An explanation of this latter feature of the general and systematic looting was given rather dramatically by one of the German soldiers engaged in rifling a house. It was witnessed by a friend of mine. The house adjoined that of my friend, and he, expecting his turn would come next, watched to learn what he must hide while all sorts of metal objects were brought forth and hurled into a van waiting to receive them.
Presently one of the soldiers, acting according to orders, came out bearing a silver tray, on which was an exquisite tea-set of the same metal. He carried it with care toward the van, paused, and examined it pensively. Then, after brief deliberation, he set it down on the pavement, took two of the shining objects, a teapot and cream-jug, and savagely beat them together until no vestige of their fair form remained. After throwing these into the van, he did the same by the others, and finally trod on the tray, destroying it with his heavy, iron-nailed boots. A second soldier, coming laden from the house, paused to watch him in amazement.
“What are you doing that for?” he asked.
The other, taking up the mutilated tray, glanced at him with flaming eyes.
“There’s no need for the officers to have these pretty things!” he growled, and tossed it into the van.
Another man, Monsieur de R., told me the following interesting experience:
His country house, stocked with things of beauty and value, accumulated during many years of travel, was occupied and pillaged when the German army, drunk with the temporary success of their first onslaught, were pursuing bandit methods through the country. Everything was taken: pictures and other almost priceless works of art, silver, glass-ware, even linen and clothing. What could not be removed was cut through with swords or otherwise destroyed, and the château, after sheltering troops for some time, left in a deplorable state of wreckage and filth. The park was damaged by horses, and many of the fine old trees cut down for firewood. Monsieur de R. bore the loss with that amazing stoic endurance manifested throughout by the Belgians. His only remark at the time was: “It is sad; but—que voulez-vous? We are at their mercy, and they have neither mercy nor conscience!”
But that all Germans are not devoid of these qualities, he had, a few weeks later rather astounding proof.
One day the card of a lady whom he did not know was presented to him at his Brussels residence, accompanied by a request to speak with him privately upon an urgent matter. As the name was German, he hesitated; but curiosity impelled him to receive the mysterious visitor. She proved to be a young and refined woman, very shy, and evidently greatly agitated.
After returning his cold bow she came to the point at once: “I have come to tell you, Monsieur, that many of the things taken from your château were sent on to me in Germany.”