Secret sin was eating away Belgium's vitality--the sin
of being bought by German money, bought in little ways, for small bits
of service, amiable passages destroying nationality. By one act of full
sacrifice Albert has cleared his people from a poison that might have
sapped them in a few more years without the firing of one gun.
That sacrifice to which they are called is an utter one, of which they
have experienced only the prelude. I have seen this growing sadness of
Belgium almost from the beginning. I have seen thirty thousand refugees,
the inhabitants of Alost, come shuffling down the road past me. They
came by families, the father with a bag of clothes and bread, the mother
with a baby in arms, and one, two, or three children trotting along.
Aged women were walking, Sisters of Charity, religious brothers. A
cartful of stricken old women lay patiently at full length while the
wagon bumped on. They were so nearly drowned by suffering that one more
wave made little difference. All that was sad and helpless was dragged
that morning into the daylight. All that had been decently cared for in
quiet rooms was of a sudden tumbled out upon the pavement and jolted
along in farm-wagons past sixteen miles of curious eyes. But even with
the sick and the very old there was no lamentation. In this procession
of the dispossessed that passed us on the country road there was no one
crying, no one angry.
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