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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.

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