Mrs. Warren's Daughter — Chapter XVI, Brussels and the War: 1914, Part 1

BRUSSELS AND THE WAR: 1914

The Lilacs in Victoria Road had been disposed of--through Honoria--as soon as possible, after the sentence of Three years' imprisonment had been pronounced on Vivie; and the faithful Suffragette maid had passed into Honoria's employ at Petworth, a fact that was not fully understood by Colonel Armstrong until he had become General Armstrong and perfectly indifferent to the Suffrage agitation which had by that time attained its end.

So when Vivie had come out of prison and had promised to write to all the wardresses and to meet them some day on non-professional ground; had found Rossiter waiting for her in his motor and Honoria in hers; had thanked them both for their never-to-be-forgotten kindness, and had insisted on walking away in her rather creased and rumpled clothes of the previous year with Bertie Adams; she sought the hospitality of Praddy at Hans Place.

The parlour-maid received her sumptuously, and Praddy's eyes watered with senile tears.

But Vivie would have no melancholy.

"Oh Praddy!

If you only knew.

It's worth going to prison to know the joy of coming out of it!

I'm so happy at thinking this is my last day in England for ever so long.

When the War is over, I think I shall settle in Switzerland with mother--or perhaps all three of us--you with us, I mean--in Italy.

We'll only come back here when the Women have got the Vote.

Now to-night you shall take me to the theatre--or rather I'll take _you_.

I've thought it all out beforehand, and Bertie Adams has secured the seats.

It's _The Chocolate Soldier_ at the Adelphi, the only war piece they had ready; there are two stalls for us and Bertie and his wife are going to the Dress Circle.

My Cook's ticket is taken for Brussels and I leave to-morrow by the Ostende route."

"To-morrow" was the 12th of August, and Dora was not yet in being to interpose every possible obstacle in the way of the civilian traveller.

Down to the Battle of the Marne in September, 1914, very little difficulty was made about crossing the Channel, especially off the main Dover-Calais route.

So in the radiant noon of that August day Vivie looked her last on the brown-white promontories, cliffs and grey castle of Dover, scarcely troubling about any anticipations one way or the other, and certainly having no prevision she would not recross the Channel for four years and four months, and not see Dover again for five or six years.

British war vessels were off the port and inside it.

But there was not much excitement or crowding on the Ostende steamer or any of those sensational precautions against being torpedoed or mined, which soon afterwards oppressed the spirits of cross-Channel passengers.

Vessels arriving from Belgium were full of passengers of the superior refugee class, American and British tourists, or wealthy people who though they preferred living abroad had begun to think that the Continent just now was not very healthy and England the securest refuge for those who wished to be comfortable.

Vivie being a good sailor and economical by nature, never thought of securing a cabin for the four or five hours' sea-journey.

She sat on the upper deck with her scanty luggage round her.

A nice-looking young man who had a cabin the door of which he locked, was walking up and down on the level deck and scrutinizing her discreetly.

And when at last they worked their way backwards into Ostende--the harbour was full of vessels, chiefly mine-dredgers and torpedo boats--she noticed the obsequiousness of the steamer people and how he left the ship before any one else.

She followed soon afterwards, having little encumbrances in the way of luggage; but she observed that he just showed a glimpse of some paper and was allowed to walk straight through the Douane with unexamined luggage, and so, on to the Brussels train.

But she herself had little difficulty.

She put her hand luggage--she had no other--into a first-class compartment, and having an hour and a half to wait walked out to look at Ostende.

Summer tourists were still there; the Casino was full of people, the shops were doing an active trade; the restaurants were crowded with English, Americans, Belgians taking tea, chocolate, or liqueurs at little tables and creating a babel of talk.

Newspapers were being sold everywhere by ragamuffin boys who shouted their head-lines in French, Flemish, and quite understandable English.

A fort or two at Liége had fallen, but it was of no consequence.

General Léman could hold out indefinitely, and the mere fact that German soldiers had entered the town of Liége counted for nothing.

Belgium had virtually won the war by holding up the immense German army.

France was overrunning Alsace, Russia was invading East Prussia and also sending uncountable thousands of soldiers, via Archangel, to England, whence they were being despatched to Calais for the relief of Belgium.

"It looks," thought Vivie, after glancing at the _Indépendance Belge_, "As though Belgium were going to be extremely interesting during the next few weeks; I may be privileged to witness--from a safe distance--another Waterloo."

Then she returned to the train which in her absence had been so crowded with soldiers and civilian passengers that she had great difficulty in finding her place and seating herself.

The young man whom she had seen pacing the deck of the steamer approached her and said: "There is more room in my compartment; in fact I have selfishly got one all to myself.

Won't you share it?"

She thanked him and moved in there with her suit case and rugs.

When the train had started and she had parried one or two polite enquiries as to place and ventilation, she said: "I think I ought to tell you who I am, in case you would not like to be seen speaking to me--I imagine you are in diplomacy, as I noticed you went through with a Red passport.

--I am Vivien Warren, just out of prison, and an outlaw, more or less."

"'The outlaws of to-day are the in-laws of to-morrow,' as the English barrister said when he married the Boer general's daughter.

I have thought I recognized you.

I have heard you speak at Lady Maud's and also at Lady Feenix's Suffrage parties.

My name is Hawk.

I suppose you've been in prison for some Suffrage offence?

So has my aunt, for the matter of that."

_Vivie_: "Yes, but in her case they only sentenced her to the First Division; whereas _I_ have been doing nine months' hard."

_Hawk_: "What was your crime?"

_Vivie_: "I admit nothing, it is always wisest.

But I was accused of burning down Mr. ----'s racing stables--and other things..."

_Hawk_: "_That_ beast.

Well, I suppose it was very wrong.

Can't quite make up my mind about militancy, one way or the other.

But here we are up against the biggest war in history, and such peccadilloes as yours sink into insignificance.

By the bye, my aunt was amnestied and so I suppose were you?"

_Vivie_: "Yes, but not so handsomely.

I was requested to go away from England for a time, so here I am, about to join my mother in Brussels--or in a little country place near Brussels."

_Hawk_: "Well, I've been Secretary of Legation there.

I'm just going back to--to--well I'm just going back."

At Bruges they were told that the train would not leave for Ghent and Brussels for another two hours--some mobilization delay; so Hawk proposed they should go and see the Memlings and then have some dinner.

"Don't you think they're perfectly wonderful?"

--_àpropos_ of the pictures in the Hospital of St. Jean.

_Vivie_: "It depends on what you mean by 'wonderful.'

If you admire the fidelity of the reproduction in colour and texture of the Flemish costumes of the fifteenth century, I agree with you.

It is also interesting to see the revelations of their domestic architecture and furniture of that time, and the types of domestic dog, cow and horse.

But if you admire them as being true pictures of life in Palestine in the time of Christ, or in the Rhineland of the fifth century, then I think they--like most Old Masters--are perfectly rotten.

And have you ever remarked another thing about all paintings prior to the seventeenth century: how _plain_, how _ugly_ all the people are?

You never see a single good-looking man or woman.

Do let's go and have that dinner you spoke of.

I've got a prison appetite."

At Ghent another delay and a few uneasy rumours.

The Court was said to be removing from Brussels and establishing itself at Antwerp.

The train at last drew into the main station at Brussels half an hour after midnight.

Vivie's mother was nowhere to be seen.

She had evidently gone back to the Villa Beau-séjour while she could.

It was too late for any tram in the direction of Tervueren.

There were no taxis owing to the drivers being called up.

Leaving most of her luggage at the cloak-room--it took her about three-quarters of an hour even to approach the receiving counter--Vivie walked across to the _Palace Hotel_ and asked the night porter to get her a room.

But every room was occupied, they said--Americans, British, wealthy war refugees from southern Belgium, military officers of the Allies.

The only concession made to her--for the porter could hold out little hope of any neighbouring hotel having an empty room--was to allow her to sit and sleep in one of the comfortable basket chairs in the long atrium.

At six o'clock a compassionate waiter who knew the name of Mrs. Warren gave her daughter some coffee and milk and a _brioche_.

At seven she managed to get her luggage taken to one of the trams at the corner of the Boulevard du Jardin Botanique.

The train service to Tervueren was suspended--and at the Porte de Namur she would be transferred to the No. 45 tram which would take her out to Tervueren.

Even at an early hour Brussels seemed crowded and as the tram passed along the handsome boulevards the shops were being opened and tourists were on their way to Waterloo in brakes.

Every one seemed to think in mid-August, 1914, that Germany was destined to receive her _coup-de-grâce_ on the field of Waterloo.

It would be so appropriate.

And no one--at any rate of those who spoke their thoughts aloud--seemed to consider that Brussels was menaced.

Leaving her luggage at the tram terminus, Vivie sped on foot through forest roads, where the dew still glistened, to the Villa Beau-séjour.

Mrs. Warren was not yet dressed, but was rapturous in her greeting.

Her chauffeur had been called up, so the auto could not go out, but a farm cart would be sent for the luggage.

"I believe, mother, I'm going to enjoy myself enormously," said Vivie as she sat in the verandah in the morning sunshine, making a delicious _petit déjeuner_ out of fresh rolls, the butter of the farm, a few slices of sausage, and a big cup of frothing chocolate topped with whipped cream.

The scene that spread before her was idyllic, from a bucolic point of view.

The beech woods of Tervueren shut out any horizon of town activity; black and white cows were being driven out to pasture, a flock of geese with necks raised vertically waggled sedately along their own chosen path, a little disturbed and querulous over the arrival of a stranger; turkey hens and their half-grown poults and a swelling, strutting turkey cock, a peacock that had already lost nearly all his tail and therefore declined combat with the turkey and was, moreover, an isolated bachelor; guinea-fowls scratching and running about alternately; and plump cocks and hens of mixed breed covered most of the ground in the adjacent farm yard and the turf of an apple orchard, where the fruit was already reddening under the August sun.

Pigeons circled against the sky with the distinct musical notes struck out by their wings, or cooed and cooed round the dove cots.

The dairy women of the farm laughed and sang and called out to one another in Flemish and Wallon rough chaff about their men-folk who were called to the Colours.

There was nothing suggestive here of any coming tragedy.

This was the morning of the 13th of August.

For three more days Vivie lived deliriously, isolated from the world.

She took new books to the shade of the forest, and a rug on which she could repose, and read there with avidity, read also all the newspapers her mother had brought over from England, tried to master the events which had so rapidly and irresistibly plunged Europe into War.

Were the Germans to blame, she asked herself?

Of course they were, technically, in invading Belgium and in forcing this war on France.

But were they not being surrounded by a hostile Alliance?

Was not this hostility on the part of Servia towards Austria stimulated by Russia in order to forestal the Central Powers by a Russian occupation of Constantinople?

Why should the Russian Empire be allowed to stretch for nine millions of square miles over half Asia, much of Persia, and now claim to control the Balkan Peninsula and Asia Minor?

If England might claim a large section of Persia as her sphere of influence, and Egypt likewise and a fourth part of Africa, much of Arabia, and Cyprus in the Mediterranean, why might not Germany and Austria expect to have their little spheres of influence in the Balkans, in Asia Minor, in Mesopotamia?

We had helped France to Morocco and Italy to Tripoli; why should we bother about Servia?

It might be unkind, but then were we not unkind towards her father's country, Ireland?

Were we very tender towards national independence in Egypt, in Persia?

Yet this brutal invasion of France, this unprovoked attack on Liège were ugly things.

France had shown no disposition to egg Servia on against Austria, and Sir Edward Grey in the last days of June--she now learnt for the first time, for she had seen no newspapers in prison, where it is part of the dehumanizing policy of the Home Office to prevent their entry, or the dissemination of any information about current events--Sir Edward Grey had clearly shown Great Britain did not approve of Servian intrigues in Bosnia.

Well: let the best man win.

Germany was just as likely to give the Vote to her women as was Britain.

The Germans were first in Music and in Science.

She for her part didn't wish to become a German subject, but once the War was over she would willingly naturalize herself Belgian or Swiss.

And the War must soon be over.

Europe as a whole could not allow this devastation of resources.

America would intervene.

Already the Germans realized their gigantic blunder in starting the attack.

Their men were said to be--she read--much less brave than people had expected.

The mighty German Armies had been held up for ten days by a puny Belgian force and the forts of Liège and Namur.

There would presently be an armistice and Germany would have to make peace with perhaps the cession to France of Metz as a _solatium_, while Germany was given a little bit more of Africa, and Austria got nothing....

Meantime the Villa Beau-séjour seemed after Holloway Prison a paradise upon earth.

Why quarrel with her fate?

Why not drop politics and take up philosophy?

She felt herself capable of writing a Universal History which would be far truer if more cynical than any previous attempt to show civilized man the route he had followed and the martyrdom he had undergone.

On the 17th of August she took the tram into Brussels.

It seemed however as if it would never get there, and when she reached the Porte de Namur she was too impatient to wait for the connection.

She could not find any gendarme, but at a superior-looking flower-shop she obtained the address of the British Legation.

She asked at the lodge for Mr. Hawk; but there was only a Belgian coachman in charge, and he told her the Minister and his staff had followed the Court to Antwerp.

Mr. Hawk had only left that morning.

"What a nuisance," said Vivie to herself.

"I might have found out from him whether there is any truth in the rumours that are flying about Tervueren."

These rumours were to the effect that the Germans had captured all the forts of Liège and their brave defender, General Léman; that they were in Namur and were advancing on Louvain.

"I wonder what we had better do?"

pondered Vivie.

In her bewilderment she took the bold step of calling at the Hotel de Ville, gave her name and nationality, and asked the advice of the municipal employé who saw her as to what course she and her mother had better pursue: leave Tervueren and seek a lodging in Brussels; or retreat as far as Ghent or Bruges or even Holland?

The clerk reassured her.

The Germans had certainly occupied the south-east of Belgium, but dared not push as far to the west and north as Brussels.

They risked otherwise being nipped between the Belgian army of Antwerp and the British force marching on Mons....

He directed her attention to the last _communiqué_ of the Ministry of War: "La situation n'a jamais été meilleure.

Bruxelles, à l'abri d'un coup de main, est défendue par vingt mille gardes civiques armés d'un excellent fusil," etc. Vivie returned therefore a trifle reassured.

At the same time she and her mother spent some hours in packing up and posting valuable securities to London, via Ostende, in packing for deposit in the strong rooms of a Brussels bank Mrs. Warren's jewellery and plate.

The tram service from Tervueren had ceased to run.

So they induced a neighbour to drive them into Brussels in a chaise: a slow and wearisome journey under a broiling sun.

Arrived in Brussels they found the town in consternation.

Placarded on the walls was a notice signed by the Burgomaster--the celebrated Adolphe Max--informing the Bruxellois that in spite of the resistances of the Belgian army it was to be feared the enemy might soon be in occupation of Brussels.

In such an event he adjured the citizens to avoid all panic, to give no legitimate cause of offence to the Germans, to renounce any idea of resorting to arms!

The Germans on their part were bound by the laws of war to respect private property, the lives of non-combatants, the honour of women, and the exercise of religion.

Vivie and her mother found the banks closed and likewise the railway station.

They now had but one thought: to get back as quickly as possible to Villa Beau-séjour, and fortunately for their dry-mouthed impatience their farmer friend was of the same mind.

Along the Tervueren road they met numbers of peasant refugees in carts and on foot, driving cattle, geese or pigs towards the capital; urging on the tugging dogs with small carts and barrows loaded with personal effects, trade-goods, farm produce, or crying children.

All of them had a distraught, haggard appearance and were constantly looking behind them.

From the east, indeed, came the distant sounds of explosions and intermittent rifle firing.

Mrs. Warren was blanched with fear, her cheeks a dull peach colour.

She questioned the people in French and Flemish, but they only answered vaguely in raucous voices: "Les Allemands!"

"De Duitscher."

One old woman, however, had flung herself down by the roadside, while her patient dog lay between the shafts of the little cart till she should be pleased to go on.

She was more communicative and told Mrs. Warren a tale too horrible to be believed, about husband, son, son-in-law all killed, daughter violated and killed too, cottage in flames, livestock driven off.

Recovering from her exhaustion she rose and shook herself.

"I've no business to be here.

I should be with _them_.

I was just packing this cart for the market when it happened.

Why did I go away?

Oh for shame!

I'll go back--to _them_..."

And forthwith she turned the dog round and trudged the same way they were going.

At last they came opposite the courtyard of the Villa and saw the lawn and gravel sweep full of helmeted soldiers in green-grey uniform, their bodies hung with equipment--bags, great-coats, rolled-up blankets, trench spades, cartridge bandoliers.

Vivie jumped down quickly, said to her mother in a low firm voice: "Leave everything to me.

Say as little as possible."

Then to the farmer: "Nous vous remercions infiniment.

Vous aurez mille choses à faire chez vous, je n'en doute.

Nous réglerons notre compte tout-à l'heure....

Pour le moment, adieu."

She clutched the handbags of valuables, slung them somehow on her left arm, while with her other she piloted the nearly swooning Mrs. Warren into the court.

They were at once stopped by a non-commissioned officer who asked them in abrupt, scarcely understandable German what they wanted.

Vivie guessing his meaning said in English--she scarcely knew any German: "This is our house.

We have been absent in Brussels.

We want to see the officer in command."

The soldier knew no English, but likewise guessed at their meaning.

He ordered them to wait where they were.

Presently he came out of the Villa and said the Herr Oberst would see them.

Vivie led her mother into the gay little hall--how pleasant and cool it had looked in the early morning!

It was now full of surly-looking soldiers.

Without hesitating she took a chair from one soldier and placed her mother in it.

"You rest there a moment, dearest, while I go in and see the officer in command."

The corporal she had first spoken with beckoned her into the pretty sitting-room at the back where they had had their early breakfast that morning.

Here she saw seated at a table consulting plans of Brussels and other papers a tall, handsome man of early middle age, who might indeed have passed for a young man, had he not looked very tired and care-worn and exhibited a bald patch at the back of his head, rendered the more apparent because the brown-gold curls round it were dank with perspiration.

He rose to his feet, clicked his heels together and saluted.

"An English young lady, I am told, rather ...

a ...

surprise ...

on ...

the ...

outskirts ...

of Brussels..."

(His English was excellent, if rather staccato and spaced.

) "It ...

is not ...

usual ...

for ...

Englishwomen ...

to ...

be owners ...

of chateaux ...

in Belgium.

But I ...

hear ...

it ...

is ...

your mother ...

who is the owner ...

from long time, and you are her daughter newly arrived from England?

Nicht wahr?

Sie verstehen nicht Deutsch, gnädiges Fraulein?"

"No," said Vivie, "I don't speak much German, and fortunately you speak such perfect English that it is not necessary."

"I have stayed some time in England," was the reply; "I was once military attaché in London.

Both your voice and your face seem--what should one say?

Familiar to me.

Are you of London?"

"Yes, I suppose I may say I am a Londoner, though I believe I was born in Brussels.

But I don't want to beat about the bush: there is so much to be said and explained, and all this time I am very anxious about my mother.

She is in the hall outside--feels a little faint I think with shock--might she--might I?"

-- "But my dear Miss--?"

"Miss Warren--" "My dear Miss Warren, of course.

We are enemies--pour le moment--but we Germans are not monsters.

("What about those peasants' stories?"

said Vivie to herself.

) Your lady mother must come in here and take that fauteuil.

Then we can talk better at our ease."

Vivie got up and brought her mother in.

"Now you shall tell me everything--is it not so?

Better to be quite frank.

À la guerre comme à la guerre.

First, you are English?"

"Yes.

My mother is Mrs. Warren, I am her daughter, Vivien Warren.

My mother has lived many years in Belgium, though also in other places, in Germany, Austria and France.

Of late, however, she has lived entirely here.

This place belongs to her."

"And you?"

"I?

I have just been released from prison in London, Holloway Prison..."

"My dear young lady!

You are surely joking--what do you say?

You pull my leg?

But no; I see!

You have been Suffragette.

Aha!

_I_

understand you are _the_ Miss Warren, the Miss Warren who make the English Government afraid, nicht wahr?

You set fire to Houses of Parliament..."

_Vivie_ (interrupting): "No, no!

Only to some racing stables..."

_Oberst_: "I understand.

But you are rebel?"

_Vivie_: "I hate the present British Government--the most hypocritical, the most..."

_Oberst_: "But we are in agreement, you and I!

This is splendid.

But now we must be praktisch.

We are at war, though we hope here for a peaceful occupation of Belgium.

You will see how the Flämisch--Ah, you say the Fleming?

--the Flemish part of Belgium will receive us with such pleasure.

It is only with the Wälsch, the Wallon part we disagree....

But there is so much for me to do--we must talk of all these things some other time.

Let us begin our business.

I must first introduce myself.

I am Oberst Gottlieb von Giesselin of the Saxon Army.

(He rose, clicked heels, bowed, and sat down.

) I see you have three heavy bags you look at often.

What is it?"

_Vivie_ (taking courage): "It is my mother's jewellery and some plate.

She fears--" _Von G. _: "I understand!

We have a dr-r-eadful reputation, we poor Germans!

The French stuff you up with lies.

But we are better than you think.

You shall take them in two--three days to Brussels when things are quiet, and put them in some bank.

Here I fear I must stay.

I must intrude myself on your hospitality.

But better for you perhaps if I stay here at present.

I will put a few of my men in your--your--buildings.

Most of them shall go with their officers to Tervueren for billet."

(Turning to Mrs. Warren.

) "Madam, you must cheer up.

I foresee your daughter and I will be great friends.

Let us now look through the rooms and see what disposition we can make.

I think I will have to take this room for my writing, for my work.

I

see you have telephone here.

_Gut_!"