The same number contains two photographs of the Hôtel de Ville, Louvain: "Before and after the Bombardment"(!)
Naturally our Washingtonian enemies do not miss their opportunities of falsifying picture postcards. In January 1915 they were selling in Belgium a card entitled Kriegsoperationskarte als Feld-Postbrief (published by Forkel, Stuttgart), according to which they were occupying, in Flanders, a region considerably to the west of the Yser; their front reaching to Oost-Dunkerke and Poperinghe. Another card, showing the country round Verdun, is even more flagrantly untruthful.
Written Lies.
Let us pass on to the written lies.
The reader will remember the innumerable lies told by the German Press respecting the attitude of the Belgian population toward the German residents in our towns (p. [106]), the German wounded (p. [99]), and the German troops passing through or billeted in them. We shall not return to these again, save to refer to other inventions which the Germans employed to excite their troops against ours.
Not content with accusing us of the most unspeakable crimes against their army, the Germans have even accused us of odious crimes against our own countrymen. In this way they seek to prove the bestially ferocious character of the Belgians.
In the booklet entitled Sturmnacht in Loewen (A Night of Alarm in Louvain) Herr Robert Heymann, after reminding his readers of the cruelties of which the Belgians were guilty in Antwerp, Brussels, etc., adds that these savage deeds were by no means surprising on the part of a people which does not even respect its own fellow-citizens. Then (p. 8) he relates the "Brutalities committed against a Convent." This is too interesting an effort to suffer a word of suppression.
Brutal Attack on a Convent.
Let us hear one of those concerned relate his tribulations. The story constitutes an important document, testifying to the high level of Germany as regards morality and Kultur: Germany, who has something better to do in this war than to commit any bloodthirsty action.
A great mission has fallen to Germany, and the day is no longer distant when all the neutral nations will realize this.
This is the "story of the Brothers of Silence."
The convent of the Jesuits is situated quite close to Liége, on a hill about 600 yards from the southern fort (a). I had been a brother of the convent for two years. We brothers do not read the newspapers, and by reason of our vow of silence (b) we do not speak either, so that we knew nothing about the war.
On Tuesday, the 6th August, I, simultaneously with seven other brothers, took the watch from noon to midnight. In the night, at 11.15, I suddenly heard a sound completely unknown to me. I went out into the courtyard, whence, to one side, I could see Liége and its forts. I saw, at some distance, in the sky, a little light; this told me that the thing was in the air. I intended to pursue my rounds, but the snoring sound which was approaching, although the life of the world has no interest for me, made me halt. The light came nearer and nearer; the noise had ceased. The idea occurred to me that this might be a dirigible; but no, all of a sudden a blinding light illumined the earth. It is the star of the Magi, announcing something, I thought; I will follow it with my eyes. In the radiance down below I saw everything plainly—portions of the fortress and other things. Then, lit up by reflection from the illuminated earth, I saw that there really was a powerful dirigible there (c). I felt inclined to shout for joy; I had never yet seen a dirigible. The light lasted only a few seconds, but to me it seemed a long time. My eyes were not yet accustomed to the darkness of the night, when I heard a crash. I looked up to the sky; I saw nothing; the little light was quietly moving away; but down below there was plenty to see—fire, and smoke! In the light I could easily see everything. I also heard the echo. I had not had time to recover from my great alarm when a second light appeared on the earth, rather close to me. This time I could see still more clearly that it was a dirigible. It seemed to me that at the end of a long cable was suspended, very low down, a metal car, in which stood a man. I saw him distinctly with his two hands throwing an object into the illumined part. Immediately afterwards the light on the ground disappeared. I continued, however, to gaze at the same spot. A mighty sheaf of fire gushed up, while great blocks were thrown into the air on every side. What a terrible crash! My ear-drums seemed broken; I was as though deaf. The earth trembled so violently underfoot that I staggered. Greatly alarmed, I still watched the same place. The blinding sheaf of fire had turned into a dense mass of smoke, which was rising slowly into the air. Little by little it grew lighter, like a white vapour. Finally the vicinity lit up as though on fire.
I tried to note whether the fire was spreading, when I was shaken by a fresh crash. This terrible spectacle repeated itself continually, but was gradually moving away. From 11.15 to midnight 12 bombs were thrown on the forts. In the interval of the explosions one heard the snoring of the motors. After the last explosion the dirigible rose, moved off, and disappeared. I remained with my eyes fixed in the same direction; the clock of the convent struck midnight.
The seven brothers who had been keeping the watch and I myself remained in the courtyard with those who came to relieve us. No one could think of sleep. The other brothers and the fathers (we were 500) remained indoors, watching the burning fortress from the windows.
As I was no longer on guard I went to seek a ladder, and in order to see better I climbed a wall situated a little farther down, and some 10 feet high. I remained there until four o'clock. About two o'clock there began, down below in the city, a sound of isolated rifle-shots, and shouts which soon grew louder and louder.
At last an infernal uproar reached my ears, and numerous fires broke out in that part of the city neighbouring on the convent.
At four o'clock the bell called us to the church. It was an extraordinary thing: despite our alarm we all remained obedient to our vow of silence. We must not speak! But it became a real torment, for our devotions lasted for two long hours.
By the shock of the explosions the beautiful stained-glass windows were bent inwards like sails swollen by the wind. The walls of stone, nearly 3 feet in thickness, which surrounded the courtyard, showed long, deep fissures. When at 6 a.m. we left the church the shots and the shouting were still more terrible, and the fires more numerous and farther towards the interior of the town.
As usual, the porter opened the gate at six. How alarming! Hundreds of Belgians from the neighbourhood rushed into the courtyard. As we feared the convent might be sacked (f), the porter attempted at first to drive them back. A brother said: "Go! you shall have all you want!" The misguided populace immediately seized knives and killed 20 of our brothers and one father. I myself rushed to the bell in the courtyard and rang the alarm. Armed with pitchforks and manure-forks and spades (g), the brothers rushed into the courtyard and drove out the mob. Two brothers, who during the fight were carried away in the crowd, were discovered hacked to pieces, mangled as though by wild beasts. Their bodies were a dreadful sight. A Belgian brother, hearing the alarm, seized a fork, and so armed he rushed towards the gate, thinking to fight German soldiers. When he saw that his assailants were his compatriots he turned his arms against us, his brothers, shouting like a madman: "You are mad, you are mad!" After a brief struggle the fork was torn away from him. He was seized and thrown over the wall. He had turned his arms against his brothers; but above all he had broken his vow of silence.
The fight had lasted barely a quarter of an hour. After the gate was closed—at 6.15, our usual breakfast hour—we assembled in the refectory for our meal.
Despite these extraordinary events I was extremely hungry. We now felt safe. But when, after the twenty minutes which our meal lasted, we returned to the courtyard, we saw that the Belgian brutes had in two places set fire to the convent. They had dragged our corn and hay under the wood-shed which stood not far from the convent; they had also pushed carts loaded with corn in the shock against the buildings and outhouses (g), and had set fire to the whole. The flames were already reaching the gable. It was no use dreaming of saving anything, for all the buildings were connected with one another. This was a sore trial. But it could not break our vow of silence, and, doubly mute, we watched the flames. Our sorrow found vent in tears when we saw our Superior burst into sobs. He came into our midst; as all the fathers may speak, he said aloud: "Go and save what you can!" and we carried out his orders.
Rapidly we telephoned to the Belgian authorities at Liége to obtain help and protection. But to our great alarm German soldiers appeared at this moment. As Germany does not allow us Jesuits within her frontiers, we were extremely anxious. On account of the presence of the German troops we wanted to carry back into the convent the precious treasures already brought into the court; but the leader of the German troops explained to our Superior that this portion of Liége was already in the hands of the Germans. We therefore placed ourselves under their protection. We had no reason to regret it. The German escort came with eight automobiles, which bore our inestimable treasures into Germany; paintings, which in our haste we cut from their frames and rolled like paper; our sacred golden vessels, and our fathers (h). In great haste we had dug a huge ditch, in which, without religious ceremony and without words, we buried our 20 assassinated brothers and the father who was killed. While the fire continued to burn the hundreds of brothers remaining ran hither and thither in unspeakable disorder, seeking their clothes and shoes. I had wooden shoes on and could not find shoes to fit me; but I saw, to my great amazement, four pairs of shoes in my box. Everything was stuffed into the boxes and forced down with the feet, in all haste.
So, on Saturday (i), at dawn, 350 brothers left the still smoking convent to cross the German frontier. For three hours each painfully dragged along what modest belongings he had saved. One old brother of eighty years remained behind; he declared, when abandoned: "I wish to die here." Although the German soldiers protected us as we proceeded, the Belgian people still attacked us frequently. I received violent kicks, blows on the legs, and all over my body. For two nights none of us slept, and in addition we were greatly perturbed and in terrible trouble.
When, after unheard-of exertions, we dragged ourselves across the frontier, we let ourselves fall exhausted in a meadow, where we slept, a leaden slumber, protected and watched by the Germans, from morning to sunset.
(Robert Heymann, Sturmnacht in Loewen, pp. 8-13.)
As will be seen, this is a story to make the flesh creep. Still, it seems to us to present certain difficulties.