{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_28288/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_28288","id":"gutenberg_28288","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/28288","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Architecture","Category: Art","Category: History - European","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Change ringing","Chimes","Church buildings -- Flanders","Flanders -- Description and travel"],"text":"Produced by Greg Bergquist and The Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n Transcriber's Note\n\n The punctuation and spelling from the original text have been faithfully\n preserved. Only obvious typographical errors have been corrected.\n\n\n [Illustration: The Great Cloth Hall: Ypres]\n\n [Illustration:\n\n VANISHED TOWERS and CHIMES of FLANDERS\n\n _Written and Pictured by_ George Wharton Edwards\n\n The Penn Publishing Company 1916\n\n _PHILADELPHIA_]\n\n\n COPYRIGHT\n\n 1916 BY\n\n GEORGE\n\n WHARTON\n\n EDWARDS\n\n\n\n\nVanished Towers and Chimes of Flanders\n\n\n\n\nFOREWORD\n\n\nThe unhappy Flemish people, who are at present much in the lime-light,\nbecause of the invasion and destruction of their once smiling and happy\nlittle country, were of a character but little known or understood by\nthe great outside world. The very names of their cities and towns\nsounded strangely in foreign ears.\n\nTowns named Ypres, Courtrai, Alost, Furnes, Tournai, were in the\nbeginning of the invasion unpronounceable by most people, but little by\nlittle they have become familiar through newspaper reports of the\nbarbarities said to have been practised upon the people by the invaders.\nBooks giving the characteristics of these heroic people are eagerly\nsought. Unhappily these are few, and it would seem that these very\ninadequate and random notes of mine upon some phases of the lives of\nthese people, particularly those related to architecture, and the music\nof their renowned chimes of bells, might be useful.\n\nThat the Fleming was not of an artistic nature I found during my\nresidence in these towns of Flanders. The great towers and wondrous\narchitectural marvels throughout this smiling green flat landscape\nappealed to him not at all. He was not interested in either art, music,\nor literature. He was of an intense practical nature. I am of course\nspeaking of the ordinary or \"Bourgeois\" class now. Then, too, the class\nof great landed proprietors was numerically very small indeed, the land\ngenerally being parcelled or hired out in small squares or holdings by\nthe peasants themselves. Occasionally the commune owned the land, and\nsublet portions to the farmers at prices controlled to some extent by\nthe demand. Rarely was a \"taking\" (so-called) more than five acres or so\nin extent. Many of the old \"Noblesse\" are without landed estates, and\nthis, I am informed, was because their lands were forfeited when the\nFrench Republic annexed Belgium, and were never restored to them. Thus\nthe whole region of the Flemish littoral was given over to small\nholdings which were worked on shares by the peasants under general\nconditions which would be considered intolerable by the Anglo-Saxon. A\ncommon and rather depressing sight on the Belgian roads at dawn of day,\nwere the long lines of trudging peasants, men, women and boys hurrying\nto the fields for the long weary hours of toil lasting often into the\ndark of night. But we were told they were working for their own profit,\nwere their own masters, and did not grumble. This grinding toil in the\nfields, as practised here where nothing was wasted, could not of course\nbe a happy or healthful work, nor calculated to elevate the peasant in\nintelligence, so as a matter of fact the great body of the country\npeople, who were the laborers, were steeped in an extraordinary state of\nignorance.\n\nIf their education was neglected, they are still sound Catholics, and it\nmay be that it was not thought to be in the interest of the authorities\nthat they should be instructed in more worldly affairs. I am not\nprepared to argue this question. I only know that while stolid, and\nunemotional ordinarily, they are intensely patriotic. They became highly\nexcited during the struggle some years ago to have their Flemish tongue\npreserved and taught in the schools, and I remember the crowds of people\nthronging the streets of Antwerp, Ghent and Bruges, with bands of music\nplaying, and huge banners flying, bearing in large letters legends such\nas \"Flanders for the Flemings.\" \"Hail to the Flemish Lion\" and \"Flanders\nto the Death.\" All this was when the struggle between the two parties\nwas going on.\n\nThe Flemings won, be it recorded.\n\nLet alone, the Fleming would have worked out his own salvation in his\nown way. The country was prosperous. The King and Queen were popular,\nindeed beloved; all seemed to be going well with the people. Although\nBelgium was not a military power such as its great neighbors to the\nnorth, the east, and the south, its army played an important part in the\nlives of the people, and the strategical position which the country held\nfilled in the map the ever present question of \"balance\"; the never\nabsent possibility of the occasion arising when the army would be called\nupon to defend the neutrality of the little country. But they never\ndreamed that it would come so soon.... One might close with the words of\nthe great Flemish song of the poet Ledeganck:\n\n     \"Thou art no more,\n     The towns of yore:\n The proud-necked, world-famed towns,\n The doughty lion's lair;\"\n\n (Written in 1846.)\n\n [THE AUTHOR]\n Greenwich, Conn.\n   April, 1916.\n\n\n\n\nContents\n\n\n                                              PAGE\n\n MALINES, AND SOME OF THE VANISHED TOWERS       17\n\n SOME CARILLONS OF FLANDERS                     41\n\n DIXMUDE                                        55\n\n YPRES                                          65\n\n COMMINES                                       85\n\n BERGUES                                        93\n\n NIEUPORT                                       99\n\n ALOST                                         111\n\n COURTRAI                                      119\n\n TERMONDE (DENDERMONDE)                        133\n\n LOUVAIN                                       147\n\n DOUAI                                         157\n\n OUDENAARDE                                    163\n\n FURNES                                        171\n\n THE ARTISTS OF MALINES                        181\n\n A WORD ABOUT THE BELGIANS                     199\n\n\n\n\nList of Illustrations\n\n The Great Cloth Hall: Ypres        _Frontispiece_\n\n Title page decoration\n\n                                                                PAGE\n\n The Tower of St. Rombauld: Malines                               18\n\n Malines: A Quaint Back Street                                    22\n\n Porte de Bruxelles: Malines                                      26\n\n The Beguinage: Dixmude                                           34\n\n Detail of the Chimes in the Belfry of St. Nicholas: Dixmude      42\n\n The Belfry: Bergues                                              46\n\n The Old Porte Marechale: Bruges                                  50\n\n The Ancient Place: Dixmude                                       56\n\n The Great Jube, or Altar Screen: Dixmude                         58\n\n The Fish Market: Dixmude                                         60\n\n No. 4, Rue de Dixmude: Ypres                                     72\n\n Arcade of the Cloth Hall: Ypres                                  76\n\n Gateway, Wall, and Old Moat: Ypres                               80\n\n The Belfry: Commines                                             88\n\n The Towers of St. Winoc: Bergues                                 94\n\n The Tower of the Templars: Nieuport                             100\n\n The Town Hall--Hall of the Knights Templar: Nieuport            103\n\n Tower in the Grand' Place: Nieuport                             104\n\n The Town Hall: Alost                                            112\n\n The Belfry: Courtrai                                            120\n\n The Broel Towers: Courtrai                                      124\n\n The Museum: Termonde                                            138\n\n The Cathedral: Louvain                                          148\n\n The Town Hall: Louvain                                          150\n\n The Town Hall: Douai                                            158\n\n The Town Hall: Oudenaarde                                       164\n\n Old Square and Church: Oudenaarde                               166\n\n The Fish Market: Ypres                                          172\n\n The Church of Our Lady of Hanswyk                               190\n\n\n\n\nMalines\n\n[Illustration: VANISHED TOWERS _and_ CHIMES OF FLANDERS]\n\n\n\n\nMalines\n\n\nThe immense, flat-topped, gray Gothic spire which dominated the\npicturesque line of low, red-tiled roofs showing here and there above\nthe clustering, dark-green masses of trees in level meadows, was that of\nSt. Rombauld, designated by Vauban as \"the Eighth Wonder of the World,\"\nconstructed by Keldermans, of the celebrated family of architects. He it\nwas who designed the Bishop's Palace, and the great town halls of\nLouvain, Oudenaarde, and Brussels, although some authorities allege that\nGauthier Coolman designed the Cathedral. But without denying the power\nand artistry of this latter master, we may still believe in the\nwell-established claim of Keldermans, who showed in this great tower the\nheight of art culminating in exalted workmanship. Keldermans was\nselected by Marguerite and Philip of Savoie to build the \"Greatest\nChurch in Europe,\" and the plans, drawn with the pen on large sheets of\nparchment pasted together, which were preserved in the Brussels Museum\nup to the outbreak of the war, show what a wonder it was to have been.\nThese plans show the spire complete, but the project was never realized.\n\nCharles the Fifth, filled with admiration for this masterpiece, showered\nKeldermans with honors; made him director of construction of the towns\nof Antwerp, Brussels, and Malines, putting thus the seal of artistic\nperfection upon his dynasty.\n\n[Illustration: The Tower of St. Rombauld: Malines]\n\nHistorical documents in the Brussels Library contained the following:\n\n\"The precise origin of the commencements of the Cathedral of Malines is\nunknown, as the ancient records were destroyed, together with the\narchives, during the troubles in the sixteenth century. The 'Nefs' and\nthe transepts are the most ancient, their construction dating from the\nthirteenth century. It is conjectured that the first three erections of\naltars in the choir and the consecration of the monument took place in\nMarch, 1312. The great conflagration of May, 1342, which destroyed\nnearly all of the town, spared the church itself, but consumed the\nentire roof of heavy beams of Norway pine. The ruins remained thus for a\nlong period because of lack of funds for restoration, and in the\nmeantime services were celebrated in the church of St. Catherine. It was\nnot until 1366 that the cathedral was sufficiently repaired to be used\nby the canons. Once begun, however, the repairs continued, although\nslowly. But the tower remained uncompleted as it was at the outbreak of\nthe Great War, standing above the square at the great height of 97.70\nmetres.\" On each face of the tower was a large open-work clock face, or\n\"cadran,\" of gilded copper. Each face was forty-seven feet in diameter.\nThese clock faces were the work of Jacques Willmore, an Englishman by\nbirth, but a habitant of Malines, and cost the town the sum of ten\nthousand francs ($2000). The citizens so appreciated his work that the\ncouncil awarded him a pension of two hundred florins, \"which he enjoyed\nfor fourteen years.\"\n\nSt. Rombauld was famous for its chime of forty-five bells of remarkable\nsilvery quality: masterpieces of Flemish bell founding. Malines was for\nmany hundreds of years the headquarters of bell founding. Of the master\nbell founders, the most celebrated, according to the archives, was Jean\nZeelstman, who practised his art for thirty years. He made, in 1446,\nfor the ancient church of Saint Michel at Louvain (destroyed by the\nVandals in 1914) a large bell, bearing the inscription: \"Michael\nprepositus paradisi quem nonoripicant angelorum civis fusa per Johann\nZeelstman anno dmi, m. ccc. xlvi.\"\n\nThe family of Waghemans furnished a great number of bell founders of\nrenown, who made many of the bells in the carillon of the cathedral of\nSt. Rombauld; and there was lastly the Van den Gheyns (or Ghein), of\nwhich William of Bois-le-Duc became \"Bourgeoisie\" (Burgess) of Malines\nin 1506. His son Pierre succeeded to his business in 1533, and in turn\nleft a son Pierre II, who carried on the great repute of his father. The\ntower of the Hospice of Notre Dame contained in 1914 a remarkable old\nbell of clear mellow tone--bearing the inscription: \"Peeter Van den\nGhein heeft mi Ghegotten in't jaer M.D. LXXX VIII.\" On the lower rim\nwere the words: \"Campana Sancti spiritus Divi Rumlodi.\" Pierre Van den\nGhein II had but one son, Pierre III, who died without issue in 1618.\nWilliam, however, left a second son, from whom descended the line of\nlater bell founders, who made many of the bells of Malines. Of these\nPierre IV, who associated himself with Pierre de Clerck (a cousin\ngerman), made the great \"bourdon\" called Salvator.\n\nDuring the later years of the seventeenth century, the Van den Gheyns\nseem to have quitted the town, seeking their fortunes elsewhere, for the\nfoundry passed into other and less competent hands.\n\nIn Malines dwelt the Primate of Belgium, the now celebrated Cardinal\nMercier, whose courageous attitude in the face of the invaders has\naroused the admiration of the whole civilized world. Malines, although\nnear Brussels, had, up to the outbreak of the war and its subsequent\nruin, perhaps better preserved its characteristics than more remote\ntowns of Flanders. The market place was surrounded by purely Flemish\ngabled houses of grayish stucco and stone, and these were most\ncharmingly here and there reflected in the sluggish water of the rather\nevil-smelling river Dyle.\n\nCatholicism was a most powerful factor here, and the struggle between\nLuther and Loyola, separating the ancient from the modern in Flemish\narchitecture, was nowhere better exemplified than in Malines. It has\nbeen said that the modern Jesuitism succeeded to the ancient mysticism\nwithout displacing it, and the installation of the first in the very\nsanctuary of the latter has manifested itself in the ornamentation of\nthe ecclesiastical edifices throughout Flanders, and indeed this fact is\nvery evident to the travelers in this region. The people of Malines\njealously retained the integrity of their ancient tongue, and many books\nin the language were published here. Associations abounded in the town\nbanded together for the preservation of Flemish as a language. On fete\ndays these companies, headed by bands of music, paraded the streets,\nbearing large silken banners on which, with the Lion of Flanders, were\ninscriptions such as \"Flanders for the Flemish,\" and \"Hail to our\nFlemish Lion.\" On these occasions, too, the chimes in St. Rombauld were\nplayed by a celebrated bell-ringer, while the square below the tower was\nblack with people listening breathlessly to the songs of their\nforefathers, often joining in the chorus, the sounds of the voices\ncarrying a long distance. On the opposite side of the square, in the\ncenter of which was a fine statue of Margaret of Austria, adjoining the\nrecently restored \"Halles,\" a fine building in the purest Renaissance\nwas being constructed, certainly a credit to the town, and an honor to\nits architect, attesting as it did the artistic sense and prosperity of\nthe people. This, too, lies now in ashes--alas!\n\nFlanders fairly bloomed, if I may use the expression, with exquisite\narchitecture, and this garden spot, this cradle of art, as it has well\nbeen called, is levelled now in heaps of shapeless ruin.\n\n[Illustration: Malines: A Quaint Back Street]\n\nCertainly in this damp, low-lying country the Gothic style flourished\namazingly, and brought into existence talent which produced many\ncathedrals, town halls, and gateways, the like of which were not to be\nfound elsewhere in Europe. These buildings, ornamented with lace-like\ntraceries and crowded with statuary, their interiors embellished with\nchoir screens of marvelous detail wrought in stone, preserved to the\nworld the art of a half-forgotten past, and these works of incomparable\nart were being cared for and restored by the State for the benefit of\nthe whole world. Here, too, in Malines was a most quaint \"Beguinage,\" or\nasylum, in an old quarter of the town, hidden away amid a network of\nnarrow streets: a community of gentle-mannered, placid-faced women, who\ndwelt in a semi-religious retirement after the ancient rules laid down\nby Sainte Begga, in little, low, red-roofed houses ranged all about a\ngrass-grown square. Here, after depositing a considerable sum of money,\nthey were permitted to live in groups of three and four in each house,\neach coming and going as she pleased, without taking any formal vow.\nTheir days were given up to church, hospital, parish duties and work\namong the sick and needy: an order, by the way, not found outside of\nFlanders.\n\nEach day brought for them a monotonous existence, the same duties at the\nsame hours, waking in a gentle quietude, rhythmed by the silvery notes\nof the convent bell recalling them to the duties of their pious lives,\nall oblivious of the great outside world. Each Beguinage door bore the\nname of some saint, and often in a moss-covered niche in the old walls\nwas seen a small statue of some saint, or holy personage, draped in\nvines.\n\nThe heavy, barred door was nail studded, and furnished usually with an\niron-grilled wicket, where at the sound of the bell of the visitor a\npanel slid back and a white-coiffed face appeared. This secluded quarter\nwas not exclusively inhabited by these gentle women, for there were\nother dwellings for those that loved the quiet solitude of this end of\nthe town.\n\nThe Malines Beguinage was suppressed by the authorities in 1798, and it\nwas not until 1804 that the order was permitted to resume operations\nunder their former rights, nor were they allowed to resume their quaint\ncostume until the year 1814.\n\nIn the small church on my last visit I saw the portrait of the Beguine\nCatherine Van Halter, the work of the painter I. Cossiers, and another\npicture by him representing the dead Christ on the knees of the Virgin\nsurrounded by disciples. Cossiers seemed to revel in the ghastliness of\nthe scene, but the workmanship was certainly of a very high order. The\nBeguine showed me with much pride their great treasure, a tiny, six-inch\nfigure of the Crucifixion, carved from one piece of ivory by Jerome due\nQuesnoy. It was of very admirable workmanship, the face being remarkable\nin expression. Despatches (March, 1916) report this Beguinage entirely\ndestroyed by the siege guns. One wonders what was the fate of the\nsaintly women.\n\nOn the Place de la Boucherie in Malines was the old \"Palais,\" which was\nused as a museum and contained many ill-assorted objects of the greatest\ninterest and value, such as medals, embroideries, weapons, and a fine\ncollection of ancient miniatures on ivory. There was also a great iron\n\"Armoire Aux Chartes,\" quite filled with priceless parchments, great\nvellum tomes, bound in brass; large waxen seals of dead and gone rulers\nand nobles; heavy volumes bound in leather, containing the archives. And\nalso a most curious strong box bound in iron bands, nail studded, and\nwith immense locks and keys, upon which reclined a strange, wooden\nfigure with a grinning face, clad in the moth-eaten ancient dress of\nMalines, representing \"Op Signorken\" (the card states), but the\nattendant told me it was the \"Vuyle Bridegroom,\" and related a story of\nit which cannot be set down here, Flemish ideas and speech being rather\nfreer than ours. But the people, or rather the peasants, are devoted to\nhim, and there were occasions when he was borne in triumph in\nprocessions when the town was \"en fete.\"\n\nThe ancient palace of Margaret of York, wife of Charles the Bold, who\nafter the tragic death of her consort retired to Malines, was in the Rue\nde l'Empereur. It was used latterly as the hospital, and was utterly\ndestroyed in the bombardment of 1914.\n\nThe only remnant of the ancient fortifications, I found on my last visit\nin 1910, was the fine gate, the \"Porte de Bruxelles,\" with a small\nsection of the walls, all reflected in an old moat now overgrown with\nmoss and sedge grass. There were, too, quaint vistas of the old tower of\nOur Lady of Hanswyk and a number of arched bridges along the banks of\nthe yellow Dyle, which flows sluggishly through the old town.\n\nOn the \"Quai-au-sel,\" I saw in 1910, a number of ancient facades, most\npicturesque and quaintly pinnacled. There also a small botanical garden\nfloriated most luxuriantly, and here again the Dyle reflected the mossy\nwalls of ancient stone palaces, and there were rows of tall, wooden,\ncarved posts standing in the stream, to which boats were moored as in\nVenice.\n\n[Illustration: Porte de Bruxelles: Malines]\n\nThroughout the town, up to the time of the bombardment, were many quaint\nmarket-places, all grass grown, wherein on market days were\ntall-wheeled, peasant carts, and lines of huge, hollow-backed,\nthick-legged, hairy horses, which were being offered for sale. And there\nwere innumerable fountains and tall iron pumps of knights in armor;\nforgotten heroes of bygone ages, all of great artistic merit and value;\nand over all was the dominating tower of St. Rombauld, vast, gray, and\nmysterious, limned against the pearly, luminous sky, the more\nimpressive perhaps because of its unfinished state. And so, however\ninteresting the other architectural attractions of Malines might be, and\nthey were many, it was always to the great cathedral that one turned,\nfor the townspeople were so proud of the great gray tower, venerated\nthroughout the whole region, that they were insistent that we should\nexplore it to the last detail. \"The bells,\" they would exclaim, \"the\ngreat bells of Saint Rombauld! You have not yet seen them?\"\n\nSt. Rombauld simply compelled one's attention, and ended by laying so\nfirm a hold upon the imagination that at no moment of the day or night\nwas one wholly unconscious of its unique presence. By day and night its\nchimes floated through the air \"like the music of fairy bells,\" weird\nand soft, noting the passing hours in this ancient Flemish town. For\nfour hundred years it had watched over the varying fortunes of this\nregion, gaining that precious quality which appealed to Ruskin, who\nsaid, \"Its glory is in its age and in that deep sense of voicefulness,\nof stern watching, of mysterious sympathy, nay, even of approval or\ncondemnation, which we feel in walls that have long been washed by the\npassing waves of humanity.\"\n\nFrom below the eye was carried upward by range upon range of exquisite\nGothic detail to the four great open-work, gilded, clock discs, through\nwhich one could dimly see the beautiful, open-pointed lancets behind\nwhich on great beams hung the carillon bells, row upon row.\n\nNo words of mine can give any idea of the rich grayish brown of this old\ntower against the pale luminous sky, or the pathetic charm of its wild\nbell music, shattering down through the silent watches of the night,\nover the sleeping town, as I have heard it, standing by some silent,\ndark, palace-bordered canal, watching the tall tower melting into the\nimmensity of the dusk, or by day in varying light and shade, in storm\nand sunshine, with wind-driven clouds chasing each other across the sky.\n\nThe ascent of the tower was a formidable task, and really it seemed as\nif it must have been far more than three hundred and fifty feet to the\ntopmost gallery, when I essayed it on that stormy August day. It was not\nan easy task to gain admittance to the tower; on two former occasions,\nwhen I made the attempt, the _custode_ was not to be found. \"He had gone\nto market and taken the key to the tower door with him,\" said the\nwithered old dame who at length understood my wish. On this day,\nhowever, she produced the key, a huge iron one, weighing, I should say,\nhalf a pound, from a nail behind the green door of the entry. She\nunlocked a heavy, white-washed door into a dusty, dim vestibule, and\nthen proceeded to lock me in, pointing to another door at the farther\nend, saying, as she returned to her savory stew pot on the iron stove,\n\"Montez, Montez, vous trouverez l'escalier.\" The heavy door swung to by\na weight on a cord, and I was at the bottom step of the winding stairway\nof the tower. For a few steps upward the way was in darkness, up the\nnarrow stone steps, clinging to a waxy, slippery rope attached to the\nwall, which was grimy with dust, the steps sloping worn and uneven.\nQuaint, gloomy openings in the wall revealed themselves from time to\ntime as I toiled upwards, openings into deep gulfs of mysterious gloom,\nspanned at times by huge oaken beams. Here and there at dim landings,\nlighted by narrow Gothic slits in the walls, were blackened, low\ndoorways heavily bolted and studded with iron nails. The narrow slits of\nwindows served only to let in dim, dusty beams of violet light. Through\none dark slit in the wall I caught sight of the huge bulk of a bronze\nbell, green with the precious patina of age, and I fancied I heard\nfootsteps on the stairway that wound its way above.\n\nIt was the watchman, a great hairy, oily Fleming, clad in a red sort of\njersey, and blue patched trousers. On the back of his shock of pale,\nrope-colored hair sat jauntily a diminutive cap with a glazed peak. In\nthe lobes of his huge ears were small gold rings.\n\nI was glad to see him and to have his company in that place of cobwebs\nand dangling hand rope. I gave him a thick black cigar which I had\nbought in the market-place that morning, and struck a match from which\nwe both had a light. He expressed wonder at my matches, those paper\ncartons common in America, but which he had never before seen. I gave\nthem to him, to his delight. He brought me upwards into a room crammed\nwith strange machinery, all cranks and levers and wires and pulleys, and\nbefore us two great cylinders like unto a \"Brobdingnagian\" music box. He\ndrew out a stool for me and courteously bade me be seated, speaking in\nFrench with a strong Flemish accent. He was, he said, a mechanic, whose\nduty it was to care for the bells and the machinery. He had an assistant\nwho went on duty at six o'clock. He served watches of eight hours. There\ncame a \"whir\" from a fan above, and a tinkle from a small bell somewhere\nnear at hand. He said that the half hour would strike in three minutes.\nHad I ever been in a bell tower when the chimes played? Yes? Then\nM'sieur knew what to expect.\n\nI took out my watch, and from the tail of my eye I fancied that I saw a\ngleam in his as he appraised the watch I held in my hand. He drew his\nbench nearer to me and held out his great hairy, oily paw, saying, \"Let\nme see the pretty watch.\" \"Not necessary,\" I replied, putting it back in\nmy pocket and calmly eying him, although my heart began to beat fast. I\nwas alone in the tower with this hairy Cerberus, who, for all I knew,\nmight be contemplating doing me mischief.\n\nIf I was in danger, as I might be, then I resolved to defend myself as\nwell as I was able. I had an ammonia gun in my pocket which I carried to\nfend off ugly dogs by the roadside, which infest the country. And this I\ncarried in my hip pocket. It resembled somewhat a forty-four caliber\nrevolver. I put my hand behind me, drew it forth, eying him the while,\nand ostentatiously toyed with it before placing it in my blouse side\npocket. It had, I thought, an instantaneous effect, for he drew back,\nopening his great mouth to say something, I know not what nor shall I\never know, for at that instant came a clang from the machinery, a\nwarning whir of wheels, the rattle of chains, and one of the great\nbarrels began to revolve slowly; up and down rattled the chains and\nlevers, then, faint, sweet and far off, I heard a melodious jangle\nfollowed by the first notes of the \"Mirleton\" I had so often heard below\nin the town, but now subdued, etherealized, and softened like unto the\ndream music one fancies in the night. The watchman now grinned\nreassuringly at me, and, rising, beckoned me with his huge grimy hand to\nfollow him. Grasping my good ammonia gun I followed him up a wooden\nstairway to a green baize covered door. This he opened to an inferno of\ncrash and din. The air was alive with tumult and the booming of heavy\nmetal. We were among the great bells of the bottom tier. Before us was\nthe \"bourdon,\" so called, weighing 2,200 pounds, the bronze monster upon\nwhich the bass note was sounded, and which sounded the hour over the\nlevel fields of Flanders. Dimly above I could see other bells of various\nsize, hanging tier upon tier from great, red-painted, wooden beams\nclamped with iron bands.\n\nI contrived to keep the watchman ever before me, not trusting him,\nalthough his frank smile somewhat disarmed my suspicion. It may be I did\nhim an injustice, but I liked not the avaricious gleam in his little\nslits of eyes.\n\nThe bells clanged and clashed as they would break from their fastenings\nand drop upon us, and my brain reeled with the discord. On they beat and\nboomed, as if they would never stop. No melody was now apparent, though\ndown below it had seemed as if their sweetness was all too brief. Up\nhere in the tower they were not at all melodious; they were rough,\ndiscordant, and uneven, some sounding as though out of tune and cracked.\nAll of the mystery and glamour of sweet tenderness, all their pathos and\nweirdness, had quite vanished, and here amid the smell of lubricating\noil and the heavy, noisy grinding of the cog wheels, and the rattle of\niron chains, all the poetry and elusiveness of the bells was certainly\nwanting.\n\nAll at once just before me a great hammer raised its head, and then\nfell with a sounding clang upon the rim of a big bell; the half hour had\nstruck. All about us the air resounded and vibrated with the mighty\nwaves of sound. From the bells above finally came the hum of faint\nharmonics, and then followed silence like the stillness that ensues\nafter a heavy clap of thunder.\n\nCerberus now beckoned me to accompany him amongst the bells, and showed\nme the machinery that sets this great marvel of sound in motion. He\nshowed me the huge \"tambour-carillon,\" with barrels all bestudded with\nlittle brass pegs which pull the wires connected with the great hammers,\nwhich in their turn strike the forty-six bells, that unrivaled chime\nknown throughout Flanders as the master work of the Van den Gheyns of\nLouvain, who were, as already told, the greatest bell founders of the\nage.\n\nThe great hour bell weighing, as already noted, nearly a ton, required\nthe united strength of eight men to ring him. Cerberus pointed out to me\nthe narrow plank runway between the huge dusty beams, whereon these\neight men stood to their task. The carillon tunes, he told me, were\naltered every year or so, and to do this required the entire changing of\nthe small brass pegs in the cylinders, a most formidable task, I\nthought. He explained that the cutting of each hole costs sixty\n_centimes_ (twelve cents) and that there were about 30,000 holes, so\nthat the change must be quite expensive, but I did not figure it out\nfor myself.\n\nThe musical range of this carillon chime of Malines may be judged by the\nfact that it was possible to play, following on the hour, a selection\nfrom \"Don Pasquale,\" and on the half and quarter hours a few bars from\nthe \"Pre aux Clercs.\" Every seven and a half minutes sounded a few\njangling sweet notes, and thus the air over the old town of Malines and\nthe small hamlets surrounding it both day and night was musical with the\nbells of the carillon.\n\nOn fete days a certain famous bell ringer was engaged by the authorities\nto play the bells from the _clavecin_. This is a sort of keyboard with\npedals played by hand and foot, fashioned like a rude piano. The work is\nvery hard, one would think, but I have heard some remarkable results\nfrom it. In former times the office of \"carilloneur\" was a most\nimportant position, and, as in the case of the Van den Gheyn family of\nLouvain, it was hereditary. The music played by these men, those\n\"morceaux fugues,\" once the pride and pleasure of the Netherlands, is\nnow the wonder and despair of the modern bell ringer, however skillful\nhe may be.\n\n[Illustration: The Beguinage: Dixmude]\n\nCerberus informed me that sometimes months pass without a visit from a\nstranger to his tower room, and that he had to wind up the mechanism\nof the immense clock twice each day, and that of the carillon separately\nthree times each twenty-four hours, and that it was required of him that\nhe should sound two strokes upon the \"do\" bell after each quarter, to\nshow that he was \"on the job,\" so to speak.\n\nI told him I thought his task a hard and lonely one, and I offered him\nanother of the black cigars, which he accepted with civility, but I kept\nmy hand ostentatiously in my blouse pocket, where lay the ammonia gun,\nand he saw plainly that I did so. I am inclined now to think that my\nfears, as far as he was concerned, were groundless, but nevertheless\nthey were very real that day in the old tower of Saint Rombauld.\n\nHe began his task of winding up the mechanism, while I mounted the steep\nsteps leading upwards to the top gallery. Here on the open gallery I\ngazed north, east, south, and west over the placid, flat, green-embossed\nmeadows threaded with silver, ribbon-like waterways, upon which floated\nred-sailed barges. Below, as in the bottom of a bowl, lay Malines, its\nsmall red-roofed houses stretching away in all directions to the remains\nof the ancient walls, topped here and there with a red-sailed windmill,\nin the midst of verdant fresh fields wooded here and there with clumps\nof willows, where the armies of the counts of Flanders, and the Van\nArteveldes, fought in the olden days.\n\nI could see the square below where, in the Grand' Place, those doughty\nKnights of the Golden Fleece had gathered before the pilgrimage to the\nHoly Land. Now a few dwarfed, black figures of peasants crawled like\ninsects across the wide emptiness of it. Here among the startled\njackdaws I lounged smoking and ruminating upon the bells, oily Cerberus,\nand his lonely task, and inhaling the misty air from the winding canals\nin the fertile green fields below--appraising the values of the pale\ndiaphanous sky of misty blue, harmonizing so exquisitely with the tender\ngreens of the landscape which had charmed Cuyp and Memling, until the\nblue was suffused with molten gold, and over all the landscape spread a\ntender and lovely radiance, which in turn became changed to ruddy flames\nin the west, and then the radiance began to fade.\n\nThen I bethought me that it was time I sought out the terrible Cerberus,\nthe guardian of the tower, and induce him peaceably to permit me to go\nforth unharmed. I confess that I was coward enough to give him two\nfrancs as a fee instead of the single one which was his due, and then I\nstumbled down the long winding stairway, grasping the slippery hand rope\ntimorously until I gained the street level, glad to be among fellow\nbeings once more, but not sorry I had spent the afternoon among the\nbells of the Carillon of Saint Rombauld--those bells which now lie\nbroken among the ashes of the tower in the Grand' Place of the ruined\ntown of Malines.\n\n\n\n\nSome Carillons of Flanders\n\n\n\n\nSome Carillons of Flanders\n\n\nIt is worth noting that nearly all of the noble Flemish towers with\ntheir wealth of bells are almost within sight (and I had nearly written,\nsound) of each other. From the summit of the tower in Antwerp one could\nsee dimly the cathedrals of Malines and Brussels, perhaps even those of\nBruges and Ghent in clear weather. Haweis (\"Music and Morals\") says that\n\"one hundred and twenty-six towers can be seen from the Antwerp\nCathedral on a fair morning,\" and he was a most careful observer. \"So\nthese mighty spires, gray and changeless in the high air, seem to hold\nconverse together over the heads of puny mortals, and their language is\nrolled from tower to tower by the music of the bells.\"\n\n\"Non sunt loquellae neque sermones, audiantur voces eorum,\" (there is\nneither speech nor language, but their voices are heard among men).\n\nThis is an inscription copied by Haweis in the tower at Antwerp, from a\ngreat bell signed, \"F. Hemony Amstelo-damia, 1658.\"\n\nSpeaking of the rich decorations which the Van den Gheyns and Hemony\nlavished on their bells, he says, \"The decorations worked in bas relief\naround some of the old bells are extremely beautiful, while the\ninscriptions are often highly suggestive, and even touching.\" These\ndecorations are usually confined to the top and bottom rims of the bell,\nand are in low relief, so as to impede the vibration as little as\npossible. At Malines on a bell bearing date \"1697, Antwerp\" (now\ndestroyed) there is an amazingly vigorous hunt through a forest with\ndogs and all kinds of animals. I did not see this bell when I was in the\ntower of St. Rombauld, as the light in the bell chamber was very dim.\nThe inscription was carried right around the bell, and had all the grace\nand freedom of a spirited sketch.\n\n[Illustration: Detail of the Chimes in Belfry of St Nicholas: Dixmude]\n\nOn one of Hemony's bells dated 1674 and bearing the inscription,\n\"Laudate Domini omnes Gentes,\" we noticed a long procession of cherub\nboys dancing and ringing flat hand bells such as are even now rung\nbefore the Host in street processions.\n\nSome of the inscriptions are barely legible because of the peculiarity\nof the Gothic letters. Haweis mentions seeing the initials J.R. (\"John\nRuskin\") in the deep sill of the staircase window; underneath a slight\ndesign of a rose window apparently sketched with the point of a compass.\nRuskin loved the Malines Cathedral well, and made many sketches of\ndetail while there. I looked carefully for these initials, but I could\nnot find them, I am sorry to say.\n\nBells have been strangely neglected by antiquaries and historians, and\nbut few facts concerning them are to be found in the libraries. Haweis\nspeaks of the difficulty he encountered in finding data about the chimes\nof the Low Countries, alleging that the published accounts and rumors\nabout their size, weight, and age are seldom accurate or reliable. Even\nin the great libraries and archives of the Netherlands at Louvain,\nBruges, or Brussels the librarians were unable to furnish him with\naccurate information.\n\nHe says: \"The great folios of Louvain, Antwerp, and Mechlin (Malines)\ncontaining what is generally supposed to be an exhaustive transcript of\nall the monumental and funereal inscriptions in Belgium, will often\nbestow but a couple of dates and one inscription upon a richly decorated\nand inscribed carillon of thirty or forty bells. The reason of this is\nnot far to seek. The fact is, it is no easy matter to get at the bells\nwhen once they are hung, and many an antiquarian who will haunt tombs\nand pore over illegible brasses with commendable patience will decline\nto risk his neck in the most interesting of belfries. The pursuit, too,\nis often a disappointing one. Perhaps it is possible to get half way\naround a bell and then be prevented by a thick beam, or the bell's own\nwheel from seeing the outer half, which, by perverse chance, generally\ncontains the date and the name of the founder.\n\n\"Perhaps the oldest bell is quite inaccessible, or, after a half hour's\nclimbing amid the utmost dust and difficulty, we reach a perfectly blank\nor commonplace bell.\"\n\nHe gives the date of 1620, as that when the family of Van den Gheyns\nwere bringing the art of bell founding to perfection in Louvain, and\nnotes that the tower and bells of each fortified town were half civic\nproperty. Thus the curfew, the carolus, and the St. Mary bells in\nAntwerp Cathedral belong to the town.\n\n\"Let us,\" he says, \"enter the town of Mechlin (Malines) in the year\n1638. The old wooden bridge (over the river Dyle) has since been\nreplaced by a stone one. To this day the elaborately carved facades of\nthe old houses close on the water are of incomparable richness of\ndesign. The peculiar ascent of steps leading up to the angle of the\nroof, in a style borrowed from the Spaniards, is a style everywhere to\nbe met with. The noblest of square florid Gothic towers, the tower of\nSt. Rombauld (variously spelled St. Rombaud, St. Rombaut, or St. Rombod)\nfinished up to three hundred and forty-eight feet, guides us to what is\nnow called the Grand' Place, where in an obscure building are the\nworkshops and furnaces adjoining the abode of Peter Van den Gheyn, the\nmost renowned bell founder of the seventeenth century, born in 1605. In\ncompany with his associate, Deklerk, arrangements are being made for the\nfounding of a big bell.\n\n\"Before the cast was made there was no doubt great controversy between\nthe mighty smiths, Deklerk and Van den Gheyn: plans had to be drawn out\non parchment, measurements and calculations made, little proportions\nweighed by fine instinct, and the defects and merits of ever so many\nbells canvassed. The ordinary measurements, which now hold good for a\nlarge bell, are, roughly, one-fifteenth of the diameter in thickness,\nand twelve times the thickness in height. Describing the foundry\nbuildings: The first is for the furnaces, containing the vast caldron\nfor the fusing of the metal; in the second is a kind of shallow well,\nwhere the bell would have to be modeled in clay.\n\n\"The object to be first attained is a hollow mold of the exact size and\nshape of the intended bell, into which the liquid metal is poured\nthrough a tube from the furnace, and this mold is constructed in the\nfollowing simple but ingenious manner:\n\n\"Suppose the bell to be six feet high, a brick column of about that\nheight is built something in the shape of the outside of a bell. Upon\nthe smooth surface of this solid bell-shaped mass can now be laid\nfigures, decorations, and inscriptions in wax; a large quantity of the\nmost delicately prepared clay is then produced, the model is slightly\nwashed with some kind of oil to prevent the fine clay from sticking to\nit, and three or four coats of the fine clay in an almost liquid state\nare daubed carefully all over the model. Next, a coating of common clay\nis added to strengthen the mold to the thickness of some inches. And\nthus the model stands with its great bell-shaped cover closely fitting\nover it.\n\n\"A fire is now lighted underneath, the brick work in the interior is\nheated, through the clay, through the wax ornaments and oils, which\nsteam out in vapor through two holes at the top, leaving their\nimpressions on the inside of the cover (of clay).\n\n[Illustration: The Belfry: Bergues]\n\n\"When everything is baked thoroughly hard, the cover is raised bodily\ninto the air by a rope, and held suspended some feet exactly above the\nmodel. In the interior of the cover thus raised will, of course, be\nfound the exact impression in hollow of the outside of the bell. The\nmodel of clay and masonry is then broken up, and its place is taken by\nanother perfectly smooth model, only smaller--exactly the size of the\ninside of the bell, in fact. On this the great cover now descends, and\nis stopped in time to leave a hollow space between the new model and\nitself. This is effected simply by the bottom rim of the new model\nforming a base, at the proper distance upon which the rim of the clay\ncover may rest in its descent.\n\n\"The hollow space between the clay cover and second clay mold is now the\nexact shape of the required bell, and only waits to be filled with\nmetal.\n\n\"So far all has been comparatively easy; but the critical moment has now\narrived. The furnaces have long been smoking; the brick work containing\nthe caldron is almost glowing with red heat; a vast draft passage\nunderneath the floor keeps the fire rapid; from time to time it leaps up\nwith a hundred angry tongues, or in one sheet of flame, over the\nfurnace-imbedded caldron. Then the cunning artificer brings forth his\nheaps of choice metal, large cakes of red coruscated copper from\nDrontheim, called 'Rosette,' owing to a certain rare pink bloom that\nseems to lie all over it like the purple on a plum; then a quantity of\ntin, so highly refined that it shines and glistens like pure silver;\nthese are thrown into the caldron and melted down together. Kings and\nnobles have stood beside those famous caldrons, and looked with\nreverence upon the making of these old bells. Nay, they have brought\ngold and silver and, pronouncing the name of some holy saint or apostle\nwhich the bell was thereafter to bear, they have flung in precious\nmetals, rings, bracelets, and even bullion.\n\n\"But for a moment or two before the pipe which is to convey the metal\nto the mold is opened, the smith stands and stirs the molten mass to see\nif all is melted. Then he casts in certain proportions of zinc and other\nmetals which belong to the secrets of the trade; he knows how much\ndepends upon these little refinements, which he has acquired by\nexperience, and which perhaps he could not impart even if he would, so\ntrue is it that in every art that which constitutes success is a matter\nof instinct, and not of rule, or even science.\n\n\"He knows, too, that almost everything depends upon the moment chosen\nfor flooding the mold. Standing in the intense heat, and calling loudly\nfor a still more raging fire, he stirs the metal once more. At a given\nsignal the pipe is opened, and with a long smothered rush the molten\nmetal fills the mold to the brim. Nothing now remains but to let the\nmetal cool, and then to break up the clay and brick work and extract the\nbell, which is then finished for better or for worse.\"\n\nWe learn much of the difficulties encountered even by these great\nmasters in successfully casting the bells, and that even they were not\nexempt from failure. \"The Great Salvator\" bell at Malines, made by Peter\nVan den Gheyn, cracked eight years after it was hung in the tower\n(1696). It was recast by De Haze of Antwerp, and existed up to a few\nyears ago--surely a good long life for any active bell.\n\nIn the belfry of St. Peter's at Louvain, which is now in ruins and level\nwith the street, was a great bell of splendid tone, bearing the\nfollowing inscription: \"Claes Noorden Johan Albert de Grave me fecerunt\nAmstel--odamia, MDCCXIV.\"\n\nHaweis mentions also the names of Bartholomews Goethale, 1680, who made\na bell now in St. Stephen's belfry at Ghent; and another, Andrew\nSteilert, 1563, at Malines (Mechlin). The great carillon in the belfry\nat Bruges, thus far spared by the iconoclasts of 1914, consisting of\nforty bells and one large Bourdon, or triumphal bell, is from the\nfoundry of the great Dumery, who also made the carillon at Antwerp.\n\nHaweis credits Petrus Hemony, 1658, with being the most prolific of all\nthe bell founders. He was a good musician and took to bell founding only\nlate in life. \"His small bells are exceedingly fine, but his larger ones\nare seldom true.\"\n\nTo the ear of so eminent an authority this may be true, but, to my own,\nthe bells seem quite perfect, and I have repeatedly and most attentively\nlistened to them from below in the Grand' Place, trying to discover the\ninharmonious note that troubled him. I ventured to ask one of the\npriests if he had noticed any flatness in the notes, and he scorned the\nidea, saying that the bells, \"all of them,\" were perfect.\n\nNevertheless, I must accept the statement of Haweis, who for years made\na study of these bells and their individualities and than whom perhaps\nnever has lived a more eminent authority.\n\nFrom my room in the small hotel de Buda, just beneath the old gray tower\nof St. Rombauld in this ancient town of Malines, I have listened by day\nand night to the music of these bells, which sounded so exquisite to me\nthat I can still recall them. The poet has beautifully expressed the\nidea of the bell music of Flanders thus, \"The Wind that sweeps over her\ncampagnas and fertile levels is full of broken melodious whispers\"\n(Haweis).\n\nCertainly these chimes of bells playing thus by day and night, day in,\nday out, year after year, must exercise a most potent influence upon the\nimagination and life of the people.\n\nThe Flemish peasant is born, grows up, lives his life out, and finally\nis laid away to the music of these ancient bells.\n\n[Illustration: The Old Porte Marechale: Bruges]\n\nWhen I came away from Malines and reached Antwerp, I lodged in the Place\nVerte, as near to the chimes as I could get. My student days being over,\nI found that I had a strange sense of loss, as if I had lost a dear\nand valued friend, for the sound of the bells had become really a part\nof my daily existence.\n\nVictor Hugo, who traveled through Flanders in 1837, stopped for a time\nin Malines, and was so impressed with the carillon that he is said to\nhave written there the following lines by moonlight with a diamond upon\nthe window-pane in his room:\n\n \"J'aime le carillon dans tes cites Antiques,\n O vieux pays, gardien de tes moeurs domestiques,\n Noble Flandre, ou le Nord se rechauffe engourdi\n Au soleil de Castille et s'accouple au Midi.\n Le carillon, c'est l'heure inattendue et folle\n Que l'oeil croit voir, vetue en danseuse espagnole\n Apparaitre soudain par le trou vif et clair\n Que ferait, en s'ouvrant, une porte de l'air.\"\n\nIt was not until the seventeenth century that Flanders began to place\nthese wondrous collections of bells in her great towers, which seem to\nhave been built for them. Thus came the carillons of Malines, Bruges,\nGhent, Antwerp, Louvain, and Tournai. Of these, Antwerp possessed the\ngreatest in number, sixty-five bells. Malines came next with forty-four,\nthen Bruges with forty, and a great bourdon or bass bell; then Tournai\nand Louvain with forty, and finally Ghent with thirty-nine.\n\nIn ancient times these carillons were played by hand on a keyboard,\ncalled a _clavecin_. In the belfry at Bruges, in a dusty old chamber\nwith a leaden floor, I found a very old _clavecin_. It was simply a\nrude keyboard much like that of a primitive kind of organ, presenting a\nnumber of jutting handles, something like rolling pins, each of which\nwas attached to a wire operating the hammer, in the bell chamber\noverhead, which strikes the rim of the bells. There was an old red,\nleather-covered bench before this machine on which the performer sat,\nand it must have been a task requiring considerable strength and agility\nso to smite each of these pins with his gloved fist, his knees and each\nof his feet (on the foot board) that the hammers above would fall on the\nrims of the different bells.\n\nFrom my room in the old \"Panier d'or\" in the market-place on many nights\nhave I watched the tower against the dim sky, and seen the light of the\n\"_veilleur_,\" shining in the topmost window, where he keeps watch over\nthe sleeping town, and sounds two strokes upon a small bell after each\nquarter is struck, to show that he is on watch. And so passed the time\nin this peaceful land until that fatal day in August, 1914.\n\n\n\n\nDixmude\n\n\n\n\nDixmude\n\n\nThere is no longer a Grand' Place at Dixmude. Of the town, the great\nsquat church of St. Martin, and the quaint town hall adjoining it, now\nnot one stone remains upon another. The old mossy walls and bastion are\nlevel with the soil, and even the course of the small sluggishly flowing\nriver Yser is changed by the ruin that chokes it.\n\nI found it to be a melancholy, faded-out kind of place in 1910, when I\nlast saw it. I came down from Antwerp especially to see old St.\nMartin's, which enshrined a most wondrous _Jube_, or altar screen, and a\nchime of bells from the workshop of the Van den Gheyns. There was\nlikewise on the Grand' Place, a fine old prison of the fourteenth\ncentury, its windows all closed with rusty iron bars, most of which were\nloose in the stones. I tried them, to the manifest indignation of the\nsolitary gendarme, who saw me from a distance across the Grand' Place\nand hurried over to place me under arrest. I had to show him not only my\npassport but my letter of credit and my sketch book before he would\nbelieve that I was what I claimed to be, a curious American, and\nsomething of an antiquary. But it was the sketch book that won him, for\nhe told me that he had a son studying painting in Antwerp at the\nacademy. So we smoked together on a bench over the bridge of the \"Pape\nGaei\" and he related the story of his life, while I made a sketch of the\nsilent, grass-grown Grand' Place and the squat tower of old St.\nMartin's, and the Town Hall beside it.\n\nWhile we sat there on the bench only two people crossed the square, that\nsame square that witnessed the entry of Charles the Fifth amid the\nsilk-and velvet-clad nobles and burghers, and the members of the great\nand powerful guilds, which he regarded and treated with such respect. In\nthose days the town had a population of thirty thousand or more. On this\nday my friend the gendarme told me that there were about eleven hundred\nin the town. Of this eleven hundred I saw twelve market people, the\n_custode_ of the church of St. Martin; ditto that of the Town Hall; the\ngendarme; one baby in the arms of a crippled girl, and two gaunt cats.\n\nThe great docks to which merchantmen from all parts of the earth came in\nships in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries had now vanished, and\nlong green grass waved in the meadows where the channel had been.\n\n[Illustration: The Ancient Place: Dixmude]\n\nThe ancient corporations and brotherhood, formerly of such power and\nrenown, had likewise long since vanished, and nought remained but here\nand there on the silent, grass-grown streets gray, ancient palaces with\nbarred and shuttered windows. The very names of those who once dwelt\nthere could be found only in the musty archives in Bruges or Brussels. A\nsmall _estaminet_ across the bridge bore the sign \"In den Pape Gaei,\"\nand to this I fared and wrote my notes, while the crippled girl carrying\nthe baby seated herself where she could watch me, and then lapsed into a\nsort of trance, with wide open eyes which evidently saw not.\n\nIn company with a large, black, savage-looking dog which traveled\nside-ways regarding me threateningly, I thought, and gloweringly refused\nmy offers of friendship, I crossed the Grand' Place to the Hotel de\nVille, or Town Hall, the door of which stood open. Inside, no living\nsoul responded to my knock. The rooms were rather bare of furniture,\nmany of them of noble proportions, and a few desks and chairs showed\nthat they were used by the town officers, wherever they were.\n\nSt. Martin's was closed, and I skirted its walls, hoping to find\nsomewhere a door unfastened that I might enter and see the great _Jube_\nor altar screen. In a small, evil-smelling alley-way, where there was a\npatch of green grass, I saw low down in the wall a grated window, which\nI fancied must be at the back of the altar. I got down on my knees and,\nparting the grass which grew there rankly, I put my face in against the\niron bars that closed it. For a moment I could see nothing, then when my\neyes became accustomed to the light I saw a tall candle burning on an\niron ring on the wall; then a heavy black cross beside it, and finally a\nfigure in some sort of heavy dark robe kneeling prostrate before it,\nonly the tightly clasped white hands gleaming in the dim candle light;\nalmost holding my breath I withdrew my head, feeling that I was almost\ncommitting sacrilege. Unfortunately for me, I dislodged some loose\nmortar, and I heard this rattle noisily into the chamber below. Then I\nfled as rapidly as I could down the dim alley-way to the silent sunlit\nGrand' Place. Here I found the verger, and he admitted me to the great\nold church, in return for a one-franc piece, and brought me a\nrush-bottom chair to a choice spot before the wondrous _Jube_, where I\nmade my drawing.\n\n[Illustration: The Great Jube, or Altar Screen: Dixmude]\n\nIn the silence of the great gray old church I labored over the exquisite\nGothic detail, all unmindful of the passing time, when all at once I\nbecame conscious that a small green door beside the right hand low\n_retable_ was moving outward. I ceased working and watched it; then the\nsolitary candle before the statue of the Virgin guttered and flared up;\nthen the small door opened wide and forth came an old man in a priest's\ncassock, with a staff in his hand. The small, green, baize-covered door\nclosed noiselessly; the old man slowly opened the gate before the\naltar and came down the step toward me. Without a word he walked behind\nmy chair and peered over my shoulder at the drawing I was making of the\ngreat _Jube_.\n\nHe tapped the floor with his staff, placed it under his arm, sought his\npocket somewhere beneath his cassock, from which he produced a snuff\nbox. From this he took a generous pinch, and a moment later was blowing\nvigorously that note of satisfaction that only a devotee of the powder\ncan render an effective adjunct of emotion.\n\n\"Bien faite, M'sieur,\" he exclaimed at length, wiping his eyes on a\nrather suspicious looking handkerchief. \"T-r-r-r-r-es bien faite! J'vous\nfais mes compliments.\" \"Admirable! You have certainly rendered the\nspirit of our great and wondrous altar screen.\"\n\nA little later we passed out of the old church through a side door\nleading into a small green enclosure, now gloomy in the shade of the old\nstone walls. At one end was a tangle of briar, and here were some old\ngraves, each with a tinsel wreath or two on the iron cross. And\npresiding over these was the limp figure of a one-legged man on two\ncrutches, who saluted us. We passed along to the end of the inclosure,\nwhere lay a chance beam of sunshine like a bar of dusty gold against the\nrich green grass.\n\n\"Oui, M'sieur,\" said the priest, as if continuing a sentence he was\nrunning over in his mind. \"Casse! Pauvre Pierre, un peu casse, le pauvre\nbonhomme, but then, he's good for several years yet; cracked he is, but\nonly cracked like a good old basin, and (in the idiom) he'll still hold\nwell his bowl of soup.\"\n\nHe laughed at his wit, became grave, then shook out another laugh.\n\n\"See,\" he added, pointing to the ground all about us strewn with morsels\nof tile; \"the roof cracks, but it still holds,\" he added, pointing\nupwards at the old tower of St. Martin's. \"And now, M'sieur, I shall\ntake you to my house; _tenez_, figure to yourself,\" and he laid a fine,\nrichly veined, strong old hand upon my arm with a charming gesture. \"I\nhave been here twenty-five years; I bought all the antique furniture of\nmy predecessor. I said to myself, 'Yes, I shall buy the furniture for\nfive hundred francs, and then, later I shall sell to a wealthy amateur\nfor one thousand francs, perhaps in a year or two.' Twenty-five years\nago, and I have it yet. And now it creaks and creaks and snaps in the\nnight. We all creak and creak thus as we grow old; ah, you should hear\nmy wardrobes. 'Elles cassent les dos,' and I lie in my warm bed in the\nwinter nights and listen to my antiques groan and complain. Poor old\nthings, they belonged to the 'Empire' Period; no wonder they groan.\n\n[Illustration: The Fish Market: Dixmude]\n\n\"And when my friend the notaire comes to play chess with me, you should\nsee him eye my antiques, ah, so covetously; I see him, but I never let\non. Such a collection of antiques as we all are, M'sieur.\" Then he\nbecame serious, and lifting his cane he pointed to a gravestone at one\nside, \"My old servant lies there, M'sieur; we are all old here now, but\nstill we do not die. Alas! we never die. There is plenty of room here\nfor us, but we die hard. See, myotis, heliotrope, hare bells, and\nmignonette, a bed of perfume, and there lies my old servant. A restless\nold soul she was, and she took such a long time to die. She was\neighty-five when she finally made up her mind.\"\n\nI had a cup of wine with the old man in his small _salle a manger_. His\nhouse was indeed a mine of wealth for the antiquary and collector, more\nlike a shop than a house. I lingered with him for nearly an hour,\ntelling him of the great world lying beyond Dixmude, of London and\nParis, and of New York and some of its wonders, of which I fancied he\nwas rather sceptical. And then I came away, after shaking hands with him\nat his doorstep in the dim alley-way, with the bar of golden sunlight\nshining at the entrance to the Grand' Place and the noise of the rooks\ncawing on the roof.\n\n\"_Au revoir_, M'sieur le Peintre, _et bon voyage_, and remember, 'Ask,\nand it shall be given, seek and you shall find,'\" and with these cryptic\nwords, he stood with uplifted hands, a smile irradiating his fine\nascetic face glowing like that of a saint. Behind the faded black of his\nold _soutane_ I could see his treasures of blue china and ancient\ncabinets, and a chance light illumined a mirror behind his head, and\naureoled him like unto one of the saints behind the great \"Jube,\" and\nthus I left him.\n\nAnd now Dixmude is in formless heaps of ashes and burnt timbers. Hardly\none stone now remains upon another. There is no longer a Grand'\nPlace--and the very course of the river Yser is changed.\n\n\n\n\nYpres\n\n\n\n\nYpres\n\n\nYpres as a town grew out of a rude sort of stronghold built, says M.\nVereeke in his \"Histoire Militaire d'Ypres,\" in the year 900, on a small\nisland in the river Yperlee. It was in the shape of a triangle with a\ntower on each corner, and was known to the inhabitants as the \"Castle of\nthe three Turrets.\"\n\nIts establishment was followed by a collection of small huts on the\nbanks of the stream, built by those who craved the protection of the\nfortress. They built a rampart of earth and a wide ditch to defend it,\nand to this they added from time to time until the works became so\nextensive that a town sprang into being, which from its strategic\nposition on the borders of France soon became of great importance in the\nwars that constantly occurred. Probably no other Flemish town has seen\nits defenses so altered and enlarged as Ypres has between the primitive\ndays when the crusading Thierry d'Alsace planted hedges of live thorns\nto strengthen the towers, and the formation of the great works of\nVauban. We have been so accustomed to regarding the Fleming as a\nsluggish boor, that it comes in the nature of a surprise when we read of\nthe part these burghers, these weavers and spinners, took in the great\nevents that distinguished Flemish history. \"In July, 1302, a contingent\nof twelve hundred chosen men, five hundred of them clothed in scarlet\nand the rest in black, were set to watch the town and castle of\nCourtrai, and the old Roman Broel bridge, during the battle of the\n'Golden Spurs,' and the following year saw the celebration of the\nestablishment of the confraternity of the Archers of St. Sebastian,\nwhich still existed in Ypres when I was there in 1910. This was the last\nsurvivor of the famed, armed societies of archers which flourished in\nthe Middle Ages. Seven hundred of these men of Ypres embarked in the\nFlemish ships which so harassed the French fleet in the great naval\nengagement of June, 1340.\"\n\nForty years later five thousand men of Ypres fought upon the battlefield\nwith the French, on that momentous day which witnessed the death of\nPhilip Van Artevelde and the triumph of Leliarts. Later, when the Allies\nlaid siege to the town, defended by Leliarts and Louis of Maele, it was\nmaintained by a force of ten thousand men, and on June 8, 1383, these\nwere joined by seventeen thousand English and twenty thousand Flemings,\nthese latter from Bruges and Ghent.\n\nAt this time the gateways were the only part of the fortifications\nbuilt of stone. The ramparts were of earth, planted with thorn bushes\nand interlaced with beams. Outside were additional works of wooden posts\nand stockades, behind the dyke, which was also palisaded. The English,\nbelieving that the town would not strongly resist their numbers, tried\nto carry it by assault. They were easily repulsed, to their great\nastonishment, with great losses.\n\nAt last they built three great wooden towers on wheels filled with\nsoldiers, which they pushed up to the walls, but the valiant garrison\nswarmed upon these towers, set fire to them, and either killed or\ncaptured those who manned them.\n\nAll the proposals of Spencer demanding the surrender of Ypres were met\nwith scorn, and the English were repeatedly repulsed with great losses\nof men whenever they attempted assaults.\n\nThe English turned upon the Flemish of Ghent with fury, saying that they\nhad deceived them as to the strength of the garrison of Ypres, and\nSpencer, realizing that it was impossible to take the town before the\nFrench army arrived, retired from the field with his soldiers. This left\nFlanders at the mercy of the French. But now ensued the death of Count\nLouis of Maele (1384) and this brought Flanders under the rule of the\nHouse of Burgundy, which resulted in prosperity and well nigh complete\nindependence for the Flemings.\n\nThe Great Kermesse of Our Lady of the Garden (Notre Dame de Thuine) was\nthen inaugurated because the townspeople believe that Ypres had been\nsaved by the intercession of the Virgin Mary--the word Thuin meaning in\nFlemish \"an enclosed space, such as a garden plot,\" an allusion to the\nbarrier of thorns which had so well kept the enemy away from the\nwalls--a sort of predecessor of the barbed-wire entanglements used in\nthe present great world war.\n\nThe Kermesse was held by the people of Ypres on the first Sunday in\nAugust every year, called most affectionately \"Thuindag,\" and while\nthere in 1910 I saw the celebration in the great square before the Cloth\nHall, and listened to the ringing of the chimes; the day being ushered\nin at sunrise by a fanfare of trumpets on the parapet of the tower by\nthe members of a local association, who played ancient patriotic airs\nwith great skill and enthusiasm.\n\nIn the Place de Musee, a quiet, gray corner of this old town, was an\nancient Gothic house containing a really priceless collection of medals\nand instruments of torture used during the terrible days of the Spanish\nInquisition. I spent long hours in these old musty rooms alone, and I\nmight have stolen away whatever took my fancy had I been so minded, for\nthe _custode_ left me quite alone to wander at will, and the cases\ncontaining the seals, parchments, and small objects were all unfastened.\n\nI saw the other day another wonderful panorama photograph taken from an\naeroplane showing Ypres as it now is, a vast heap of ruins, the Cloth\nHall gutted; the Cathedral leveled, and the site of the little old\nmuseum a vast blackened hole in the earth where a shell had landed. The\nphotograph, taken by an Englishman, was dated September, 1915.\n\nThe great Hanseatic League, that extensive system of monopolies, was the\ncause of great dissatisfaction and many wars because of jealousy and bad\nfeeling. Ypres, Ghent, and Bruges, while defending their rights and\nprivileges against all other towns, fought among themselves. The\nmonopoly enjoyed by the merchant weavers of Ypres forbade all weaving\nfor \"three leagues around the walls of Ypres, under penalty of\nconfiscation of the looms and all of the linen thus woven.\"\n\nConstant friction was thus engendered between the towns of Ypres and\nPoperinghe, resulting in bloody battles and the burning and destruction\nof much property. Even within the walls of the town this bickering went\non from year to year. When they were not quarreling with their neighbors\nover slights or attacks, either actual or fancied, they fought among\nthemselves over the eternal question of capital _versus_ labor. A sharp\nline was drawn between the workingman and the members of the guilds who\nsold his output. The artisans, whose industry contributed so greatly to\nthe prosperity of these towns, resented any infringement of their legal\nrights. The merchant magistrates were annually elected, and on one\noccasion, in 1361, to be exact, because this was omitted, the people\narose in their might against the governors, who were assembled in the\nNieuwerck of the Hotel de Ville. The Baillie, one Jean Deprysenaere,\nhaughty in his supposed power, and trusting in his office, as local\nrepresentative of the Court of Flanders, appeared before the insurgent\nweavers and endeavored to appease them. \"They fell upon him and slew\nhim\" (Vereeke). Then, rushing into the council chamber, they seized the\nother magistrates and confined them in the belfry of the Cloth Hall.\n\n\"Then the leaders in council resolved to kill the magistrates, and\nbeheaded the Burgomaster and two sheriffs in the place before the Cloth\nHall in the presence of their colleagues\" (Vereeke).\n\nFollowing the custom of the Netherlands, each town acted for itself\nalone. The popular form of government was that of gatherings in the\nmarket-place where laws were discussed and made by and for the people.\nThe spirit of commercial jealousy, however, kept them apart and\nnullified their power. Consumed by the thirst for commercial, material\nprosperity, they had no faith in each other, no bond of union, each\nbeing ready and willing to foster its own interest at its rival's\nexpense. Thus neither against foreign nor internal difficulties were\nthey really united. The motto of modern Belgium, \"L'Union fait la\nForce,\" was not yet invented, and there was no great and powerful\nauthority in which they believed and about which they could gather.\n\nThis history presents the picture of Ghent assisting an army of English\nsoldiers to lay siege to Ypres. So the distrustful people dwelt amid\nperpetual quarreling, trade pitted against trade, town against town,\nfostering weakness of government and shameful submission in defeat. No\ntown suffered as did Ypres during this distracted state of affairs in\nFlanders of the sixteenth century, which saw it reduced from a place of\nfirst importance to a dead town with the population of a village. And so\nit remained up to the outbreak of the world war in 1914.\n\nThis medieval and most picturesque of all the towns of Flanders had not\nfelt the effect of the wave of restoration, which took place in Belgium\nduring the decade preceding the outbreak of the world war, owing to the\nfact that its monuments of the past were perhaps finer and in a better\nstate of preservation than those of any of the other ancient towns.\nYpres in the early days had treated the neighboring town of Poperinghe\nwith great severity through jealousy, but she in turn suffered heavily\nat the hands of Ghent in 1383-84 when the vast body of weavers fled,\ntaking refuge in England, and taking with them all hope of the town's\nfuture prosperity.\n\nIts decline thenceforward was rapid, and it never recovered its former\nplace in the councils of Flanders. Its two great memorials of the olden\ntimes were the great Cloth Hall, in the Grand' Place, and the Cathedral\nof Saint Martin, both dating from the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.\n\nThe Cloth Hall, begun by Count Baldwin IX of Flanders, was perhaps the\nbest preserved and oldest specimen of its kind in the Netherlands, and\nwas practically complete up to the middle of August, 1915, when the\ngreat guns of the iconoclastic invader shot away the top of the immense\nclock tower, and unroofed the entire structure. Its facade was nearly\nfive hundred feet long, of most severe and simple lines, and presented a\ndouble row of ogival windows, surmounted by niches containing thirty-one\nfinely executed statues of counts and countesses of Flanders. There were\nsmall, graceful turrets at each end, and a lofty belfry some two hundred\nand thirty feet in height in the center, containing a fine set of bells\nconnected with the mechanism of a carillon.\n\n[Illustration: No. 4, Rue de Dixmude: Ypres]\n\nThe interior of the hall was of noble proportions, running the full\nlength, its walls decorated by a series of paintings by two modern\nFlemish painters, which were not of the highest merit, yet good withal.\nAt the market-place end was a highly ornate structure called the New\nWork (Nieuwerke), erected by the burghers as a guild-hall in the\nfifteenth century. This was the first part of the edifice to be ruined\nby a German shell.\n\nThe destruction of this exquisite work of art seems entirely wanton and\nunnecessary. It produced no result whatever of advantage. There were\nneither English, French, nor Belgian soldiers in Ypres at the time. The\npopulace consisted of about ten thousand peaceful peasants and\nshopkeepers, who, trusting in the fact that the town was unarmed and\nunfortified, remained in their homes. The town was battered and\ndestroyed, leveled in ashes. The bombardment destroyed also the great\nCathedral of Saint Martin adjoining the Cloth Hall, which dated from the\nthirteenth century [although the tower was not added until the fifteenth\ncentury]. It formed a very fine specimen of late Gothic, the interior\ncontaining some fine oak carving and a richly carved and decorated organ\nloft. Bishop Jansenius, the founder of the sect of Jansenists, is buried\nin a Gothic cloister which formed a part of the older church that\noccupied the site.\n\nAnother interesting monument of past greatness was the Hotel de Ville,\nerected in the sixteenth century, and containing a large collection of\nmodern paintings by French and Belgian artists. Of this structure not a\ntrace remains save a vast blackened pile of crumbled stones and mortar.\nIn the market-place now roam bands of half-starved dogs in search of\nfood; not a roof remains intact. A couple of sentries pace before the\nhospital at the end of the Grand' Place. A recent photograph in the\n_Illustrated London News_ taken from an aeroplane shows the ruined town\nlike a vast honeycomb uncovered, the streets and squares filled with\ndebris, the fragments of upstanding walls showing where a few months ago\ndwelt in peace and prosperity an innocent, happy people, now scattered\nto the four winds--paupers, subsisting upon charity. Their valiant and\nnoble king and queen are living with the remnant of the Belgian army in\nthe small fishing village of La Panne on the sand dunes of the North\nSea.\n\nThe unique character of the half-forgotten town was exemplified by the\nnumber of ancient, wooden-faced houses to be found in the side streets.\nThe most curious of these, perhaps, was that situated near the Porte de\nLille, which I have mentioned in another page, and which noted\narchitects of Brussels and Antwerp vainly petitioned the State to\nprotect, or to remove bodily the facade and erect it in one of the vast\n\"Salles\" of the Cloth Hall. Both MM. Pauwels and Delbeke, the mural\npainters, then engaged in the decorations of the Cloth Hall, joined in\nprotests to the authorities against their neglect of this remarkable\nexample of medieval construction, but all these petitions were\npigeonholed, and nothing resulted but vain empty promises, so the matter\nrested, and now this beautiful house has vanished forever.\n\nThe great mural decorations of the \"Halles\" were nearly completed by MM.\nDelbeke and Pauwels, when they both died within a few months of each\nother, in 1891. In these decorations the artists traced the history of\nYpres from 1187 to 1383, the date of the great siege, showing taste and\nelegance in the compositions, notably in that called the \"Wedding feast\nof Mahaut, daughter of Robert of Bethune, with Mathias of Lorraine\n(1314).\"\n\nOne of the panels by M. Pauwels showed most vividly the progress of the\n\"Pest,\" under the title of the \"Mort d'Ypres\" (_de Dood van Yperen_,\nFlemish). It represented the \"Fossoyeur\" calling upon the citizens upon\nthe tolling of the great bell of St. Martin's, to bring out their dead\nfor burial.\n\nM. Delbeke's talent was engaged upon scenes illustrating the civil life\nof the town, the gatherings in celebration of the philanthropic and\nintellectual events in its remarkable history, a task in which he was\nsuccessful in spite of the carping of envious contemporaries.\n\nA committee of artists was appointed to examine his work, and although\nthis body decided in his favor, it may be that the criticism to which\nhe was subjected hastened his death. At any rate the panels remained\nunfinished, no other painter having the courage to carry out the\nprojected work.\n\n[Illustration: Arcade of the Cloth Hall: Ypres]\n\nThe original sketches for these great compositions were preserved in the\nmuseum of the town, but the detailed drawings, some in color, were, up\nto the outbreak of the war in 1914, in the Museum of Decorative Arts in\nBrussels, together with the cartoons of another artist, Charles de Groux\n(1870), to whom the decoration of the Halles had been awarded by the\nState in competition. A most sumptuous Gothic apartment was that styled\nthe \"Salle Echevinale,\" restored with great skill in recent years by a\nconcurrence of Flemish artists, members of the Academy. Upon either side\nof a magnificent stone mantel, bearing statues in niches of kings,\ncounts and countesses, bishops and high dignitaries, were large well\nexecuted frescoes by MM. Swerts and Guffens, showing figures of the\nevangelists St. Mark and St. John, surrounded by myriads of counts and\ncountesses of Flanders, from the time of Louis de Nevers and Margaret of\nArtois to Charles the Bold, and Margaret of York, whose tombs are in the\nCathedral at Bruges. The attribution of these frescoes to Melchior\nBroederlam does not, it would seem, accord with the style or the date of\ntheir production, M. Alph. van den Peereboom thinks, and he gives\ncredit for the work to two painters who worked in Ypres in 1468--MM.\nPennant and Floris Untenhoven.\n\nIn my search for the curious and picturesque, I came, one showery day,\nupon a passageway beneath the old belfry which led to the tower of St.\nMartin's. Here one might believe himself back in the Middle Ages. On\nboth sides of the narrow street were ancient wooden-fronted houses not a\nwhit less interesting or well preserved than that front erected in the\nchamber of the \"Halles.\" This small dark street led to a vast and\nsolitary square. On one side were lofty edifices called the Colonnade of\nthe \"Nieuwerck,\" at the end of which was a quaint vista of the Grand'\nPlace. On the other side was a range of most wondrous ancient\nconstructions; the _conciergerie_ and its attendant offices, bearing\nfinials and gables of astonishing richness of character, and ornamented\nwith _chefs-d'oeuvres_ of iron-work, marking the dates of erection,\nall of them prior to 1616. In this square not a soul appeared, nor was\nthere a sound to be heard save the cooing of some doves upon a rooftree,\nalthough I sat there upon a stone coping for the better part of a half\nhour. Then all at once, out of a green doorway next the _conciergerie_,\npoured a throng of children, whose shrill cries and laughter brought me\nback to the present. One wonders where now are these merry\nlight-hearted little ones, who thronged that gray grass-grown square\nbehind the old Cloth Hall in 1912....\n\nIn this old square I studied the truly magnificent south portal and\ntransept of St. Martin's, the triple portal with its splendid polygonal\nrose window, and its two graceful slender side towers, connecting a long\ngallery between the two smaller side portals. One's impression of this\ngreat edifice is that of a sense of noble proportions, rather than\nornateness, and this is to be considered remarkable when one remembers\nthe different epochs of its construction. That the choir was commenced\nin 1221 is established by the epitaph of Hugues, _prevot_ of St.\nMartin's, whose ashes reposed in the church which he built: that the\nfirst stone of the nave transepts was laid with ceremony by Marguerite\nof Constantinople in 1254; that the south portal was of the fifteenth\ncentury and that a century later the chapel called the _doyen_ toward\nthe south wall at the foot of the tower, was erected. The tower itself,\nvisible from all parts of the town, was the conception of Martin\nUntenhoven of Malines, and replaced a more primitive one in 1433. Of\nvery severe character, its great bare bulk rose to an unfinished height\nof some hundred and seventy feet, and terminated in a squatty sort of\npent-house roof of typical Flemish character. It was flanked by four\nsmaller, unfinished towers, one at each corner. This tower, one may\nrecall, figures in many of the pictures of Jean van Eyck. It is not\nwithout reason that Schayes, in his \"Histoire de l'Architecture en\nBelgique,\" speaks of the choir of St. Martin's as \"one of the most\nremarkable of the religious constructions of the epoch in Belgium.\" Of\nmost noble lines and proportion if it were not for the intruding altar\nscreen in the Jesuit style, which mars the effect, the ensemble were\nwell-nigh perfect.\n\nIts decoration, too, was remarkable. A fresco at the left of the choir,\nwith a portrait of Robert de Bethune, Count of Flanders, who died at\nYpres in 1322 and was buried in the church, was uncovered early in the\neighties during a restoration; this had been most villainously repainted\nby a local \"artist\"(?); and I mortally offended the young priest who\nshowed it to me, by the vehemence of my comments.\n\nThe stalls of the choir, in two banks or ranges, twenty-seven above,\ntwenty-four below, bore the date of 1598, and the signature of d'Urbain\nTaillebert, a native sculptor of great merit, who also carved the great\n_Jube_ of Dixmude (see drawing). Other works of Taillebert are no less\nremarkable, notably the superb arcade with the Christ triumphant\nsuspended between the columns at the principal entrance. He was also\nthe sculptor of the mausoleum of Bishop Antoine de Hennin, erected in\n1622 in the choir.\n\nIn the pavement before the altar a plain stone marked the resting place\nof the famous Corneille Jansen (Cornelius Jansenius), seventh Bishop of\nYpres, who died of the pest the 6th of May, 1638. One recalls that the\ndoctrine of Jansen gave birth to the sect of that name which still\nflourishes in Holland.\n\nFollowing the Rue de Lille one came upon the old tower of St. Pierre,\nmassed among tall straight lines of picturesque poplars, its bulk\nrecalling vaguely the belfry of the Cloth Hall. In this church was shown\na curious little picture, representing the devil setting fire to the\ntower, which was destroyed in 1638, but was later rebuilt after the\noriginal plans. The interior had no dignity of style whatever. There\nwere, however, some figures of the saints Peter and Paul attributed to\nCarel Van Yper, which merited the examination of connoisseurs. They are\nbelieved by experts to have been the \"volets\" of a triptych of which the\ncenter panel was missing.\n\n[Illustration: Gateway, Wall, and Old Moat: Ypres]\n\nThe Place St. Pierre was picturesque and smiling. Following this route\nwe found on the right at the end of a small street the hospital St.\nJean, with an octagonal tower, which enshrined some pictures attributed\nto the prolific Carel Van Yper, comment upon which would be perhaps\nout of place here. On the corner of this street was a most charming old\nfacade in process of demolishment, which we deplored.\n\nNow we reached the Porte de Lille again and the remains of the old walls\nof the town. Again and again we followed this same route, each time\nfinding some new beauty or hidden antiquity which well repaid us for\nsuch persistence. Few of the towns of Flanders presented such treasures\nas were to be found in Ypres. Following the walk on the ramparts, past\nthe _caserne_ or infantry barracks, one came upon the place of the\nancient chateau of the counts, a vast construction under the name of \"de\nZaalhof.\" Here was an antique building called the \"Lombard,\" dated 1616,\ncovered with old iron \"ancres\" and crosses between the high small-paned\nwindows.\n\nBy the Rue de Beurre one regained the Grand' Place, passing through the\nsilent old Place Van den Peereboom in the center of which was the statue\nof the old Burgomaster of that name.\n\nThe aspect of this silent grass-grown square behind the Cloth Hall was\nmost impressive. Here thronged the burghers of old, notably on the\noccasion of the entry of Charles the Bold and his daughter Marguerite,\nall clad in fur, lace, and velvet to astonish the inhabitants, who\ninstead of being impressed, so outshone the visitors, by their own and\ntheir wives' magnificence of apparel, that Marguerite was reported to\nhave left the banquet hall in pique. The belfry quite dominated the\nsquare at the eastern angle, where were the houses forming the\n_conciergerie_.\n\nTurning to the right by way of the Chemin de St. Martin, one found the\nancient Beguinage latterly used by the gendarmerie as a station, the\nlovely old chapel turned into a stable! In this old town were hundreds\nof remarkable ancient houses, each of which merits description in this\nbook. But perhaps in this brief and very fragmentary description the\nreader may find reason for the author's enthusiasm, and agree with him\nthat Ypres was perhaps the most unique and interesting of all the\ndestroyed towns in Flanders.\n\n\n\n\nCommines\n\n\n\n\nCommines\n\n\nIt was not hard to realize that here we were in the country of\nBras-de-Fer, of Memling, of Cuyp, and Thierry d'Alsace, for, on\ndescending from the halting, bumping train at the small brick station,\nwe were face to face with a bizarre, bulbous-topped tower rising above\nthe houses surrounding a small square, and now quite crowded with large,\nhollow-backed, thick-legged Flemish horses, which might have been those\nof the followers of Thierry gathered in preparation for an onslaught\nupon one of the neighboring towns.\n\nIt seemed as though any turning might bring us face to face with a grim\ncohort of mounted armed men in steel corselet and morion, bearing the\nbanner of Spanish Philip, so sinister were the narrow, ill-paved\nstreets, darkened by the projecting second stories of the somber,\ngray-stone houses. Rarely was there an open door or window. As we\npassed, our footsteps on the uneven stones awakened the echoes. A fine\ndrizzle of rain which began to fall upon us from the leaden sky did not\ntend to enliven us, and we hastened toward the small Grand' Place, where\nI noted on a sign over a doorway the words, \"In de Leeuw Van Vlanderen\"\n(To the Flemish Lion), which promised at least shelter from the\nrainfall. Here we remained until the sun shone forth.\n\nCommines (Flemish, Komen) was formerly a fortified town of some\nimportance in the period of the Great Wars of Flanders. It was the\nbirthplace of Philip de Commines (1445-1509). It was, so to say, one of\nthe iron hinges upon which the great military defense system of the\nburghers swung and creaked in those dark days. To-day, in these rich\nfields about the small town, one can find no traces of the old-time\nbastions which so well guarded the town from Van Artevelde's assaults.\nInside the town were scarcely any trees, an unusual feature for\nFlanders, and on the narrow waterways floated but few craft.\n\nThe only remarkable thing by virtue of its Renaissance style of\narchitecture was the belfry and clock tower, although some of the old\nFlemish dwelling houses in the market square, projecting over an ogival\nColonnade extending round one end of the square, and covering a sort of\nfootway, were of interest, uplifting their step-like gables as a silent\nbut eloquent protest against a posterity devoid of style, all of them to\nthe right and left falling into line like two wings of stone in order to\nallow the carved front of the belfry to make a better show, and its\npinnacled tower to rise the prouder against the sky.\n\nOne was struck with the ascendency of the religious element over all\nforms of art, and this was a characteristic of the Flemings. One was\neverywhere confronted with a curious union of religion and war,\nrepresentations peopled exclusively by seraphic beings surrounded or\naccompanied by armed warriors. Everything is adoration, resignation,\nincense fumes, psalmody, and crusaders. The greatest buildings we saw\nwere ecclesiastical, the richest dresses were church vestments, even\n\"the princes and burghers accompanied by armed knights remind one of\necclesiastics celebrating the Mass. All the women are holy virgins,\nseemingly. The chasm between the ideal and the reality itself, however\nidealized, but by meditation manifested pictorially.\" (\"The Land of\nRubens,\" C.B. Huet).\n\nWe sat for an hour in the small, sooty, tobacco-smelling _estaminet_\n(from the Spanish _estamento_--an inn), and then the skies clearing\nsomewhat we fared forth to explore the belfry, which in spite of its\nsadly neglected state was still applied to civic use. Some dark, heavy,\noaken beams in the ceiling of the principal room showed delicately\ncarved, fancy heads, some of them evidently portraits. At the rear of\nthe tower on the ground floor, I came upon a vaulted apartment supported\non columns, and being used as a storehouse. Its construction was so\nhandsome, it was so beautifully lighted from without, as to make one\ngrieve for its desecration; it may have served in the olden time as a\nrefectory, and if so was doubtless the scene of great festivity in the\ntime of Philip de Commines, who was noted for the magnificence of his\nentertainments.\n\nThe Flemish burghers of the Middle Ages first built themselves a church;\nwhen that was finished, a great hall. That of Ypres took more than two\nhundred years to complete. How long this great tower of Commines took, I\ncan only conjecture. Its semi-oriental pear-shaped (or onion-shaped, as\nyou will) tower was certainly of great antiquity; even the unkempt\nlittle priest whom I questioned in the Grand' Place could give me little\nor no information concerning it. Indeed, he seemed to be on the point of\nresenting my questions, as though he thought that I was in some way\npoking fun at him. I presume that it was the scene of great splendor in\ntheir early days. For here a count of Flanders or a duke of Brabant\nexercised sovereign rights, and at such a ceremony as the laying of a\ncorner-stone assumed the place of honor, although the real authority was\nwith the burghers, and founded upon commerce. While granting this\nprivilege, the Flemings ever hated autocracy. They loved pomp, but any\nattempt to exercise power over them infuriated them.\n\n[Illustration: The Belfry: Commines]\n\n\"The architecture of the Fleming was the expression of aspiration,\"\nsays C.B. Huet (\"The Land of Rubens\").\n\n\"The Flemish hall has often the form of a church; art history, aiming at\nclassification, ranges it among the Gothic by reason of its pointed\nwindows. The Hall usually is a defenceless feudal castle without moats,\nwithout porticullis, without loopholes. It occupies the center of a\nmarket-place. It is a temple of peace, its windows are as numerous as\nthose in the choirs of that consecrated to the worship of God.\n\n\"From the center of the building uprises an enormous mass, three, four,\nfive stories high, as high as the cathedral, perhaps higher. It is the\nbelfry, the transparent habitation of the alarm bell (as well as the\nchimes). The belfry cannot defend itself, a military character is\nforeign to it. But as warden of civic liberty it can, at the approach of\ndomination from without, or autocracy uplifting its head within, awaken\nthe threatened ones, and call them to arms in its own defence. The\nbelfry is thus a symbol of a society expecting happiness from neither a\ndynasty nor from a military despotism, but solely from common\ninstitutions, from commerce and industry, from a citizen's life, budding\nin the shadow of the peaceful church, and borrowing its peaceful\narchitecture from it. To the town halls of Flanders belonged the place\nof honor among the monuments of Belgian architecture. No other country\nof Europe offered so rich a variety in that respect.\n\n\"Courtrai replaces Arras; Oudenaarde and Ypres follow suit. Then come\nTournai, Bruges, Ghent, Antwerp, Brussels, Louvain. Primary Gothic,\nsecondary Gothic, tertiary Gothic, satisfying every wish. Flanders and\nBrabant called the communal style into life. If ever Europe becomes a\ncommune, the communards have but to go to Ypres to find motifs from\ntheir architects.\"\n\nSince this was written, in 1914, many, if not most, of these great\nbuildings thus enumerated above, are now in ruins, utterly destroyed for\nall time!\n\n\n\n\nBergues\n\n\n\n\nBergues\n\n\nA tiny sleepy town among the fringe of great willow trees which marked\nthe site of the ancient walls. Belted by its crumbling ramparts, and\nlike a quaint gem set in the green enamel of the smiling landscape, it\noffered a resting place far from the cares and noise of the world.\n\nQuite ignored by the guide books, it had, I found, one of the most\nremarkable belfries to be found in the Netherlands, and a chime of sweet\nbells, whose melodious sounds haunted our memories for days after our\nlast visit in 1910.\n\nThere were winding, silent streets bordered by mysteriously closed and\nshuttered houses, but mainly these were small and of the peasant order.\nOn the Grand' Place, for of course there was one, the tower sprang from\na collection of rather shabby buildings, of little or no character, but\nthis did not seem to detract from the magnificence of the great tower. I\nuse the word \"great\" too often, I fear, but can find no other word in\nthe language to qualify these \"Campanili\" of Flanders.\n\nThis one was embellished with what are known as \"ogival arcatures,\"\narranged in zones or ranks, and there were four immense turrets, one at\neach corner, these being in turn covered with arcatures of the same\ncharacter. These flanked the large open-work, gilded, clock face.\nSurmounting this upon a platform was a construction in the purely\nFlemish style, containing the chime of bells, and the machinery of the\ncarillon, and topping all was a sort of inverted bulb or gourd-shaped\nturret, covered with blue slate, with a gilded weathervane about which\nthe rooks flew in clouds.\n\nThe counterpart of this tower was not to be found anywhere in the\nNetherlands, and one is surprised that it was so little known.\n\n[Illustration: The Towers of St. Winoc: Bergues]\n\nUpon the occasion of our visit the town was given up to the heavy and\nstolid festivities of the \"Kermesse,\" which is now of interest here only\nto the laboring class and the small farmers of the region. The center of\nattraction, as we found in several other towns, seemed to be an\nincredibly fat woman emblazoned on a canvas as the \"Belle Heloise\" who\nwas seated upon a sort of throne draped in red flannel, and exhibited a\npair of extremities resembling in size the masts of a ship, to the great\nwonder of the peasants. There were also some shabby merry-go-rounds with\nwheezy organs driven by machinery, and booths in which hard-featured\nshow women were frying waffles in evil smelling grease. After buying\nsome of these for the children who stood about with watering mouths,\nwe left the \"Kermesse\" and wandered away down a silent street towards a\nsmaller tower rising from a belt of dark trees.\n\nThis we found to be the remains of the ancient abbey of St. Winoc. A\nvery civil mannered young priest who overtook us on the road informed us\nof this, and volunteered further the information that we were in what\nwas undoubtedly the ancient _jardin-clos_ of the Abbey. Of this retreat\nonly the two towers standing apart in the long grass remained, one very\nheavy and square, supported by great buttresses of discolored brick, the\nother octangular, in stages, and retaining its high graceful steeple.\n\nWe were unable to gain entrance to either of these towers, the doorways\nbeing choked with weeds and the debris of fallen masonry. [The invaders\ndestroyed both of these fine historical remains in November, 1914,\nalleging that they were being used for military observation by the\nBelgian army.] These small towns of Flanders had a simple dignity of\ntheir own which was of great attraction to the tourist, who could,\nwithout disillusionment, imagine himself back in the dim past. In the\nwayside inns or _estaminets_ one could extract amusement and profit\nlistening to the peasantry or admiring the sunlight dancing upon the\narray of bottles and glass on the leaden counters, or watch the\npeasants kneel and cross themselves before the invariable quaint niched\nfigure of the Virgin and Child under the hanging lighted lantern at a\nstreet corner, the evidence of the piety of the village, or the throngs\nof lace-capped, rosy-cheeked milkmaids with small green carts drawn by\nlarge, black, \"slobbering\" dogs of fierce mien, from the distant farms,\non their way to market.\n\nThus the everyday life of the region was rendered poetic and artistic,\nand all with the most charming unconsciousness.\n\n\n\n\nNieuport\n\n\n\n\nNieuport\n\n\nIn the midst of a level field to the east of the town of Nieuport in\n1914 was a high square weather-beaten tower, somewhat ruinous, built of\nstone and brick in strata, showing the different eras of construction in\nthe various colors of the brick work ranging from light reds to dark\nbrowns and rich blacks. This tower, half built and square topped,\nbelonged to a structure begun in the twelfth century, half monastery,\nhalf church, erected by the Templars as a stronghold. Repeatedly\nattacked and set on fire, it escaped complete destruction, although\nnearly laid in ruins by the English and burghers of Ghent in 1383, the\nyear of the famous siege of Ypres. During the Wars of 1600, it was an\nimportant part of the fortifications, and from the platform of its tower\nthe Spanish garrison commanded a clear view of the surrounding country\nand the distance beyond the broad moat, which then surrounded the strong\nwalls of Nieuport.\n\nIn plain view from this tower top were the houses of Furnes, grouped\nabout the church of Saint Nicolas to the southwest, while to the north\nthe wide belt of dunes, or sand hills, defended the plains from the\nNorth Sea. Nearer were the populous villages of Westende and\nLombaerd-Zyde, connected with Nieuport by numerous small lakes and\ncanals derived from the channel of the Yser river, which flowed past the\ntown on its way to the sea.\n\n[Illustration: The Tower of the Templars: Nieuport]\n\nThe history of Nieuport, from the terrible days of the Spanish invasion\ndown to these days of even worse fate, has been pitiable. Its former sea\ntrade after the Spanish invasion was never recovered, and its\npopulation, which was beginning to be thrifty and prosperous up to 1914,\nhas now entirely disappeared. Nieuport is now in ashes and ruins. When I\npassed the day there in the summer of 1910, it was a sleepy, quiet spot,\na small fishing village, with old men and women sitting in doorways and\non the waysides, mending nets, and knitting heavy woolen socks or\nsweaters of dark blue. In the small harbor were the black hulls of\nfishing boats tied up to the quaysides, and a small steamer from Ghoole\nwas taking on a cargo of potatoes and beets. Some barges laden with wood\nwere being pulled through the locks by men harnessed to a long tow rope,\nand a savage dog on one of these barges menaced me with dripping fangs\nand bloodshot eyes when I stopped to talk to the steersman, who sat on\nthe tiller smoking a short, evil-smelling pipe, while his \"vrouwe\" was\nhanging out a heavy wash of vari-colored garments on a line from the\nstaff on the bow to a sweep fastened upright to the cabin wall.\n\nThe ancient fortification had long since disappeared--those \"impregnable\nwalls of stone\" which once defended the town from the assaults of Philip\nthe Second. I found with some difficulty a few grass-grown mounds where\nthey had been, and only the gray, grim tower of the Templars, standing\nsolitary in a turnip field, remained to show what had been a mighty\nstronghold. In the town, however, were souvenirs enough to occupy an\nantiquary for years to his content and profit. There was the Cloth Hall,\nwith its five pointed low arched doorways from which passed in and out\nthe Knights of the Temple gathered for the first pilgrimage to the Holy\nLand. On this market square too was the great Gothic Church, one of the\nlargest and most important in all Flanders, and on this afternoon in the\nsummer of 1910, I attended a service here, while in the tower a bell\nringer played the chime of famous bells which now lie in broken\nfragments amid the ashes of the fallen tower.\n\nHere was fought the bloody \"Battle of the Dunes,\" between the Dutch and\nthe Spaniards in those dim days of long ago, when the stubborn\ndetermination of the Netherlanders overcame the might and fiery valor of\nthe Spanish invaders.\n\nFrom time to time the peasants laboring in the fields uncovered bones,\nbroken steel breast-plates, and weapons, which they brought to the\nmuseum on the Grand' Place, and which the sleepy _custode_ showed me\nwith reluctance, until I offered him a franc. It is curious that famous\nNieuport, for which so much blood was shed in those early days, should\nagain have been a famous battle ground between the handful of valiant\nsoldiers of the heroic King Albert and a mighty Teutonic foe.\n\nThe dim gray town with its silent streets, the one time home of romance\nand chivalry, the scene of deeds of knightly valor, is now done for\nforever. It is not likely that it can ever again be of importance, for\nits harbor is well-nigh closed by drifting sand. But I shall always keep\nthe vision I had of it that summer day, in its market place, its gabled\nhouses against the luminous sky, its winding streets, and narrow byways\nacross which the roofs almost touch each other. The ancient palaces are\nnow in ruins, and the peaceful population scattered abroad, charges upon\nthe charity of the world. Certainly a woeful picture in contrast to the\ncontent of other days.\n\nThe vast green plains behind the dunes, or sand hills, extend unbrokenly\nfrom here to the French frontier, spire after spire dominating small\ntowns, and windmills, are the objects seen. To some the flatness is most\nmonotonous, but to those who find pleasure in the paintings of Cuyp, the\ncountry is very picturesque. The almost endless succession of green,\nwell-cultivated fields and farmsteads is most entertaining, and the many\ncanals winding their silvery ways through the country, between rows of\npollards; the well kept though small country houses embowered in woody\nenclosures; the fruitful orchards in splendid cultivation; the gardens\nfilled with fair flowers and the \"most compact little towns\"--these give\nthe region a romance and attraction all its own.\n\n[Illustration: The Town Hall--Hall of the Knights Templars: Nieuport]\n\nHere and there is a hoary church erected in forgotten times on ground\ndedicated to Thor or Wodin. This part of the country bordering the fifty\nmile stretch of coast line on the North Sea was given over latterly to\nthe populous bathing establishments and their new communities, but the\nother localities, such as Tournai, Courtrai, Oudenaarde or Alost, were\nseldom visited by strangers, whose advent created almost as much\nexcitement as it would in Timbuctoo. It was not inaccessible, but the\nroads were not good for automobiles; they were mainly paved with rough\n\"Belgian\" blocks of stone, high in the center, with a dirt roadway on\neither side, used by the peasants and quite rutty.\n\nA walking tour for any but the hardiest pedestrian was out of the\nquestion, so I was told that the best way for a \"bachelor\" traveler was\nto secure transportation on the canal boats. This was the warning that\nour kind hearted landlord in Antwerp gave us, after vainly endeavoring\nto discourage us from leaving him for such a tour.\n\nThe canals, however, are not numerous enough in this region, I found,\nand besides there are various other disadvantages which I leave to the\nreader's imagination.\n\nIn addition to the main lines of the State Railway, there were what are\ncalled \"Chemins-de-fer-vicinaux,\" small narrow gauge railways which\ntraversed Belgium in all directions. On these the fares were very\nreasonable, and they formed an ideal way in which to study the country\nand the people. There were first, second and third class carriages on\nthese, hung high on tall wheels, which looked very unsafe, but were not\nreally so. The classes varied only in the trimming of the windows, and\nquality of the cushions on the benches. Rarely if ever, were those\nmarked \"I Klasse\" used. Those of the second class were used sometimes;\nbut the third class cars were generally very crowded with peasantry, who\nwhile invariably good humored and civil were certainly evil smelling,\nand intolerant of open windows and fresh air. The men and boys generally\nsmoked a particularly vile-smelling black tobacco, of which they seemed\nvery fond, and although some of the cars were marked \"Niet rooken\" (no\nsmoking) no one seemed to object to the fumes.\n\n[Illustration: Tower of the Grand' Place: Nieuport]\n\nHere one seldom saw the purely Spanish type of face so usual in Antwerp\nand Brabant. The race seemed purer, and the peasants used the pure\nFlemish tongue. Few of the elders I found spoke French fluently,\nalthough the children used it freely to each other, of course\nunderstanding and speaking Flemish also.\n\nThere were various newspapers published in the Flemish language\nexclusively. These, however, were very primitive, given over entirely to\npurely local brevities, and the prices of potatoes, beets and other\ncommodities, and containing also a \"feuilleton\" of interest to the\nfarmers and laborers.\n\nThere were several \"organs\" of the Flemish Patriotic party devoted to\nthe conservation and preservation of the Flemish language and the\nancient traditions, which were powerful among the people, although their\ncirculation could not have been very profitable. The peasantry in truth\nwere very ignorant, and knew of very little beyond their own parishes.\nThe educational standard of the people of West Flanders was certainly\nlow, and it was a matter of comment among the opponents of the\nestablished church, that education being in the hands of the clergy,\nthey invariably defeated plans for making it compulsory. But\nnevertheless, the peasantry were to all appearances both contented and\nfairly happy.\n\nAs their wants were few and primitive, their living was cheap. Their\nfare was coffee, of which they consumed a great deal, black bread, salt\npork and potatoes. The use of oleomargarine was universal in place of\nbutter. They grew tobacco in their small gardens for their own use, and\nalso, it is whispered, smuggled it [and gin] over the border into\nFrance. They worked hard and long from five in the morning until seven\nor eight in the evening.\n\nThe Flemish farmhouse was generally well built, if somewhat untidy\nlooking, with the pigstys and out buildings in rather too close\nproximity for comfort. There was usually a large living room with heavy\nsooty beams overhead, and thick walls pierced by quaint deeply sunken\nwindows furnished often with seats. These picturesque rooms often\ncontained \"good finds\" of the old Spanish furniture, and brass; but as a\nrule the dealers had long since bought up all the old things, replacing\nthem by \"brummagem,\"--modern articles shining with cheap varnish.\n\nThe peasants themselves in their everyday clothes certainly did not\nimpress the observer greatly. They were not picturesque, they wore the\nsabot or \"Klompen,\" yellow varnished, and clumsy in shape. Their\nstockings were coarse gray worsted. Their short trousers were usually\ntied with a string above the calf, and they wore a sort of smock,\nsometimes of linen unbleached, or of a shining sort of dark purple thin\nstuff.\n\nThe usual headgear was for the men a cap with a glazed peak and for the\nwomen and girls a wide flapped embroidered linen cap, but this headgear\nwas worn only in the country towns and villages. Elsewhere the costume\nwas fast disappearing. On Sundays when dressed in their holiday clothes\nthese peasants going to or returning from mass, looked respectable and\nfairly prosperous, and it was certainly clear that although poor in\nworldly goods, these animated and laughing throngs were far from being\nunhappy or dissatisfied with life as they found it in West Flanders.\n\n\n\n\nAlost\n\n\n\n\nAlost\n\n\nThe ancient Hotel de Ville on the Grand' Place was unique, not for its\ngreat beauty, for it had none, but for its quaintness, in the singular\ncombination of several styles of architecture. Without going into any\ndetails its attraction was in what might be called its venerable\ncoquettishness,--bizarre, one might have styled it, but that the word\nconveys some hint of lack of dignity. One is at a loss just how to\ncharacterize its attractiveness. Against the sky its towers and minarets\nheld one's fancy by their very lightness and airiness, the lanterns and\n_fleches_ presupposing a like grace and proportion in the edifice below.\nThe great square belfry at one side seemed to shoulder aside the\nstructure with its beautiful Renaissance facade and portal and quite\ndominate it.\n\nMy note book says that it dated from the fifteenth century, and its\nappearance certainly bore evidence of this statement. It had been\nerected in sections at various periods, and these periods were marked in\nthe various courses of brick, showing every variety of tone of dull\nreds, buffs, and mellow purplish browns. The effect was quite\ndelightful. The tower contained a fine carillon of bells arranged on a\nrather bizarre platform, giving a most quaint effect to the turret which\nsurmounted it. The face of the tower bore four niches, two at each side\nof the center and upper windows, and these contained time worn statues\nof the noble counts of Alost. On the wall below was a tablet bearing the\ninscription \"Ni Espoir, Ni Craint,\" and this I was told referred either\nto the many sieges which the town suffered, or a pestilence which\ndepopulated the whole region. A huge gilt clock face shone below the\nupper gallery, at each corner of which sprang a stone gargoyle.\n\nThe old square upon which this tower was placed was quite in keeping\nwith it. There were rows of gabled stone houses of great antiquity,\nstill inhabited, stretching away in an array of facades, gables, and\nmost fantastic roofs, all of mellow toned tile, brick and stone.\n\n[Illustration: The Town Hall: Alost]\n\nThierry Moertens, who was a renowned master printer of the Netherlands,\nwas born here, and is said to have established in Alost the \"very first\nprinting house in Flanders.\" From this press issued a translation of the\nHoly Bible, which was preserved in the Museum of Brussels, together with\nother fine specimens of his skill. A very good statue in bronze to this\nmaster printer was in the center of the market place, and on the\noccasion of my last visit, there was a sort of carnival in the town,\nwith a great gathering of farmers and merchants and their families from\nthe surrounding country all gathered about the square, which was filled\nwith wagons, horses, booths, and merry-go-rounds, above which the statue\nof the old master printer appeared in great dignity. There was a great\nconsumption of beer and waffles at the small _estaminets_, and the\nchimes in the belfry played popular songs at intervals to the delight of\nthese simple happy people, all unaware of the great catastrophe of the\nwar into which they were about to be plunged.\n\nA disastrous conflagration destroyed most of Alost in 1360, and\nthereafter history deals with the fury of the religious wars conducted\nby the Spanish against Alost, a most strongly fortified town. The story\nof the uniting of these Spanish troops under the leadership of Juan de\nNavarese is well known. Burning and sacking and murder were the sad lot\nof Alost and its unfortunate citizens, who had hardly recovered, ere the\nDuke d'Alencon arrived before the walls with his troops, bent upon\nmischief. The few people remaining after his onslaught died like flies\nduring the plague which broke out the following year, and the town bid\nfair to vanish forever.\n\nRubens painted a large and important picture based upon the destruction\nof Alost, and this work was hanging in the old church of St. Martin just\nbefore the outbreak of the war in 1914. Its fate is problematical, for\nSt. Martin's Church was razed to the ground in the bombardment in\n1914-15, the charge being the usual one that the tower was used for\nmilitary purposes by the French.\n\nThis old church with its curious bulbous tower cap was at the end of a\nsmall street, and my last view of it was on the occasion of a church\nfete in which some dignitaries were present, for I saw them all clad in\nscarlet and purple walking beneath silken canopies attended by priests\nbearing lighted lanterns (although the sun was shining brightly at the\ntime) and acolytes swinging fragrant smoking censers. We were directed\nto a rather shabby looking hostelry, over the door of which was an\nemblazoned coat of arms of Flanders, where we were assured we could get\n\"dejeuner\" before leaving the town.\n\nAs usual, a light drizzle came on, and the streets became deserted. The\nhotel was a wretched one and the meal furnished us was in character with\nit. We were waited on by a sour, taciturn old man who bore a dirty towel\non his arm, as a sort of badge of office, I presume. He nodded or shook\nhis head as the case might demand, but not a word could I extract from\nhim. At the close of our meal, which we dallied over, waiting for the\nrain to cease, I called for the bill, which was produced after a long\nwait, and proved to be, as I anticipated, excessive. We had coffee and\nhot milk and some cold chicken and salad. This repast, for two, came to\ntwelve francs. And as the \"chicken\" had reached its old age long before,\nand the period of its roasting must have taken place at an uncertain\ndate, this, together with the fact that the lettuce was wilted, placed\nthese items upon the proscribed list for us. The coffee and hot milk,\nhowever, was good and, thus revived and rested, I paid the bill without\nprotest, and having retained the carriage which we hired at the station,\nI bundled our belongings into it. I had resolved not to tip the surly\nold fellow, but a gleam in his eye made me hesitate. Then I weakened and\ngave him a franc.\n\nTo my amazement he said in excellent English: \"I thank you, sir; you are\na kind, good and patient man, and madam is a most charming and gracious\nlady. I am sorry your breakfast was so bad, but I can do nothing here;\nthese people are impossible; but it is no fault of mine.\" And shaking\nhis head he vanished into the doorway of the hotel. Driving away, I\nglanced up at the windows, where behind the curtains I thought I saw\nseveral faces watching us furtively. It might be that we had missed an\nadventure in coming away. Had I been alone I should have chanced it, for\nthe old waiter interested me with his sudden confidence and his command\nof English. But whatever his story might have been, it must ever be to\nme a closed book. Quaint Alost among the trees is now a heap of\nblackened ruins.\n\n\n\n\nCourtrai\n\n\n\n\nCourtrai\n\n\nThe two large and impressive stone towers flanking a bridge of three\narches over the small sluggish river Lys were those of the celebrated\nBroel, dating from the fourteenth century. The towers were called\nrespectively the \"Speytorre\" and the \"Inghelbrugtorre.\" The first named\non the south side of the river formed part of the ancient \"enceinte\" of\nthe first chateau of Philip of Alsace, and was erected in the twelfth\ncentury, and famed with the chateau of Lille, as the most formidable\nstrongholds of Flanders. The \"Inghelbrugtorre\" was erected in 1411-13,\nand strongly resembles its sister tower opposite. It was furnished with\nloopholes for both archers and for \"arquebusiers,\" as well as openings\nfor the discharge of cannon and the casting of molten pitch and lead\nupon the heads of besiegers after the fashion of warfare as conducted\nduring the wars of the Middle Ages. The Breton soldiers under Charles\nthe Eleventh attacked and almost razed this great stronghold in 1382.\n\nA sleepy old _custode_ whom we aroused took us down into horrible\ndungeons, where, with a dripping tallow candle, he showed us some iron\nrings attached to the dripping walls below the surface of the river\nwhere prisoners of state were chained in former times, and told us that\nthe walls here were three or four yards thick. The town was one of\nbeauty and great charm, and here we stopped for a week in a most\ndelightfully kept small hotel on the square, which was bordered with\nfine large trees, both linden and chestnut.\n\nThe town was famed in history for the Great Battle of the Spurs which\ntook place outside the walls, in the year 1302, on the plains of\nGroveninghe. History mentions the fact that \"seven hundred golden spurs\nwere picked up afterwards on the battlefield and hung in the cathedral.\"\nThese we were unable to locate.\n\nThe water of the Lys, flowing through the town and around the remains of\nthe ancient walls, was put to practical use by the inhabitants in the\npreparation of flax, for which the town was renowned.\n\n[Illustration: The Belfry: Courtrai]\n\nIt ranked with the old city of Bruges in importance up to 1914, when it\nhad some thirty-five thousand inhabitants. In the middle of the\nbeflowered Grand' Place stood a quaint brick belfry containing a good\nchime of bells, and on market days when surrounded with the farmers'\ngreen wagons and the lines of booths about which the people gathered\nchaffering, its appearance was picturesque enough to satisfy anyone,\neven the most blase of travelers. The belfry had four large gilt clock\nfaces, and its bells could be plainly seen through the windows hanging\nfrom the huge beams. On the tower were gilded escutcheons, and a couple\nof armor-clad statues in niches. There was a fine church dedicated to\nNotre Dame, which was commenced by Baldwin in 1199, and a very beautiful\n\"Counts Chapel\" with rows of statues of counts and countesses of\nFlanders whose very names were forgotten.\n\nHere was one of the few remaining \"Beguinages\" of Flanders, which we\nmight have overlooked but for the kindness of a passerby who, seeing\nthat we were strangers, pointed out the doorway to us.\n\nOn either hand were small houses through the windows of which one could\nsee old women sitting bowed over cushions rapidly moving the bobbins\nover the lace patterns. A heavy black door gave access to the Beguinage,\na tiny retreat, _Noye de Silence_, inaugurated, tradition says, in 1238,\nby Jean de Constantinople, who gave it as a refuge for the Sisters of\nSt. Bogga. And here about a small grass grown square in which was a\nstatue of the saint, dwelt a number of self-sacrificing women, bound by\nno vow, who had consecrated their lives to the care of the sick and\nneedy.\n\nWe spent an hour in this calm and fragrant retreat, where there was no\nnoise save the sweet tolling of the convent bell, and the cooing of\npigeons on the ridge pole of the chapel.\n\nIn the square before the small station was a statue, which after\nquestioning a number of people without result, I at length found to be\nthat of Jean Palfyn who, my informant assured me, was the inventor of\nthe forceps, and expressed surprise that I should be so interested in\nstatuary as to care \"who it was.\" He asked me if I was not English and\nwhen I answered that I was an American, looked somewhat dazed, much as\nif I had said \"New Zealander\" or \"Kamschatkan,\" and was about to ask me\nsome further question, but upon consideration thought better of it, and\nturned away shrugging his shoulders.\n\nTo show how well the river Lys is loved by the people, I quote here a\nsort of prose poem by a local poet, one Adolph Verriest. It is called\n\"Het Leielied.\"\n\n\"La Lys flows over the level fields of our beautiful country, its fecund\nwaters reflecting the blue of our wondrous Flemish landscape. Active and\ndiligent servant, it seems to work ever to our advantage, multiplying in\nits charming sinuosities its power for contributing to our prosperity,\naccomplishing our tasks, and granting our needs. It gives to our lives\nammunition and power. The noise of busy mills and the movement of bodies\nof workmen in its banks is sweet music in our ears, in tune to the\nrippling of its waters.\n\n\"A silver ribbon starred with the blue corn-flower, the supple textile\nbaptised in its soft waters is transformed by the hand of man into\ncloudy lace, into snowy linen, into fabrics of filmy lightness for my\nlady's wear, La Lys, name significant and fraught with poetry for\nus--giving life to the germ of the flax which it conserves through all\nits life better than any art of the chemist in the secret chambers of\nhis laboratory.\n\n\"Thanks to this gracious river, our lovely town excels in napery and is\nknown throughout all the world. In harvest time the banks of the Lys are\nthronged with movement, the harvesters in quaint costumes, their bodies\nmoving rhythmically to the words of the songs they sing, swinging the\nheavy bundles of flax from the banks to the level platforms, where it is\nallowed to sleep in the water, and later the heavy wagons are loaded to\nthe cadence of other songs appropriate to the work. Large picturesque\ncolored windmills wave their brown velvety hued sails against the piled\nup masses of cloud, and over all is intense color, life and movement.\n\n\"The river plays then a most important part in the life on the Flemish\nplains about Courtrai, giving their daily bread to the peasants, and\nlending poetry to their existence. So, O Lys, our beautiful benefactor,\nwe love you.\"\n\nAt this writing (March, 1916) Courtrai is still occupied by the troops\nof the German Kaiser, and with the exception of the destruction of the\nBroel towers, the church of St. Martin, and the Old Belfry in the market\nplace, the town is said to be \"intact.\"\n\nWhenever possible we traveled through the Flemish littoral on the small\nsteam trams, \"chemins-de-fer-vicinaux,\" as they are called in French, in\nthe Flemish tongue \"Stoomtram,\" passing through fertile green meadows\ndotted with fat, sleek, black and white cows, and embossed with shining\nsilvery waterways connecting the towns and villages. We noticed Englishy\ncottages of white stucco and red tiled roofs, amid well kept fields and\nmarket gardens in which both men and women seemed to toil from dawn to\ndewy evening. Flanders before the war was simply covered with these\nlight railways. The little trains of black carriages drawn by puffing\ncovered motors, discharging heavy black clouds of evil-smelling smoke\nand oily soot, rushed over the country from morning until night, and the\nclanging of the motorman's bell seemed never ending.\n\n[Illustration: The Broel Towers: Courtrai]\n\nTo see the country thus was a privilege, and was most interesting, for\none had to wait in the squares of the small towns, or at other central\nplaces until the corresponding motor arrived before the journey could\nproceed. Here there was a sort of exchange established where the\nfarmers compared notes as to the rise or fall in commodities, or\nperchance the duty upon beets and potatoes.\n\nLoud and vehement was the talk upon these matters; really, did one not\nknow the language, one might have fancied that a riot was imminent.\n\nOne morning we halted at a small village called Gheluwe, where the train\nstopped beside a white-washed wall, and everyone got out, as the custom\nis. There seemed no reason for stopping here, for we were at some\ndistance from the village, the spire of which could be seen above a belt\nof heavy trees ahead. The morning was somewhat chilly, and the only\nother occupant of the compartment was a young cleric with a soiled white\nnecktie. He puffed away comfortably at a very thin, long, and\nevil-smelling \"stogie\" which he seemed to enjoy immensely, and which in\nthe Flemish manner he seemed to eat as he smoked, eyeing us the while\namicably though absent mindedly, as if we were far removed from his\nvicinity. As we neared the stopping place, two very jolly young farmer\nboys raced with the train in their quaint barrow-like wagon painted a\nbright green, and drawn by a pair of large dogs who foamed and panted\npast us \"ventre a terre,\" with red jaws and flopping tongues.\n\nHad we not known of this breed of dogs we might have fancied, as many\nstrangers do, that Flemish dogs are badly treated, but this is not the\ncase. These dogs are very valuable, worth sometimes as much as five\nhundred francs (about $100).\n\nInspections of these dogs are held regularly by the authorities. The\nstraps and the arrangement of the girths are tested lest they should\nchafe the animal, and, I am told, the law now requires that a piece of\ncarpet be carried for the animal to lie upon when resting, and a\ndrinking bowl also has been added to the equipment of each cart. The\ndogs do not suffer. They are bred for the cart, and are called \"_chiens\nde traite_,\" so that the charge of cruelty upon the part of ignorant\ntourists may be dismissed as untrue. There is a society for the\nprevention of cruelty to animals, and it is not unusual to see its sign\ndisplayed in the market places, with the caution \"_Traitez les animaux\navec douceur_.\" Rarely if ever is a case brought into court by the\nwatchful police.\n\nThe young cleric gazed at us inquiringly, as if he expected to hear us\nexclaim about the cruelty to animals, but catching his eye I smiled, and\nsaid something about \"_ces bons chiens_,\" at which he seemed relieved,\nand nodded back grinning, but he did not remove the stogie from his\nmouth.\n\nPriests in Flanders seemed to enjoy much liberty of action, and do\nthings not possible elsewhere. For instance, at Blankenberghe, a\nfashionable watering place on the coast, I saw a prosperous, well-fed\none (if I may so characterize him without meaning any offense) dining at\nthe Great Gasthof on the digue, who after finishing his _filet aux\nchampignons_, with a bottle of _Baune superior_, ordered his \"_demi\ntasse_\" with _fine champagne_, and an Havana cigar which cost him not\nless than three francs (sixty cents) which he smoked like a connoisseur\nwhile he listened to the fine military band playing in the Kiosk. And\nwhy not, if you please?\n\nWe remained for nearly twenty minutes beside this white wall at the\nroadside, the animated discussions of the farmers continuing, for the\ngroup was constantly augmented by fresh arrivals who meant to travel\nwith us or back to the town from which we had come. It was here that we\nsaw the first stork in Flanders, where indeed they are uncommon. This\none had a nest in a large tree nearby. One of the boys shied a small\nstone at him as he flapped overhead, but, I think, without any idea of\nhitting him. The peasants assembled here eyed us narrowly. They probed\nme and my belongings with eyes of corkscrew penetration, but since this\ncountry of theirs was a show place to me, I argued that I had no right\nto object to their making in return a show of me. But such scrutiny is\nnot comfortable, especially if one is seated in a narrow compartment,\nand the open-mouthed _vis a vis_ gazes at one with steely bluish green\nunwinking eyes--somewhat red rimmed. Especially if such scrutiny is\naccompanied by free comments upon one's person, delivered in a voice so\npitched as to convey the information to all the other occupants, and\nmayhap the engine driver ahead.\n\nThe other train at length arrived, there was an interchange of occupants\nand then we proceeded amid heavy clouds of thick black smoke which, for\na time, the wind blew with us. Across the tilled fields are narrow paths\nleading to dykes and roads. There are many green ditches filled with\nwater and in them we could see rather heavy splashes from time to time.\nThese we discovered were made by large green bull frogs--really monsters\nthey were, too. Of course we were below the sea level here, but one\ncannot credit the old story about the boy who plugged the dyke with his\nthumb, thereby saving the whole country.\n\nThe dykes are many feet high and as the foundation is composed of heavy\nblack stones, then layers of great red bricks and tiles, and finally\nturf and large willow branches interlaced most cunningly like giant\nbasket work, such a story is impossible.\n\nMy _vis a vis_, all the while regarding me unwinkingly, overheard me\nspeak to A--, in English.\n\nThen he slowly took the stogie from his mouth and ejaculated,\n\"_Ach--Engelsch!--Do it well met you?_\"\n\nI replied that it certainly did.\n\n\"_And met Madame?_\"\n\nI nodded.\n\n\"_Alst' u blieft mynheer--sir,_\" he said. Then he changed his seat and\nthereafter related to the others that he had conversed with the\nstrangers, who were English, and were traveling for pleasure, being\n_enormously rich_. I think thereafter he enjoyed the reputation of being\nan accomplished linguist. So, pleasantly did we amble along the narrow\nlittle steam tramway through luxurious green fields and smiling fertile\nlandscape of the Flemish littoral in our well rewarded search for the\nquaint and the unusual.\n\nThe Gothic Town Hall, a remarkable construction on the Grand' Place, and\nerected 1526, has been restored with a great amount of good taste in\nrecent years, and the statues on its facade have been replaced with such\nskill that one is not conscious of modern work.\n\nThe great Hall of the Magistrates on the ground floor, with its\nmagnificent furniture, and the admirable modern mural paintings by the\nFlemish artists Guffens and Severts (1875) was worth a journey to see.\nThe most noteworthy of these paintings represented the \"Departure of\nBaldwin IX,\" Count of Flanders, at the beginning of the Fourth Crusade\nin 1202, and the \"Consultation of the Flemish, before the great Battle\nof the Spurs\" in 1302.\n\nIn this chamber is a remarkable Renaissance mantelpiece, which is\nembellished with the arms of the Allied Towns of Bruges and Ghent,\nbetween which are the standard bearers of the doughty Knights of\nCourtrai, and two statues of the Archduke Albert and his Lady, all\nsurrounding a statue of the Holy Virgin.\n\nOn the upper floor is the Council Chamber, in which is another\nmantelpiece hardly less ornate and interesting, and executed in what may\nbe called the \"flamboyant\" manner in rich polychrome. It is dated 1527\nand was designed by (one of the) Keldermans (?).\n\nIt has rows or ranges of statuary said to represent both the Vices and\nthe Virtues. Below are reliefs indicating the terrible punishment\ninflicted upon those who transgress. Statues of Charles V, the Infanta\nIsabella, and others are on _corbels_.\n\nVery large drawn maps of the ancient town and its dependencies cover the\nwalls, and these are dated 1641.[1]\n\n\n\n\nTermonde (Dendermonde)\n\n\n\n\nTermonde (Dendermonde)\n\n\nA strange half deserted little town on the right bank of the river\nScheldt, clustered about a bridge, on both sides of a small sluggish\nstream called the \"Dendre,\" where long lines of women were washing\nclothes the live-long day, and chattering like magpies the while. A\nGrand' Place, with heavy trees at one side, and on the other many small\n_estaminets_ and drinking shops. That was Termonde. My note book says\n\"Population 10,000, town fortified; forbidden to make sketches outside\nthe walls, which are fortifications. Two good pictures in old church of\nNotre Dame, by Van Dyck, 'Crucifixion' and an 'Adoration of the\nShepherds' (1635). Fine Hotel de Ville, with five gables and sculptured\ndecoration. Also belfry of the fourteenth century.\"\n\nTermonde is famed throughout Flanders as the birthplace of the \"Four\nsons of Aymon,\" and the exploits of the great horse Bayard. The legend\nof the Four Sons of Aymon is endeared to the people, and they never tire\nof relating the story in song as well as prose. Indeed this legend is\nperhaps the best preserved of all throughout Flanders. It dates from the\ntime of Charlemagne, the chief of the great leaders of Western Europe,\nwhose difficulty in governing and keeping in subjection and order his\nwarlike and turbulent underlords and vassals is a matter of history\nknown to almost every schoolboy.\n\nAmong these vassal lordlings, whose continued raids and grinding\nexactions caused him most anxious moments, was a certain Duke (Herzog)\ncalled Aymon, who had four sons, named Renault, Allard, Guichard, and\nRicard, all of most enormous stature and prodigious strength. Of these\nRenault was the tallest, the strongest, the most agile, and the most\ncunning. In height he measured what would correspond to sixteen feet,\n\"and he could span a man's waist with his hand, and lifting him in the\nair, squeeze him to death.\" This was one of his favorite tricks with the\nenemy in battle.\n\nAymon had a brother named Buves who dwelt in Aigremont, which is near\nHuy, and one may still see there the castle of Aymon, who was also\ncalled the Wild Boar of the Ardennes. This brother Buves in a fit of\nanger against Charlemagne for some fancied slight, sent an insulting\nmessage to the latter, refusing his command to accompany him on his\nexpedition against the Saracens, which so exasperated Charlemagne that\nhe sent one of his sons to remonstrate with Buves and if need be, to\nthreaten him with vengeance, in case he persisted in refusing. Buves was\nready, and without waiting to receive his message, he met the messenger\nhalf way and promptly murdered him.\n\nThen Charlemagne, in a fury, sent a large and powerful body of men to\npunish Buves, who was killed in the battle which took place at\nAigremont. Thereupon the four sons of Aymon met and over their swords\nswore vengeance against Charlemagne, and betook themselves to the\nfastnesses of the Ardennes, in which they built for themselves the great\nCastle of Montfort which is said to have been even stronger than that\ncalled Aigremont.\n\nOn the banks of the river Ourthe may still be seen the great gray bulk\nof its ruins. About this stronghold they constructed high walls, and\nthere they sent out challenges defying the great Emperor.\n\nNow each of the four sons had his own fashion of fighting. Renault\nfought best on horseback, and to him Maugis son of Buves brought a great\nhorse named Bayard (\"Beiaard\" in Flemish) of magic origin, possessed of\ndemoniac powers, among which was the ability to run like the wind and\nnever grow weary. Here in this stronghold the four sons of Aymon dwelt,\nmaking occasional sallies against the vassals of Charlemagne, until at\nlength the Emperor gathered a mighty force of soldiers and horses and\nengines and scaling ladders, and, surrounding the stronghold, at length\nsucceeded in capturing it.\n\nTradition says that among Charlemagne's retinue was Aymon himself, and\nintimates that it was by the father's treachery that the four mighty\nsons were almost captured, but at any rate the great castle of Montfort\nwas reduced to ashes and ruin, and only the fact of Renault's taking the\nother brothers on the back of the wondrous horse Bayard saved them all\nfrom the Emperor's fury. So they escaped into Gascony, where they\nindependently attacked the Saracens and drove them forth and extended\ntheir swords to the King of Gascony, Yon, who treacherously delivered\nthem in chains over to Charlemagne. These chains they broke and threw in\nthe Emperor's face, fighting their way to freedom with their bare hands.\n\nHistory thereafter is silent as to their end. Of Renault it is known\nonly that he became a friar at Cologne, where his skill and strength\nwere utilized by the authorities in building the walls, and that one day\nwhile at work, some masons whom he had offended crept up behind him and\npushed him off a great height into the River Rhine, and thus he was\ndrowned. Years afterward the Church canonized him, and in Westphalia at\nDortmund may be seen a monument erected in his memory extolling his\nprowess, his deeds, and his strength.\n\nAs to the great and magical horse Bayard, the chronicle says that,\ncaptured finally by Charlemagne's soldiers and brought before him, the\nEmperor deliberated what he should do with it, since it refused to be\nridden. Finally he ordered that the largest mill stone in the region\nshould be made fast to its neck by heavy chains, and that it should then\nbe cast into the River Meuse.\n\nBayard contemptuously shook off the heavy stone and with steam pouring\nfrom his nostrils, gave three neighs of derision and triumph and,\nclimbing the opposite bank, vanished into the gloom of the forest where\nnone dared follow. Of the immortality of this great horse history is\nemphatic and gravely states that, for all that is known to the contrary,\nhe may still be at large in the Ardennes, but that \"no man has since\nbeheld him.\"\n\nAnd now yearly on the Grand' Place at Termonde there is a great festival\nand procession in his honor depicting the chief incidents of his life\nand mighty deeds, while, at Dinaut, on the River Meuse, the scene of\nsome of his mightiest deeds, may still be seen the great Rock Bayard,\nstanding more than forty yards high and separated from the face of the\nmountain by a roadway cut by Louis the Sixteenth, who cared little for\nlegends. From the summit of this great needle of rock sprang the horse\nBayard, flying before the forces of Charlemagne with the four brothers\non his back, and, so tradition says, \"leaped across the river,\ndisappearing in the woods on the further bank.\"\n\n[Illustration: The Museum: Termonde]\n\nWe were fortunate in being at Termonde on the occasion of this\npicturesque festival. Songs of Bayard and his prowess were sung in the\nstreets by various musical societies, each of which carried huge banners\nbearing their titles and honors, and some curious frameworks on poles\nwhich were literally covered with medals and wreaths bestowed upon the\nsocieties by the town at various times. These were borne proudly through\nthe streets, and each society had its crowd of partisans and loud\nadmirers. Had it not been so picturesque and strange, it would have\nseemed childish and pathetic, but the people were so evidently in\nearnest and seemed to enjoy it so hugely that the chance stranger could\nnot but enter into the spirit of it all with them. This we did and\nwisely. There was much drinking of a thin sour beer called \"faro,\" which\nis very popular with the peasants, and the various societies sang\nthemselves hoarse, to the delight of all, including themselves. The\nhorse Bayard, as seen in the market place, was a great wicker affair\nhung in wondrous chain armor, and the four sons of Aymon, also of\nwickerwork, and likewise clad in armor, each bearing a huge sword, sat\nupon his back and were trundled through the streets. There were also\nbooths in which the inevitable and odoriferous fritters were fried, and\nsome merry-go-rounds with thunderous, wheezy, groaning steam organs\nsplitting one's ears, and platforms upon which the peasants danced and\ndanced until one would have thought them fit to drop with fatigue.\n\nIt did not take long to examine the attractions most thoroughly, but\nthere were two very extraordinary exhibits of enormously fat women (who\nare great favorites with the peasantry, and no celebration seems to be\ncomplete without them). Their booths were placed opposite to each other,\nnearly face to face, with only about forty feet between them. In this\nspace crowded the peasants listening open mouthed in wonder at the\nvocabulary of the rival \"barkers.\"\n\nAs usual, a shower came on during the afternoon, and the decorations\nwere soaked with the downpour. The wickerwork horse Bayard was left to\nitself out in the square, and the wind whisked the water soaked\ndraperies over its head, disclosing piteously all of its poor framework.\nThe leaden skies showing no promise of clearing, we called the driver of\nthe ancient \"fiacre,\" and after settling our score at the \"Grande Hotel\nCafe Royal de la Tete d'Or,\" we departed for the station of the \"chemin\nde fer,\" which bumped us well but safely along the road to Antwerp.\n\nWe came again later on to this little town on the river, thinking that\nwe might not have done it entire justice, because of the discomfort of\nthe rainy day. And while we did not, it is true, find anything of great\nvalue to record, nor anything in the way of bells to gloat over, still\nour rather dismal impression of the little town in the drizzling rain as\nwe last saw it, was quite removed and replaced by a picture more to our\nliking.\n\nWe were constantly finding new and unusual charms in the quaint old\ntowns, each seeming for some reason quainter than the preceding one.\nHere on this occasion it looked so tranquil, so somnolent, that we\ntarried all unwilling to lose its flavor of the unusual. There were old\nweather beaten walls of ancient brick, mossy in places, and here and\nthere little flights of steep steps leading down into the water; broad\npathways there were too, shaded by tall trees and behind them vistas of\ndelightful old houses, each doubtless with its tales of joy, gayety,\npain or terror of the long ago.\n\nThe local policeman stood at a deserted street corner examining us\ncuriously. He was the only sign of life visible except ourselves, and\nsoon he, satisfied that we were only crazy foreigners with nothing else\nto do but wander about, took himself off yawning, his hands clasped\nbehind his back, and his short sword rattling audibly in the stillness.\n\nThe atmosphere of this silent street by the river, shaded almost to a\ntwilight by the thick foliage, with the old houses all about us, seemed\nto invite reminiscence, or dreams of the stern and respectable old\nburghers and burgesses in sombre clothing, wide brimmed hats, and\nstiffly starched linen ruffs about their necks as rendered by Rembrandt,\nHals, Rubens and Jordaens. They must have been veritable domestic\ndespots, magnates of the household, but certainly there must have been\nsomething fine about them too, for they are most impressive in their\nportraits.\n\n\"They shook the foot of Spain from their necks,\" and when they were not\nfighting men they fought the waters. Truly the history of their\nstruggles is a wondrous one! None of these was in sight, however, as we\nstrolled the streets, but we did disturb the chat or gossip of two\ndelightful, apple cheeked old ladies in white caps, who became dumb with\nastonishment at the sight of two foreigners who walked about gazing up\nat the roofs and windows of the houses, and at the mynheer in\nknickerbockers who was always looking about him and writing in a little\nbook.\n\nOne cannot blame them for being so dumbfounded at such actions, such\n_incomprehensible_ disturbing actions in a somnolent town of long ago.\nIn the vestibule of the dark dim old church, I copied the following\ninscription from a wall. It sounds something like English gone quite\nmad--and the last line, it seems to me, runs rather trippingly--and\ncontains something of an idea too, whatever it means:\n\n \"Al wat er is. Mijn hoop is Christus en zyn bloed.\n  Door deze leer ik en hoop door die het eenwig goed.\n  Ons leven is maar eenen dag, vol ziekten en vol naar geklag.\n  Vol rampen dampen (!) en vendriet. Een schim\n  Eien droom en anders niet.\"\n\nA small steamer had advertised to leave for Antwerp about 3 o'clock. It\nlay puffing and wheezing at the side of the stream, and we went on board\nand settled ourselves comfortably, tired out with our wanderings. Here a\nbevy of children discovered us and ranged themselves along the dyke to\nwatch our movements, exploding with laughter whenever we addressed one\nanother. Finally an oily hand appeared at the hatchway of the engine\nroom, followed by the touseled yellow head of a heavily bearded man. He\nlooked at us searchingly, then at the line of tormenting children. Then\nhe seized a long pole and advanced threateningly upon the phalanx. They\nfled incontinently out of reach, calling out various expletives in\nFlemish--of which I distinguished only one, \"Koek bakker\"! This would\nseem to be the crowning insult to cast at a respectable engineer, for he\nshook his fist at them.\n\nTo our amazement he then touched his greasy cap to us, and in the\nbroadest possible Scotch dialect bade us welcome. There is a saying that\none has only to knock on the companion ladder of any engine room in any\nport the world over, and call out \"Sandy\" to bring up in response one\nor two canny Scots from the engine room below. This little steamer\nevidently took the place of the carrier's cart used elsewhere; for\npassengers and parcels, as well as crates of vegetables were her cargo.\nAt length we started puffing along the river, and stopping from time to\ntime at small landings leading to villages whose roofs appeared above\nthe banks and dykes.\n\nDelightful bits of the more intimate side of the people's life revealed\nthemselves to us on these unusual trips. We passed a fine looking old\npeasant woman in a beautiful lace cap, rowing a boat with short powerful\nstrokes in company with a young girl, both keeping perfect time. The\nboat was laden with green topped vegetables and brightly burnished brass\nmilk cans, forming a picture that was most quaint to look upon. And\nlater we passed a large Rhine barge, from the cabin of which came the\nmost appetizing odor of broiled bacon. Our whistle brought out the whole\nfamily, and likewise a little nervous black and white dog who went\nnearly mad with the excitement attendant upon driving us away from the\nproperty he had to protect.\n\nNight was falling when we reached the quay side in Antwerp, and we\ndisembarked to the tinkling melody of the wondrous chimes from the tower\nof the great Cathedral.\n\n\n\n\nLouvain\n\n\n\n\nLouvain\n\n\nIt was in the great Gothic Church of St. Peter that Mathias Van den\nGheyn delighted to execute those wonderful \"_morceaux fugues_\" now at\nonce the delight and the despair of the musical world, upon the fine\nchime of bells in the tower. This venerable tower was entirely destroyed\nin the terrible bombardment of the town in 1914. It is probable that no\ntown in Belgium was more frequented by learned men of all professions,\nsince its university enjoyed such a high reputation the world over, and\ncertainly its library, likewise entirely destroyed, with its precious\ntomes and manuscripts, was considered second to none.\n\nThe old Church of St. Peter, opposite the matchless Hotel de Ville, was\na cruciform structure of noble proportions and flanked with remarkable\nchapels; it was begun, according to the archives in Brussels, in 1423,\nto replace an earlier building of the tenth century, and was \"finished\"\nin the sixteenth century. There was, it seems, originally a wooden spire\non the west side of the structure but \"it was blown down in a storm in\n1606.\"\n\nWhen I saw it in 1910, the church was in process of restoration, and\nthe work was being very intelligently done by competent men. Before the\nfacade was a most curious row of bizarre small houses of stucco, nearly\nevery one of which was a sort of saloon or cafe, and the street before\nthem was quite obstructed by small round tables and chairs at which, in\nthe afternoon from four to five, the shopkeepers and bourgeois of the\ntown gathered for the afternoon \"_aperitif_,\" whatever it might be, and\nto discuss politics. For be it known that this period before the\noutbreak of the war, was in Belgium a troublous one for the Flemings,\nbecause of the continued friction between the clerical and the\nanti-clerical parties. These bizarre houses, I was told by one of the\npriests with whom I talked, were owned by the church, and were very\nprofitable holdings, but tourists and others had made such sport of\nthem, and even entered such grave protests to the Bishop, that the\nauthorities finally concluded to tear them down. But they were certainly\nvery picturesque, as my picture shows, their red tiled roofs and green\nblinds, making most agreeable notes of color against old St. Peter's\ngray wall.\n\n[Illustration: The Cathedral: Louvain]\n\nThe church so wantonly destroyed in 1914 contained some most remarkable\nworks of art in the nine chapels. Among these were the \"Martyrdom of St.\nErasmus,\" by Dierick Bouts, long thought to be a work of Memling.\nAnother painting, \"The Last Supper,\" was also considered one of\nMemling's works, until its authenticity was established by the finding\nof the receipt by Bouts for payment, discovered in the archives of the\nLibrary in Louvain in 1870. Formerly the church owned a great treasure\nin Quentin Matsys' \"Holy Family,\" but this was sold to the Brussels\nMuseum for something less than L10,000, and upon the outbreak of the war\nwas in that collection. It is said that most of these great paintings\nowned in Belgium were placed in zinc and leaden cases and sent over to\nEngland for safety. It is to be hoped that this is true.\n\nThe _custode_ showed, with most impressive manner, a quaint image of the\nSavior which, he related, was connected with a miraculous legend to the\neffect that the statue had captured and held a thief who had broken into\nthe church upon one occasion! The townspeople venerate this image, and\non each occasion when I visited the church, I noted the number of old\nwomen on their knees before it, and the many lighted waxen candles which\nthey offered in its honor. A wave of indignation passed over the world\nof art when the newspapers reported the destruction of the beautiful\nHotel de Ville, just opposite old St. Peter's. This report was almost\nimmediately followed by a denial from Berlin that it had suffered any\nharm whatever, and it would seem that this is true.\n\nThe Library, however, with its hundreds of thousands of priceless\nrecords, and masterpieces of printing is, it is admitted, entirely\ndestroyed! This great building, black and crumbling with age, was\nsituated in a small street behind the Hotel de Ville. The town itself\nwas bright and clean looking, and there was a handsome boulevard leading\nfrom the new Gothic railway station situated in a beflowered parkway,\nwhich was lined with prosperous looking shops. This whole district was\n\"put to the torch\" and wantonly destroyed when the town was captured in\n1914. Late photographs show the new station levelled to the ground, and\nthe parkway turned into a cemetery with mounds and crosses showing where\nthe soldiers who lost their lives in the bombardment, and subsequent\nsacking, are buried.\n\nRemembering the complete destruction of Ypres, one can only believe that\nthe preservation of the Hotel de Ville was entirely miraculous and\nunintentional.\n\nP.J. Verhaegan, a Flemish painter of considerable reputation and\nability, had decorated one of the two \"absidiole\" chapels which\ncontained a very richly carved tomb over a certain lady of the\nthirteenth century whose fame is known all over Flanders. The legend was\nmost dramatically told to me by one of the young priests of St. Peter's,\nand this is the story of the beautiful Margaret, called \"the\nCourageous,\" (La Fiere).\n\n[Illustration: The Town Hall: Louvain]\n\nBy the Grace of God, there lived in Louvain, in the year 1235, one\nArmand and his wife, both devout Catholics and the keepers of a\ntravelers' \"ordinary\" on the road to the coast, called Tirlemont. These\ntwo at length decided to retire from their occupation as \"Hoteliers,\"\nand devote and consecrate the remainder of their lives to God, and the\nblessed saints.\n\nNow they had a niece who was a most beautiful girl and whose name was\nMargaret, and she had such disdain for the young gallants of Louvain\nthat they bestowed upon her the name of \"La Fiere.\" Although but\neighteen years of age she determined to follow the example of her uncle\nand aunt, and later become a \"Beguine,\" thus devoting her life to\ncharity and the care of the sick and unfortunate, for this is the work\nof the order of \"Beguines.\"\n\nThey realized a large sum of money from the sale of the hotel, and this\nbecame known throughout the countryside. It was said that the money was\nhidden in the house in which they lived, and at length eight young men\nof evil lives, pondering upon this, resolved that they would rob this\nnoble couple. Upon a stormy night they demanded admittance, saying that\nthey were belated travelers.\n\nThe young girl Margaret was absent from the room for a moment, when\nthese ruffians seized the old couple and murdered them. On her return to\nthe upper room from the cellar, Margaret surprised them ransacking the\nstrong box beside the fireplace. So they overpowered her also, but at\nonce there ensued an argument as to what should be done with her, when\nthe chief rogue, admiring her great beauty, proposed to her that she\naccept him as her lover and depart with him for France, where they could\nlive happily. This she scornfully refused, whereupon \"one of the\nruffians strangled her for ten marcs of silver; and her soul, white and\npure as the angels, ascended to the throne of Jesus, in whom she so well\nbelieved, and there became '_l'unique espoux dont elle ambitionait\nl'Amour._'\"\n\nIt is said that Henry the First sitting in a window of his chateau on\nthe river Dyle one night, saw floating on the dark water the corpse of\nthis young martyr, where the ruffians had thus thrown her, and \"the pale\nradiance from her brow illuminated the whole valley.\" Calling to his\nconsort, Marguerite of Flanders, he pointed out to her the wondrous\nsight, and hastening forth they drew her dripping body from the dark\nslimy water and bore it tenderly to the chateau. The news spread far and\nwide, and for days came throngs to view the \"sweet martyr's\" body, for\nwhich the priests had prepared a costly catafalque, and for her a grand\nmass was celebrated in St. Peter's where she was laid at rest in a tomb,\nthe like of which for costliness was never seen in Flanders.\n\nAnd this is the legend of Margaret, called \"La Fiere,\" whose blameless\nlife was known throughout the land.\n\nI wish that I had made a drawing of this tomb while I was in the church,\nbut I neglected unfortunately to do so. It was of simple lines, but of\ngreat richness of detail. Of course both it and the beautiful wax\npaintings of M. Verhaegan are now entirely destroyed in the ruins of St.\nPeter's.\n\n\n\n\nDouai\n\n\n\n\nDouai\n\n\nAlthough across the border in France, Douai must still be called a\nFlemish town, because of its history and affiliations. The town is\nquaint in the extreme and of great antiquity, growing up originally\naround a Gallo-Roman fort. In the many wars carried on by the French\nagainst the English, the Flemish and the Germans, not to mention its\nsufferings from the invading Spaniards, it suffered many sieges and\ncaptures. Resisting the memorable attack of Louis the Eleventh, it has\nregularly celebrated the anniversary of this victory each year in a\nnotable Fete or Kermesse, in which the effigies of the giant Gayant and\nhis family, made of wickerwork and clad in medieval costumes, are\nparaded through the town by order of the authorities, followed by a\nprocession of costumed attendants through the tortuous streets, to the\nmusic of bands and the chimes from the belfry of the Hotel de Ville.\n\nThis, the most notable edifice in the town, is a fine Gothic tower one\nhundred and fifty feet high, with a remarkable construction of tower and\nturrets, supported by corbels of the fifteenth century, containing a\nfine chime of bells made by the Van den Gheyns. The bells are visible\nfrom below, hanging sometimes well outside the turret of the bell\nchamber, and, ranging tier upon tier, from those seemingly the size of a\ngallon measure, to those immense ones weighing from fifteen hundred to\ntwo thousand pounds. This great tower witnessed the attack and\noccupation of the Spaniards, the foundation by the Roman Catholics of\nthe great University in 1652 to counter-act the Protestantism of the\nNetherlands, which had but a brief career, and the capture of the town\nby Louis the Fourteenth. Here was published in 1610 an English\ntranslation of the Old Testament for Roman Catholics, as well as the\nEnglish Roman Catholic version of the scriptures, and the New Testament\ntranslated at Rheims in 1582, and known as the \"Douai Bible.\" This was\nalso the birthplace of Jean Bellgambe, the painter (1540) surnamed\n\"Maitre des Couleurs,\" whose nine great oaken panels form the wonderful\naltarpiece in the church of Notre Dame.\n\n[Illustration: The Town Hall: Douai]\n\nDouai was, before the great war, a peaceful industrial center of some\nimportance, of some thirty thousand inhabitants. It has been said that\nthe Fleming worked habitually fifty-two weeks in the year. An exception,\nhowever, must be made for fete days, when no self-respecting Fleming\nwill work. On these days the holiday makers are exceedingly\nboisterous, and the streets are filled with the peasants clad in all\ntheir holiday finery. But it is on the day of the Kermesse that your\nFleming can be seen to the best advantage. There are merry-go-rounds,\nshooting galleries, swings, maybe a traveling circus or two, and a\ntheatrical troupe which shows in a much bespangled and mirrored tent,\ndecorated with tinsel and flaming at night with naphtha torches. Bands\nof music parade the streets, each carrying a sort of banneret hung with\nmedals and trophies awarded by the town authorities at the various\n\"_seances_.\"\n\nBut the greatest noise comes from the barrel organs of huge size and\nplayed by steam, or sometimes by a patient horse clad in gay apparel who\ntrudges a sort of treadmill which furnishes the motive power. In even\nthese small towns of Ancient Flanders such as Douai, the old allegorical\nrepresentations, formerly the main feature of the event, are now quite\nrare, and therefore this event of the parade of the wicker effigies of\nthe fabulous giant Gayant and his family was certainly worth the journey\nfrom Tournai. The day was made memorable also to the writer and his\ncompanion because of the following adventure.\n\nThere had been, it seems, considerable feeling against England among the\nlower orders in this border town over the Anglo-Boer War, so that\noverhearing us speaking English, some half grown lads began shouting\nout at us \"Verdamt Engelsch\" and other pleasantries, and in a moment a\ncrowd gathered about us.\n\nWith the best Flemish at his command the writer addressed them,\nexplaining that we were Americans, but what the outcome would have been,\nhad it not been for the timely arrival of a gendarme, I know not; but\nunder his protection we certainly beat a hasty retreat. The lower\nclasses of Flemings in their cups are unpleasant people to deal with,\nand it were well not to arouse them. But for this incident, and the fact\nthat the afternoon brought on a downpour of rain, which somewhat\ndampened the ardor of the people and the success of the fete, our little\ntrip over the border to this historic town would be considered worth\nwhile. Our last view of Douai was from the train window as we recrossed\nthe river Scarpe, with the massive tower of the Hotel de Ville showing\nsilhouetted dim and gray against a streaming sky.\n\n\n\n\nOudenaarde\n\n\n\n\nOudenaarde\n\n\nFrom the small stucco station, embowered in luxuriant trees, we crossed\na wide grass grown square, faring towards the turrets of the town, which\nappeared above the small red and black tiled roofs of some mean looking\npeasant houses, and an _estaminet_, of stucco evidently brand new, and\nbearing a gilt lion over its door. Here a wide and rather well paved\nstreet led towards the town, bordered upon either hand by well kept and\nclean but blank looking houses, with the very narrowest sidewalks\nimaginable, all of which somehow reminded us of some of the smaller\nstreets of Philadelphia. The windows of these houses flush with the\nstreet were closely hung with lace, and invariably in each one was\neither a vase or a pot of some sort filled with bright flowers.\nOccasionally there was a small poor looking shop window in which were\ndusty glass jars of candy, pipes, packages of tobacco, coils of rope and\nhardware, and in one, evidently that of an apothecary, a large carved\nand varnished black head of a grinning negro, this being the sign for\nsuch merchandise as tobacco and drugs.\n\nHere and there doorways were embellished with shiny brass knockers of\ngood form, and outside one shop was a tempting array of cool green\nearthenware bowls of such beautiful shape that I passed them by with\ngreat longing.\n\nSoon this street made a turning, where there was a good bronze statue to\nsome dignitary or other, and I caught a glimpse of that wondrous tower\nof the famous Hotel de Ville, the mate to that at Louvain, and soon I\nwas beneath its Gothic walls, bearing row upon row of niches, empty now,\nbut once containing effigies of the powerful lords and ladies of\nFlanders. These rows rise tier upon tier to that exquisitely slender\nlace-like tower crowned with a large gilded statue of the town's patron,\npennant in hand, and shining in the sunlight.\n\nFrom the Inn of the \"Golden Apple of Oudenaarde\" just opposite, I\nappraised its beauties over a good meal of young broiled chicken and\nlettuce salad, and a bowl of \"_cafe au lait_\" that was all satisfying.\n\nAfterwards, the _custode_, an old soldier, showed us the \"Salle des Pas\nPerdus,\" containing a fine chimney piece alone worth the journey from\nAntwerp, and the Council Chamber, still hung with some good ancient\nstamped leather, and several large badly faded and cracked Spanish\npaintings of long forgotten dignitaries both male and female.\n\n[Illustration: The Town Hall: Oudenaarde]\n\nOne Paul Van Schelden, a wood carver of great ability and renown,\nwrought a wonderful doorway, which was fast falling apart when I saw it.\nThis gave access to a large room, the former Cloth Hall, now used as a\nsort of theatre and quite disfigured at one end by a stage and scenic\narch. The walls were stenciled meanly with a large letter A surmounted\nby a crown. The interior had nothing of interest to show.\n\nOn the opposite side of the square was the large old church of St.\nWalburga, with a fine tower capped by a curious upturned bulbous cupola,\nupon which was a large gilt open-work clock face. As usual, there was a\nchime of bells visible, and a flock of rooks circling about the tower.\nThe style of St. Walburga was Romanesque, with Gothic tendencies. Built\nin the twelfth century, it suffered severely at the hands of the\nIconoclasts, and even in its unfinished state was very impressive, none\nthe less, either, because of the rows of small stucco red roofed houses\nwhich clung to its walls, leaving only a narrow entrance to its portal.\nInside I found an extremely rich polychromed Renaissance \"reredos,\" and\nthere was also the somewhat remarkable tomb of \"Claude Talon,\" kept in\ngood order and repair.\n\nOudenaarde was famed for the part it played in the history of Flanders,\nand was also the birthplace of Margaret of Parma. It was long the\nresidence of Mary of Burgundy, and gave shelter to Charles the Fifth,\nwho sought the protection of its fortifications during the siege of\nTournai in 1521.\n\nHere, too, Marlborough vanquished the French in 1708. I might go on for\na dozen more pages citing the names of remarkable personages who gave\nfame to the town, which now is simply wiped from the landscape. But by\nsome miracle, it is stated, the Town Hall still stands practically\nuninjured. I have tried in vain to substantiate this, or at least to\nobtain some data concerning it, but up to this writing my letters to\nvarious officials remain unanswered.\n\nI like to think of Oudenaarde as I last saw it--the huge black door of\nthe church yawning like a gaping chasm, the square partly filled with\ndevout peasants in holiday attire for the church fete, whatever it was.\nPart of the procession had passed beyond the gloom of the vast aisles\ninto the frank openness of daylight. Between the walls of the small\nhouses at either hand a long line of figures was marching with many\nsilken banners. There seemed to be an interminable line of young\ngirls--first communicants, I fancied,--in all the purity of their white\nveils and gowns against the somber dull grays of the church. This mass\nof pure white was of dazzling, startling effect, something like a great\nbed of white roses.\n\n[Illustration: Old Square and Church: Oudenaarde]\n\nThen came a phalanx of nuns clad in brown--I know not what their order\nwas--their wide white cowls or coifs serving only to accentuate the\npallor of their grave faces, veritable \"incarnations of meek\nrenunciation,\" as some poet has beautifully expressed it.\n\nThen followed a group of seminarians clad in the lace and scarlet of\ntheir order, swinging to and fro their brazen censers from which poured\nfragrant clouds of incense.\n\nAll at once a curious murmur came from the multitude, followed by a\ngreat rustling, as the whole body of people sank to their knees, and\nthen I saw beyond at a distance across the square, the archbishop's\nsilken canopy, and beneath it a venerable figure with upraised arms,\nelevating the Host.\n\nSurely a moment of great picturesqueness, even to the non-participant;\nthe bent heads of the multitude; the long lines of kneeling black\nfigures; scarlet and gold and lace of the priests' robes against the\nblack note of the nuns' somber draperies; the white coifs and veils,\nthrough which the sweet rapture of young religious awe made even homely\nfeatures seem beautiful: the gold and scarlet again of the choristers;\nand finally, that culminating note of splendor beneath the silken canopy\nof the cardinal archbishop (Cardinal Mercier) enthroned here like some\nancient venerated monarch; all this against the neutral gray and black\nlines of the townspeople; surely this was the psychological moment in\nwhich to leave Oudenaarde, that I might retain such a picture in my\nmind's eye.\n\n\n\n\nFurnes\n\n\n\n\nFurnes\n\n\nThe old red brick, flat topped, tower of St. Nicholas was the magnet\nwhich drew us to this dear sleepy old town, in the southwest corner of\nthe Belgian littoral; and here, lodged in the historic hostel of the\n\"Nobele Rose\" we spent some golden days. The name of the town is\nvariously pronounced by the people Foorn, Fern, and even Fearn. I doubt\nif many travelers in the Netherlands ever heard of it. Yet the town is\none of great antiquity and renown, its origin lost in the dimness of the\nages.\n\nAccording to the chronicles in the great Library at Bruges, as early as\nA.D. 800 it was the theatre of invasions and massacres by the Normans.\nThat learned student of Flemish history, M. Leopold Plettinck, has made\nexhaustive researches among the archives in both Brussels and Bruges,\nand while he has been unable to trace its beginnings he has collected\nand assorted an immense amount of detailed matter referring to Baudoin\n(or Baldwin) Bras de Fer, who seems to have been very active in\nharassing the people who had the misfortune to come under his hand.\n\nThe War of the \"Deux Roses\" was fought outside the walls here, likewise\nthe Battle of the Spurs took place on the plains between Furnes and\nYpres. Following the long undulations of the dunes from Dunkerque,\novergrown here and there with a rank coarse grass sown by the\nauthorities to protect them from the wind and the encroachments of the\never menacing sea, dune succeeds dune, forming a landscape of most\nunique character. Passing the small hamlet of Zuitcote, marked by the\nsunken tower of its small church, which now serves as a sort of\nsemaphore for the fishing boats off the coast, one reached the canal\nwhich crosses the plain picturesquely. This led one along the path to\nthe quaint old town of Furnes, showing against the heavy dark green of\nthe old trees, its dull red and pink roofs with the bulk of the tower\nforming a picture of great attractiveness.\n\nThe town before the war had about six thousand population which seemed\nquite lost in the long lines of silent grass grown streets, and the\nimmense Grand' Place, around which were ranged large dark stone Flemish\nhouses of somewhat forbidding exteriors. All the activity of the town,\nhowever, was here in this large square, for the lower floors had been\nturned into shops, and also here was the hotel, before which a temporary\nmoving picture theatre had been put up.\n\n[Illustration: The Fish Market: Ypres]\n\nThese are very popular in Flanders, and are called \"Cinema-Americain.\"\nThe portable theatres are invariably wooden and are carried \"knocked\ndown\" in large wagons drawn by hollow-backed, thick-legged Flemish\nhorses. As a rule they have steam organs to furnish the \"music\" and the\nblare of these can be heard for miles across the level plains.\n\nThe pictures shown are usually of the lurid sort to suit the peasants,\nand the profits must be considerable, as the charge is ten and\ntwenty-five cents for admission. On this square is the Hotel de Ville,\nthe Palace of Justice, and Conciergerie. This latter is a sort of square\n\"donjon\" of great antiquity, crenelated, with towers at each corner and\nthe whole construction forming an admirable specimen of Hispano-Flemish\narchitecture.\n\nThe angle of the \"Place\" opposite the pavilion of the officers is\noccupied by the Hotel de Ville and the \"Palais de Justice,\" very\ndifferent in style, for on one side is a massive facade of severe aspect\nand no particular period, while on the other is a most graceful Flemish\nRenaissance construction, reminding one of a Rubens opposed, in all its\nopulence, to a cold classic portrait by Gainsborough.\n\nThe Hotel de Ville, of 1612, exhibits in its \"Pignons,\" its columns and\nRenaissance motifs, a large high tower of octagonal form surmounted by a\nsmall cupola. Its frontage pushes forward a loggia of quite elegant\nform, with balustrades in the Renaissance style.\n\nAbove this grave looking gray building rises the tower of the\n\"Beffroi,\" part Gothic in style.\n\nAll the houses on the \"Place\" have red tiled roofs, and gables in the\nRenaissance style very varied in form, and each one with a\ncharacteristic window above, framed richly _en coquille_, and decorated\nwith arabesques.\n\nBehind these houses is what remains of the ancient Church of St.\nWalburga, half buried in the thick verdure of the garden. After\nconsiderable difficulty we gained admittance to the ruin, because it is\nnot considered safe to walk beneath its walls. Even in its ruin it was\nmost imposing and majestic. We would have tarried here, but the\n_custode_ was very nervous and hurried us through the thickets of bushes\ngrowing up between the stones of the pavement, and fairly pushed us out\nagain into the small parkway, accepting the very generous fee which I\ngave him with what I should call surliness. But we ignored this\ncompletely, after the manner of old travelers, which we had been advised\nto adopt.\n\nAt one side were stored some rather dilapidated and dirty wax figures\nwhich reclined in various postures, somewhat too lifelike in the gloom\nof the chamber, and entirely ludicrous, so much so that it was with much\ndifficulty that we controlled our smiles. The roving eye of the surly\n_custode_, however, warned us against levity of any sort. These wax\nfigures, he explained, gruffly enough, were those of the most sacred\nreligious personages, and the attendant saints and martyrs, used in the\ngreat procession and ceremony of the \"Sodalite,\" which is a sort of\nPassion Play, shown during the last Sunday in July of each year in the\nstreets of the town. The story relates an adventure of a Count of\nFlanders, who brought to Furnes, during the first years of the Holy\nCrusades, a fragment of the True Cross. Assailed by a tempest in the\nChannel off the coast, he vowed the precious object to the first church\nhe came to, if his prayers for succor were answered. \"Immediately the\nstorm abated, and the Count, bearing the fragment of the Cross aloft,\nwas miraculously transported over the waves to dry land.\"\n\nThis land proved to be the sand dunes of Flanders, and the church tower\nwas that of St. Walburga. After a conference with his followers, who\nalso were saved, he founded the solemn annual procession in honor of the\nTrue Cross, in which was also introduced the representation of the\n\"Mysteries of the Passion.\"[2]\n\nThis procession was suppressed during the religious troubles of the\nReform, but afterwards was revived by the church authorities, and now\nall of the episodes of the life of Christ pass yearly through the great\nGrand' Place--the stable in Bethlehem; the flight into Egypt; down to\nthe grand drama of the Calvary and the Resurrection, all are shown and\nwitnessed with great reverence by the crowds of devout peasants from the\nsurrounding country. And these pathetic waxen figures were those of\nProphets, Apostles, Jews, Angels, Cavaliers and Roman Soldiers, lying\nall about the dim dusty chamber in disorder. Afterwards, from the window\nof the quaint Hotel of the \"Nobele Rose,\" we saw this procession passing\nthrough the crowded streets of Furnes, and almost held our breaths with\nawe at the long line of black cloaked, hooded penitents, bare-footed,\nthe faces covered so that one could hardly tell whether they were men or\nwomen, save for the occasional delicate small white foot thrust forward\nbeneath the black shapeless gown.\n\nAnd finally _One Figure_, likewise black gowned and with concealed face,\nstaggering along painfully--feebly--and bearing a heavy wooden cross,\nthe end of which dragged along on the stones of the street.[3]\n\nOutside of this, the Grand' Place, and the old red brick tower of St.\nNicholas, so scorched by the sun and beaten by the elements, and the\nrows of quaint gabled houses beneath, Furnes has little to offer to the\nseeker after antiquity. The bells in the tower are of sweet tone, but\nthe chimes which hung there were silent, and no amount of persuasion\ncould induce the _custode_ to admit me to the bell chamber. Madame at\nthe \"Nobele Rose\" had assured me that I could go up there into the tower\nwhenever I wished, but somehow that pleasure was deferred, until finally\nwe were forced to give it up. Of course Madame _did_ rob me; when the\nbill was presented, it proved to be fifty per cent. more than the price\nagreed upon, but she argued that we had \"used\" the window in our\napartment overlooking the procession, so we must pay for that privilege.\nThe point was so novel that I was staggered for a suitable reply to\nit,--the crucial moment passed,--I was lost. I paid!\n\n\n\n\nThe Artists of Malines\n\n\n\n\nThe Artist of Malines\n\n\nIt may not be out of place to add here some account of the artists[4]\nwho dwelt in and made Malines famous in the early days. Primitively the\npainters formed part of the Society of Furniture Makers, while sculptors\naffiliated with the Masons' Gild. These at length formed between them a\nsort of federation as they grew in number and power. Finally, in 1543,\nthey formed the Gild of Saint Luke. In 1560 they numbered fifty-one free\nmasters, who gave instruction to a great number of apprentices. They\nadmitted the gold beaters to membership in 1618, and the following year\nthe organization had increased to ninety-six members.\n\nWorking in alabaster was, during this epoch, a specialty with the\nsculptors of Malines, which soon resulted in a monopoly with them, for\nthey made a law that no master workman could receive or employ more than\none apprentice every four years. The workers in gold covered the\nstatues with heavy ornaments of gold, it being forbidden to market\nstatuary not so gilded. The Gild of Saint Luke chafed under this ruling\nof the Gild Master, and surreptitiously made and delivered some statuary\nand paintings without any gilding whatever.\n\nCharges being brought against the offenders, they were fined twenty-five\nflorins, and a law was passed authorized by the magistrate, permitting\ndomiciliary visits upon certain days known only to the officers, to the\nhouses of suspected men engaged in art work. Of course reputable workmen\nwere free from suspicion, it being only those mediocre craftsmen and\nirregular apprentices who would engage in such traffic.\n\nIt was not until 1772 that any sculptor was permitted to paint or gild\nfor profit, nor was any painter allowed to model. The profession of an\nartist was regarded as less than an industry, being a sort of hand to\nmouth existence in which the unfortunate was glad to accept whatever\nwork the artisan could give him. In 1783 the Gild had dwindled to twelve\nmembers, who finally were absorbed by the Academy of Design, established\nby Maria Theresa in 1773. Thus perished the Gild of Painters and\nSculptors of Malines.\n\nThe following is a list of the principal artists and engravers,\nchronologically arranged, who made Malines famous:\n\nJean Van Battele, one of the promoters of the Gild of Saint Luke of\nMalines, was a successful workman in 1403. He was said to be more of a\npainter-glazer than a painter of pictures, but there is sufficient\nevidence that he practised both genres.\n\nGauthier Van Battele, son of the above, was admitted to the Gild in\n1426, and figured in the artistic annals of the town in 1474-75.\n\nBaudoin Van Battele, alias Vander Wyck, believed to be \"petitfils\" of\nGauthier, is mentioned in the chronicles of 1495. He painted many mural\npictures for the \"Beyaerd\"; the fresco of the Judgment Day in the great\nhall of the \"Vierschaer\" is his greatest work. He died about 1508.\n\nHe had one son, Jean, who executed a triptych in the Hotel de Ville of\nMalines in 1535, and illuminated a manuscript register on vellum\nrelating to the \"_Toison d'Or_.\" This book was presented to\nCharles-Quint, and so pleased him that he ordered a duplicate which cost\nthe artist three years of hard work to complete. He died in July, 1557,\nhighly honored.\n\nDaniel Van Yleghem was the chief workman upon the Holy tabernacle of the\nchief altar of St. Rombauld. An engraver of great merit; he died in\n1451(?).\n\nJean Van Orshagen occupied the position of Royal Mint Engraver of\nMalines, 1464-65. The following year he was discovered passing false\nmoney at Louvain. Imprisoned, he died of the pestilence in 1471.\n\nGuillaume Trabukier excelled in the art of a designer-engraver\n(ciseleur) in gold. For the town he made many beautiful pieces of work,\nnotably the silver statue of St. Rombauld which decorated the high altar\nof the Cathedral. He died in 1482.\n\nZacherie Van Steynemolen, born about 1434, was an excellent engraver of\ndies. During more than forty years (1465-1507) he made the seals of the\ntown corporations. Notably he engraved for the Emperor Frederic IV the\ntwo great seals which are now in the museum. He died in 1507.\n\nMichael or Michel Coxie, le vieux, was a greatly esteemed painter who\nworked under the direction of Raphael. His real name was Van Coxcien, or\nCoxcyen, but he changed its form to Coxie.\n\nHis son, Michel Coxie le Jeune, surnamed the Flemish Raphael, was born\nin 1499, and first studied under his father. He was shortly placed with\nBernard Van Orley, who sent him to Rome, where he might study the work\nof Raphael Sanzio. His work was of very unequal merit, although he\npainted hundreds of compositions in triptych form for the churches.\nTowards the end of his life he was commissioned to paint a decoration\nfor the Hotel de Ville of Antwerp. He fell from the scaffolding during\nhis work, receiving such injuries that he was incapacitated. Removed to\nhis home in Malines, he died after some years of suffering, aged 93\nyears!\n\nHis second son, Raphael Coxie, born in 1540, was a painter of great\nmerit, whose paintings were ordered for the Royal Spanish Cabinet. He\nlived at Antwerp, Ghent, and Brussels respectively, and died, full of\nhonors, in 1616.\n\nMichael, or Michel, Coxie, the third of the name, was received in the\nGild of Painters the 28th day of September, 1598. He is the author of\nthe triptych over the altar of the \"Jardiniers\" of Notre-Dame au dela de\nla Dyle. He died in 1618.\n\nMichel Coxie, the Fourth, son of the above, born September, 1604, was\nelected to the Gild in 1623. He became Court Painter to the King.\n\nJean Coxie, son of Michel (above) excelled as a painter of landscape. He\nit was who decorated the two great salons of the \"Parc\" Abbey. The\nsubjects were drawn from the life of Saint Norbert.\n\nHis son, Jean-Michel, though a member of the Gild of Malines, passed\nalmost his whole life in Amsterdam, Dusseldorf, and Berlin. In the\nlatter town he enjoyed the favor and patronage of Frederick I. He died\nin Milan in 1720.\n\nJean de Gruyter, gold worker and engraver, came in 1504 to Malines,\nwhere he enjoyed a certain renown. After his death in 1518, his sons\nJean and Pierre continued the work which he began. Jean made seals of\ngreat beauty of detail, but Pierre was condemned to banishment in 1536\nand confiscation of all his goods and chattels, for counterfeiting the\nstate coinage.\n\nJean Hoogenbergh, born about 1500, was a successful painter of\nminiatures; he lived about fifty years.\n\nJean Van Ophem was appointed Civic Engraver of Seals and Gold Worker. He\ndied in 1553.\n\nFrancois Verbeek became master workman in 1531, and finally _doyen_ of\nthe craft. He abandoned oil painting for distemper, in which medium he\nexcelled, producing masterpieces depicting the most fantastic subjects.\nHe died in July, 1570.\n\nHans Verbeek, or Hans de Malines, believed to be the son of Francois. He\nwas Court Painter to Albert and Isabella. He died sometime after 1619.\n\nGregoire Berincx, born in 1526, visited Italy and there made paintings\nin distemper of the ruins and ancient constructions. Returning to his\nnative town in 1555 he was at once made a Gild Member of the Corporation\nof Painters. He died in 1573.\n\nHis youngest son, Gregoire, became _doyen_, and of him the following\nstory is told: The great Van Dyck visited him unexpectedly one day, and\ndemanded that he make a sketch of him (Van Dyck) at once, in his\npresence. Berincx accordingly painted in monotone the sketch in full\nlength, adding the details in carnation, and so charmed was Van Dyck,\nthat he assured him that he would adopt the system in his own work, \"if\nhe would permit.\" He died full of honors the 14th of October, 1669.\n\nJacques de Poindre, born in 1527, acquired a brilliant reputation as a\nportrait painter. He afterwards established himself under royal\npatronage in Denmark where he died in 1570.\n\nCorneille Ingelrams, a painter in distemper, was born in 1527. He\npractised his art successfully in Malines and died in 1580.\n\nHis son, Andre, was admitted to the Painters' Gild in May, 1571, and\ndied in 1595.\n\nMarc Willems, born about 1527, was a pupil of Michel Coxie (le vieux),\nwas considered a great painter in his time. He made many designs for the\ndecorators, and admirable cartoons for tapestry makers. He died in 1561.\n\nJean Carpreau was commissioned in 1554 to take charge of the\nrestorations of the \"chasse\" of the patron saint of the town. Such was\nhis success that he was appointed Official Seal Cutter and Engraver, a\nposition of great importance in those days. At the Hotel de Ville was\npreserved and shown a remarkable die in silver from his hand, for the\nSeal of the Municipality of Malines.\n\nJean or Hans Bol, born December, 1534, was the pupil of his uncles\nJacques and Jean the Elder, but after two years of apprenticeship he\nwent to Germany for a time. Returning to Malines, he devoted himself to\nthe painting of landscapes with great success. Likewise he sometimes\nengraved plates on copper. His productions are many. He died at\nAmsterdam in 1593.\n\nLambert de Vos, admitted to the Gild of Saint Luke in 1563, was engaged\nin the service of Charles Kimy, Imperial Ambassador to Constantinople.\nHe painted oriental subjects in water colors, which were distinguished\nfor richness of color, and accuracy of drawing. Many of these are in the\nLibrary of Breme.\n\nJean Snellinck, born about 1554, was an historical and battle painter.\nIt was he who prepared the designs for the tapestries of Oudenaarde.\nDuring his residence in that town he painted the triptych for the church\nof Notre Dame de Pamele. He died at Antwerp in 1638.\n\nLouis Toeput was born about 1550. He was a landscape painter of renown,\nbut also drew many architectural subjects. In his later period, he\ndevoted himself to Flemish literature with marked success as an\nauthority.\n\nLuc Van Valckenborgh, called \"partisan of the Reform,\" was born in 1566,\nand in his student days went to Germany, where he practised his art as a\nportrait painter. His reputation was made by his portrait of the\nArchduke Matthias.\n\nHe died in 1625, leaving a son Martin, also his pupil, who established\nhimself at Antwerp and later at Frankfort. Martin was an historical and\nlandscape painter, although he painted some good portraits in the manner\nof his father. He is thought to have died about 1636.\n\nPhilip Vinckboons, the elder, was born about 1550, became an associate\nof the Gild of Painters in 1580, and died 1631. His son Maur, the\nyounger, born 1585, studied painting under his father, finishing under\nhis uncle Pierre Stevens. He died in 1647.\n\nPierre Stevens, born about 1550, was an historical painter and engraver,\nas well as a portrait painter. This master latinized his name and signed\nhis works thus--P. Stephani. He died in 1604 at Prague, where he had\ndwelt since 1590, under the patronage of the Emperor Rudolphe II.\n\nRombaut Van Avont, incorporated in the Gild of Saint Luke in 1581, was a\nsculptor and painter as well as an illuminator of manuscripts on vellum.\nHe died in 1619. His son Pierre, born in 1599, was an excellent painter\nof landscapes, which were distinguished by a most agreeable manner.\nAdmitted as a \"franc maitre\" at Antwerp, he became one of the burgesses\nof that town in October, 1631.\n\nLuc Franchoys, the elder, born January, 1574, was admitted to the Gild\nin 1599. A painter of remarkable talent, he turned to historical\nsubjects, which he produced with great success. In drawing, too, he was\nmost skillful and correct. He died in 1693 and was buried with honors in\nthe church of St. Jean.\n\nHis son Pierre, born in 1606, became pupil of Gerard Seghers of Antwerp,\nwhere he resided for some time. Afterward he lived in Paris, where his\nworks were eagerly sought and appreciated. He never married, but always\nsurrounded himself with young pupils to the time of his death in 1654.\n\nHis younger brother, Luc, was born 1616. He remained with his father,\nworking in his studio until he was admitted to the Gild, when he went to\nParis, where he painted portraits of members of the Court, enjoying\nconsiderable renown and favor. He returned finally to Malines, where he\ndied in April, 1681.\n\nFrans Hals (The Great), was born either here in Malines, or at Antwerp,\nin 1584. Accounts differ. His parents were citizens of Malines, at any\nrate. He had the honor and glory of introducing into Holland the\n\"procede magistral\" of Rubens and his school. His works are too well\nknown to need description here. He established himself at Haarlem, where\nhe died in great poverty in 1666. Not even his burial place is now\nknown.\n\n[Illustration: The Church of Our Lady of Hanswyk]\n\nJean le Saive of Namur, son of Le Saive the Elder, was born in the\ncommencement of the seventeenth century. He painted animals, landscapes,\nand historical subjects. In the latter genre he is inferior to his\nfather; his color is drier, and his drawing less correct. The date of\nhis death is not recorded.\n\nGeorge Biset, painter-decorator, entered the studio of Michel Coxie\n(Third) in 1615. He lived throughout his life at Malines, and died 1671.\n\nHis son, Charles Emmanuel, born 1633, was an excellent portrait painter,\nenjoying much appreciation at the Court of France. He became Burgess of\nAntwerp in 1663, and was elected a Director of the Academy. He died at\nBreda in 1685.\n\nMartin Verhoeven was elected to the Gild in 1623. He painted flowers and\nfruit pieces which enjoyed great celebrity.\n\nHis brother Jean was known as a portraitist of great ability. In late\nlife he produced some good sculptures.\n\nDavid Herregouts, born 1603, was elected to the Gild in 1624. Examples\nof his work are rare. He died at Ruremonde. His son Henri was a pupil of\nhis father. David went to Italy, residing at Rome. After traveling in\nGermany he returned to Malines, and died at Antwerp at an advanced age.\n\nJacques de (or Van) Homes, painter in distemper, was a pupil of Gregoire\nBerincx (Second) and executed much work in \"cisele\" under the direction\nof Fayd'herbe. He died in 1674.\n\nJean Philippe Van Thieleu, born 1618, was an eminent flower and\nstill-life painter, under the guidance of Daniel Zeghers. He was\npatronized by the King of Spain, and died in 1674.\n\nFerdinand Elle, born 1631, according to some; in 1612, say other\naccounts, painter of portraits, went to Paris, where he remained until\nhis death in 1660(?).\n\nGilles (or Egide) Smeyers, historical painter, was born in 1635, and\nstudied under his father Nicholas, later under Jean Verhoeven. In\nfriendship for his companion and master Luc Franchoys the younger, he\nfinished many of the latter's incompleted works after his death.\n\nHis son Jacques, born 1657, was admitted to the Gild in 1688, and died\nin 1732.\n\nEgide Joseph, natural son of Jacques, born 1694, was an historical\npainter, as well as a poet. He lived at Dusseldorf for three years.\nObliged to support his sick parents, he did a great deal of work.\nSmeyers had a profound knowledge of the Latin tongue, which he wrote\nwith great fluency and ease, in both poetry and prose. He possessed,\ntoo, a working knowledge of French, German, and Italian. His historical\nworks are many. At length, sick and helpless, he was admitted to the\nhospital of Notre Dame, where he died in 1771. He painted the large\nportrait of Cardinal Thomas Philippe d'Alsace, Archbishop of Malines.\n\nDaniel Janssens, born in 1636, was a painter-decorator of the first\norder. He adopted the manner of Jacques de Hornes of whom he was the\nfavorite pupil. After having resided in Antwerp for some years he\nreturned to Malines, where he died in 1682. He it was who designed and\nconstructed the immense triumphal arch for the Jubilee of 1680. This\narch is preserved in the Town Hall, and serves to decorate the facade of\nthe \"Halles\" on the occasion of the Grandes Fetes.\n\nSebastian Van Aken, born 1648, was pupil of Luc Franchoys the Younger.\nLater he entered the studio of Charles Maratti in Rome. After painting\nin Spain and Portugal he returned to Malines, where he died in 1722.\n\nAugust Casimir Redel, born 1640. This painter of merit became insane\nfrom excesses and died in 1687. He was also the author of a life of St.\nRombaut (Rombold) and wrote much in verse. He composed an ode on the\noccasion of the Jubilee of Malines in 1680.\n\nJacques la Pla, pupil of Jean le Saive, a master painter of Malines in\n1673, died in 1678.\n\nJean Barthelemy Joffroy, born 1669, was historian, painter, and\nengraver. He died 1740.\n\nJean Joseph Van Campenhout, designer and engraver. He was designer of\nthe great book of the \"Cavalcade of Malines\" in 1775.\n\nAntoine Opdebeek, born 1709, author of many paintings of merit, was an\nuntaught genius. Employed in the hospital of St. Hedwige in Malines, he\ntaught himself the art, with success, but never reached the height which\nwould have been his had he had instruction in his youth. He died 1759.\n\nPierre Antoine Verhulst, born 1751, painter of marines and landscape,\nwhich he executed with great delicacy and charm, died 1809.\n\nMatthieu Joseph Charles Hunin, born 1770, was a master engraver,\nproducing many plates after Rubens and other masters. To his talent is\nalso due a great number of original engravings of the Tower of St.\nRombold; the interior and exterior of the Cathedral of Antwerp; the\nHotels de Villes of Oudenaarde, Brussels and Louvain, etc., etc. He died\nin 1851.\n\nHis son, Pierre Paul Aloys, born 1808, was a genre painter of great\ntaste and renown. His works in which the painting of silk and satin\nappeared were in great demand. He was professor of the Malines Academy,\nand in 1848 Leopold I conferred upon him the decoration of the Order of\nLeopold. He died February 27th, 1855. Many of his paintings have been\nreproduced in engravings.\n\nJean Ver Vloet, the _doyen_ of the artists of Malines, died October\n27th, 1869, after a long and successful artistic career. One of the\nfounders of the society \"Pour l'Encouragement des Beaux Arts\" of\nMalines, he was indefatigable in all art movements of the town. To him\nwas due the success of the magnificent Cavalcades for which Malines has\nbeen famous. For fifty years he was the director of the Academy of\nDesign and Painting of his native town.\n\nThis ends the list of famous painters of Malines, and so far as I know\nit is the first and only one in English. Did space permit I might\ninclude the architects who made Flanders famous the world over as the\ncradle of art and architecture.\n\n\n\n\nA Word About the Belgians\n\n\n\n\nA Word About the Belgians\n\n\nThe little country called Belgium, it should be remembered, dates only\nfrom 1830, when the existing constitution was prepared and adopted for\nthe nine southern provinces of the ancient Netherlands. The sudden and\nunexpected revolt against the Dutch in that year has been since styled\n\"a misunderstanding\" upon the part of the Belgians, and was brought\nabout by the action of the King, William I, of the house of\nOrange-Nassau, who attempted ostentatiously to change at once the\nlanguage and religion of his southern subjects. They were both Roman\nCatholic and conservative to the last degree, attached to traditional\nrights and forms and fiercely proud of the ancient separate\nconstitutions of the southern provinces, which could be traced back to\nthe charters of the Baldwins and Wenceslas.\n\nUndoubtedly the French Revolution of 1830, which closed the Monarchy of\nthe Bourbons, hastened the crisis. For the Belgians had no liking for\nthe rule of the House of Orange-Nassau against which they had\ndiscontentedly struggled for some years more or less openly. But\nmatters might have gone on thus indefinitely had not the French\nRevolution furnished ground for hope of support from a people akin in\nreligion and language, as well as race. The smouldering fire of\ndiscontent broke into fierce flame on August 25th, 1830, in the city of\nBrussels, during a performance of the opera \"Muette de Portici,\" when\nthe tenor was singing the inspired words of Massaniello:\n\n \"Plutot mourir que rester miserable,\n Pour un esclave est-il quelque danger?\n Tombe le joug qui nous accable,\n Et sous nos coups perisse l'etranger.\n Amour sacre de la patrie,\n Rends nous l'audace et la fierte;\n A mon pays je dois la vie,\n Il me devra sa liberte!\"\n\nThe immense audience, roused to patriotic enthusiasm, took up the words\nof the song and, rushing from the theatre _en masse_, paraded the\nstreets, attacking the residences of the Dutch ministers, which they\nsacked and burned.\n\nThe few troops in the town were powerless to stem the revolt, which grew\nuntil Brussels was entirely in the hands of the revolutionists, who then\nproceeded to appoint a Council of Government, which prepared the now\ncelebrated Document of Separation.\n\nWilliam sent his son, the Prince of Orange, to treat with the Council,\ninstead of sending a force of soldiers with which the revolt might have\nbeen terminated easily, it is claimed. The Prince entered Brussels\naccompanied only by a half dozen officers as escort. After three days'\nuseless parley, he returned to King William with the \"Document of\nSeparation.\"\n\nThe reply of the King to this message was made to the Dutch Chambers ten\ndays later. Denouncing the revolt, he declared that he would never yield\nto \"passion and violence.\" Orders were then issued to Dutch troops under\nPrince Frederick of Holland to proceed to Brussels and retake the city.\nThe attack was made upon the four gates of the walled city on September\n23rd. The Belgians prepared a trap, cunningly allowing the Dutch\nsoldiers to enter two of the gates and retreating towards the Royal Park\nfacing the Palace. Here they rallied and attacked the troops of William\nfrom all sides at once. Joined by a strong body of men from Liege they\nfought for three days with such ferocity that Prince Frederick was\nbeaten back again and again, until he was forced to retreat at midnight\nof the third day.\n\nIn the battle six hundred Belgian citizens were slain, and to these men,\nregarded now as the martyrs of the Revolution, a great monument has been\nerected in the Place des Martyrs, near the trench in which they were\nburied.\n\nA provisional government was now formed which issued the following\nnotice: \"The Belgian provinces, detached by force from Holland, shall\nform an independent state.\" Measures were taken to rid the country of\nthe Dutch, who were expelled forcibly across the border.\n\nEnvoys to Paris and London presented documents to secure sympathy for\nthe new government, while the fight for independence was still going on\nfiercely. Waelhern and Berchem, besieged by the Belgian volunteers, soon\nfell, and the city of Antwerp was occupied by them before the end of\nOctober.\n\nThen the Conference of the Five Powers, sitting in London, interposed to\nforce an armistice in order to determinate some understanding and\narrangement between the Dutch and the Belgians, since it had become\nevident that the Netherlands kingdom of 1815 had practically come to an\nend. By the treaty of London in 1814, and that of Vienna in 1815,\nBelgium, after a short interregnum of Austrian rule, was incorporated\nwith Holland into the Kingdom of the Netherlands.\n\nIn the space of a month then the Belgian patriots had accomplished their\ntask, and on November 18th the National Assembly, convoked, declared as\nits first act the independence of the Belgians.\n\nIt was now necessary to find a head upon which to place the crown. The\nfirst choice of the provisional government was the Duc de Nemours, the\nson of Louis Philippe, but objection was made to him on the ground that\nhis selection would add too much, perhaps, to the power of France, so\nhis candidature was withdrawn.\n\nChoice was fixed finally upon Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, who had but\nrecently declined the throne of Greece by advice of the European\ndiplomats. A resident of England, this Prince, who had espoused Princess\nCharlotte, the daughter of George IV, was well known as a most clear\nheaded diplomat, a reputation he enjoyed during his whole career.\n\nIn his acceptance he said: \"Human destiny does not offer a nobler or\nmore useful task than that of being called to found the independence of\na nation, and to consolidate its liberties.\"\n\nThe people hailed and received him with great enthusiasm, and on July\n21st he was crowned King of the Belgians, with most impressive\nceremonies, at Brussels. The Dutch, however, viewed all this with much\nconcern, and at once began hostilities, thinking that the powers would\nsustain them rather than permit France to occupy Belgium. At once Dutch\ntroops were massed for attack on both Brussels and Louvain. Outnumbered\nby the Dutch, the badly organized national forces of Belgium met\ndisaster at Hasselt, and, realizing his peril, Leopold besought the\nFrench, who were at the frontier, to come to his assistance.\nSimultaneously with the assault on Louvain, therefore, the French\ntroops arrived at Brussels. Great Britain now entered the fray,\nthreatening to send a fleet of warships to occupy the Scheldt unless\nKing William recalled his army from Belgium. This settled the matter,\nand the Dutch withdrew. The French likewise returned to their own\nterritory. Jealousy, however, was manifested by Austria, Prussia and\nRussia toward the new kingdom, and their refusal to receive Leopold's\nambassadors was calculated to encourage hope in Holland that the reign\nof the new monarch was to be limited.\n\nNew troubles began for the Belgians, in the presentation of the London\nProtocol of October 15, 1831, in consequence of a demand that the\ngreater part of Limbourg and Luxembourg be ceded. Not only the Belgians\nbut the Dutch opposed this demand, as well as the conditions of the\nprotocol. And at once King William prepared for armed resistance.\nLeopold immediately after obtaining votes for the raising of the sum of\nthree millions sterling for war purposes, increased the army to one\nhundred thousand men.\n\nNow ensued a most critical period for the little kingdom, but both\nFrance and England held their shields over it, while Leopold's marriage\nto the Princess Louise, eldest daughter of King Louis Philippe, gained\nfor it still greater strength in its relations with France.\n\nKing William, however, refused stubbornly to recognise the protocol,\nand retained possession of Antwerp, which he held with a garrison of\nfive thousand soldiers. Antwerp Citadel being the pride of the kingdom,\nthe Belgians, restive under the control of the powers, demanded that\nboth England and France help them at once to recover it, alleging that\nin case this help was refused, they, with their hundred thousand men,\nwere ready to capture it themselves. So in the month of November the\nFrench troops, under Marechal Gerard, laid siege to the Antwerp\nstronghold, held by General Chasse, who after three weeks' siege\ncapitulated, and the Dutch, rather than have their warships captured,\nburnt and sank them in the Scheldt.\n\nWith the surrender of Antwerp, the French withdrew their army, but the\nDutch sullenly refused to recognise the victory until the year 1839,\nwhen they withdrew from and dismantled the forts on the Scheldt facing\nAntwerp.\n\nNaturally the support of the French and English brought about a deep and\nlasting feeling of gratitude on the part of the Belgians. Louis Philippe\nsaid, \"Belgium owes her independence and the recovery of her territory\nto the union of France and England in her cause.\"\n\nHer independence thus gained and recognised, Belgium turned her\nattention to the development of the country and its rich natural\nresources. The Manufactures flourished, her mines of coal and iron\nbecame famous throughout the world, and she trod the peaceful path of\nstrict neutrality among the great nations. Passing over the all familiar\nhistory of Waterloo, one may quote the saying of M. Northomb: \"The\nBattle of Waterloo opened a new era for Europe, the era of\nrepresentative government.\" And this new era was enjoyed by Belgium\nuntil the Franco-Prussian War confronted the little country with a fresh\ncrisis, and one fraught with danger. Although her absolute neutrality\nhad been earnestly proclaimed and presented to the powers, it was feared\nthat she might be invaded and be unable to maintain her integrity by her\nmilitary force.\n\nLeopold promptly mobilized the army and massed it upon the frontier.\nDuring and after the battle of Sedan, a large number of both French and\nGerman soldiers crossed the border and were interned until the close of\nthe war.... Once more peace descended upon the Belgians, for a fresh\ntreaty prepared by England and signed by both France and Prussia engaged\nthe British Government to declare war upon the power violating its\nprovisions.\n\nAfter his acceptance of the Crown of Belgium, the Constitution declared\nthe monarchy hereditary in the male line of the family of Prince Leopold\nof Saxe-Coburg, which consisted of two sons and one daughter. The elder\nof the sons was born in 1835, and succeeded his father as Leopold II,\nin 1865. The Austrian Archduchess Marie Henriette became his wife in\n1853, and their descendants were one son and three daughters, none of\nwhom is now living. The Salic Law prevailing in Belgium, the history of\nthe female descendants is not of political importance. The only son of\nLeopold II dying in 1869, the succession passed to the brother of the\nKing, the Count of Flanders, who married Mary, Princess of Hohenzollern,\na sister of the King of Roumania.\n\nThe death of their son Prince Baldwin in 1891 was held to be a national\ncalamity. This left the nephew of Leopold II, Prince Albert (the present\nKing of Belgium), the heir presumptive to the throne. He married in 1900\nthe Princess Elizabeth of Bavaria; to them have been born three\nchildren, two boys and a girl. Both the King and Queen, the objects of\nintense devotion on the part of the Belgians, are very simple and\ndemocratic in their bearing toward the people. The Queen is a very\nbeautiful woman, and a most devoted wife and mother.... Since the seat\nof government has been removed to Havre, the Queen divides her time\nbetween the little hamlet of La Panne, headquarters of the Belgian army,\nnear the town of Furnes on the dunes of the north sea, and London, where\nthe children are being cared for and educated.... May not one hope that\nbrighter days are in store for this devoted and heroic King and Queen,\nfor the once smiling and fertile land, and for the kindly, gentle, and\nlaw abiding Belgian people?[5]\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\n Albert, King of Belgium, 102, 207\n\n Alost, church of St. Martin's, 113, 114\n   Hotel de Ville, 111\n\n Antwerp, carillon of, 52\n   cathedral of, 41, 44, 143\n\n Archers of St. Sebastian, 66\n\n Artists of Malines, list of the, 183-195\n\n Aymon, legend of the four sons of, 133-136\n\n\n Baldwin Bras-de-Fer, 55, 171\n\n Baldwin the Ninth, Count of Flanders, 72, 121\n\n Battle of the Dunes, the, 101\n\n Battle of the Spurs, the, 120, 172\n\n Battle of Waterloo, the, 206\n\n Bayard, the horse, 133-138\n\n Beguinage, the, Courtrai, 121\n    \"        \"   Malines, 23-24\n    \"        \"   Ypres, 82\n\n Bell-founding, process of, 45-48\n\n Berincx, Gregoire, 186\n    \"     Gregoire le Jeune, 186, 191\n\n Bethune, Robert of, Count of Flanders, 75, 79\n\n Biset, Charles Emmanuel, 191\n   \"    George, 191\n\n Bol, Jean, 188\n\n Bouts, Dierick, 48, 149\n\n Broel Towers, the, Courtrai, 119, 123\n\n Bruges, cathedral of, 41\n   library, 171\n\n Brussels, cathedral of, 41\n   Museum of Decorative Arts, 76, 149\n\n Burgundy, House of, 68\n    \"      Mary of, 165\n\n\n Carillons of Antwerp, 52\n     \"     of Bruges, 52\n     \"     of Ghent, 52\n     \"     of Louvain, 52\n     \"     of Malines, 52\n     \"     of Tournai, 52\n\n Carpreau, Jean, 187\n\n Cathedral of Antwerp, 41\n     \"     of Bruges, 41\n     \"     of Brussels, 41\n     \"     of Ghent, 41\n     \"     of Malines, 18-19, 41, 42\n     \"     of Ypres, 69, 73\n\n Charlemagne, 134-136\n\n Charles the Bold, 25, 76, 81\n\n Charles the Eleventh, 119\n\n Charles the Fifth, 18, 130, 165\n\n Cloth Hall, the, Ypres, 69, 72-75, 78, 80, 81\n\n Commines, Philip of, 86\n\n Cossiers, I., 24\n\n Coxie, Jean, 185\n   \"    Jean Michel, 185\n   \"    Michel, 184\n   \"    Michel le Jeune, 184\n   \"    Michel the Third, 185\n   \"    Michel the Fourth, 185\n   \"    Raphael, 185\n\n Counts' Chapel, the, Courtrai, 121\n\n Courtrai, the Counts' Chapel, 121\n   the Hall of the Magistrates, 129\n   the Town Hall, 129\n\n Cuyp, 36, 102\n\n\n De Gruyter, Jean, 185\n\n De Hornes, Jacques, 191, 193\n\n Deklerk, 44, 45\n\n De Poindre, Jacques, 187\n\n De Vos, Lambert, 188\n\n Douai, Hotel de Ville, 157, 160\n\n Douai Bible, the, 158\n\n Dyle, the river, 21, 26, 152\n\n\n Elle, Ferdinand, 192\n\n\n Franchoys, Luc, 189\n    \"       Luc le Jeune, 190, 192, 193\n    \"       Pierre, 190\n\n Franco-Prussian War, the, 206\n\n Furnes, Hotel de Ville, 173\n\n\n Ghent, the carillons of, 52\n\n Gild of St. Luke, the, 181\n\n Gothic architecture, styles of, 90\n\n Great Wars of Flanders, the, 86\n\n\n Hall of the Magistrates, the, Courtrai, 129\n\n Hals, Frans, 141, 190\n\n Hanseatic League, the, 69\n\n Hanswyk, the Tower of Our Lady of, Malines, 26\n\n Haweis, 41, 43, 49, 50\n\n Hemony, 42, 49\n\n Henry the First, 152\n\n Herregouts, David, 191\n\n Hoogenbergh, Jean, 186\n\n Hotel de Ville of Alost, 111\n   \"   \"    \"   of Douai, 157, 160\n   \"   \"    \"   of Furnes, 173\n   \"   \"    \"   of Louvain, 147, 149 150\n   \"   \"    \"   of Oudenaarde, 164\n   \"   \"    \"   of Ypres, 73\n\n Huet, 87, 89\n\n Hunin, Matthieu Joseph Charles, 194\n   \"    Pierre Paul Aloys, 194\n\n Hugo, Victor, 52\n\n\n Ingelrams, Andre, 187\n    \"       Corneille, 187\n\n Inghelbrugtorre, Courtrai, 119\n\n Inquisition, the Spanish, 68\n\n\n Jansenius, Cornelius, Bishop of Ypres, 73, 80\n\n Janssens, Daniel, 193\n\n Joffroy, Jean Barthelemy, 193\n\n Jordaens, 141\n\n Jube, at St. Martin's, Dixmude, 55, 57-59, 62, 79\n\n\n Keldermans, 17, 18, 130\n\n Knights of the Golden Fleece, 36\n\n Knights Templar, the, 99, 101\n\n\n La Panne, 74, 207\n\n La Pla, Jacques, 193\n\n Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, King of Belgium, 203, 204, 205\n\n Leopold the Second of Belgium, 207\n\n Le Saive, Jean, 190, 193\n\n Library, the, Bruges, 43, 171\n   Brussels, 43\n   Louvain, 43, 49, 150\n\n Lion of Flanders, the, 22, 28\n\n Louis of Maele, 66, 67\n\n Louis of Nevers, 76\n\n Louis Philippe, 203, 205\n\n Louis the Eleventh, 157\n\n Louis the Fourteenth, 158\n\n Louvain, church of St. Peter, 147, 152\n   carillons of, 52\n   Hotel de Ville, 149\n   library, 149\n\n Loyola, Ignatius, 21\n\n Luther, Martin, 21\n\n Lys, the river, 119, 120, 122-123\n\n\n Malines, carillons of, 52\n   cathedral of, 18-19, 41, 42\n   St. Rombauld, 17, 19, 22, 26, 37, 44\n\n Margaret of Artois, 76\n    \"     of Austria, statue of, 22\n    \"     of Parma, 165\n    \"     of York, 25, 76\n    \"     the Courageous, the legend of, 150-153\n\n Marguerite of Flanders, 152\n    \"       of Savoie, 18\n\n Mary of Burgundy, 165\n\n Matsys, Quentin, 149\n\n Memling, 85, 148, 149\n\n Mercier, Cardinal, Primate of Belgium, 21, 167\n\n Moertens, Thierry, 112\n\n Museum of Decorative Arts, the, Brussels, 76, 149\n\n Mysteries of the Passion, the, 175\n\n\n Nemours, Duc de, 202\n\n Nieuwerck, Ypres, 70, 73, 77\n\n Notre Dame, the church of, Courtrai, 121\n\n\n Opdebeek, Antoine, 194\n\n Oudenaarde, church of St. Walburga, 165\n    \"   Hotel de Ville, 164\n    \"   Town Hall, 17, 165\n\n\n Philip of Alsace, 119\n    \"   of Savoie, 18\n    \"   the Second of Spain, 85, 101\n\n Place de la Boucherie, 25\n\n\n Quesnoy, Jerome due, 24\n\n\n Redel, August Casimir, 193\n\n Rembrandt, 141\n\n Rubens, 113, 141, 173, 190\n\n Ruskin, 28, 42\n\n\n St. Martin's, cathedral of, Ypres, 73, 77, 78, 79\n      \"        church of, Alost, 113, 114\n      \"        church of, Dixmude, 55, 56, 57, 60\n\n St. Mary Bells, in Antwerp cathedral, 44\n\n St. Nicholas, church of, Furnes, 99, 171\n\n St. Peter, church of, Louvain, 147, 152\n\n St. Pierre, tower of, Ypres, 80\n\n St. Rombauld, Malines, chimes of, 19, 22\n       \"          \"     spire of, 17\n       \"          \"     tower of, 26-37, 44\n\n St. Walburga, church of, Oudenaarde, 165, 174-176\n\n St. Winoc, the abbey of, Bergues, 95\n\n Sainte Begga, 23, 121\n\n Salvator Bell, the, 20, 48\n\n Scheldt, the river, 133, 204, 205\n\n Smeyers, Egide Joseph, 192\n    \"     Gilles, 192\n    \"     Jacques, 192\n\n Snellinck, Jean, 188\n\n Speytorre, the, Courtrai, 119\n\n Stevens, Pierre, 189\n\n\n Taillebert, d'Urbain, 79\n\n Thierry d'Alsace, 65, 85\n\n Toeput, Louis, 188\n\n Tournai, Town Hall, 52\n\n Tower of the Templars, the, Nieuport, 99, 101\n\n Town Hall of Brussels, 17\n   \"    \"  of Courtrai, 129\n   \"    \"  of Dixmude, 56\n   \"    \"  of Louvain, 17\n   \"    \"  of Oudenaarde, 17\n   \"    \"  of Tournai, 52\n\n Trabukier, Guillaume, 184\n\n\n Untenhoven, Martin, 78\n\n\n Van Aken, Sebastian, 193\n\n Van Artevelde, family of, 36\n  \"      \"      Philip, 66, 86\n\n Van Avont, Pierre, 189\n  \"    \"    Rombaut, 189\n\n Van Battele, Baudouin, 183\n  \"     \"     Gautier, 183\n  \"     \"     Jean, 183\n  \"     \"     Jean le Jeune, 183\n\n Van den Gheyn, family of, 20, 33, 42, 44, 45, 158\n  \"   \"    \"    Mathias, 147\n  \"   \"    \"    Peter, 48\n\n Van Dyck, 133\n\n Van Eyck, Jean, 79\n\n Van Halter, Catherine, 24\n\n Van Ophem, Jean, 186\n\n Van Orley, Bernard, 184\n\n Van Orshagen, Jean, 183\n\n Van Steynemolen, Zacherie, 184\n\n Van Thieleu, Jean Philippe, 192\n\n Van Valckenborgh, Luc, 188\n  \"       \"        Martin, 189\n\n Van Yleghem, Daniel, 183\n\n Van Yper, Carel, 80\n\n Vauban, 65\n\n Verbeek, Francois, 186\n    \"     Hans, 186\n\n Vereeke, 65, 70\n\n Verhaegan, P.J., 150, 153\n\n Verhoeven, Jean, 191\n     \"      Martin, 191\n\n Verhulst, Pierre Antoine, 194\n\n Ver Vloet, Jean, 195\n\n Vinckboons, Maur, 184\n      \"      Philip, 189\n\n\n Waghemans, family of, 20\n\n Waterloo, the Battle of, 206\n\n Willems, Marc, 187\n\n William the First of Holland, 199, 201, 204\n\n\n Ypres, the Beguinage, 82\n   the cathedral of, 69, 72\n   the Cloth Hall, 69, 73, 74, 75, 78, 80, 81\n   the Hotel de Ville, 73\n\n Yser, the river, 55, 62\n\n\n Zeelstman, 19\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] Those who are interested in the subject are referred to C.\nLemonnier's \"Histoire des Beaux Arts en Belgique\" (Brussels, 1881), E.\nHessling's \"La Sculpture Belge Contemporaire\" (Berlin, 1903), Destree's\n\"Renaissance of Sculpture in Belgium,\" Crowe and Cavalcaselle's \"Early\nFlemish Painters\" (1857).\n\n[2] This passion play is described in detail in \"Some Old Flemish\nTowns.\" (Same author. Moffat, Yard & Co., New York, 1911.)\n\n[3] See \"Some Old Flemish Towns.\"\n\n[4] The list is drawn in part from the \"_Histoire de la Peinture et de\nla Sculpture a Malines_,\" _par Emmanuel Neefs_--Gand, Van der Heeghen,\n1876, translated from the manuscripts composed in Latin by the painter\nEgide Joseph Smeyers, Malines, 1774.\n\n[5] The author refers the reader to \"The Constitution of Belgium,\" J.M.\nVincent, Phila., 1898; \"Belgium and the Belgians,\" C. Scudamore, London,\n1904; \"History of Belgium,\" D.C. Boulger, London, 1900; \"The Story of\nBelgium,\" C. Smythe, London, 1902.","title":"Vanished towers and chimes of Flanders","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":36148}