Belgium a German province!
There at Maastricht I saw fugitives crossing the frontier into Holland
with all their worldly goods on their shoulders or in their hands, or
with nothing at all, seeking hospitality of a little land which itself
feels, though it is neutral, the painful stress and cost of the war.
There, on the frontier, I was standing between Dutch soldiers and German
soldiers, so near the Germans that I could almost have touched them, so
near three German officers that their conversation as they saluted me
reached my ears.
I begin to understand what the sufferings and needs of Belgium are. They
are such that the horror of it almost paralyzes expression. I met at
Maastricht Belgians, representatives of municipalities, who said that
they had food for only a fortnight longer. And what was the food they
had? No meat, no vegetables, but only one-third of a soldier's rations
of bread for each person per day. At Liege, as I write, there is food
for only three days.
What is it the people of Belgium ask for? They ask for bread and salt,
no more, and it is not forthcoming. They do not ask for meat; they
cannot get it.
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