The front is adorned with a multitude of statues and sculptured scenes from the Scriptures. One of the scenes shows the Day of Judgment; another illustrates the baptism of Clovis. The most beautiful of the statues is that of our Lord, and is known as "Le Beau Dieu." Over the portal, before the bombardment, were three large stained-glass windows, the central one, a magnificent rose window, nearly forty feet across. Within the cathedral were many rich and priceless treasures. For centuries lovers of art and students of history from all the corners of the world have made pilgrimage to Rheims to rejoice in the beauty of this exquisite temple.
I have already told you that during the German retreat von Buelow had withdrawn from Rheims, and had fallen back to the ridge beyond the Suippe. From this ridge (AAA) General Foch had been repulsed, and the Germans had pushed forward in the hope of recapturing the city. They seized the heights marked C to the north of the city, and a part of those marked D to the east of it, and occupied the line marked BBB. The heights marked C are but 9,000 yards from the city, and from these points of vantage the Germans, on 18th September, began a terrific bombardment. Many civilians were killed, and large sections of the city were destroyed by flames. It was during this bombardment that the Germans for ever disgraced themselves by shelling the cathedral. Their excuse was that the French had set up signal stations on the roof and tower, and were firing guns close to the building. The French had done nothing of the kind. When the shelling began the Red Cross flag flew over the cathedral, and within it were many wounded, chiefly Germans. There can be no excuse for von Buelow; the cathedral was not in the zone of fire; he deliberately trained his guns upon it—probably out of sheer spite. Neutral nations were shocked when they heard of this senseless and barbarous outrage; but a German officer, writing in a German newspaper, explained the German state of mind.
"It is of no consequence if all the monuments ever created, all the pictures ever painted, and all the buildings ever erected by the great architects of the world were destroyed, if by their destruction we promote Germany's victory over her enemies. . . . The commonest, ugliest stone placed to mark the burial-place of a German grenadier is a more glorious and perfect monument than all the cathedrals of Europe put together. . . . Let neutral peoples and our enemies cease their empty chatter, which is no better than the twittering of birds. Let them cease their talk about the cathedral at Rheims, and about all the churches and castles of France which have shared its fate. These things do not interest us."
How the destruction of a noble work of art could promote Germany's victory over her enemies is difficult to understand. It is worthy of note that a hotel close to the cathedral remained untouched: it was kept by a German.
For some months the north-east tower of the cathedral had been under repair, and when the bombardment began it was surrounded by scaffolding. On 19th September a shell set fire to the outer roof; the fire quickly spread to the scaffolding, and then to the wooden beams of the portal. An American correspondent tells us that, when the flames gained on the building, the Archbishop of Rheims and a party of volunteers rushed inside and carried out the wounded Germans on stretchers. The rescuing parties were not a minute too soon. Already from the roofs molten lead was falling. The blazing doors had fired the straw on which the wounded lay, and the interior was like a prairie fire. Splashed by the molten lead, and threatened by falling timbers, the priests, at the risk of their lives and limbs, carried out the wounded, numbering sixty in all. But after bearing them to safety their charges were confronted with a new danger. Inflamed by the sight of their own dead, four hundred citizens having been killed by the bombardment, and by the loss of their cathedral, the people of Rheims who were gathered about the burning building called for the lives of the German prisoners. "They are barbarians," they cried. "Kill them!" The archbishop and one of his clergy placed themselves in front of the wounded.
"Before you kill them," they cried, "you must first kill us!"
Surely this noble deed will live in history. There can scarcely be a finer picture of heroism than that of the venerable archbishop, with his cathedral blazing behind him, facing a mob of his own people in defence of their enemies.