KING ALBERT GOES TO PARLIAMENT

By Brand Whitlock, American Minister to Belgium.

WHITLOCK was United States Minister, later Ambassador, to Belgium at the outbreak of the Great War. He was entrusted with the representation of seven of the warring nations, including France and Germany, as recounted in his "Belgium, a Personal Narrative," from which this chapter is taken, by permission of D. Appleton & Company. His skill in dealing with the situation under the German occupation won him an international reputation, enhanced by his handling of Belgian relief work. He was made a citizen by many Belgian towns, and was given the Civic Cross of the First Class and the Grand Cordon of the Order of Leopold by Belgium. It was by his advice that the decision to evacuate Brussels and transfer the capital to Antwerp was taken.

Hugh Gibson, who is mentioned in this account, was secretary of the American Legation at Brussels, 1914-16, and later became Minister to Switzerland.

The Belgian Government s reply to the German ultimatum . . . was delivered on Monday evening at seven o'clock. At ten o'clock the King addressed a telegram of appeal to the King of England. Tuesday morning at six o'clock Herr von Below delivered his Government's note saying that Germany could take what she wanted by force. Germany had already declared war on France. The Belgian Government had been notified by both France and England that they would come to her defense if Belgian soil were invaded; the formal declarations of war were all that remained.

And at ten o'clock that morning [August 4, 1914] the King went to Parliament.

It was a day of lovely sunshine; the Belgian flags of black, yellow and red floated from every house, and the people had gathered early about the Park and the Palace and the Parliament buildings to see the King and the royal family go by. The crowds were massed along the sidewalks, on the terra-pleins and the carrefours ; people hung out of windows ; even the roofs were black. The garde-civique, the chasseurs and the infantry, the gendarmes a cheval and companies of boy-scouts formed a line from the Royal Palace along the Rue Royale to the Parliament House at the other end of the Park. The Queen went by in a landau with the three royal children, preceded by the piqueurs de la cour. The King, booted and spurred, mounted on his big bay, came after with his staff and the Escadron Marie-Henriette in their green tunics and gray busbies as guard of honor. The crowds were wild with enthusiasm.

At ten o'clock Gibson and I drove to the National Palace. Sir Francis Villiers rolled up in his motor just as we arrived, and I entered with him, and we went slowly up the red-carpeted staircase together to the diplomatic gallery, Sir Francis heavy with care. The Salle des Seances presented a scene one would not soon forget. All around the galleries were crowded, the wives of the Ministers in seats opposite us, though none of the ladies of the diplomatic corps were there. Below were the Senators and Deputies, all in formal black some seated, quietly waiting, others in excited groups, discussing the ultimatum of last night and the invasion of the land. The Duc d'Ursel was there in the uniform of the Guides. The Ministers, after their sleepless nights, were on their benches the Baron de Broqueville, Messrs. Davignon, Carton de Wiart, Hymans, the new liberal Ministre d'Etat, and Vandervelde, the new Socialist Ministre d'Etat, receiving congratulations. The hall is a hemicycle with columns all around, not unlike the chamber of the Supreme Court, the old Senate at Washington, though larger. The time had not been sufficient to erect the red velvet throne ; instead, a red-and-gold fauteuil was placed for the King on the president's dais ; overhead under the white statue of Leopold I was the escutcheon of Belgium, a trophy of flags of Belgium and the Congo. The diplomatic tribune was hung with Belgian flags too. Down there on the floor before the president's desk a great green table was set, and at it were seated the doyen and the greffiers. Gold fauteuils were set for the Queen and the royal family.

The colleagues were gathering in these now changed conditions; the last time we were assembled was at Ste.-Gudule, scarcely a fortnight before, at the Te Deum to celebrate the founding of the Belgian dynasty, now so rudely shaken. Herr von Below, of course, was not there, nor the Count Clary, the Austrian Minister. We waited many minutes; then there came through the open windows the strains of a military band: and suddenly a voice cried:

"La Reine!"

The Deputies sprang to their feet, and against the solid black of their frock-coats there fluttered the white of the handkerchiefs they waved as they shouted :

"Vive la Reine ! Vive la Reine!"

And there was her charming Majesty, all in white, wearing a hat with great white plumes, lovely and gracious, just entered the chamber below to our left, acknowledging this loyal salute with sweeping courtesies right and left. She was escorted by a committee of Deputies and had a modest suite the Countess Hemricourt de Grunne, la Grande Maitresse, in a violet gown, and the two little princes, Leopold the Duke of Brabant, the heir-apparent, and Charles, Count of Flanders, in black satin suits that day instead of the costumes of gray they usually wore, and the elfish little Princess Marie Jose.

The Queen took the golden chair placed for her on the left of the tribune and the princes took their seats beside her, the little Count of Flanders wriggling up onto his chair in such a boyish manner. The Deputies resumed their seats, and the chamber for an instant was still. And then while we waited, suddenly there was the thunder and tumult of applause outside, a rumble, a roar, and then a huissier shouted:

"Le Roi!"

The word was caught up by many voices, swelling to a hoarse shout:

"Le Roi !"

The Queen, the Ministers, the Deputies, everybody rose ; we in the diplomatic gallery never once sat down. The King was just below us, entering the chamber from the right the side opposite that from which the Queen had entered. The Deputies were waving their hands no handkerchiefs in them now and shouting in an united voice, deep, rough, masculine, in a mighty crescendo:

"Vive le Roi ! Vive le Roi ! Vive le Roi !"

It was as though they could not shout it loudly enough. As they stood there, some in tears, Catholic, Liberal, Socialist, those distinctions faded; it was Belgium acclaiming her King.

And there he is, in the fatigue uniform of a Lieutenant-General, booted and spurred, his saber clanking at his side. He strides along firmly, swiftly, mounts the rostrum, takes off his kepi, flings it on the table before him, clicks his heels together, makes a smart military bow, swiftly peels the white glove from his right hand, slaps the glove into the kepi and, without waiting, begins at once, in his firm voice and his beautiful French, to read his speech from the notes that he holds in his white-gloved hand.

The Queen, the little princes, the Deputies, resume their seats; the applause that greets His Majesty is quickly hushed by the universal adjuration of silence:

"Sh! Sh!"

The doyen's gavel falls on the green table. The stillness in the chamber is the stillness of poignant, nervous tension. The Ministers in the front benches with their portfolios know what is coming, no doubt; but the others strain forward the old Count Woeste, for instance, with his hand behind his deaf ear to hear the fateful words.

The King is somewhat short-sighted; he puts on his pince-nez, holds the narrow little strips of paper rather close to his eyes, and begins to read:

"Quand je vois cette assembles fremissante dans laquelle il n'y a plus qu'un seul parti."

The emotions break, cries ring forth; then: "Sh! Sh!" again, and silence.