BRUSSELS BEFORE THE WAR
The social life of Brussels we found very interesting. That of the Court
was simple but elegant, while that of the aristocracy was old-world and
conservative to a degree. Indeed, it was much like that of the Faubourg
in Paris. Outside of royalty and serene highnesses, every one "in
society" was either a count or a baron. It certainly seemed strange to
an American that not one was without a title.
Another custom which struck one as odd was that of using titles in
letters--they would often sign themselves "Countess So-and-So," or
"Princess X." If a woman belonged to a fine family she would put "_née_"
with her maiden name on her card.
An amusing travesty on titles occurred when our footman received letters
addressed to the "Chief Cleaner of the Silver." I saw two cards which
were even funnier than this, though. One bore the man's name and the
title, "The Secretary of the Secretary of the Minister of"--such a
department. The other was a card of a Doctor A----, who had inscribed
beneath his name, "Doctor for the Countess of B----'s stomach."
Hospitality generally took the form of afternoon teas. I have often been
to as many as three or four in a day. They were always very ceremonial
affairs, with all the servants turned out in style to receive me alone
or perhaps two or three other guests.
During Lent people often received in the evening. Tea and cake and
orangeade were served, while the guests sat and gossiped. At this
season, we discovered, all the dinners had to have either fish or
meat--not both--as it was a Roman Catholic country. Sundays, which are
not Lenten days, gave them an opportunity for varying the festivities.
Dinners were given occasionally, and were always very formal and very
long--really banquets--made up of a succession of rich dishes with a
small glass of red or white wine with every course. The placing of
guests at table was an extremely important matter, for every one must be
seated strictly according to rank. One does not wonder that there were
so few dinners, considering the difficulty of finding a group of
congenial people who could dine together without dissatisfaction. Each
was likely to think that he should have been given a higher place, and
to go home feeling insulted instead of happy.
The favourite subjects among the women were children and the rainy
weather; aside from gossip there was talk of little else. The men had no
objection to sitting in silence, and were inclined to consider women who
talked as chatterboxes. But for all that, they were very charming and
high-bred and delightful to meet.
I should judge the Belgian sense of humour was not like ours. Many of
them had a Latin wit, but as a race they were rather serious and
conventional. They seemed to consider it bad form to have what we call a
good time; all their entertainments were formal and dignified.
There was much in their character that was delightfully mediæval. People
in the highest position socially would say with perfect simplicity
things that sounded very strange to our ears. A man of high rank and
intelligence explained to me one day that the reason why the Belgians
slept with their windows closed was that the early morning air was bad
for the eyes! He was quite serious about it and seemed to think the
excuse sufficient.
I believe some of them still imagined that our country had not reached
even the first stages of civilization. A little gentlewoman whom I had
engaged through a friend to act as secretary courtesied very prettily on
being presented, but wasn't at all sure whether we were South Americans
or not, and inquired rather anxiously whether I had ever before been
away from my native land. She thought that I should always be
accompanied when out walking.
I once asked an American lady who had married a Belgian what her adopted
countrymen thought of Americans. She laughed and told me what happened
when her husband took her home to his château as a bride, many years
before. All the peasants and tradespeople of the village had turned out
to greet them, and while they were evidently pleased, something in her
appearance seemed to surprise them. Finally her husband asked some one
if there was anything the matter. Very politely the man explained that
since they had heard that their new countess came from America, they had
all expected her to be black. The Count paused a moment, glancing at his
wife, who was not only very beautiful but very blonde, and then answered
gravely, "Oh, but you must not forget--it is winter now. My wife, she
only turns black in summer!"
Before the war broke down the barriers between them, the Belgians and
Dutch were much inclined to make fun of each other. The former said
their neighbours were heavy, stupid and stiff. The Dutch retorted that
the Belgians were so weak they could simply eat them up if they wished.
Quite the most important social event of the Brussels year was the Fancy
Fair, which was given for the benefit of some charity. It came off in
February and lasted four days. I had been asked to help on the flower
table, where we sold not only flowers, real and artificial, but flower
stands, vases, and perfumes. The shelves and tables were covered with
mauve paper and velvet, and the effect was quite pretty. The fair was
much like ours at home, and most of the men were afraid to attend. Some
of the diplomats discreetly sent donations with their cards. The Queen
was expected, but was ill at the last moment and the Comtesse de Flandre
took her place, spending ten dollars at each table.
During the winter months Belgium sees little of the sun. All through
April, too, they tell you, as a matter of course, "It is to rain." The
weather is undoubtedly bad. In most countries the people stand up for
their climate to some extent, but there they have to acknowledge that it
is wretched. May can be delightful, as I discovered, with floods of
sunshine everywhere. But even then there were cold, dreary days, and
later in the month the chestnut trees turned brown and the flowers began
to fade, so the spring is short enough at best.
I found the streets of Brussels always amusing, whether the sun was in
or out. There were sturdy dogs pulling carts laden with shining brass
and copper milk-cans, the occasional trumpet-call and tramp of soldiers,
and the women selling baskets of flowers, as they do in Rome. The church
bells rang at all hours, for the clocks did not any two of them agree,
and were forever contradicting each other with their musical chimes.
As I have said before, Brussels was a model city, beautiful and well
kept. In the center of the town was the superb Grande Place, second to
none in Europe, with the Hôtel de Ville, which was second only to that
in Louvain, the galleried and much-gilded Maison du Roi, and the many
guild-houses of the archers and skippers and printers and merchants. I
am told that this historic square has been mined by the Germans, so
that all its treasures of mediæval architecture can be blown up at a
moment's notice.
[Illustration: _A Flemish Kermesse_]
The Grande Place was at its best when there was a _kermesse_. Then the
windows of the guild-halls and the long galleries of the Hôtel de
Ville--the glory of Brussels--were lined with people looking down into
the square. Flags streamed from the buildings, and there was good music,
and groups of happy burghers were drinking their beer at little tables.
After dark there was continuous illumination of the lovely spire of the
Hôtel de Ville, with varying coloured lights that showed its tracery and
design in beautiful, mysterious relief--an entrancing sight.
Not far from the corner of the Hôtel stood the famous little fountain
figure of the Mannikin, the "First Citizen of Brussels." He was dressed
for the _kermesse_ in his best Sun-day-go-to-meeting suit, as was proper
for the occasion--a plum-coloured velvet with ruffles and embroidery, a
three-cornered hat with feathers and cockade, buckled shoes, and white
stockings and gloves.
The Grande Place was the civic center of Brussels. The Government
buildings were grouped about a park half a mile away, with the royal
palace at one end and the Palais de la Nation, the House of Parliament,
at the other. Close by, on either side, were grouped the various
departments and the fine houses provided for the Ministers by the
Government.
The Palais de la Nation was only moderately impressive. The senate
chamber was decorated with frescos, while the "deputies" was bare and
plain. Like our two houses in Washington, the upper was rather
dignified, while the lower was in apparent disorder all the time. While
Parliament was in session _huissiers_ with their chains of office about
their necks were on guard throughout the building.
One of the points in Brussels most familiar to me was the Gare du Nord,
near the long public greenhouse and park, where the narrow shopping
street began, in the lower part of the town. This led to the Bourse, the
Place de la Monnaie, and the Grand Théâtre. Then there was the upper
Boulevard with its tram that climbed the hill from the Gare du Nord, and
a foot and bridle path which led through the Quartier Leopold--and on
for miles to the Gare du Midi, changing its name with every block.
There were three good motor roads leading out of town: one from this
boulevard to the avenue Louise continued on through the Bois; another
extended from the Quartier Leopold to the Musée Congo, while a third led
in the opposite direction, through the lower town and on to Laeken,
where the Summer Palace of the King was located.
A favourite stroll of mine from the Legation was through the park near
by, between the palace and the government houses, past the palace of the
Comtesse de Flandre and the Museum, to the American Club for a cup of
afternoon tea. I sometimes stopped and took a look at the interesting
paintings in the Museum--a jumble of religious pictures, butchers'
shops, and fat women. The street known as the Montagne de la Cour, in
this part of the town, was widened a few years ago by the old King, and
no doubt is more healthy, but its picturesqueness was much marred by the
tearing down of some quaint old houses which had stood there for
generations.
Before the war Brussels was one of the first musical cities of Europe.
This was not a new honour for it, however, for as far back as the
fifteenth century the Low Countries led the world in the art of music.
They furnished choirmasters for the churches of the continent, and
singers for the royal courts. Besides all this, they founded schools of
music and supplied the instruction as well. One of their most famous
composers, Grétry, who lived in the eighteenth century, wrote many
operas which were very popular in Paris. Much of his life was spent in
the French capital, but when he died his heart was taken to his native
Liège for burial. One of his songs is supposed to have inspired the
Marseillaise by its vigorous expression of loyalty to the French king.
Few people, I believe, know that Beethoven's father was a Belgian. Since
the tragedy of Belgium, the great composer has been taken out of the
German Hall of Fame. His ancestral town was Louvain.
"Beethoven? From Louvain his fathers spring,
Hence came the exile's dolor in his mien.
Rebukes prophetic in his numbers ring;
And when wild clangors smite his sealed ears,
And loud alarums rung by hands unseen,
It is the tocsin of his town he hears."
Because of their long inheritance of good musical taste, the public of
modern Brussels had the reputation of being the most difficult to please
of any. Even London and Paris audiences seemed less critical, and a
triumph in Brussels was a triumph indeed. The audience was usually made
up of thoroughly educated musicians who went to concerts seriously.
Both Calvé and Melba made their débuts there.
[Illustration: EUGENE YSAYE.]
But much of Brussels' musical renown was due to the presence there of
the two great masters of the violin--Thompson and Ysaye. The former is
less known in this country than Ysaye, who has had great success here
and is a popular favourite in England as well. But he himself considers
Thompson his superior, and certainly the latter is acknowledged to be
the greatest living master of technique.
Both men came from Liège, in the Walloon country, and both have been
head of the violin department in the Conservatoire in Brussels. When
Ysaye resigned a few years ago, Thompson took his place. (The
Conservatoire, by the way, was subsidized by the Government and was
entirely for the service of the people. The aristocracy did not send
their children there, employing members of the faculty to come to their
homes instead.) Unlike so many great men, Ysaye was honoured in his own
country, and appreciated and adored by his own people. He was especially
adored by his pupils, who considered him a sort of god.
When Thompson played in Boston he was not appreciated. He admits that he
has stage fright, and when appearing before a large audience becomes
frozen and fails to play at his best. He is a master of counterpoint,
and an authority on ancient music. Although a fine teacher, he sometimes
becomes sarcastic, and his pupils do not worship him as Ysaye's do. His
son served in the Belgian army and at last accounts was convalescing
from a wound, in an English hospital.
We attended a wonderful performance of "Götterdämmerung," which began at
half-past five and lasted all the evening. An American woman, Madame
Walker, sang remarkably well. The opera was very good, and Friday night
was the fashionable time to attend, when it was generally crowded.
One morning we went to the "Concours de Violons" at the Conservatoire.
The playing was of a high order and the enthusiasm of the crowded
audience tremendous. The judges sat in one of the stage boxes and the
competitions began at nine, all the pupils playing the same piece in
succession. Each competitor came out and stood on the stage alone, save
for her accompanist and her teacher, and played for some fifteen
minutes, facing the jury and the critical crowd.
Quite the nicest looking of all the contestants was a little American
girl of sixteen, Miss Hildegarde Nash, who seemed very self-possessed.
Her method was so perfect that, while she had to compete with men, as
well as with other clever little half-grown girls like herself, she
gained a "_premier prix avec grand distinction_." We felt quite proud of
her.
Besides the music, there were _conférences_--talks by various people on
various subjects. One went to them either by invitation, or by
purchasing tickets; some were given for charity, others for mutual
benefit.
Before the war broke out there were about two hundred of our compatriots
in the American colony in Brussels. Most of the older ones had brought
their children there because the schools were good and quite
inexpensive, and both rents and servants' wages were low. Many of the
younger people were there for the purpose of studying music.
The life of an American girl studying in any Continental city is always
beset with difficulties. This was no less true in Brussels, the "Little
Paris" of the Low Countries, than elsewhere. So that winter I started an
American Students' Club. It occupied so much of my time that it is worth
a passing mention here. We had some difficulty in finding suitable
rooms; my husband was much amused because I found some excellent ones
over what he insisted was a bar, though it was really a restaurant.
However, we didn't take them, but a lower suite in a respectable
_pension_ with a small writing room, reading room, tea and music rooms,
bath, bedroom and kitchen.
The club had its opening the first of February, and during Lent it was
crowded. Different ladies poured tea, and the students sang or recited.
The little Boston girl who had won the prize at the Conservatoire played
for us delightfully, as did also Miss Zoellner and others. Including the
students and their friends we sometimes had a hundred present. In the
spring it was suggested that we should give the most prominent member of
the club an introduction, so it was voted that Miss Donnan should have
the first concert given for her. She had quite a lovely high voice, and
the affair was very successful.
Later on the character of the club was somewhat altered. The membership
grew and the treasury swelled, but it became more of an American woman's
club, with dances and bridge whist. The last I heard it was being
restored more to its original character. I hope it has been of service
to Americans during the war.
Even before this war there was much kindly feeling in Belgium toward
Americans, although during our war with Spain they sympathized with the
Spaniards. (During the Boer War they were anti-English.) There was an
eclipse of the sun in April, and at the moment of greatest darkness
Baron von der Elst of the Foreign Office came to express to L. the
sympathy of the Government in the face of the catastrophe to the
_Titanic_--a catastrophe that we, like the rest of the world, had been
slow to believe possible. The Baron said that the King was much
concerned, and that they intended to express their sympathy in
Parliament that afternoon. Indeed, both the Senate and the Chamber of
Deputies passed resolutions of condolence, and later the King sent his
Grand Marshal, Comte de Mérode, to further express his sympathy and
distress.
When spring came, and sunnier weather, I had many delightful rides on
horseback. A favourite one, which I took several times with the Duc and
Duchesse d'Ursel, was out in the Forêt de Soignes, which was quite
wonderful with its damp young green. It covered some ten thousand acres,
and had alleys of great trees with beautiful vistas.
About twelve hundred years ago, they tell you, a gay and worldly young
prince lived in a castle near the edge of this forest, where he was
fond of hunting. He was so devoted to the sport, in fact, that he quite
neglected the fast days, and hunted on Fridays as freely as on Mondays.
This impiety could not be permitted, of course. One day a white stag
bearing between its antlers a cross, appeared to the prince in a forest
glade. The vision so impressed the young man that he forsook his sport
and turned religious. In time he became Bishop of Liège, converted
Brabant from paganism to Christianity, and was canonized by the Church
he had served so faithfully. The people still believe that the blessing
of St. Hubert rests upon the Forêt de Soignes.
A favourite sport with all classes, but also a social function, was
horse-racing. There was a lovely miniature racecourse at Boitsfort, just
beyond the Parc de la Cambre. We walked down among the flower beds and
under the shading trees to where the horses were being paraded and the
betting was going on. The dresses of the women, of whom all sorts and
conditions were crowded together, were quite remarkable.
The races frequently took place on Sunday afternoon. There was one at
Groenendal, out on the avenue Louise, through the Parc de la
Cambre--the latter very beautiful with its wide sweeps and vistas, all
crowded with the holiday-making people. We ran by the artificial waters
dotted with little boats, out through the alley of the Forêt de Soignes,
where the deep, pleasant woods were all sun and shadow, and filled with
promenaders. From there we went on past Groenendal Château, along a road
that reminded one of Rock Creek Park in Washington, turning at length
into the Grande Route, which leads to Waterloo. This was a great avenue
of trees, lined with the burnish of copper beeches. At last we reached
the hippodrome, the racecourse of Groenendal, and were just in time to
see the great steeple-chase of the year. The course was unexpectedly
pretty, small and with cozy stands. The international steeplechase,
ridden by French and Belgian officers in uniform, was very exciting and
well run, and the whole scene beautiful against the green background of
the forest.
Afterward we walked in the Bois de la Cambre, across the wide lawns with
the people sitting about in groups, and into the shade of the great
trees, dipping down into the valleys where hundreds of children were
playing and tumbling about, and up again across the plateau. Here in the
groves of beech trees were restaurants with many little tables and
crowds of people listening to the music. Later we motored back to the
avenue Louise, which was the bourgeois promenade of a Sunday afternoon,
and down its long length to the boulevards and home.
One week-day afternoon in early May we went to the horse show, which was
the last important spring event. It was held in the great glass building
back of the Palais du Cinquantenaire, the floor being laid out in a
lovely parterre with banks of flowers and palms and blossoming
chestnuts. In this setting the jumps and obstacles were arranged. There
was a water jump in the center, and a great, terrible, grassy mound on
to which the horses had to jump and from which they had to stride over a
fence back on to the flat again. It was heart-breaking to watch the
tumbles there--twenty-six took place; the horses seemed to fear it more
than the men, and showed their nervousness. When we went again we were
relieved to see that it had been removed.
As the show was a great social event, all the women were in their best,
and the men wore black coats and silk hats. The officers of the Guides
Regiment were very showy in their bright uniforms, and there were many
French officers there, too, in the pale blue and red of the Chasseurs.
The royal loge had a canopy and a garden of azaleas. It all made a very
lovely scene.
The King and Queen came in full state to the Cinquantenaire for the
exhibition of the cadets of the school of riding at Ypres. There was a
tremendous crowd in the huge building, and the horsemanship was good,
though no better than one could see at Fort Myer at home. There were
various feats of jumping, of fencing on horseback, and some musical
rides. One officer jumped his horse over three other horses, while
others took a "burning" hedge.
The entry of the royal cortége was quite fine, for the gate at the end
was opened and a squadron of the Guides came with fanfare of trumpets
and took up their position opposite the royal loge. Then followed the
five carriages, with red-coated outriders on prancing horses leading the
way, each one attended by four red-coated postilions wearing gold
tassels on their caps. There was much waving of handkerchiefs, and some
cheering, when they came in, but when they left there was more of a
demonstration, for the ladies in the audience had been provided with
flowers, and as the royal carriage drove around the arena Their
Majesties received a shower of blossoms.
This horse show turned out tragically, however. The great event of
another day was the international military race, run by many French and
Belgian officers. They were started somewhere out in the country, and
after a ten-mile run entered the arena, heralded by the blare of
trumpets, followed each other over a series of jumps and passed out of a
second gate for another ten miles across country, returning finally for
more jumps. At some bars just opposite our loge young Lieutenant
Terlinden, a son-in-law of the Minister of Foreign Affairs, fell, with
his horse on top of him, and never regained consciousness. His wife was
there, and his mother, and the world of Brussels, looking on. He was a
splendid rider, but had a poor horse.
We often ran out to Waterloo in the open motor, shooting down the avenue
Louise, through the Bois de la Cambre and the Forêt de Soignes, and
finally out on the wide paved highway to St. Jean and Waterloo. From
there it was a short ride through the straggling village to the rolling
country which made the battlefield, its center marked by the conical
hill surmounted by its lion. It is reported that the Germans have melted
this lion for ammunition. Going by this roundabout way, and taking our
time, the run was made in about an hour, but it was a day's journey
before motors came into use.
[Illustration: HOUGOMONT.]
We passed the rather poor monuments along the roadside, and La Haye
Sainte, with its broken farmyard walls and buildings, its muddy, dirty
stable with its dung heaps, and on to the low, insignificant farmhouse
of La Belle Alliance. On the way back we used to visit the battered
walls and farm buildings of Hougomont, with its yard full of scratching
chickens and scattering pigeons, and its bit of a chapel. Everywhere
were mud and litter, a few broken bricks showing where the well had
been. The only dignified thing about Hougomont was a bronze tablet
placed on its ruined wall by the English Guards.
I was very much struck by the small area of the battlefield--all the
positions were so near, and in plain sight of each other--quite
different from the long battle line of to-day. It is hard to realize
that a struggle of such tremendous importance was fought in such a
limited space.
It seemed a pity that this most famous of the scenes of great events
should not have been turned into a government park and preserved. When
we were there the land was being sold off into lots, and every year the
aspect of the battlefield was changing. But for all that we went again
and again, for the fields were sweet with spring and flowers in the warm
sunshine, and it was so quiet and peaceful. That is how we shall
remember it, as we saw it a century after the battle.