Half-way across Belgium, midway between Liège and Ostend, the capital
of the kingdom invites us to enter its gates. Brussels had its
beginning in a settlement of the sixth century which occupied an island
in the marshy River Senne. The river, ever a troublesome stream, is
now confined within viaducts, and the city has climbed the heights
above its hidden banks. The dwellings of warrior tribes and the castles
of the mighty Dukes of Brabant are supplanted by the substantial
buildings of a center of present-day life. For the well-kept beauty
of its streets and open spaces, for its air of solid content and
well-contained vivacity, for its handsome store-houses of ancient and
modern art, its massive but harmonious architecture, its tempting shops
and markets, and the alluring grace of its medieval roofs and towers,
Brussels exacts universal admiration. Fortunately, her fine streets
and buildings escaped the vandalism that blighted or razed many other
Belgian communities. There is not space here to narrate the tragedy of
Brussels under enemy domination. Encouraged by a staunch-hearted King,
the city is fast resuming its former activities. Many of the great
families of the nation, resident in Brussels, have been impoverished.
Treasure places have been sacked. There are indelible lines of grief on
the faces one sees in the street. But the veil of mourning that so long
enveloped the city is withdrawn to let in the sun of hope and renewed
good fortune. Beleaguered Brussels will soon be herself again.
[Illustration: THE BELFRY OF BRUGES
“In the market-place of Bruges
Stands the belfry old and brown;
Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded,
Still it watches o’er the town.”
--_Longfellow_]
Of all places one goes to see, none has a greater appeal to the
imagination than that rare old square in Brussels called the _Grand’
Place_. It has been the scene of barbarous deeds of the Middle Ages;
martyrs and heroes have met their death here; and knights and damsels,
dukes and ladies have passed days in “skilful jousting” beneath its
painted façades. Ranged about its four sides are the halls dedicated to
Middle-Century guilds--the Hall of the Sea Captains, the Archers’ Hall;
at the corner of Butter Street, the Hall of the Bakers; the Hall of the
Painters; the Hall of the Grease Merchants; the graceful House of the
King, and the Weigh House. More elegant than these, with their gilded
lace-like gables, slender pinnacles and suggestively romantic doorways,
is the Gothic _Hôtel de Ville_, or City Hall, with a tower 370 feet
high, and a history that goes back to the year 1400. A gracious
picture, indeed, is this redolent square when Flemish peasant women
drive in at dawn and under the flame-tinted spires unload their baskets
of flowers and garden vegetables and their shining copper cans. When
the market hour has passed, they go by the Street of the Mountain to
worship in the twin-towered Cathedral of Ste. Gudule and St. Michael,
which stands up impressively above the lower town.
[Illustration: “THE GREEN QUAY,” BRUGES