BURNING OF LOUVAIN.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LVII, Issue 239, 18 March 1915, Page 2

BURNING OF LOUVAIN.

DEED OF INEFFACEABLE SIIAME. LIVING NIGHTMARE OF INVASION. (:*y Charles Grollcau, in Everyman's.) When the Chancellor of the German Empire in his transactions with Great ilritain cynically announced his contempt for treaties, at least for such as interfered "with his 'plans and when he Hung scornfully aside this "scrap of paper," the world already knew what a war would be like whose first act was a dishonourable one. Tlie deeds which followed were announeed with every detail by those words which stamped indelibly a whole nation with inefl'aceable shame. But the burning of Louvain lias exceeded even one's worst expectations. Other " scraps of 'paper," bonks laden with thought, manuscripts the result of long and patient work of human genius, all "of them were, worth less than the parchments of yesterday, even though enriched by the German signature. WORK OF THE GRENADES. The magnificent University, with its equally magnificent history, the College of Saint-Pierre, and the houses around it, all that was worth less than the shells and the incendiary grenades that' were used to annihilate them. And equally contemptible to the invader were the poor and humble, the houseivives, the workmen, the shopkeepers, all those who were quietly continuing their work in spite of the invasion. They were worth less than the bullets that had laid them bleeding on tht streets. Germany will survive her crime. She must survive, for it will take her centime's to wash the stain from her hands. I mn not going to tell again the lamentable talc. I shall not write here the lies that the barbarians have thrown like a veil over their ignominy. All these abominations are already graven in history. Others are added at every moment to our land of France and our-sis- ' tor-land of Belgium by the living nightmare of the invasion. And our hearts are nil bursting with tears flint we dure not let fall, for our energies arc needed for work more pressing. Tf T join my voice to those raised in sacred indignation and noble praises, it is in the name of a tender memory that is always alive within me for this quiet spot where learning studied ever the enigma of the present and the fut- | lire and the lamp of divine tradition was I never pet out. A SAD PILGRIMAGE. And in thought I go forth on a sail pilgrimage. And I shall simply say that, even were it unknown to Jiie_ Louvain ■ j would be for ever dear with its beauti(ful forehead disfigured by ashes, as dear " as Rheims, whose prayer in stone, sculptured by the love of men in worship of Divine love, though mutilated, yet is heard. i But, oh! my quiet retreat, where for ' so many centuries others have tasted the sweets of learning and the wonders , of prayer. What grie> to see you as no other ruin appears to me, because : mine own eyes have seen it and loved it! The students' little dwelling in the . Rue de Chone, wherein, my quiet life delighted to watch the youthful gaieties, the passionate discussion of young and , eager minds, you are 110 more than ;:n : anonymous heap of broken stones. Your . careless student guests have doubtless left you, their faces set with fierce , resolution, forsaking the pen for the gun, and many of them sleep now' 011 the battlefield of the land they have defended. , Quiet spots, sleeping through the ages, whilst men come and go grouped in the amphitheatres, or the libraries, receiving the good grain of knowledge in which they themselves would fain to become the sowers. Quiet spots of shadow and sunlight where the trees t murmured in the breeze and the birds , sang in their branches, where one's i dreams were lulled by the distant mon- . otonous sound of lessons recited by the 1 children's voices, you have been des- ' troyed and disfigured by massacre and , fire.

A SYMBOL OF THE FUTURE. Ts it true, as a witness has told me, that some statues remain standing, seeming all the more imposing with the ashes and ruins of houses strewn around their pedestals? It would be a symbol of the future, the picture of lasting virtues which persist and protest, all that will make life spring up anew when those dealers of death have been driven from the land. We shall see them again, Van de Wcyer, representing liberty, .Tnste-Lipao representing science, and, above all, Father Damien representing absolute sacrifice, the gift of love, even unto death. Meantime you must wait, and watch with us. the survivors, o ur heroic brothers_ Belgium crowned by suffering, full of hope which will become realitv. For myself, T am haunted by your Indescribable sufferings. I know'nothing of the friends that I have away there, and who may be dead or wandering exiled in strange lands. Tgo wearily through the streets of Valines to Mont Caesar, behind whose old rose-coloured brick walls rises the Benedictine convent, watched over liy lipr to whom it owes its name, "Regina Coeli," the Queen of eternal 'peace. And there, gliding like a ghost, I open that little cell where I was so greatly welcomed whenever my troubles made me find relief, T lean out of the narrow window. It is from here that T have gazed so often, both, in rain and sunshine on the charming old city, beautiful as the print of other days, in which are harmoniously mixed in a capricious disorder roofs beneath which your thread is spun, factory chimneys and graceful steeples. THE CRIME OF MATERIALISM. There I have come, trembling with horror, borne thither on the wings of thought, when the frightful news shook the Whole worhi, and I have seen what that tragic masterpiece of Jonas has shown us, the cathedral in flames, and Louvain burning with her. And I imagine that in you, beautiful and noblo town, catholic Oxford, is incarnatc'd for ever the living ideal of reconstruction. Within you is united all the martyrdom of a country whose nonoi}on ale, and of which you remain, even sacked and burned, the ornament still. Materialism and pride have disfigured your visible beauty, but the beauty of your soul remains intact, and will flourish for ever.

The witness of whom I speak, saw. i„ one 0 f your quiet streets now l>ei',..i:e nameless, two little children holding each other by the hand, and walking along divinely unconscious amid the slain. That is :i picture tlrnt, [by its singular grace, effaces all that |is loathsome. Outraged innocence and ! 'V: '>«t terrible, forces, t le Helgian lion has now become in our j thoughts the new constellation made up I of so many souls who have-gonc to God land of so many others who dwelt be- ; low and suffered in this horrible ni«ht | And we have here again the. theme"' of ! ,T 011 tliat is as old as the world i itself. | Since Christ Jesus has suffered, and .. still snfiors for all His children till the ; end of thno % Lonvain and Rhcimg have shared Ilia sufiprincrs. For a brief few moments tliev have watched with Him unsleeping in His agony.