108
The Way of the Cross
And O Lord, how to thank Thee that there is no longer any rain!
They freeze, get ill, watch their children die, and wait.
It's not possible to breathe.
All around is human filth.
In certain stinking horrible ponds, the peasant women with feet blue from the cold, are washing clothes.
And these ponds also are tainted with filth.
—Even here it's good to wash the linen.
—For we have been fairly eaten up!
And when I come here in the morning, whilst the ground all around is covered with hoar-frost and the half-expired bonfires glimmer beside the marsh on which the camp is set, the spectacle is dreadful.
How reckon up the sufferings?
It's no use even thinking of going across the station platform.
