"Messieurs, vous n'avez pas à me remercier. Je ne vous avais pas invités."
Brussels, September 2, 1914.—A beautiful aide-de-camp of Field-Marshal von der Goltz turned up this afternoon, and announced that, if agreeable, His Excellency the Governor-General, would call to-morrow afternoon between four and five. We are looking forward with a good deal of interest to seeing the big man. He arrived yesterday, but has kept so quiet that nobody knew he was here. The aide-de-camp nearly wept on my shoulder; said there was nobody in the General's party who knew Brussels, and that they were having a terrible time to find their way around the town. He'll probably have greater worries before he gets through.
We have at last heard from McCutcheon, Cobb, Lewis, Bennett, etc. A telegram came to-day from the Consul at Aix-la-Chapelle, asking that we look after their baggage at the Palace Hotel. From this we judge that they were arrested and sent back to Germany on a troop train. They left here for Mons, and goodness only knows what adventures they have been through since we last saw them.
Brussels, September 3, 1914.—This afternoon, at four o'clock, von der Goltz (Field-Marshal Baron von der Goltz Pacha, to be exact) arrived with a staff of seven officers to make a formal call. A crowd quickly gathered in the street, as their big gray military cars snorted up to the door. All the neighbourhood was in a great state of excitement. The great man is pretty old and doddery, wears spectacles about an inch thick, and a large collection of decorations. His staff was also brilliant in decorations and silver helmets, etc. I met them at the foot of the stairs, and escorted them up. The Marshal is apparently blind as a bat, for he never turned on the landings and would have walked straight into the walls if I had not steered him around the corners.
After one good look we decided that he was to be a figure head and leave the real work to the troop of officers and functionaries he had brought with him.
It was supposed to be a purely formal call, but the old gentleman seemed to have no thought of leaving, and did not budge for half an hour. The conversation was not thrilling.
They finally left after much clicking of heels, and the bemonocled Count Ortenburg nearly broke his neck by tripping over his sword. However, we got them safely out of the house, while all the servants leaned out of the windows and took in the show.
The new Governor-General has addressed a Proclamation to the Belgian people, and has had it posted on the walls: