chapter viii

louvain destroyed

as soon as i heard about the horrors that took place at louvain, i hastened to try and get there to find out, if possible, by personal observation the truth of the numberless conflicting stories that would undoubtedly grow up from the facts. i expected that the situation round about the town would be rather critical, and decided to proceed cautiously. it is rather a long stretch of nearly forty-five miles, but i succeeded in getting to louvain in the afternoon.

the road itself had prepared me already in some degree for the horrors i should find there. all the villages through which i passed, excepting tongres and the townlets of st. trond, borgloon, and tirlemont, were for the greater part burned down or shelled into ruins. the german troops, who had been stoutly resisted during their march through st. trond and tirlemont, had attacked in a great rage the civilian population. they set the houses on fire and aimed their rifles at the terror-stricken civilians who fled from them. the men were nearly all killed, but women and children were shot as well.

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on the road from borgloon to thienen i had a chat with an old crone, who stood weeping by the ruins of her miserable little cottage, which she refused to leave. this little house, which strenuous zeal had enabled her to buy, was all she possessed on earth besides her two sons, both fallen through the murderous lead of those barbarians, and buried in the little garden at the back of their ruined home. of another family, living close by, the father and two sons were murdered in the same way.

between thienen and louvain i met endless trains of refugees, exactly like those i had seen already near visé, liège, and other places. these also carried their wretched bundles, and children and young people did their utmost to encourage and support their elders on their arduous path. all these people saluted me in a cringing, timid manner, nodding smilingly and taking off their caps already from afar.

i saw some extremely poor people, very old and stiff, to whom walking was nearly impossible. a bavarian soldier escorted them. he had his rifle slung across his back and in both hands carried the luggage of the unfortunate creatures. he seemed to have come a long way already, for he looked tired, and the perspiration ran down his face. although it is only natural to assist one's fellow-creatures, this scene touched me, for hitherto i had seen the germans commit rough, inhuman deeds only.

i noticed the smell of fire already several miles from louvain. on both sides of the road small mounds indicated the graves of soldiers who fell115 during the brave resistance of the belgians before louvain. a small wooden cross and some pieces of accoutrement were the only decorations. carcases of horses were lying in the fields, from which came a disagreeable smell.

the town was on fire, and ruddy smoke hovered over it. deserted like a wilderness, not a soul moved in the streets. the first street i entered was the rue de la station. large, imposing mansions used to stand here, but the devouring fire consumed even the last traces of former greatness.

all houses were on fire, and every now and then walls fell down with a roar of thunder, shrouding the greater part of the street in a thick cloud of suffocating smoke and dust. sometimes i had to run to escape from the filthy mass. on several walls an order was written in chalk directing the men to come to the market-place to assist in extinguishing the fire, and the women to stay indoors. as soon as the order had been obeyed the germans drove the men from the market to the station, where they were packed in trucks like cattle.

farther on in the rue de la station lay nine rotting carcases of horses, the intestines oozing from the bodies, and a greasy substance was poured over their skin. the stench was unbearable and made breathing nearly impossible, which compelled me to jump on my bicycle and escape as quickly as possible from the pestilential surroundings.

the sun was already setting, and became still redder, making still more abominable and more infernal the glare of the burning town. nobody moved about in this abode of death.

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i roamed about aimlessly in a scorching heat. whither? i did not know myself. i did not know louvain and met nobody whom i might ask something. i came near a couple of streets that were only ruins; the walls collapsed against each other and filled the roadway with rubbish, so that sometimes i could not see whether i walked on or beside the place where the houses used to stand.

bicycling was of course out of the question; i shouldered my bicycle and stepped across the glowing cinders, which singed my soles. one spot could still be recognised as a street corner. three soldiers emerged there suddenly and aimed at me with their rifles.

i explained who i was, and was then allowed to come nearer. they were drunk, and with glassy eyes talked about francs-tireurs, the friendship germans felt for netherlanders, and so on. one of them entered the still burning corner house and returned with three bottles of wine, one a bottle of champagne; corks were drawn and one of the bottles handed to me. first i said that i never took wine, then that the doctor had forbidden it; it was of no use. the fellow who held the bottle in front of me got nasty, and shouted:

"if you don't drink with us you are not our friend." at the same time he beat the ground with his rifle-butt and, willy-nilly, i had to drink.

suddenly several shots sounded in the neighbourhood. the three took their rifles and looked round, somewhat scared. they assured me that they would protect me. if there had been occasion for it, it would have been against their own comrades,117 for a troop of soldiers came sailing along, swinging about their rifles and shooting at the burning houses as they walked on, without rhyme or reason, anyhow and anywhere. these were drunk also. at last i was able to shake off my "friends," and got through another street into the market-place, at the town-hall and st. peter's church. the beautiful town-hall happily was not destroyed, as the first reports intimated, but st. peter's had been damaged most cruelly. the spire had disappeared, the roof collapsed, windows broken, the altar burned, the pulpit badly damaged, and so forth. the two last-named parts were fine works of art.

for the rest most houses in the market-place were on fire. soldiers were billeted on one of the corner houses, and i was of course detained there, but released again, after having been requested to show up the francs-tireurs. i had to consider also where i might pass the night in this burning city? i asked an officer's consent to stay the night with the soldiers. he gave his permission if i could get the consent of the commanding officer, whom i might find at the station; he told me that he was sure to grant it.

before i got there i passed the halls of louvain, the building that contained the world-famous library, with its numerous art-treasures. only the outer walls were left standing, inside it was all ruins. all was reduced to dust, to miserable rubbish, and never will one single page be recovered of all those thousands of burned manuscripts.

i was greatly astonished to see a little old man sitting by his house, while all those in the neighbour118hood were burning. his own dwelling had escaped without much damage, and was only hit by rifle bullets. he told me that his family had fled, his son with wife and all children but one, a small boy. at length he left also, but had lost his way outside the town, and returned to his house, where the germans "allowed" him to remain. i considered that i might after all sleep better in that house than yonder among the soldiers, and asked the little man whether he would put me up for the night. he did not object at all; but in spite of my pressing, he refused absolutely to accept any payment.

"but," he said, "but perhaps you brought some bread with you to eat on the road, and i should like to have a piece of that ... not for myself ... but for my grandchild; we had nothing to eat all day long, and the little boy is so ... is so hungry."

the poor man wept, and, although i had taken with me no more than two pieces of bread-and-butter, which i had not touched yet, i could not bear the sight of these poor, hungry things, and handed over to them my food.

as i passed a red cross hospital, partly spared, i noticed a flemish doctor, who first looked at me from the door held ajar, and then came nearer; a strapping young fellow with a black beard. after i had made myself known as a netherlander, he was clearly surprised, and it seemed as though he had a lot to ask or to tell. i expected to hear a torrent of abuse against the huns, who had destroyed everything, and murdered so many innocent119 people, or a lament about the valuable treasures of the library, which also had not been spared; but no, other thoughts occupied his mind. with a slightly trembling voice he asked:

"ah well, you come from the netherlands; tell me whether it is true that you have let the germans through, allowing them to ravish us? tell me whether this is true?"

the man became quite excited, and took hold of my sleeve. he looked me straight in the face, as if he wanted to find out by the expression of my eyes whether i spoke the truth. i could easily stand the scrutinising look, for i knew too well how utterly false those suspicions were. so i replied with great emphasis:

"i know that those rumours have been spread about, but also that they were contradicted by belgian officials. i know also, and can affirm it from my own personal observation, that there is not a single word of truth in those accusations, for i passed the early days of the war in the district where the fight was going on."

the good man's face became quite cheerful, he grasped my hand, deeply moved, and, pressing it warmly, said:

"ah, well, i am sincerely glad to hear that. you cannot believe what awful sorrow it gave us, flemings, when we heard that the netherlanders were conspiring with the germans."

the doctor now became more communicative on other matters. according to him the germans contended that the inhabitants had been shooting from windows and cellars, in order to prevent the120 garrison from assisting their comrades, who were fighting a battle against the belgians at a distance of about four miles and a half from the town. such an organised action of the inhabitants, under the tyrannical rule of the germans during the eight days before the destruction, he called impossible, and therefore the whole accusation absurd. at any rate they had felt that the destruction was coming, and had been planned systematically, for during those eight days the germans had plundered the population, and taken from them all bread, even what they required to feed themselves.

to avenge this alleged shooting by civilians the fires had been kindled in the houses, maxims placed in the streets, women and children beaten, men imprisoned or murdered.

the discovery by the germans of so-called dep?ts of belgian rifles, each rifle labelled with the name of a citizen, was a gigantic "misunderstanding." already before the germans occupied the town the burgomaster had issued an order that all arms should be delivered. the inhabitants had obeyed, and the rifles were provided with a card so that each might be returned to the lawful owner after the war. this collection of arms has been used by the germans as evidence of an organised revolt of the citizens.

when i told the doctor that i had to go to the station, he explained to me how i could get there without walking across red hot cinders, and i followed his advice. i walked through quarters which used to be the pride of the city, but were now turned into heaps of rubbish.

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they made also sad havoc of the boulevard de namur. many mansions of the aristocracy had been destroyed and many people killed. there were corpses still lying on the boulevard as i passed, all in a state of decay. the smell was unbearable and the sight loathsome, especially when i saw several drunken soldiers insulting the bodies of these unfortunate people.

in the flowerbeds in front of the station many corpses had been buried, especially those of soldiers who had been killed in the fight near louvain. the station itself was well guarded, but, thanks to my passport and resolute manner, i gained admission and was finally ushered into the presence of the man who is responsible for the destruction of louvain, von manteuffel.

i had expected to meet a terrible creature, but must admit that he was as kind as possible. as soon as he had learned from my papers that i was a netherland journalist, he jumped up and stood in the attitude as though he saw in me the personification of the kaiser. he already probably felt the pangs of remorse, and now wanted to try and justify himself as far as possible in the eyes of the public.

he stated that the cause of the destruction was the necessity of punishment, because belgian soldiers in civilian dress had stayed behind in louvain, waiting to attack the german army from behind at the first favourable opportunity. they thought that their chance had come when for a short time the german troops had to be withdrawn from the fortified camp of antwerp to take their share in a122 fight near louvain. von manteuffel thought that by attacking the troops in the town the belgians hoped to prevent the louvain garrison from assisting their comrades.

he did not seem to mind much the destruction of the halls with their world-famous wealth of books; anyway he spoke about it in an unconcerned tone. but he seemed to attach great importance to the safety of the town-hall. he said that when the buildings adjoining the town-hall began to burn, he had them blown up in order to keep the fire away from the beautiful monument.

as darkness was coming on i asked him whether it was not dangerous to pass the night in the house of that little old man, whom i mentioned above. he saw nothing dangerous in it, as by far the greater part of the town was deserted, and no attack need be feared.

so i thought that i might chance it. the house was some distance from the station, near the railway line; opposite stood a sort of goods station guarded by six soldiers. before entering the house i had a chat with them, for i thought that if i explained my position and told them that the commanding officer gave me permission to pass the night in that house, i should be much safer if anything should happen during the night, because they knew then that they had to deal with a neutral journalist. they might moreover warn me should the fire that was raging all around reach that house. so i told the whole story to these fellows, who were also more than half drunk, showed them my passports, gave them some cigars, and after a friendly chat went123 to the old man who was to put me up for the night.

there was of course no gas lit, and there was no paraffin lamp in the house. i was shown to my room by the dim light of a candle. the old man could hardly get up the stairs, as he was trembling all over in consequence of the days passed in fear and dread. the ceiling of my bedroom had been pierced by bullets, and the fragments covered nearly the whole of the bed, which had not been made after it was last used. the unaccustomed work of stripping and making the bed was soon finished, and i was hardly ready when a soldier entered at the door, which had to be left open by order, and shouted from the bottom of the staircase that i was not allowed to have a light, and must blow out my candle.

i was soon fast asleep, tired out by my bicycle ride of that day of about forty-five miles, and my wanderings through liège. but my rest was not to be a long one. at about ten o'clock i was awakened by a great noise on the stairs, and was surprised to see six armed soldiers in my room. that is not exactly a pleasant manner of waking up after so short a sleep. they informed me in a gruff voice that i had to get up, to dress and follow them. as i obeyed the order, i asked what gave me this unexpected honour; but they refused to enlighten me on that point.

after i had dressed in their presence, they searched all my pockets, and felt all over my body to find out whether i had any arms concealed about me. then three soldiers went downstairs, i had to follow these,124 and the other three came in the rear. i did not understand at all of what capital crime i was suspected which made it necessary to have me arrested by six soldiers armed to the teeth.

we waited in the street for two of the soldiers who went to fetch the old man. after waiting a good while the poor wretch appeared between them. he wept profusely, and between his loud sobs affirmed repeatedly that he was innocent, that he did not know me, that i told him i was a netherland journalist, and so on, and so on: "oh, gentlemen!—oh, gentlemen!" he exclaimed, "i must not leave my little boy ... my laddie; ... he is quite alone.... oh, let me go!" ...

i pitied him from the bottom of my heart, and tried to console him by remarking that it was all a misunderstanding, and that i would see to it that he would soon be released.

"come now quietly," i said; "so much the sooner you will be back with your laddie."

but he did not take any notice of all my exhortations and was entirely impervious to them in his grief. so i went to the station side by side with the weeping man, and surrounded by the six soldiers. the crackle of the flames, the sound of collapsing houses seemed more terrifying in the night than in day-time, and now and again i got a shock when suddenly, by the uncertain light of the flames, i saw the corpse of a civilian lying in the dark shade of the tall trees on the boulevard.

whenever our escort fancied that they saw something, they stopped and called out to the supposed approaching persons: "who goes there?" some125times it was only some shrubs that they saw; at other times patrolling german soldiers. "parole?" was asked: "duisburg!" and after that answer they came nearer. at the station i was taken to an officer who sat at a table on the platform and had lit up his nearest surroundings by means of a paraffin-lamp. my little old man wept now so badly that he was quite unmanageable, and the officer made up his mind to get rid of him as quickly as possible.

"tell me, father," he began, "did you allow this man by your side to stay the night at your house?"

"oh ... oh ... let me ... go to my laddie ... let me go ... oh ... oh...."

"yes, all right, you may go, but we only want you to tell us what you know of this man."

"oh—oh ... i don't understand you ... let me go ... my little boy ... we have nothing to eat ... we are innocent ... i do not know the gentleman ... oh ... oh!"

i took the liberty to explain to the officer that the man did not understand him, and stated that he did not know me.

"then, why did you want to stay at the man's house?—what brought you here?"

thus my examination opened. i told him everything from beginning to end, also that the commanding officer had given me permission to stay at that house, that i had shown my papers to the soldiers at the goods station opposite the house, and that i did not understand why i should be put to all this inconvenience.

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he explained to me that one of those soldiers accused me of ... spying and arson. he had thought to recognise in me a person who had asked him that afternoon whether he was ... a belgian or a german soldier, and whom he had also seen escaping from a factory which was in full blaze a moment later.

highly indignant, i claimed of course that that soldier should also be called; but i was told that i had better assume a more modest tone. i then asked to be taken to the commanding officer, whom i had seen that afternoon; but he was away on inspection or something, and would not return before the next morning.

after this the officer examined my papers carefully one by one, and had to admit that they were in perfect order. still, he had no authority to take a decision before i had been seen by the commanding officer.

the old man was allowed to go home, escorted by the same soldiers. at the very moment that he was about to leave, i happened to notice on the platform a gigantic heap of loaves, brought in by train for the soldiers.

"do you know," i asked the officer, "that this old man and his grandchild are starving? he put me up because i gave him a couple of pieces of bread-and-butter for the child." he looked at me somewhat crossly, but inquired all the same whether my information was correct, and then gave the old man two loaves, which dried his tears immediately, and for which he thanked the donor in a quivering voice.

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two soldiers now took everything i had in my pockets, even my watch and my purse. this brought also to light a german map of belgium, with a stamp "for military use only." i was told in a gruff voice that this was a highly suspicious thing, and that they could not understand how it got into my possession. i replied quite coolly that i had bought the thing in aix-la-chapelle for one mark, where it could be had in many shops, and that the words "for the military only" merely revealed the shrewd german commercial instinct, which knows that people always like to possess things which are not meant for them.

i believe that this made him angry; at least he ordered me to take off my shoes also, and their inside was carefully examined.

i was now escorted to a spot where on some straw several soldiers were sleeping, who had to do sentry-go at two o'clock that night. it was a part of the platform which was not even roofed, and entirely under the open sky. but they anyway had straw to lie on, and sufficient cover, but i had to lie down between them on the flags, without any blanket. a separate sentry was commanded to watch me; every two hours another was charged with the task. i was allowed to try and sleep, with the warning that i should be shot at the slightest attempt to escape.

it was a chilly night, and a dense heavy fog made it impossible to see anything.... my "bed-fellows" raged and fumed at me, saying that i was one of those villains who had treacherously shot at them. i shivered from the cold, and felt, as it were,128 the dampness of the wet stone floor entering my system.

while all the others were denouncing me, one soldier was ready to believe that i was a peaceful foreign journalist, and that all the misunderstanding would disappear the next morning as soon as i should be taken to the commanding officer. he took pity on me, and got a thick soldier's coat for me as cover. i still feel grateful to the man for it! but sleep was out of the question on that wet floor, in the dense fog. when the guard was changed and soldiers came back, or others went, they could not see in the dark where they went, and treated me to a kick against my head or some other part of my body.

it was a fantastic night. trains arrived out of the foggy darkness, their screeching whistle resounding from the far distance, and when they steamed into the station a storm of noise arose. all these trains brought british prisoners of war, captured by the germans at st. quentin, and hundreds of german soldiers escorted the trains, which were all covered over with green branches, and looked like copse-wood sliding along the railroad. as soon as they rumbled into the station the escorts sang loudly their patriotic songs, and "germany before all other!" ("deutschland über alles!") vibrated through the fog.

the soldiers lying round about me, and those in other parts of the station, got up, shouting, "there are the british," and ran towards the arriving trains. they jeered at the beaten enemies in all sorts of vulgar and filthy words, which made the german129 enthusiasm absolutely lacking in chivalry. eight trains with captured british arrived during that night.

at seven o'clock in the morning i was taken to the commanding officer, and was glad to see him again. he jumped up immediately and came to me with a charming smile, when i pointed to my escort and explained that i was a prisoner.

he flushed red with anger, and asked the sergeant what it all meant. the latter told the story and i filled in some details.

he showed the most profound indignation, and offered his apologies with lively gestures. he said that my papers proved quite clearly that i was a netherland journalist. he declined to allow any further examination, and gave the peremptory order that everything that had been taken away from me should be returned at once. when i had put everything in my pockets, he asked:

"have they given you back everything?"

"yes, sir," i replied, "excepting my pocket-knife."

"where is that knife?" von manteuffel asked the sergeant who had fetched my belongings.

"but that is a weapon, general!"

"return that knife at once!"

the general expatiated once more on the francs-tireurs of louvain, and asked me to explain in my papers without fail that the citizens had to thank themselves for what had happened. the sergeant who had taken me to him was ordered to escort me, that i might not have any further trouble with the soldiers in the city.

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i started on my return journey to the netherlands sick to death. the consequences of lying on that wet floor made themselves badly felt, and besides being quite stiff and chilly, my interior was badly out of order.

many refugees returned to louvain that morning simply driven by hunger. i myself lived still on the breakfast i had at maastricht on the previous day, and badly wanted something to eat, but still more a cup of hot coffee, to warm my chilled body. i was able to get the coffee—without milk or sugar—from a peasant along the road, but food was out of the question. most of the people had nothing left, others saved a piece of bread as hard as a brick for the moment when hunger might drive them to extreme distress. whatever sums i offered, nothing could be had before i came to tirlemont, where i was able to buy three eggs.

i had a rather amusing meeting at tongres, with a netherland colleague, who was on his way to louvain.

"where do you come from?" was his first question.

"from louvain!"

"have you been there already? i am going there too. how are things there?"

"have you got anything for me to eat?" i asked, not heeding his words.

i said it quite innocently, without any other desire beyond that of taking off the edge of my really trying hunger. but the effect of my question was surprising indeed. he looked at me dumbfounded, and asked:

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"but where did you stay then during the night?"

"i have been arrested."

"and did you not get anything to eat?"

"no!"

he was back in the netherlands before me.