombarded. It was deliberately destroyed. But,
of course, you know that."
"The matter of the violation of Belgium's neutrality still remains an
open question," I said. "I have seen in American facsimile copies of
documents referring to conversations between staff officers of the
British and Belgian armies--documents that were found in the
ministerial offices at Brussels when the Germans occupied that city
last August. Of course I think most Americans realise that, had they
been of any real importance, they would have been taken away. There
was time enough. But there are some, I know, who think them
significant."
The King of the Belgians shrugged his shoulders.
"They were of an unofficial character and entirely without importance.
The German Staff probably knew all about them long before the
declaration of war. They themselves had, without doubt, discussed and
recorded similar probabilities in case of war with other countries. It
is a common practice in all army organisations to prepare against
different contingencies. It is a question of military routine only."
"There was no justification, then, for the violation of Belgian
neutrality?" I inquired.
"None whatever! The German violation of Belgian neutrality was wrong,"
he said emphatically. "On the fourth of August their own chancellor
admitted it. Belgium had no thought of war. The Belgians are a
peace-loving people, who had every reason to believe in the friendship
of Germany."
The next question was a difficult one. I inquired as to the behaviour
of the Germans in the conquered territory; but the King made no
sweeping condemnation of the German Army.
"Fearful things have been done, particularly during the invasion," he
said, weighing his words carefully; "but it would be unfair to condemn
the whole German Army. Some regiments have been most humane; but
others behaved very badly. Have you seen the government report?"
I said I had not seen it, though I had heard that a careful
investigation had been made.
"The government was very cautious," His Majesty said. "The
investigation was absolutely impartial and as accurate as it could be
made. Doubts were cast on all statements--even those of the most
dependable witnesses--until they could be verified."
"They were verified?"
"Yes; again and again."
"By the victims themselves?"
"Not always. The victims of extreme cruelty do not live to tell of it;
but German soldiers themselves have told the story. We have had here
many hundreds of journals, taken from dead or imprisoned Germans,
furnishing elaborate details of most atrocious acts. The government is
keeping these journals. They furnish powerful and incontrovertible
testimony of what happened in Belgium when it was swept over by a
brutal army. That was, of course, during the invasion--such things are
not happening now so far as we know."
He had spoken quietly, but there was a new note of strain in his
voice. The burden of the King of the Belgians is a double one. To the
horror of war has been added the unnecessary violation and death of
noncombatants.
The King then referred to the German advance through Belgian
territory.
"Thousands of civilians have been killed without reason. The execution
of noncombatants is not war, and no excuse can be made for it. Such
deeds cannot be called war."
"But if the townspeople fired on the Germans?" I asked.
"All weapons had been deposited in the hands of the town authorities.
It is unlikely that any organised attack by civilians could have been
made. However, if in individual cases shots were fired at the German
soldiers, this may always be condoned in a country suffering invasion.
During an occupation it would be different, naturally. No excuse can
be offered for such an action in occupied territory."
"Various Belgian officers have told me of seeing crowds of men, women
and children driven ahead of the German Army to protect the troops.
This is so incredible that I must ask whether it has any foundation of
truth."
"It is quite true. It is a barbarous and inhuman system of protecting
the German advance. When the Belgian soldiers fired on the enemy they
killed their own people. Again and again innocent civilians of both
sexes were sacrificed to protect the invading army during attacks. A
terrible slaughter!"
His Majesty made no effort to conceal his great grief and indignation.
And again, as before, there seemed to be nothing to say.
"Even now," I said, "when the Belgians return the Grerman artillery
fire they are bombarding their own towns."
"That is true, of course; but what can we do? And the civilian
population is very brave. They fear invasion, but they no longer pay
any attention to bombs. They work in the fields quite calmly, with
shells dropping about. They must work or starve."
He then spoke of the morale of the troops, which is excellent, and of
his sympathy for their situation.
"Their families are in Belgium," he said. "Many of them have heard
nothing for months. But they are wonderful. They are fighting for life
and to regain their families, their homes and their country. Christmas
was very sad for them."
"In the event of the German Army's retiring from Belgium, do you
believe, as many do, that there will be more destruction of cities?
Brussels, for instance?"
"I think not."
I referred to my last visit to Belgium, when Brussels was the capital;
and to the contrast now, when La Panne a small seaside resort hardly
more than a village, contains the court, the residence of the King and
Queen, and of the various members of his household. It seemed to me
unlikely that La Panne would be attacked, as the Queen of the Belgians
is a Bavarian.
"Do you think La Panne will be bombarded?" I asked.
"Why not?"
"I thought that possibly, on account of Your Majesty and the Queen
being there, it would be spared.
"They are bombarding Furnes, where I go every day," he replied. "And
there are German aëroplanes overhead all the time."
The mention of Furnes brought to my mind the flooded district near
that village, which extends from Nieuport to Dixmude.
"Belgium has made a great sacrifice in flooding her lowlands," I said.
"Will that land be as fertile as before?"
"Not for several years. The flooding of the productive land in the
Yser district was only carried out as a military necessity. The water
is sea water, of course, and will have a bad effect on the soil. Have
you seen the flooded district?"
I told His Majesty that I had been to the Belgian trenches, and then
across the inundated country to one of the outposts; a remarkable
experience--one I should never forget.
The conversation shifted to America and her point of view; to American
women who have married abroad. His Majesty mentioned especially Lady
Curzon. Two children of the King were with Lord Curzon, in England, at
the time. The Crown Prince, a boy of fourteen, tall and straight like
his father, was with the King and Queen.
The King had risen and was standing in his favourite attitude, his
elbow on the mantelpiece. I rose also.
"I was given some instructions as to the ceremonial of this audience,"
I said. "I am afraid I have not followed them!"
"What were you told to do?" said His Majesty, evidently amused. Then,
without waiting for a reply;
"We are very democratic--we Belgians," he said. "More democratic than
the Americans. The President of the United States has great
power--very great power. He is a czar."
He referred to President Wilson in terms of great esteem--not only as
the President but as a man. He spoke, also, with evident admiration of
Mr. Roosevelt and Mr. McKinley, both of whom he had met.
I looked at the clock. It was after three and the interview had begun
at two. I knew it was time for me to go, but I had been given no
indication that the interview was at an end. Fragments of the coaching
I had received came to my mind, but nothing useful; so I stated my
difficulty frankly, and again the King's serious face lighted up with
a smile.
"There is no formality here; but if you are going we must find the
general for you."
So we shook hands and I went out; but the beautiful courtesy of the
soldier King of the Belgians brought him out to the doorstep with me.
That is the final picture I have of Albert I, King of the Belgians--a
tall young man, very fair and blue-eyed, in the dark blue uniform of a
lieutenant-general of his army, wearing no orders or decorations,
standing bareheaded in the wind and pointing out to me the direction
in which I should go to find the general who had brought me.
He is a very courteous gentleman, with the eyes of one who loves the
sea, for the King of the Belgians is a sailor in his heart; a tragic
and heroic figure but thinking himself neither--thinking of himself
not at all, indeed; only of his people, whose griefs are his to share
but not to lighten; living day and night under the rumble of German
artillery at Nieuport and Dixmude in that small corner of Belgium
which remains to him.
He is a King who, without suspicion of guilt, has lost his country;
who has seen since August of 1914 two-thirds of his army lost, his
beautiful and ancient towns destroyed, his fertile lands thrown open
to the sea.
I went on. The guns were still at work. At Nieuport, Dixmude, Furnes,
Pervyse--all along that flat, flooded region--the work of destruction
was going on. Overhead, flying high, were two German aëroplanes--the
eyes of the war.
* * * * *
Not politically, but humanely, it was time to make to America an
authoritative statement as to conditions in Belgium.
The principle of non-interference in European politics is one of
national policy and not to be questioned. But there can be no
justification for the destruction of property and loss of innocent
lives in Belgium. Germany had plead to the neutral nations her
necessity, and had plead eloquently. On the other hand, the English
and French authorities during the first year of the war had preserved
a dignified silence, confident of the justice of their cause.
And official Belgium had made no complaint. She had bowed to the
judgment of her allies, knowing that a time would come, at the end
of the war, to speak of her situation and to demand justifiable
redress.
But a million homeless Belgians in England and Holland proclaimed and
still proclaim their wretchedness broadcast. The future may bring
redress, but the present story of Belgium belongs to the world.
America, the greatest of the neutral countries, has a right to know
now the suffering and misery of this patient, hard-working people.
This war may last a long time; the western armies are at a deadlock.
Since November of 1914 the line has varied only slightly here and
there; has been pushed out or back only to straighten again.
Advances may be counted by feet. From Nieuport to Ypres attacks are
waged round solitary farms which, by reason of the floods, have become
tiny islands protected by a few men, mitrailleuses, and entanglements
of barbed wire. Small attacking bodies capture such an outpost, wading
breast-deep--drowning when wounded--in the stagnant water. There are
no glorious charges here, no contagion of courage; simply a dogged and
desperate struggle--a gain which the next day may see forfeited. The
only thing that goes on steadily is the devastating work of the heavy
guns on each side.
Meantime, both in England and in France, there has been a growing
sentiment that the government's policy of silence has been a mistake.
The cudgel of public opinion is a heavy one. The German propaganda in
America has gone on steadily. There is no argument where one side only
is presented. That splendid and solid part of the American people, the
German population, essentially and naturally patriotic, keeping their
faith in the Fatherland, is constantly presenting its case; and
against that nothing official has been offered.
England is fighting heroically, stoically; but her stoicism is a vital
mistake. This silence has nothing whatever to do with military
movements, their success or their failure. It is more fundamental, an
inherent characteristic of the English character, founded on
reserve--perhaps tinged with that often misunderstood conviction of
the Britisher that other persons cannot be really interested in what
is strictly another's affairs.
The Allies are beginning to realise, however, that this war is not
their own affair alone. It affects the world too profoundly. Mentally,
morally, spiritually and commercially, it is an upheaval in which all
must suffer.
And the English people, who have sent and are sending the very flower
of their country's manhood to the front, are beginning to regret the
error in judgment that has left the rest of the English-speaking world
in comparative ignorance of the true situation.
They are sending the best they have--men of high ideals, who, as
volunteers, go out to fight for what they consider a just cause. The
old families, in which love of country and self-sacrifice are
traditions, have suffered heavily.
The crux of the situation is Belgium--the violation of her neutrality;
the conduct of the invading army; her unnecessary and unjustifiable
suffering. And Belgium has felt that the time to speak has come.