Drop Cap A

AFTER the battle of the Marne, the incredible outcome of which we only learned days later through secret outside sources, the spirit of Brussels revived a little, and the people’s wonderful, almost unreasoning, confidence became stronger than even before the occupation. Gradually the city began to assume a more normal aspect; certain cafÉs reopened and many shops, also street trams were run at unsatisfactory intervals. But existence was constantly haunted by the knowledge that every act and look was watched by the ubiquitous spy in civil dress eagerly seeking an excuse to drag a citizen to the Kommandantur. No one dared speak aloud of topics uppermost in the minds of all, or betray in public by so much as a glance his knowledge of that great victory which the Germans endeavoured to conceal. The city walls became more universally papered with affiches curtailing liberty, or announcing penalties inflicted upon well-known citizens. “A la peine de mort,” in enormous lettering that could be read several yards away, frequently attracted crowds to read the names of friends or prominent men condemned to death for such faults as later on, when Germany was less confident of becoming the world’s master, were punished by clement terms of imprisonment.

As neutrals, we were not personally troubled in this respect; but several of our friends were inexplicably arrested and sent to confinement either in Germany or Belgium. The cause of these arrests in many cases was never known, even by those who suffered them, only to be liberated after a term of months or years of cruel confinement in cells. In other instances the cause for arrest was given out with the usual non-appreciation of right—as in the case of Count de ——, a well-known banker of Dinant, who was shot because he declined to yield the savings of working-class Belgians when the contents of his safes were demanded. Three other prominent men were dragged off to Germany, merely because they had raised a fund for some starving labourers, who, having refused to work for the Germans, had no means of support. Numerous incidents of inconceivable brutality, though of character now too commonly known to bear repetition, were related to me by those who endured these punishments. Such was the experience of a Belgian, the Mayor of Haux, who told us verbally how he had been chained to a mitrailleuse and made to go forward before the German troops facing an Allied attack.

In regard to the Teutonic hatred for everything English, the following ridiculous instance will show to what extremes German tactlessness attempted to carry its usurped authority. One day a number of Alimentation-Commission men, all Americans, were seated together in a cafÉ; and, as all mention of the war was, by their own decision, prohibited, were jovially recounting reminiscences of happier times. Not far from them sat five young officers stiffly upright in gilt-buttoned parade dress and high red collars. They constantly turned their sheared heads to cast severe glances at the merry group who, though noting the angry eyes flashing under pale, knitted brows, paid no attention. Even then, although the Marne had checked their confident and boastful progress, all members of Germany’s army, however young or inexperienced in action, assumed the bombastic manner of world-conquering Napoleons and, as in this case, considered themselves endowed with right to suppress anyone whose behaviour displeased them. Under the very evident irritation of these five fresh products from the great central war-factory, the Americans’ hilarity grew apace; but on account of the Commission they represented, care was taken to avoid the least offensive word or gesture that might excuse interference. Presently one of the Prussians arose—a fat, pale youth, whose bright blue jacket and trousers appeared likely to burst if he took a long breath—and swaggered toward them with important jangle of sword and spurs.

“You shall not speak English where officers of the German army are seated!” he ejaculated, through lips pale and quivering with rage.

“Indeed? Why not?” inquired one of the party, an athletic creature who could have pounded the little fatty to a pulp.

“Because I say it!” was the reply; “the English language is distasteful to us, and should be officially forbidden in Brussels.”

“But it isn’t!” retorted the other in Americanized German; “and I guess Uncle Sam would have something to say if you tried to stop us speaking our own language.”

“You are all Americans?” demanded the Prussian, raising his tow-coloured head, like a proud bantam-cock, and taking them in with a supercilious glance.

No one replied, for the youth who first spoke to him had turned nonchalantly to continue his interrupted conversation with a companion.

“I ask are you all Americans?” repeated the bantam, his voice rising to a thin, high note, on which it broke.

“Yes, we are!” shouted another of the party, a hot-headed boy, fresh from college, who had had all he could endure of this inexcusable intrusion; “what have you to say about it? We are here to help feed the people you’re starving!—the people you’ve ruined! And by Gad! if you try to stop our yap, you’ll get more than is good for you! Get out! or——”

One of the older men laid a hand on him and whispered: “Shut up, will you! What is the use of making a row?”

“Well, I shan’t be bullied! Because they have cannon and all manner of shooting things ready at hand, they think they can bullyrag the lot of us!”

“We are all members of the American Relief Commission,” another announced, and called the officer’s attention to a badge they all wore.

“S’gut!” muttered the intruder who, while probably not understanding all that had been said in English, evidently recognized defiance. “But don’t talk so loud in public!” he added, turning away.

“We’ll talk as loud as we like!” bellowed the defiant one, who understood German and now made an attempt to speak it. “And you can’t stop us! We are not here as your slaves, wissen Sie! We’re neutrals, but we stand for right! We stand for—for” Failing to find the desired word in German, he fell back on his own language and added in a crimson passion: “D—— little swine! I’d like to rub his face in the mud, where it should be!”

His loud voice had attracted the attention of others, and fearing to have scandal brought upon the Commission, his companions endeavoured to quiet him, and as soon as was consistent with dignity, got him out of the cafÉ.

Fortunately this incident occurred when the Prussian eagle had lost some tail-feathers and was hunched up a bit and on the moult. Otherwise even though natives of a country then neutral, these boys might have been dragged by armed men to the Kommandantur, which would probably have brought about serious trouble and consequent difficulties for the Commission.

Even German women in the city evidently considered it a proof of loyalty to their hate-preaching ruler to resent hearing the language of a race that had frustrated his ambitions for world-power. On one occasion when two young American women were seated in a tram talking quietly in their native tongue, they noticed two women opposite who glared at them inimically. Presently one called her companion’s attention to them, and, catching their puzzled glance, remarked, quite loud in German: “Isn’t it tactless of them to speak English in Brussels!”

Tactless! to speak a language dear to the Belgians, while the German tongue was racking their poor, harassed nerves every moment of the day!

That winter was one long series of pitiless impositions, and the execution or imprisonment of helpless inhabitants. Persons, in many cases afterwards proved innocent, were seized on the merest suspicion, or on the false information of an enemy—not only the suspected one, but his entire family and every friend who innocently called at his house, not knowing of his arrest.

At times, in punishment for some individual’s act, or because “La BrabanÇonne” was sung by a party of patriots on the Belgian King’s fÊte-day, the few cafÉs doing business were closed, and we ordered to retire to our homes at sunset for one week or more. Occasionally such a command was given upon a trumped-up excuse in order that military movements could be carried out unperceived.

Nevertheless, flashes of hope gleamed out in encouraging rumours, coming no one knew whence, but spreading like wildfire through the city. Many, many times we heard from la laitiÈre, le boucher, or la blanchisseuse how the Germans had been driven back into Belgium and were preparing a hasty retreat to their own land! Even as early as March 1915 their retreat from Brussels was represented as being so imminent that we were all anxious to secure one of the sentinel-boxes, striped with the German colours, which stood before all public buildings and were said to be for sale. These were desired as souvenirs, such as no inhabitant of Brussels would have wished for two years later, when the iron of oppression had gone too deep for anyone to want a reminder.

The Austrians were said to be hors de combat, finished, even before Italy entered the conflict! Germany was pictured as obliged to meet alone forces that she could not resist for more than a week! Then came news of Austrian victories, followed by the fall of Mort-Homme, and hope sank again to despair.

A short time later, refugees from a town on the Belgian border reached Charleroi, and word was brought that the Allies had taken the former town and were advancing rapidly toward Brussels. We at once began to prepare for them, and to welcome the young King back to his own! For days a wild but suppressed joy throbbed through the capital. Champagne was drunk in secret, with tears of glad emotion, to King Albert, the British, and the French.

I shall not attempt to state how many times during the first two years these glad tidings thrilled our hearts, only to be contradicted, after long suspense, by some disastrous event, proving that little or no progress—such as we could then understand as progress—had been made by the Allied forces. During that period, when France and England were obliged to lose time (since the former was organizing what strength she had, and the latter forming an army), we did not comprehend how strongly the enemy was rooting himself in occupied territory. We thought that, since the Germans had been so wonderfully checked at the Marne, it was only a matter of short time before they would be wholly worsted and we liberated. In those days, consequently, no news seemed too good to be true, and we accepted all with delighted confidence.

From our town residence close to the Bois, we could hear the constant thunder of cannon, and during days of happy anticipation it was music to our ears. Often we would stand listening to it, with a party of friends, exhilarated by the roar of some heavy gun that seemed to be hammering open the gates of our prison—seemed like a mighty voice crying, “We are coming, we are coming—have courage!”

But when, time after time, good news proved false, that distant thunder became a torture to the nerves, and horrible to a mind capable of picturing, even dimly, the massacre and destruction it signified week after week, month after month. Often, during the night, it made the house tremble to its foundations, and set windows and ornaments rattling in such a manner that sleep was impossible. At others, the resounding earthquaking shocks gave place to a steady, terrific roar, like a constant rolling of heavy wagons over a stony road. This continued hour after hour through whole nights and days—the frightful “curtain-fire” eye-witnesses have so well described, whose ghastly thunder was in our ears when we fell asleep, and when we awoke, like the monotonous roar of an angry sea.

Meanwhile, life in the capital continued to be harassed by local tragedies and insupportable restrictions. Among these tragedies were the murders of Miss Cavell and Captan Fryatt, the condemnation of well-known and loved citizens to death or long periods of travaux forcÉs, the seizure of some friend’s son, husband, mother, or sister, often on unproved suspicion, and, in other cases, because of brave effort to serve their unhappy land.

One of these—a Belgian woman of good birth—told me the following story. She, Madame de X——, and her daughter had undertaken to forward certain valuable information to the Belgian army, and convey orders from the absent Government to those representing it in the capital. Her daughter, Madame de Z——, a clever and charming young widow, managed, at great risk, to cross into Holland for this purpose,—the frontier was then less strictly guarded than later,—taking and bringing back documents of the most perilous character. The whole affair was managed with exceptional daring and skill. Not one of their most intimate friends suspected upon what they were engaged, and all precautions were planned beforehand in case of detection. Despite the number of German spies in both Belgium and Holland, Madame de Z—— crossed the frontier three times without, apparently, being suspected; but on the morning following her last trip, the affair took a more tragic turn.

That morning, after consigning the smuggled papers to her mother (who was to look them over and deliver them), Madame de Z—— left her home in order to convey a verbal message, which could not be entrusted to writing, to a man of prominence then engaged upon matters of vital importance to his country.

On returning from her mission an hour later, Madame de Z—— was shocked to perceive, when some distance away, that her house was surrounded by soldiers with fixed bayonets. For a moment she hesitated, fearing for her mother; but as the latter could not be gravely suspected, she concluded that the men had come in search of herself. Confident that Madame de X—— could meet the situation with cool-headed sagacity, she decided to hide, and allow her mother to explain her absence, as agreed in case of investigation.

Since the event was one constantly dreaded, they had planned to meet it in this wise: Madame de Z——’s married sister, who closely resembled her, was to live at their chÂteau in the country until all had been accomplished, and detection need no longer be feared. In case Madame de Z—— should be suspected, she, if she could escape capture, was to go to her sister’s town residence and pass as her sister, stating that she herself, Madame de Z——, was residing in the country, and had been there long enough to prove an alibi. The sister, meanwhile, was to wear clothes identical with her own, a matter not likely to cause comment, as both were in deep mourning for the latter’s husband, shot with other civilians at Francorchamps, near LiÈge, where they passed their summers.

Consequently Madame de Z—— hastened to her sister’s house, and explained in part her danger to the old butler, a loyal creature who might well have been entrusted with the whole secret. But Madame de Z—— could run no risks, and allowed him to believe she and her family were under suspicion because of vengeful sentiments openly expressed after her tragic bereavement.

The mother, Madame de X——, was unfortunately occupied in looking through the perilous papers when the Germans arrived at her house. So absorbed was she that the sound of hurried steps in the corridor failed to arouse her. She raised her eyes from the documents only when a panting housemaid entered the room without knocking, and whispered excitedly: “Les Allemands, Madame! they are now mounting the stairs!”

There was no time for escape, no time even to conceal the papers; for two officers—to whose summons another maid had responded—after demanding to see Madame de Z——, ignoring the response that she was not there, glanced into a room on the first floor, then rapidly strode up the stairway.

Though paling slightly on hearing this, Madame de X—— quickly gained possession of herself.

“Bien,” she said aloud, “let them come in,” and added low: “Go out, Jeanne, and watch for my daughter; warn her not to return.”

While speaking, she slipped the papers under the embroidered cover of a small work-table by which she sat; on this she set a work-basket, took out a half-finished bit of embroidery, and was calmly engaged with it when the officers appeared at the door, bowed, and entered.

“We wish to see Madame RenÉ de Z——,” said one, the superior; “and, as we know she is in this house, any attempt to conceal her will only make matters more grave for her and for you. You are her mother, I believe, Madame de X——, n’est-ce pas?”

Madame de X——, with well-feigned astonishment, stared at the speaker before replying: “I am Madame de X——, Monsieur, but my daughter is not here.”

“Good! You will not be advised; then we must search the house.”

“Monsieur, I have no power and no wish to prevent you; but may I ask why you wish to see my daughter?”

Without replying, the officer, who had been speaking French, said something in German to his companion. The latter retired, and going below, called in two of the soldiers on guard without. With these he began a systematic search of the house, from cellar to garret. Every cupboard, drawer, and wardrobe was opened and ransacked, every bed and table looked under; even garments hanging in wardrobes were taken out and examined, as was afterwards related with much amazement by the maid, who imagined that Madame de Z—— was the sole object of their search!

Meanwhile the officer who had addressed Madame de X—— remained behind, standing with hat on, his small blue eyes fixed keenly on her refined, naturally pale face, which wore a serenely dignified expression of troubled wonderment. Her white hair, beautifully dressed, the lines of sorrow that marked her well-bred countenance, and her mourning raiment dignified the rÔle of innocence she played with admirable ability, while her nerves were strained to their utmost tension by the knowledge that proof of her guilt lay within reach of this man’s hand!

“You ask why I wish to see your daughter,” he said when they were alone. “Good! I shall tell you: your daughter, Madame, is a spy!”

He watched the effect of this purposely abrupt statement and saw a look of shocked amazement come to his hearer’s face.

“A spy! What do you mean?” she gasped. “Savez-vous ce que vous dites?”

“Perfectly. She is precisely that! We have incontestable proof that Madame RenÉ de Z—— has crossed the frontier twice, with important information for the enemy, and has brought into this city written matter from the former Government of Belgium.”

Madame de X—— stared, then smiled wanly. “Ah, Monsieur, I fear you have been very wrongly informed. However eager my daughter and I might be to serve our unhappy land, alas, women of our station have not the nervous strength, even had we the courage for such deeds!”

“You may be ignorant of the fact; I trust you are, for your own sake; but your daughter has shown both the strength and the courage. She has done this thing; we know it beyond all possibility of doubt, and not only she, but you and all related to her must pay the penalty unless you confess. Confession now will save you much suffering.”

Madame de X—— took up the embroidery that had fallen with her hands; “I may be physically weak, Monsieur, and unfit for daring deeds,” she said quietly, “but, had a daughter of mine done that with which your suspicions honour her, no fear of pain would force me to confess.”

“Your daughter must suffer the death penalty; do you realize that?”

“Bien—if I could believe her capable of doing this thing for Belgium, even her death and mine would not dim the pride of my last moment. But, oh, Monsieur, I only ask let us not be sacrificed without the glory! Let proof be found before we are made to suffer as I know others have suffered.”

“Madame, I have told you we have the proof.”

“Of what?”

“Of your daughter’s guilt.”

“May I ask what proof?”

“It is known that she crossed the frontier on the sixth of last month, and returned on the tenth; she crossed again on Monday of this week and returned last night, bearing papers which are now in this house.”

These statements, although not quite correct, were startlingly near the truth; but Madame de X—— betrayed no sign of their effect upon her.

“My daughter Amelia!” she ejaculated. “But, Monsieur, she has not been to this house for over a month; she is heart-broken and dwells in absolute retirement at our chÂteau beyond Boitsfort. Ah, doubtless you are ignorant of the catastrophe she and we all have lately suffered!”

“Ja—ja!” interrupted the officer, stirring uncomfortably; “I know her husband incurred his death by rash and guilty action. In these times mercy can be shown to no one who is guilty.”

Madame de X—— raised her head and fixed on him a pair of scornful dark eyes. “Her husband, Monsieur, was innocent of the smallest crime; he did not even know your troops had entered Belgium. He was shot, it was said later, to avenge a stupid peasant’s act! If my daughter is to suffer the same fate, then, I beg of you, extend your vengeance to me; for such sorrows craze the mind and are likely to make criminals of the best of us!”

Although, unlike Madame de Z——’s husband, who had done nothing, the speaker was aware of her own guilt, her words expressed the bitter grief that enabled her and her daughter to risk their lives, not only to serve their country, but to avenge a crime that had broken their hearts.

“My dear Madame,” returned the officer, somewhat impressed by her sincerely tragic tone, “there is no question of vengeance in this matter. Indeed, my sympathy is so greatly with you, I should gladly serve you to the full extent of my power. It is, I know, dreadful for a mother to see her loved child condemned to be shot as a criminal, unable even to bid her a last farewell.”

The woman’s hands trembled slightly, but, noting it, she took scissors from the work-basket and calmly cut the silk from her needle, rethreaded it, and began work on another flower as she remarked quietly: “I cannot anticipate such a horror on false evidence. Surely you will take time, you will investigate the matter thoroughly before condemning her!”

“Naturally; but before we leave this house positive proof will be in our hands.”

She glanced up, apparently mystified. “A proof you will find here—in my house!”

“Yes, Madame; the papers your daughter brought here last night.”

“Oh!” She smiled again, the pathetic mirthless smile of baffled innocence. “If those papers are here, Monsieur, you have full liberty to find them.”

“Where did your daughter go to-day?” he asked abruptly.

“Which daughter?”

“Madame de Z——”

“I had no idea she had gone anywhere. Surely if she left the chÂteau she would come to see me! Her sister was here last night and said nothing of my daughter Amelia having left the country.”

“Her sister is Madame de R——, is she not?”

“Yes, Madame Charles de R——.”

“And she was here to see you last night?”

“She passed the night with me, as I was not well, and returned early this morning to her house on rue de Bellevue.”

The officer grunted and, for the first time, looked away from her, glancing thoughtfully about the room.

Madame de X—— noted the change in his face, and, after some moments of silence, said quietly: “Will you not be seated, Monsieur?” and indicated a chair near her.

He sat heavily, laying sword across his knees and remarked, after a pause: “This is a sad business, and very distasteful to me.”

“I can well imagine so, Monsieur,” she returned, with a touch of irony he did not notice.

“If you would be absolutely frank, I am sure the matter might be smoothed over—at any rate the punishment might be less severe. The idea of a woman being shot is appalling; I should like to prevent that.”

“Oh, if justice be done I have no fear of such an event. But if a woman be guilty it is my conviction, Monsieur, that she should suffer even as a man. Women have been shot here in Brussels; among others, the Englishwoman, who died so bravely, and Gabrielle Petit.”

“Ach, ja!” He stirred again, and looked at the ceiling.

“Her crime was far less than that you accuse my daughter of,” pursued Madame de X——; “therefore if Amelia were guilty, I could have no hope, Monsieur; and surely nothing could make me more frank than I have been with you. I have sought to hide nothing; you may search where you will, and may even send for my two daughters to corroborate what I have said.”

At this moment the other officer appeared, and announced, in German, that his search had been fruitless.

“Good!” muttered his superior, rising; then, addressing Madame de X——, said formally:

“I must demand to search this room, Madame.”

“Certainly,” she replied; “here are the keys of my desk and the cupboard.” She took two keys from the pocket of a small black silk apron she wore, and handed them to him.

The soldiers were then bidden to enter, and the search began. Not only was her desk examined and every letter in it opened, but each volume in the book-cases was taken out and looked through; the cushions and upholstery of sofa and chairs were examined; the carpet was pulled up at the edges, and every cranny and crevice, where a paper might be hidden, investigated.

And all that seemingly endless time Madame de X—— sat listening to the wild beating of her heart, thrilled through with terror as one or other of the men approached the little table where the papers they sought lay hidden only by a flimsy embroidered cover!

Had her hair not been white, it would certainly have become so during that period of moral anguish and suspense; but, in recounting it, Madame de X—— affirmed she was scarcely conscious of peril; the strain was so intense she lost sight of its cause and seemed to suffer more physically than mentally. Each movement of the men acted painfully upon her nerves, and though her hands still moved, mechanically plying the needle, her very muscles seemed to stiffen; she felt petrified and unable to move her head or body.

The men did their work in silence, but she could hear their breathing, and now and then a cough or throaty sound that shocked her like the discharge of a gun. During the whole procedure she noted that the superior was secretly watching her; and, fearing he might detect terror in her attitude, she made a mighty effort to change it easily. But she dared not rise from that table, whereon lay the price of her daughter’s life and her own.

When everything had been examined to the chief officer’s satisfaction, he muttered something to his men, and, approaching Madame de X——, laid his hand on the little table!

“What is in this, Madame?” he demanded.

“That?” she replied, with a calm that surprised herself; “only embroidery-silks and things of that sort—it is my work-table.”

“There is a drawer in it, n’est-ce pas?”

“No, Monsieur, it opens at the top.”

Though this was the crisis of all, Madame de X—— stated that a strange calm of indifference came over her; a conviction that the end had come gave her the recklessness of despair.

The soldiers, at that moment, were busy replacing books in the bookcase; the other officer, at her desk, was putting together certain letters of wholly innocent character he thought might be of service later on.

“I should like to look into the table, if you please,” said the chief.

“Bien.” She lifted her work-basket and, handing it to him, said: “Will you kindly set that on the other table?”

As he, while examining the basket’s contents, turned to do this, she swept the table-cover with the papers under it into her lap. Scarcely was this done, when he turned; and quickly lifting the lid, she remarked, looking up innocently, with the smile now familiar to him: “Its contents are not likely to interest a soldier, I fear.”

He put his hand in and felt through the silks, then drew it out quickly, pierced by a needle!

“Good!” he said harshly, his face reddening. Then, when the pain passed: “Thank you, Madame. So far we have found nothing incriminating, but nevertheless you must come with me at once to the Military Governor.”

“Go with you!” she gasped, fearing to rise because of those papers in her lap; “but why, Monsieur? For what reason do you arrest a woman of my age, against whom you have no charge?”

He raised his shoulders. “Our reasons, Madame, are not usually given. You must be imprisoned until this matter is fully investigated; that is all I shall say. If you wish to go to your room to dress, you may do so; but I must ask you to be as quick as possible.”

The unyielding dryness of his tone told her argument would be futile, and, in a last desperate effort to save the situation, she gathered up her apron, in which lay embroidery, table-cover, and papers, and left the room in proud silence, determined to benefit by the moment of privacy allowed her, and destroy the papers. The officer, after ordering one of the soldiers to examine the chair she had occupied, said something to the other, who, with him, followed her from the room.

As she mounted the stairs, Madame de X——, to her horror, perceived that the second soldier mounted close in her wake. This she knew meant ruin! It meant that the last possible chance to rid herself of the fatal documents was to be denied her; for, taught by the experience of others, she knew every inch of the apparel she wore or discarded would be minutely examined. Consequently, by some means or other, the soldier must be prevented from accompanying her to her room. A plea for consideration, however, was not likely to be granted, and rebellion would only incur greater severity. She paused and glanced back, thinking frantically what to do. Suddenly an idea came to her.

“Monsieur,” she said, with obvious embarrassment, “this man cannot accompany me! You have examined every inch of my house; you have cross-questioned me and my servants, and read my intimate letters! Everything has been freely yielded to your investigation, therefore I must beg you to recall this man for a little moment. I am an old woman; I have urgent need of a moment of privacy.”

“Good!” was the colourless reply; “He will await you in the corridor and accompany you to your room.”

This being all she could hope for, and more than would have been accorded had her acting been less perfect or the slightest clue discovered, Madame de X——, followed by the soldier, went on to the floor above. There the soldier, looking bored and miserable, awaited her by the door of a small compartment at the end of the corridor.

One moment later those documents which the enemy would have prized—which would have condemned Madame de X—— and her daughter to death—were driven, by a resounding rush of water, into oblivion down the drain-pipe!

But their contents she retained in her memory, and later found means of communicating them to those for whom they were destined—I believe during her imprisonment, but am not sure of this point.

The consequence of her heroic courage was the exoneration—after painful and lengthy imprisonment—of both women, as no proof could be found of their guilt. But it is doubtful whether condemnation to death could have caused more anguish than Madame de X—— suffered during those hours of desperate peril! Among the many great deeds of Belgian heroism few are more deserving of admiration than the brave and clever fidelity of these two daring women to the confidence reposed in them.

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