Look at the map on page 98, and find, to the south of the Vosges Mountains, the great French fortress of Belfort. From this place you will see a little plain across which an army can move easily to the Upper Rhine. While the Germans were advancing on Liége, French airmen flew across the plain and discovered that only a few of the enemy's troops were on the left bank of the Rhine. The French thereupon determined to occupy the country up to the left bank of the river. On the evening of Friday, 7th August, the day on which von Emmich asked General Leman for a truce so that he might bury his dead, a French brigade marched out of Belfort and crossed the frontier. Just before sunset it reached the little town of Altkirch, about a dozen miles inside German territory, and there found small bodies of Germans lining the trenches and awaiting an attack. The French infantry advanced with great spirit, carried the trenches, and by bayonet charges put the Germans to flight. Cavalry at once followed up the retreating enemy, and worked great havoc on them.
Then the French entered Altkirch, bearing before them the tricolour. The townsfolk rushed out of their houses to welcome them, and when they saw the flag under which they had lived and prospered forty-four years ago, they raised cheer after cheer. Already some of the villagers on the frontier had torn up the poles which marked the border-line between France and Germany.
In less than an hour the French were on the outskirts of Mulhouse, the largest and most important manufacturing town of Alsace, nine miles to the north of Altkirch. The people of Mulhouse have always been deeply attached to France. When the town became German in 1871, large numbers of them left their homes and settled in France and Algeria, in order that they might not be severed from the country which they loved so well. Mulhouse was occupied with but little resistance next day, and that evening General Joffre sent out the following message to the people:—
"Children of Alsace,—After forty-four years of sorrowful waiting, French soldiers once more tread the soil of your noble country. They are the pioneers in the great work of revenge. For them, what emotions it calls forth, and what pride!
"To complete the work, they have made the sacrifice of their lives. The French nation as one man urges them on, and in the folds of their flag are inscribed the magic words, 'Right and Liberty.' Long live Alsace! Long live France!
"General-in-chief of the French Armies,
"Joffre."
The news that the French army had entered Alsace was received in Paris with pride and delight. Men were thrilled with the thought that the lost provinces were on the eve of being restored to them. The Alsatians living in Paris, led by Alsatian women in Alsatian costume, and carrying palm branches, went in procession to the Place de Concorde. Ladders were placed against the monument, and an Alsatian climbed up and wound a broad tricolour sash around the statue. The crowd below cried, "Away with the crape!" and in an instant all the signs of mourning that had been on the statue since 1871 were torn away. After hearing a patriotic speech, the crowd sang the Marseillaise, and marched away cheering.
On Sunday morning, August 9th, came bitter disappointment. Large bodies of Germans, very nearly a whole army corps, were seen closing in upon the town from the north and east. The French were too few to hold them back, and were obliged to retire. "To retreat," said the French report, "was the wisest course."
When the French retreated the Germans lost no time in taking vengeance on the Alsatians. One of the deeds which they did was so terribly cruel that you will hardly be able to believe it. Yet the story was told in one of the German newspapers, and the writer actually gloried in the dastardly crime that he there set forth. It seems that a German column was passing along a wooded defile when it met a French boy scout, who was seized, and asked where the French troops were. He refused to say. At this moment a French battery opened fire from a wood only fifty yards away. The Germans managed to get into cover, and took the boy with them. When they asked him if he knew that the French were in the wood, he did not deny it. They told him that they were going to shoot him, but he showed no fear. He walked with firm steps to a telegraph post, stood against it, and with the green vineyard behind him, smiled as they shot him dead.
The German who told the story said that "it was a pity to see such wasted courage." The boy's courage was not wasted. It has inspired many a French boy and girl, as I am sure it will inspire you, to be just as fearless as he was, and to prefer death to the betrayal of one's countrymen.
Now let me tell you an incident of quite another character. During one of the fights the Germans retired, leaving behind them a young wounded officer. The French soldiers picked him up and treated him with that kindness which the Allies always show to those who fall into their hands. The young man, however, was dying, and nothing could save his life. His last words were, "Thank you, gentlemen. I have done my duty. I have served my country as you are serving yours."
This young man was the son of a former German ambassador in London, and up to a short time before the outbreak of war was a Rhodes scholar[200] at Oxford.
So the raid into Alsace ended. The French had gained nothing, but they had not fought in vain. They now knew that Alsace was not strongly held by the Germans, and they had proved that their artillery was far better than that of the enemy. They had shown, too, that the French infantry was just as gallant and dashing as it had been in the brave days of old, and they had encouraged the Alsatians to expect that the yoke of the tyrants would soon be broken.
On the day that the French retired from Mulhouse, General Joffre decided that the raid should be followed by an invasion. The forces brought together for this purpose were commanded by General Pau, an old soldier who had fought in the war of 1870-71. Like Nelson, he had lost an arm. He was considered one of the best of French commanders.
The French advanced to the north of their former route, and carried all before them. On 19th August they again attacked Mulhouse. There was a good deal of fierce fighting, but the Germans were driven out of the town, and no fewer than twenty-four of their guns were captured. On 20th August Mulhouse was in the hands of the French once more.
Then they marched south to Altkirch, and the Germans, who were afraid of being cut off from the bridges of the Rhine, retreated before them. The French seized the heads of the bridges on the left bank of the river, and then began to move northward along the plain towards the fortress of Colmar, which protects the main crossing of the Rhine. All the time more and more French troops were swarming across the passes of the Vosges, and were threatening to cut off the Germans from Strassburg. Things were looking extremely well for the French. It seemed that before long they would be in front of Strassburg and Metz.
All this time, however, the Germans were bringing up an overwhelming number of troops, and on 20th August they began their counter-attack. It was at once successful; the French were driven back, and the Germans claimed to have captured 10,000 prisoners and fifty guns. On the Belgian border, as we shall learn in the following pages, the Germans were also winning victories, and France needed all her troops to defend her own soil. By the 25th of August the French had left Alsace. The invasion was over. It had failed.
Now we must return to Belgium, and see what was happening there. The heroic manner in which Fort Loncin had held out had delayed the Germans for a whole week. Until the last of the forts fell they had no command of the railways, and therefore could not push forward great masses of men across the plains to the north of the Meuse. But they could push forward cavalry with emergency rations,[201] and bid them take food wherever they could find it. Some artillery, a few machine guns, and infantry accompanied them.
The object of sending forward this cavalry screen was to prepare the way for the slower advance of infantry when Liége should be in German hands. The cavalry advanced westwards to Tongres,[202] which was occupied on Sunday, 9th August. Though this little town was within hearing of the guns of Liége, the appearance of the enemy came as a great surprise to the inhabitants. They were streaming out of their churches when there was a sudden cry, "The Germans are coming!" and almost immediately a squadron of the 35th Uhlans[203] trotted into the main street. They told the people that they had come from Danzig,[204] at the other end of Germany. Riding up to the town hall, they ordered the mayor to give up his money chest, and to pull down the flag floating above the building. He refused to strike his flag, so the Germans pulled it down for him. They seized the town's money and all that they could find in the post office; then they ordered food, for which they paid, and the troops camped in the market-place. Later on a cavalry division made the town its headquarters.
The behaviour of these men was good. The Germans did not yet believe that the Belgians were going to hold out. They thought that when the last of the Liége forts fell, the Belgians would consider that they had done enough to protest against the invasion of their country, and that they would then permit the Germans to pass through unmolested. They were soon to be undeceived.
Westwards from Tongres the German cavalry, in small detached bodies, spread over the country, and soon came in touch with detachments of the Belgian army. It was not the business of these bands of horsemen to fight battles but to skirmish, so that when they met Belgian riflemen they usually withdrew. Now and then one of them would miss his way, and would be captured in a starving condition. Rumours began to spread that the Germans were without food. A Belgian scout said, "One does not want a rifle to catch these Germans. They will surrender if you hold out a piece of bread."
On Wednesday, the 12th, German cavalry had pushed forward to a line extending from Hasselt, through St. Trond, to Huy, a town on the Meuse, about sixteen miles south-west of Liége. Huy is a picturesque old town, with a citadel standing on a rock high above the river, but it has long ceased to be a fortress. At the foot of the citadel-rock close by the river is a fine old church, and in the neighbourhood is a monastery, in which Peter the Hermit, the preacher of the First Crusade,[205] lies buried. The German cavalry were at first beaten back at Huy by the Civic Guard, but they afterwards seized the town and held the bridge. The capture of the town gave the Germans possession of an important railway connecting Luxemburg with the Belgian plain.
On the same day the Belgians won a real victory over the invaders. Look at the map on page 226, and find the town of Diest, which stands about twelve or thirteen miles to the north-west of Hasselt. A few miles east of Diest is the village of Haelen, at the junction of the two rivers Gethe and Velpe. News reached the Belgian headquarters at Louvain that a strong force of German cavalry was trying to pass between Hasselt and Haelen, in order to turn the flank of the Belgian army, which, you will remember, was lying along the river Dyle. The Belgians determined to meet the Germans at Haelen. They hurriedly threw up barricades, dug trenches, placed guns in position, and waited for the appearance of the enemy.
About eleven o'clock in the morning the Germans drew near to the Belgian position. They were allowed to come quite close before the Belgian guns began to speak. At once the Germans unlimbered, and an artillery duel began. The Belgians had previously found their ranges, and they were able to burst their shrapnel amongst the German cavalry with great effect. The fighting grew very fierce, and both sides showed great courage. The Belgian Lancers forded the Gethe and tried to charge the Uhlans, but were foiled by the broken ground. In turn, the German cavalry charged down on the Belgian barricades, but were met by a withering fire from rifles and concealed machine guns that swept large numbers of them down. Again and again they tried to break through the barricades, but every time they were repulsed, and about six in the evening they withdrew, having lost three-fifths of their fighting strength.
There was great joy amongst the Belgians when the battle was over. The whole nation felt proud of the success of its little army. You must remember that few of the men who so bravely met the Germans were regular soldiers. Most of them were reservists called hurriedly from the factory, the shop, and the field to the work of war. All these men showed the highest courage. Their hearts beat high because they were fighting in a holy war; they were defending their native land against a greedy and grasping foe.
Many notable deeds of bravery were done that day. A farrier sergeant at the head of eight men charged a whole squadron of Uhlans, who scattered in all directions and fled, leaving many dead and wounded. He and his brave comrades were able to return to Haelen in safety, leading with them a dozen German horses as the spoils of victory.
During the afternoon a lieutenant, who was told off to defend Diest, was asked to send reinforcements to a neighbouring village which was threatened with attack. He had no men to spare, so he called together the Fire Brigade, and picking from them as many soldiers as he needed, sent them forward to the village, where they pumped lead on the Germans as skilfully as they had pumped water on burning houses in days of peace.
Numerous other small fights took place, and in all of them the Belgians fought like heroes. One such skirmish took place at Eghezee, a village about ten miles north of Namur. A party of 350 Uhlans and about sixty cyclists rode into this place, and put up in it for the night. Early in the morning a Belgian airman flew over the cornfield where they had encamped their horses. He was fired at, and thus the position of the Germans was revealed. Hearing the rattle of rifle fire, a number of Belgian scouts rode towards the place, and took the Germans completely by surprise. Most of them were sitting quietly in cafés when the alarm was sounded. Instantly they took to their heels, leaving horses, rifles, machine guns, and three motor cars behind them.
Seeing their comrades decamp, the few Germans who were guarding the horses set them loose, and a bugler who was with the men who were running away sounded a call. The horses trotted towards the sound of the bugle, and just as the Belgian scouts, who were only thirty in number, came into view, the Uhlans flung themselves on their horses and began to gallop off. About five hundred yards away there was a trench in a field of beetroot, and to this the Belgians dashed. They opened fire on the Uhlans, and shot down many of them.
By this time the Germans knew that the Belgians would fight to the last for their hearths and homes. Their pretended friendship now turned to bitter hate, and they went from village to village killing and looting. Goaded to frenzy by their terrible treatment, the Civic Guards and the peasants lay in wait for the Germans, and killed them whenever they could. About four miles north of Liége is the village of Herstal, the Belgian Woolwich, in which there is a great national factory for the manufacture of small arms. Most of the men engaged in this factory were with the army, so the women and children made up their minds to defend the factory. They armed themselves with revolvers and other weapons, and several times beat back the attacks of the Uhlans. When their ammunition was all gone they kept the Germans out by pouring boiling water on them from the windows. For two days they kept their flag flying. At last the Germans burst in and took a terrible vengeance on the women and children who had defied them so long.
With the fall of Fort Loncin the great German advance into Belgium began. Wave after wave of troops rolled over the frontier and surged across the open country towards Brussels. King Albert knew that his little army would be wiped out if it attempted to fight this vast array. His only hope was that the French would come to his assistance; but, as you know, they were not ready to take the field.
On the 14th of August the Belgians withdrew from the river Gethe, where, as you will recollect, they had beaten the advance guard of the Germans. They now strove manfully to stem the torrent of the invaders near the town of Aerschot, a few miles north of Louvain. All their efforts, however, were in vain.
I could fill a whole book with the stories which have been told of the dreadful cruelty shown by the Germans to the Belgians as the days went by and they discovered that they could not advance as rapidly as they had hoped to do. In order to delay the Germans the Belgians not only fought bravely, but wrecked their railways and bridges and blew up their roads. All this angered the Germans, for it was a matter of life and death to them to strike a blow at France as quickly as possible. We are told of babies slaughtered, of old men hanged and burnt alive, of mothers with little children hanging to their skirts shot down, and young women and girls tortured in the most horrible manner. Perhaps all these terrible stories are not true; but no one can deny the gross cruelty of the Germans in Belgium.
In the year 1900, when the Emperor William sent his troops to China, he addressed them in the following words: "Whoever falls into your hands is a forfeit to you, just as a thousand years ago the Huns under King Attila[206] made a name for themselves in tradition and story." What sort of man was this Attila whom the Kaiser thus set up as his model? He was a ruthless, obstinate savage, who never felt the "dint of pity." Wherever he passed he left his mark in wasted lands, blazing cities, ruined homesteads, and heaps of slain. He was called the "Scourge of God," and at the very mention of his name men trembled. The modern Huns, urged on by their pitiless War Lord, have beaten even the shameful record of Attila.
The Germans try to excuse themselves by declaring that the townsfolk brought this harsh punishment on themselves. According to the laws which civilized nations observe in war, civilians are only free from violence if they remain quiet and peaceful. What are called "lawful combatants" are men under the command of an officer, wearing some fixed badge or uniform, carrying arms openly, and fighting according to the rules and customs of warfare. All others who attack the enemy are unlawful combatants, and are liable to be put to death if they are caught.
Now there is no doubt that some Belgian civilians, maddened by the destruction of their homes, did actually fire on the enemy; but this is no excuse for the awful vengeance which the Germans took upon men, women, and children who were innocent of any such offence. Even in war it cannot be right to punish innocent and guilty alike, nor is it lawful to burn down whole cities because some of the inhabitants have offended. We know, however, from the War Book which the Germans issued to their officers, that they were encouraged to be pitiless, and to do all sorts of deeds of "frightfulness." According to this book, any deed may be done, however black or shameful, if it helps to defeat the enemy.
You now begin to see what the victory of Germany would mean. Not only would the conquered lands lose their independence and be treated as provinces of Germany, but there would be a return to the days of savagery in warfare. Men would thereafter fight like wild beasts in the jungle. A soldier would no longer be a knight but a fiend. We should bid farewell to that noble ideal which Tennyson set before the warrior in his "Idylls of the King":—[207]
I must now tell you how the Germans behaved in some of the Belgian cities. You already know that even in the Middle Ages Belgium was a rich and flourishing land. The wealthy merchants of Flanders built themselves stately houses, and filled them with costly and beautiful things. They also gave their money freely to build glorious churches, quaint belfries, and noble town halls. Artists were encouraged to paint pictures for their adornment, and craftsmen vied with each other in beautifying them with lovely designs in wood and metal. Before the war there was hardly a village in the whole land which could not show some beautiful building or some priceless work of art.
Let me tell you what happened at Aerschot when the Germans marched into the town. The men broke into the houses, stole everything of value, and destroyed the furniture. In the cellars they found stores of wine, and large numbers of them were soon mad with drink. They stabled their horses in the beautiful church, broke down the carved woodwork, and showed the utmost contempt for the sacred place. While the German commander was standing on the balcony of the mayor's house he was shot dead, it is said, by the mayor's fourteen-year-old son, though probably it was the act of a drunken German soldier firing his rifle in sport. At once one hundred and fifty of the men of the town were seized, and in their presence the mayor, his son, and brother were shot. Then the males of the town were forced to run towards the river while the Germans fired at them. More than forty of these poor fellows were killed.
There is an old monkish rhyme which tells us that Brussels rejoices in noble men, Antwerp in money, Ghent in halters, Bruges in pretty girls, Louvain in learned men, and Malines in fools. The monks were not very complimentary to Ghent and Malines, but you will notice that they gave praise to the other cities. I will now tell you the fate of the city that was famed for learned men—Louvain. You will find it on the map, by the side of the river Dyle, about eighteen miles east of Brussels.
If you had visited Louvain in July 1914, you would probably have called it a dull town, and said that its inhabitants were either priests or students or landladies. But if you had been interested in history, you would have found Louvain anything but dull. Its university, which is one of the oldest and most famous in the world, has been called the Oxford of Belgium. It was founded in the days when Chaucer was writing his "Canterbury Tales," and amongst its students were many who have made a great mark in history. For hundreds of years English scholars flocked to it, and amongst them was our own Sir Thomas More,[208] who wrote an account of his visit. You perhaps know that his greatest work is "Utopia,"[209] a fanciful picture of a land in which everybody had a chance of being healthy, happy, wise, and good. More tells us at the beginning of his book that his friend Peter Gillies, who lived at Louvain, introduced him to a sunburnt sailor with a black beard, and that this man gave him that account of Utopia which he set down in his book. When the book was written More had it printed at Louvain, for the city was famous for its printers and booksellers. Some people think that More built his house at Chelsea on the model of a friend's house in the old city.
Another famous scholar who was very fond of visiting Louvain was Erasmus.[210] You can read his very interesting story in Charles Reade's novel "The Cloister and the Hearth." Erasmus loved Louvain, and was charmed with its delicious skies and its studious quiet. Indeed, scholars in all ages have loved the city. One of them wrote: "Hail, our Athens, the Athens of Belgium! O faithful, fruitful seat of the arts, shedding far and wide thy light and thy name!" Every year up to the time of the war thousands of people from all parts of the world used to visit this "Athens of Belgium."
Since 1432 the university has been housed in a handsome hall which was first built as a warehouse for the Clothmakers' Guild. Its library, which was founded in 1724, was one of the most valuable in Belgium. It contained 150,000 volumes, in addition to many priceless manuscripts.
There are several other beautiful buildings in Louvain. There is the town hall, the finest building of its kind in Belgium; and the Church of St. Peter, which was finished in the early part of the sixteenth century, and stands on the site of a much earlier church. Before the war St. Peter's was full of art treasures, the wood-carving and the metal work being specially fine. The carved rood screen and the cross were said to be without equal in Europe, and a bronze font was specially prized because it was the work of Quentin Matsys,[211] who was born in Louvain, and began life as a blacksmith. As a young man he fell in love with an artist's daughter, and asked her hand in marriage. Her father, however, refused it, and said she should only marry an artist. Quentin loved the girl very much, so he threw down his hammer and took up the paint-brush. Soon he was a better painter than his future father-in-law, and the marriage took place. In the cathedral at Antwerp there is a tablet to his memory, setting forth that it was love that taught the smith to paint.
The Germans have always told us that they are great lovers of art and learning, and they constantly boast of their culture. You would have thought that when they entered this glorious old city of Louvain they would have done everything in their power to preserve it from harm. What they actually did was to burn down a large part of it, and in a few hours reduce several of its glorious old buildings to charred and blackened ruins. Mr. Asquith, our Prime Minister, described their work at Louvain as "the greatest crime against civilization and culture since the Thirty Years' War."[212]
You know that the Germans have laid the blame for some of their crimes on the townsfolk, whom they accuse of firing on them. They had no such excuse in the case of Louvain, for all the arms had been handed in by the people some days before the Germans arrived. The mayor had posted placards warning the people that if they attacked the enemy in any way they would bring down vengeance upon themselves and their city.
When the Germans in overwhelming force had beaten back the Belgians who were trying to defend Louvain, and had placed their guns in position to bombard it, they sent an officer to the mayor offering to spare the place if the townsfolk would find food and lodgings for their soldiers. They promised that if this was done the soldiers would not molest the townsfolk, and that those of them who were not billeted in private houses would pay cash for all the goods which they needed. To this the mayor agreed, and the Germans marched in. Soon, however, they broke all their promises. The German soldiers rushed into private houses and took what they fancied, without any payment but worthless paper. They broke open the cellars and drank the wine in them as though it were beer. Their officers ordered the city treasurer to give them 100,000 francs, and grumbled greatly when he could only find part of the money. Meanwhile, though the city was full of drunken Germans, the people remained very quiet and orderly.
On Tuesday evening, 25th August, the foul deed was done. That day the Belgians had made an attack on a body of Germans outside the town, and had driven them helter-skelter into it. The drunken Germans in Louvain thought that the fugitives were Belgians, and began firing on them. This was a bad mistake, which would be certain to bring down blame on the officer in command. In order to cover up the mistake, he pretended that the townsfolk had attacked his soldiers, and proceeded to punish them for a crime which they had not committed. A number of the male inhabitants were shot, and then he ordered his men to burn the city down.
An eye-witness, who was threatened with death, tells us the terrible story. "At six o'clock," he says, "when everything was ready for dinner, alarm signals sounded, and the soldiers rushed into the streets; shots whistled through the air; cries and groans arose on all sides; but we did not dare leave our houses, and took refuge in the cellars, where we stayed through long and fearful hours.
"At break of day I crawled from the cellar to the street door, and saw nothing but a raging sea of fire. At nine o'clock there was a lull in the shooting, and we resolved to make a dash for the station. Leaving our home and all our goods except what we could carry, and taking all the money we had, we rushed out. No pen can describe what we saw on our way to the station. Everything was burning; the streets were covered with bodies, shot dead and half burnt...
"The station was crowded with people, and I was just trying to show an officer my papers when the soldiers separated me from my wife and children. All protests were useless, and a lot of us were marched off to a big shed in the goods yard, from which we could see the finest buildings in the city burning fiercely.
"Shortly afterwards German soldiers drove before them 300 men and lads to the corner of a street, where they were shot. The sight filled us with horror. The Burgomaster,[213] two magistrates, the rector of the university, and all police officials had been shot already.
"With our hands bound behind our backs we were then marched off by the soldiers, still without having seen our wives and children. We were taken out of the town to a neighbouring hill, from which we had a full view of the burning town. St. Peter's was in flames, and the guns were firing shot after shot into the unhappy place."
Louvain was not burned down by accident. The soldiers worked on a plan. They began in the heart of the city and set the place on fire house by house and street by street. For thirty-six hours or more they continued to fire the houses. A student of Oxford, who was in the town on 29th August, tells us that "burning houses were every moment falling into the roads; shooting was still going on. The dead and dying, burnt and burning, lay on all sides. Over some of them the Germans had placed sacks. I saw the bodies of half a dozen women and children. In one street I saw two little children walking hand in hand over the bodies of dead men. I have no words to describe these things.
"The town hall was standing on Friday morning last, and, as we plainly saw, every effort was being made to save it from the flames. We were told by German officers that it was not to be destroyed. I have no doubt that it is still standing. The German officers dashing about the streets in fine motor cars made a wonderful sight. They were well dressed, shaven, and contented looking; they might have been attending a fashionable race-meeting. The soldiers were looting everywhere; champagne, wines, boots, cigars—everything was being carried off."
Until the Germans are driven out of the city we shall not know the full extent of the ruin which they have wrought. The Church of St. Peter has been terribly damaged, but not, perhaps, beyond repair; but the buildings of the university have been almost wiped out. The great library has been given to the flames. I think you can imagine the anguish of a professor who watched the burning from his garden, and saw the charred leaves of priceless manuscripts floating past him. About the time that the English were winning England a Saracen chief named 'Amr burned the great library at Alexandria, and the world has never forgotten his infamous deed. What will it say of the burning of the Louvain library, more than twelve and a half centuries later, by men of a race which boasts of its culture?
Let me tell you something of the heroism of a famous citizen of Louvain—Dr. Noyons, head of the medical school of the university. When the Germans marched in he was in charge of the hospital, which was filled to overflowing with wounded, both Germans and Belgians. The Red Cross flag flew above the building, and according to all the rules of civilized warfare the hospital should have been spared. Nevertheless the Germans set it on fire. While some of his helpers were trying to put out the flames, the doctor and his wife calmly went on attending to the wounded. Next morning the hospital staff was ordered to leave the town, as it was to be bombarded; but Dr. Noyons and his wife decided to disobey the order and remain. They could not bear the thought of leaving their poor wounded to perish, so they and their assistants carried them into the cellars of the hospital, and for two days ministered to them underground. When, however, all danger of bombardment was past they brought the men up to their wards again, and continued to attend them as before.
Now we must turn to the story of Malines, the city which, according to the old monkish rhyme, rejoices in fools. I have spent some time in this city, and have seen something of its people, and I can assure you that they are very far from being fools. Malines is renowned through Belgium for its love of education and for the large number of its citizens who are eager to make life better and happier for toiling men and women. Before the war, the heart and centre of the town was the Grand'-Place. On the right as you enter it stood a sixteenth-century Cloth Hall; to the left was the town hall; behind it the huge tower of the cathedral. All round were quaint gabled houses. During the day the Grand'-Place was almost deserted, but at night, when the lights began to glow in the little cafés, the people gathered at the tables outside them in little family groups to drink "Bock" and listen to the band. I remember wandering through the old-world streets, peeping into little narrow byways, stopping to examine painted shrines at the street corners, crossing the Dyle with its many bridges, and admiring the quaint riverside houses and the gaudy, broad-beamed barges that lay at the quays. Everywhere I saw the little milk-carts drawn by dogs. One Sunday afternoon the school children gathered in the Grand'-Place for a festival. I shall never forget the heartiness with which they sang the Belgian National Anthem, while the townsfolk, bareheaded, swelled the strain:—
On that bright September day the Malinoise had no thought of war and bloodshed. They could not possibly foresee that, before many months had passed, Belgians would be called upon to give their swords and hearts to their Mother, and that in their heroic strife they would add such a glorious page to their history that thenceforward throughout the ages they would win deathless fame.
Before the war, the glory of Malines was its cathedral. Its huge tower, which soared above the city, was 318 feet high, and was intended to be the highest tower in Christendom, but was never finished. No one could be within the bounds of the city for more than a few minutes without hearing the wonderful chimes that floated out from this tower. The dials of its clock were 44 feet in diameter, and the carillon was famous all over the world. Every Monday evening in summer it performed a programme of music, and every quarter of an hour, day and night, it played a tune. Robert Browning, in his poem "How they brought the Good News from Aix to Ghent," refers to the bells of Malines Cathedral in the following line:—
Mechlin is the Flemish name of Malines. All the girls who read this book have heard of Mechlin lace, which was formerly made in the city. Now its chief manufactures are woollen goods and "Gobelin"[214] tapestry.
The cathedral was built with money collected from pilgrims who flocked to the city in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Within it were more treasures than in any other Belgian cathedral, except in the most famous church of Brussels and in the cathedral at Antwerp. The pulpit was a miracle of wood-carving, and the altar-piece was a picture of the Crucifixion, by Van Dyck,[215] who was a pupil of the great Rubens,[216] and court painter to Charles I. of England, by whom he was knighted. The stained-glass windows were of wonderful richness. There were three or four other churches in Malines of great interest and beauty, and several public buildings with historic memories.