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It needs, indeed, an effort of the imagination at the moment of writingto think of Belgium as in any sense a component part of "BeautifulEurope." The unhappy "cockpit" of the Continent at the actual hour isagain in process of accomplishing its frightful destiny—no treaty, or"scrap of paper," is potent to preserve this last, and weakest, of allthe nations of Western Europe from drinking to the dregs the cup ofruin and desolation. Tragic indeed in the profoundest sense—in thesense of Aristotle—more tragic than the long ruin of the predestinedhouse of Oedipus—is this accumulated tragedy of a small and helplesspeople, whose sole apparent crime is their stern determination to clingat any cost to their plighted word of honour. I have been latelyglancing into a little book published about five years ago, in which aview is taken of the Belgian character that no one could termindulgent. "It is curious," says the writer in one place, "how fewBelgians, old or young, rich or poor, consider the feelings orconvenience of others. They are intensely selfish, and this isdoubtless caused by the way in which they are brought up." And, again,in another chapter, he insinuates a doubt as to whether the Belgians,if ever called on, would even prove good soldiers. "But whether thepeople of a neutral State are ever likely to be brave andself-sacrificing is another thing." Such a writer certainly does notshrink—as Burke, we know, once shrank—from framing an indictmentagainst an entire people. Whether Belgium, as a nation, isself-sacrificing and brave may safely be left to the judgment ofposterity. There is a passage in one of Mr. Lecky's books—I cannot putmy finger on the exact reference—in which he pronounces that the sinsof France, which are many, are forgiven her, because, like the woman inthe Gospels, she has loved much. It is not our business now, if indeedat any time, to appraise the sins of Belgium; but surely her love, inanguish, is manifest and supreme. When we contemplate these firstfruitsof German "kultur"—this deluge of innocent blood, and this wreckage ofancient monuments—who can hesitate for a moment to belaud this littlepeople, which has flung itself thus gallantly, in the spirit of purestsacrifice, in front of the onward progress of this new and frightfulJuggernaut? Rather one recalls that old pe