Works of Mercy

Here is a description of Queen Elisabeth's charitable works during World War I:

It is difficult for anyone who had even the slightest experience of the field hospitals in the early days of the War to think or write calmly of the scenes they witnessed. Yet the Queen, who was not of robust physique and has that sympathetic temperament which makes it difficult to witness suffering, shrank from nothing. There was hardly a field hospital in the whole of Belgium that she did not visit at some time or other during the War.

She not only visited them, but took part in the actual nursing, often assisting in the dressings and in the work of the wards. Her Majesty did a great deal of her nursing under Doctor Depage, who had helped her in her training. Her previous experience, when assisting her father, Duke Charles Theodor, stood her in good stead. From her girlhood she had been used to sick beds and the consolation of suffering, so now she passed through ward after ward, bringing cheer and comfort in her train.

As the field hospitals travelled from place to place where they were most needed, the Queen did her utmost, and inspired others to do their utmost, too, to find suitable buildings in which they could carry on their magnificent work. She was intensely anxious that there should be full equipment for both the wounded and the staff. Often bedding was impossible to procure in sufficient quantity, and the wounded slept on straw. Her Majesty organized house-to-house collections for bedding, and, when the hospital was at Furnes, she gave twenty beds with spring mattresses for the use of the most serious cases.

Once when it had proved exceptionally difficult to get supplies, the Queen, attended by only one lady-in-waiting, went from house to house to see what could be obtained. The inhabitants of the place were for the most part more than willing to give, but the exigencies of war had left them with little. Few recognized the slender, gentle-voiced lady, who pleaded for the wounded soldiers, as their Queen. One good woman, who had given all but the bed on which she herself slept, was so overcome when she learned of her visitor's identity, that she hurried after her up the street, dragging her one mattress behind her as a final offering !

The Queen visited the hospital at Furnes twice regularly every week, and her visits were made without ceremony of any kind. She was never accompanied by more than one lady and, as a rule, by a Belgian medical officer. Her interest in the patients was felt and appreciated by everyone in the hospital.

Her thorough knowledge of surgery and medicine made her able to understand and appreciate the methods of nursing, and she never failed to pay due tribute to the staff for their efforts and for the extraordinary ingenuity with which they carried out serious operations with wholly inadequate materials.

In one hospital in four days there were admitted nearly four hundred patients, many of them with wounds necessitating grave operations, yet all the surgeons had to work with were two scalpels, a finger saw, and a few forceps !

From bed to bed the Queen would pass, a slight figure always plainly clad, usually in black, with a word for each of the men who had suffered in her country's cause. To each she spoke — to Belgians, French, and Germans (for there were usually a few Germans brought in with the rest), as Her Majesty made no distinction. They were suffering ; they had made the supreme sacrifice for what each believed to be the right, and in that place of pain at least there was no room for bitterness.

In the early days of the War, the Queen expressed a hope that Belgian women who could write both English and German would force themselves to forget their wrongs, and, for the sake of humanity, attend hospitals to write letters for prisoners other than Belgians. She realized how the anxiety of many a soldier's home would be alleviated if news, however slight, reached their homes. In the Queen's mind, as in the minds of her noble fellow- workers in the cause of the Red Cross, a wounded man had no nationality ; he suffered, and that was enough to evoke all that was humanly possible to ease his pain, both mental and physical.

Sometimes the King accompanied the Queen on her visits of mercy — always in his soldier's uniform without decorations of any kind. Together they would go round the hospitals, not so much as a King and Queen visiting their subjects, but as a kindly, simple man and woman, eager to do what they could for their fellow-creatures. Her Majesty was deeply interested in the visits which Madame Curie, the world-famed scientist, paid to the hospital at Furnes, where she stayed to work for a week, bringing her X-ray equipment for the use of the hospital. To aid Madame Curie in her much-valued labours on behalf of the wounded, there was fitted up for her a radiographic department with the aid of thick curtains and much brown paper. Here this remarkable woman worked with untiring zeal, taking radiographs of innumerable cases. Her daughter was assiduous in helping to develop the plates, and thus enabled Madame Curie to achieve work of the utmost value.

At a later stage in the War, the Queen took a deep interest in the marvels of plastic surgery, which enabled so many poor fellows to take up their work in the world after leaving the hospital. At one hospital some very severe facial cases were being treated, and the head surgeon, anxious to spare the Queen some terrible sights, begged her not to visit that particular ward. Her Majesty was not, however, to be deterred by the awful disfigurements. "They suffered for their country," she remarked, "and the Queen of that country should be the last to shrink from them." She spoke to each man in turn, pressing his hand in kindly sympathy before she turned away.

Passing month by month from hospital to hospital. Her Majesty constantly encountered those pitiful screams of homeless refugees who, with houses shelled and villages laid waste, straggled to the frontier. They would be met carrying their few poor possessions on their backs, or pushing wearily their hand-carts before them. Little children, hardly old enough to realize the horror which had befallen them, might be seen pushing perambulators filled to overflowing with what could be gathered up of the few remaining household possessions. Old men staggering under sack-loads of clothing and bedding and women burdened with the strangest assortment of miscellaneous goods, were fleeing from misery into darkness. The Queen saw them all, and with tears in her eyes would stop to speak to them as they passed. They could not tell her where they were going, for to half of them their destination was unknown. They only knew that their homes had been destroyed by the enemy and that now they must seek an unknown country and an unknown future.

These processions distressed the Queen even more than the scenes at the hospital, for there at least all that was possible was being done. For these poor refugees there was nothing Her Majesty could do except to give a child a caress or slip some silver coins into a woman's hand. Her Majesty sought no recognition and, in her war work, was content to be taken for an ordinary member of the Red Cross. But to the refugees she would sometimes reveal her identity if she thought that by so doing she could give some slight comfort or even shadow of encouragement to the poor creatures."I will think of you, I will pray for you daily," she would tell them, as they trudged on their desolate road. 

The Princess Lilian Cardiology Foundation

In Le mythe d'Argenteuil (2006), Michel Verwilghen gives a full and detailed account of the development of the Princess Lilian Cardiology Foundation (pp. 309-314). Established in 1958 in Brussels, the institution combined the scientific interests and charitable inclinations of the second wife of King Leopold III. Following the widely publicized, successful surgery of her teenaged son, Prince Alexandre, who had been suffering from a cardiac abnormality then inoperable in Belgium, by Professor E. Gross at the Children's Hospital in Boston, Lilian began to receive appeals from other Belgians for help in obtaining similar care in the United States for their loved ones. Initially on an informal basis, the Princess responded generously to the requests, supplying financial assistance and organizing administrative and moral support for the patients. Her thoughtful and compassionate approach extended through their whole experience; during the transatlantic flight, sufferers were provided with companionship, children were given gifts to raise their spirits. (Little girls received dolls, for instance).

As the Princess' work expanded, she decided, at the suggestion of Belgian diplomat Joseph Jennen, to form a non-profit organization to perpetuate her enterprise. Accordingly, on December 10, 1958, she created the Fondation Cardiologique Princesse Lilian. The press, all too often brutally abusive of Lilian, had the good grace to give this accomplishment, at least, appreciative treatment; only Le Drapeau Rouge, a Communist, and, not surprisingly, violently anti-monarchist paper, saw fit to sneer at her efforts. At the outset, the headquarters of the Princess' foundation was placed across the street from the Royal Palace of Brussels, at 14 Rue Bréderode. It would later be moved to Ixelles, a suburb of Brussels. A close friend of Leopold and Lilian, Ernest-John Solvay, presided over the organization for the first few years of its existence. After the King, the Princess and their children left Laeken for the country estate of Argenteuil, in 1961, however, Solvay was replaced by Fernand Collin, a financier, jurist and professor at the Katholieke Universiteit Leuven. For a number of years, a former secretary of King Leopold, Charles Everarts de Velp, served as the secretary of Princess Lilian's foundation. The institution's administrative council included eminent Belgian personalities from the worlds of business and politics, such as Camille Gutt, former member of the World War II cabinet of Prime Minister Hubert Pierlot.

In the decades to come, through her foundation, Princess Lilian would furnish vital assistance to more than 3000 people. The statistics for the first decade alone are impressive: 123 Belgians traveled to the United States for surgery; 100 returned home cured, representing roughly an 80 % operative success rate. Without the care possible in America, these patients, including many children, would have died within a few months. Thanks to Lilian's efforts, however, they were blessed with a fresh opportunity for a long and full life. Around this time, technological advances in Belgian hospitals meant it was no longer necessary for patients to travel to the United States for cardiac care. Therefore, the focus of the Princess Lilian Cardiology Foundation shifted to importing American surgeons to perform delicate new operations in Belgium, while furthering the training of Belgian physicians in the latest techniques in the United States. Working in university clinics, with their Belgian counterparts, American specialists saved lives, relieved suffering and contributed to the development of Belgian medicine. Under the auspices of the Princess' foundation, cardiological symposia took place at Belgian universities, and many distinguished participants from all over the world enjoyed the gracious and elegant hospitality of Argenteuil. At the third symposium, hosted by the universities of Brussels, Ghent and Louvain, from May 22-25, 1962, legendary physicians Denton Cooley and Michael DeBakey performed open-heart surgery on Belgian patients, while professors from the local faculties of medicine watched the operations on television screens in neighboring rooms. At Ghent, Princess Lilian herself attended the event.

As far as I know, Lilian's daughter-in-law, Princess Léa, assumed direction of the institution after her mother-in-law passed away.

Princesse Rayon de Soleil

A postcard of "Princess Sunbeam", little Marie-José, helping Belgian refugees during the First World War. The image is no mere sentimental myth. At an early age, the little Princess had already embraced the charitable functions of royalty. When she was only eight years old, she wrote that if she ever became a queen, she wanted to be given all the names of the poor of her new country, in order to be able to give something to each one.

King Leopold III and Princess Lilian in the Congo

Readers may remember my series on the royal visits to the Belgian Congo, and, in particular, Prince Leopold's study trip to the colony in 1933 with Princess Astrid. Here is a first-hand account, by Jacques Deschepper, a colonial official, of Leopold's much later scientific expedition to the Congo, in 1957, with his second wife Lilian.  (Unfortunately, the article is available only in French, but the images alone are worth seeing.) It is a very human, touching narrative, noting the royal couple's deep concern for the welfare of the indigenous peoples; their special interest in the schools, the medical missions, the hospitals and the leper colonies. The descriptions of the warm welcome Leopold and Lilian received, both from the exuberant Congolese tribesmen and from the Belgian colonists, are also touching. Six years after his abdication, Leopold still enjoyed considerable popularity in the Congo. His dignity and reserve are often described as coldness and arrogance; yet, his companions found him so friendly and approachable that they tended to become over-animated in conversation, stumbling over their words. As for Lilian, if some Belgian colonists harbored suspicions of this much-maligned lady, their reservations seemed to melt away by magic, once they finally had a chance to meet her; the most reticent were won over by her charm, simplicity and kindness. I can see why; she has a particularly beautiful, gentle expression in the photographs.

A Family in Belgium

A beautiful character sketch of King Albert I, Queen Elisabeth, and their children during the First World War, by Mrs. Arthur Gleason, an American lady who helped to direct a field hospital at the front. For her bravery under fire, she was decorated by King Albert with the Order of Leopold.

The finest thing about this royal group is that it is a real family. They are not friendly for reasons of state only; they care for one another. They are simple people, with the affection and the strength of simple natures.

In the eyes of the mother there are tears close to the surface. Her own children are still safe, but the peasant children- she knows of their suffering. We have seen her talk with each little tot of a group of fifty, and send him off with a mother's pat and a sweet tucked in his wee hands. Her interests are without end. She visits a maternity hospital; she helps to arrange a creche, named after her daughter Marie José, for the tiniest of her people; she is a frequent caller in the hospital wards, and always with that gift of caring for each individual person, pausing at each cot to hearten those broken ones. From a sobbing, wounded peasant she listens to a story. His wife is being carried to her rest without a coffin because he is unable to make it. That coffin is furnished, and the grief of one peasant is lessened. A certain fever patient needs fresh milk. A liter a day reaches him. This gracious lady dislikes publicity; she does all things quietly and without pomp. Sometimes for a few minutes we sat upon a low stone wall listening to the music of a band playing in her garden. When she was walking there with a friend, she would nod and smile across the way to those passing. One day she came unannounced and on foot to my friend's villa. Could one help loving this king and queen and their three children?

The eldest, Leopold, is tall and fair and sensitive, like his father, and one feels that, like his father, he also would wish for his own life. He joined The Twelfth and went into the trenches with the men. We have seen him on the march and we have seen him on horseback. Once he came running with the crowd to examine one of the aeroplanes that used to float down easily upon the beach.

His father goes about as simply as other soldiers, walking with a companion to visit the hospital and to pin a decoration on a shattered boy before he dies. At the end of the hospital hall lay a boy facing the sea. He smiled as we entered. He was not well enough to smile much, but was he not a boy, and did n't he have a secret hidden under his pillow? The blue ribbon on his shirt glistened to be noticed. True, it was on the chest of only part of a boy,—half of his limbs had been blown away,—but the ribbon was new and the lad so proud.

"May I show it to Madame, Emile?" The quick hand of the nurse reached to the very spot under the pillow; it had found the place before. Emile needed to see the silver star and wreath pendant and to touch it more often than he needed fresh dressings. The tall gentleman had pinned it on the day before. He and the boy had enjoyed a talk together, all about how it had happened.

The figure of the tall gentleman is unmistakable. He is straight and fair, with fine blue eyes that look directly at one while he is speaking. His voice is low. He is so shy that the color comes and goes swiftly in his face. On a misty spring day sixty men in three lines stood facing the sea in front of a plain brick villa. The officers were dressy, the men groomed beyond recognition, with rifles shining and the Yser mud scraped from their uniforms and boots. They waited the coming of the shy gentleman. Soon he came, in dark uniform, gloves, and cap with several bands of gold braid adding inches to it. I watched him pin on each man a decoration, some blue, some garnet, and noticed with what concern and gentleness he talked with each man, asking questions, listening courteously. He is to his people what he is to his children, a father who cares that they suffer. There on the lonely beach of the last strip of his land he paid tribute to his soldiers individually, as man to man.

The president of France, with his minister of war and a large group of officers, made an inspection of the front and a visit to our hospital one day. In their look around, the doctors and the president, busily talking, had a way of hastening on ahead, going through doorways first, but the tall, shy gentleman followed, always alone. He is the most lonely figure in all that country. Only a simple nature can be so careless of his own dignity. And not only by that prominence is he a leader; he is a soldier-comrade with his people, and always a man.

Le Petit Hameau de la Reine

Here is an interesting article from a few years ago. Historical novelist Elena Maria Vidal, who has been a kind friend to this blog, discusses the model village and farm commissioned by Queen Marie-Antoinette on the grounds of Versailles. As Miss Vidal explains, the "little hamlet", despite its practical, educational and even charitable purposes, is often unfairly portrayed as an example of heedless extravagance on the part of the Queen. It seems that Marie-Antoinette is the prime example of a royal lady, endowed with many winsome qualities, who nevertheless could never put a foot right, in the estimation of some. It reminds me of our Princess Lilian, whose every gesture, even the most positive, was tirelessly, ingeniously criticized. (A left-wing newspaper even sneered at her Cardiological Foundation). Incidentally, Lilian and Marie-Antoinette were related, by marriage, since the princess' husband, King Leopold III of the Belgians, was a direct descendant of the French queen's favorite, older sister, Maria Carolina. Through the royal houses of France and Saxony, Leopold III was also related to Louis XVI.

Queen Astrid to the Belgian Nation

In the past, I have mentioned Queen Astrid's charity drive during the hard winter of 1934-1935. Here is the famous open letter that she addressed to the Minister of State, Henri Jaspar. It was published in the papers in February 1935, a year after the accession of her husband, King Leopold III. Although the Belgian queens, beginning with Louise-Marie d'Orléans, had always been noted for their charitable works, never before had a royal consort addressed the nation in such a direct and determined manner as did the supposedly shy Bernadotte princess:

Monsieur le Président, I thank you for your willingness to contribute, by your devotion and your experience, to the success of the aid I wish to see brought to the children, to the adults, to the elderly who are suffering most cruelly from the crisis and from poverty. Many initiatives in this regard, I know, are already manifesting themselves in all classes of society. But the time has come to do more. Those who are less afflicted by the privations will understand the distress of the unfortunates by seeing them suffer from cold, from hunger and from illnesses caused by poor nutrition. The times are hard for all. Nevertheless, I have the firm hope that those who have the means will consent to make a sacrifice. In this way, they will relieve many misfortunes. Let some give money, however little it may be. Let others give objects. You will want to examine, Monsieur le Ministre, in what forms these gifts can then be gathered and distributed, as equitably as possible, by using the benevolent competition of works which so many activities in this domain deploy. It is not in vain, I am persuaded, that we will appeal to the spirit of solidarity, still so alive in our country. For my part, I will receive, with gratitude, at the Belle-Vue Palace, all that the generosity and the heart of our fellow-countrymen will suggest to them to offer to lessen sufferings before which no one can remain insensible. (Translated from"L'Appel de la Reine de 1935", Marie-Louise Libert-Vandenhove, in Astrid: 1905-1935, 2005, Christian Koninckx, p. 117)

The Charity of Queen Marie-Amélie

Some may remember my post on the almsgiving of Louise-Marie, first Queen of the Belgians. In this regard, Louise surely learned from the noble example of her mother, Marie-Amélie, Queen of the French. According to her biographer, C.C. Dyson, Marie-Amélie gave away no less than 4/5 of her private income to the poor. Here is a testimony of her charity, from her secretary, Mr. Appert:

"I saw her every day but never without being affected by her perfections and holiness. Neither the religion nor politics of the applicant was considered, but only misery. If there was an insurrection, and cries and threats were heard under the windows, she would say: 'Help as many of these miserable people as you can. Bread is dear, trade bad. Seeing a wife and children starve is enough to turn a man's head. They do much that is wrong, but it is excusable. I am comfortable in these warm rooms, but wretched when I think of so many people in the city suffering from cold and hunger. To give is my only pleasure in the midst of all our troubles. He who invented the saying 'Happy as a king,' had never worn a crown". (The life of Marie Amélie last queen of the French, 1782-1866. C.C. Dyson, 1910, p. 230).

The King's Humanity

King Albert I was a very human person. Despite the iron will, rigor, and stoicism which made him a great leader in war and peace, he had a delicate and sensitive soul; a personality which combined warmth, kindness, tenderness, sincerity, and humility.

Countless anecdotes illustrate these qualities. For instance, to a gardener at Laeken, who was bowing to the King so much that he was forgetting to do his work, Albert said: "Mon ami, je ne suis qu'un homme comme vous." ("My friend, I am only a man like yourself.")

Albert's tenderness of heart appears clearly in his affection for his wife, Elisabeth, and for their children. From a young age, apparently, Albert nurtured an ideal of a close and loving conjugal union; as a boy, he is said to have told his uncle, King Leopold II: "I shall marry a princess with small hands and small feet." "Is that all?" his uncle asked. "No," said Albert, "I shall love her."

As it turned out, he did marry a small, refined princess, for whom he cared tenderly. His letters to Elisabeth, (quoted extensively by their daughter, Marie-José, in her memoirs) testify to the depth and delicacy of his feelings. On one occasion, he wrote to Elisabeth:

Bien aimée, c'est comme cela que tu t'appelleras toujours pour moi, car il n'y a que toi qui aies une place dans mon coeur. Et cette place est si grande qu'il n'en reste point d'autre.

Beloved - that is what your name will always be for me- for there is no one but you who has a place in my heart. And this place is so large that there is none left over.

Albert was sincerely concerned, not only for his family, but also for the members of his entourage. On one occasion, one of the King's collaborators was ill. The telephone rang at the man's house and his wife rushed to answer. At the other end of the line was King Albert. "Que votre mari se soigne bien, qu'il prenne telle et telle précaution..." ("Your husband should take good care of himself, he should take this and this precaution...") The King added: "Ne croyez pas que je lui demande de se bien soigner pour qu'il reprenne plus vite son service près de moi, c'est dans son intérêt, car il est mon ami." ("Do not think that I want him to take good care of himself so that he can resume his work with me sooner; it is in his interest, because he is my friend.")

On the same note, Albert reproached members of his entourage, for not reporting back to him, when he had inquired after the health of a collaborator who had been unwell: "Vous semblez croire que je fais demander ainsi des nouvelles de X. pour faire plaisir aux siens. Mais non, c'est parce-que je l'aime bien et que je suis peiné de le savoir malade." ("You seem to think that I made inquiries about the condition of X. just to please his family. No, it is because I like him and because I am grieved to know that he is ill.")

The tenderness evident in his private life also characterized his public life. Many accounts reveal his deep love for his people; a love which inspired his rule. Franz Anseel related:

"Lorsqu'il parlait, des petits cultivateurs des Flandres ou de la Wallonie qu'il allait, lors de sa rentrée en Belgique après l'armistice, surprendre dans leur pauvre foyer dévasté par l'affreuse tourmente, sachant qu'ils avaient tout perdu, jusqu'à leurs fils morts en Allemagne ou tombés sur les champs de bataille, et qui lui disaient qu'à présent qu'ils avaient pu revoir leur Roi, ils oubliaient toutes leurs misères - des larmes, de vraies larmes de brave homme embuaient les yeux d'un bleu clair, et il se taisait un moment, incapable d'en dire davantage..."

"As he spoke of the small farmers of Flanders and Wallonia whom he had, at the time of his return to Belgium, after the armistice, found in their poor homes, devastated by the frightful torment, people who knew they had lost everything, including their sons, who had died in Germany or fallen on the battlefields, people who told him that, now that they had been able to see their King again, they would forget all their miseries - tears, tears which were truly those of a brave man filled his clear blue eyes, and he was silent for a moment, unable to speak of it further..."

J. Leclercq, in Albert, Roi des Belges, wrote of the King and the Queen:

Quand il se produisit une catastrophe, ils ne se bornaient pas à se montrer sur les lieux pour une visite d'apparat; leur souci n'était pas de soigner leur popularité, mais d'obéir à l'attrait de leur coeur. Et leur souci était de savoir ce qu'ils pourraient faire pour les victimes...

When a disaster occurred, they did not limit themselves to visiting the affected place for an official visit; their concern was not to take care of their popularity, but to obey the impulse of their heart. And their concern was to know what they could do for the victims...

Pierre Nothomb, in his Roi Albert, wrote:

A ceux-ci il envoyait son médecin, à celui-là, des médicaments, à un autre, discrètement, de l'argent: et c'était chaque fois après avoir noté ou fait noter soigneusement les charges de la famille à secourir, son genre de vie, ses besoins... Sa délicatesse était infinie...

To some, he sent his doctor; to others, medicines, to others, discreetly, some money; and, each time, he did this after ensuring that careful note was taken of the obligations of the family to be helped, their way of life, their needs... His delicacy was infinite... 

In 1928, Albert and Elisabeth were preparing for an official visit to the Belgian Congo. Shortly before their departure, they received word that a yellow fever epidemic had broken out in Matadi and Boma. There was great anxiety in the Congo, and the risk of a general panic which could seriously compromise the success of voyage. The royal couple were advised to postpone the trip.

But Albert and Elisabeth were not alarmed at the news. Jo Gérard records:

Le Roi réflechit un instant. Puis, avec sa simplicité grave:

"La fonction d'un roi est d'être là où son peuple souffre. Ma présence là-bas les reconfortera. Je pars, et la Reine part avec moi. Tenez la nouvelle cachée jusqu'à ce soir, pour ne pas attrister nos populations aujourd-hui."

The King thought for a moment. Then, with his grave simplicity, he said:

"The function of a king is to be there, where his people are suffering. My presence there will comfort them. I am going, and the Queen is going with me. Keep the news secret until this evening, so as not to upset our people today." 

The epidemic, fortunately, swiftly came to a halt.

Albert's humanity was derived from a natural kindness, which his daughter, Marie-José, speaks of in her memoirs; she believed he had inherited this trait from his mother, the Countess of Flanders.

Yet, Albert's humanity, it seems, also came from a supernatural source: his deep Faith and Charity. Nowadays, we hear alot about "caring for others" and "humanitarianism" but little about true Catholic charity. We are often told to love man for man's sake alone; rarely to love man for God's sake. But in Albert's case the love of man and the love of God appear to have been firmly linked.

Some anecdotes make this clear. Nothomb related a conversation, during which he told the King about his two sons, who were serving in the Army. The King suddenly said:"Il y a deux vocations magnifiques pour ceux qui veulent vraiment être en contact avec le peuple: celle d' officier et celle du prêtre."("There are two splendid vocations for those who want to truly be in contact with the people: that of the officer and that of the priest.")

Another story (recorded by Jo Gérard) illustrates the relationship between Albert's religious faith and his love of his people:

Il vient d'un de ses familiers qui se souvient d'un matin d'Afrique ou Albert, à la messe, se montrait ému, presque jusqu'à l'exaltation, à la vue d'un miserable vieillard nègre, sale et malade, qui s'approchait du banc de communion parmi les officers blancs.

One of his intimates recalls a certain morning in Africa, when Albert, at Mass, was moved, almost to the point of exaltation, at the sight of a poor old black, sick and dirty, approaching the Communion rail alongside the white officers.

The account continues: "(It was at such moments) that the Catholicism of his parents seemed truly divine to him."

I think King Albert had a magnificent, beautiful soul; his was a rare kind of humanity rooted in Charity.

References:

Gérard, Jo & Hervé. Albert 1er insolite: 1934-1984. 
Graham, Evelyn. Albert King of the Belgians.
Leclercq, Jacques. Albert, Roi des Belges.
Marie-José, Queen, Consort of Umberto II, King of Italy. Albert et Elisabeth de Belgique, mes parents.
Nothomb, Pierre. Le Roi Albert. 

Nobility and Charity

Tradition in Action has some interesting reflections on nobility, accessibility, and charity, illustrated by photos of the current Crown Princess Mathilde of Belgium visiting children suffering from AIDS in Tanzania.