Now all the placid charm of Flemish fertility as gone
from the land--it was scarred and marred and pitted. The shells
and mines had torn holes in it; the trenches and barbed-wire
entanglements spread over it like a network of scars and welts; the
trees were smashed into kindling-wood; the farmhouses were heaps
of charred bricks; the shattered villages were like mouths full
of broken teeth. As the King looked round at all this, his face
darkened and the slight droop of his shoulders grew more marked.
"But, no," he said, turning to me again, "that is not my kingdom.
My real title, monsieur, is _King of the Belgians._ It was for
their honor, for their liberty, that I was willing to lose my land
and risk my crown. While they live and hold true, I stand fast."
Then ran swiftly through me the thought, of how the little Belgian
army had fought, how the Belgian people had suffered, rather than
surrender the independence of their country to the barbarians. The
German cannonade was roaring along the Yser a few miles away; the
air trembled with the overload of sound; but between the peals of
thunder I could hear the brave song of the skylark climbing his
silver stairway of music, undismayed, hopeful, unconquerable.
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