I informed a few priests of the Pope's death, which had been known in The Netherlands for several days. They knew nothing about it, and asked whether I had any proof by me. I gave them De Tijd printed with a black border, and armed with this document they went to communicate the sad news to the Right Reverend Rutten, bishop of Liège.
I also brought consternation to the nunnery at which my cousin lives by this same report of the Holy Father's demise; and the good dear Sisters roamed through the passages, wringing their hands and repeating: "Le Pape est mort!—le Pape est mort!" ("The Pope is dead!")
I met a doctor at this nunnery, who told me highly important news, but in whispers, because in these days "even walls have ears": the Allies had gained great victories over the Germans. As he saw by the expression of my face that I did not believe off-hand all he told, he became still more impressive in manner, and produced a paper, from which he recited:—
"Great German defeat at Libramont—nine thousand prisoners taken."
"In Alsace the French are near the Rhine."
"The Russians advanced fifty miles into East Prussia."
In the same way the list went on for a goodly length, and he became actually angry when even then I refused to believe everything. He was especially pleased with the account of the victory near Libramont. He had a friend, also a physician, who had been compelled by the Germans to go with them in the medical service, and this friend had told him this himself. It was remarkable that educated, superior persons could become so narrow-minded in times like these, and believed anything simply because they hoped that it might be true.
The town was full of soldiers, and I had great trouble to find lodgings. "Tout est pris par les Allemands" ("Everything is taken by the Germans") was the answer I got everywhere, with the result that I was still hunting for a bedroom after six o'clock, although nobody was then allowed in the streets. I was stopped at every turn, and after explaining my case got a hint to hurry up.
At last I found an hotel, where I could have a small garret, against which arrangement I had not the slightest objection in the circumstances. The café downstairs looked rather peculiar, with a great number of looking-glasses, and ladies with powdered faces. These seemed not averse to closer relations with me, but when I pretended not to understand a single word of French, they soon gave it up, and showed no further desire for my friendship. But I could see quite well that they discussed the question whether I was a German officer or a spy?
I went to bed early, for that day I had again walked from Maastricht to Liège. My little bedroom was quite in the roof of the house, and had evidently been used by a servant.
About midnight I was roused by an infernal noise in the street. People yelled and screamed most fearfully, and I heard rifle-shots also.
I felt not the slightest inclination to go and see what was the matter, but I stretched myself and yawned, feeling much more tired after a couple of hours' rest than when I went to bed. The uproar went on, and suddenly I thought that I also heard a hubbub in the café downstairs. And, really, it came ever nearer. People rushed up and down the stairs, screamed and yelled, doors were banged, in short it was as if they were pulling down the house.