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!