SOME OF THE TOWNS: THE ARDENNES
England, as you know, is not a very big country. But Belgium is very
much smaller. It is such a little bit of a place, a mere corner of
Europe, that in a few hours the train can take you from one end of it
to the other. I suppose that from Ostend to Liége is one of the
longest journeys you could make, and that takes less than four hours.
So it is very easy to go from one town to another.
Suppose we land at Ostend, which, as you will see on the map, lies in
the middle of the Belgian coast. It is the largest of the seaside
towns, and one of the oldest. In ancient times it was fortified, and
during the wars between the Spaniards and the Dutch the Spaniards
defended it for three whole years. It must have been very strong in
those days. But now it is quite changed, and has no walls, but just a
long _digue_, and a great many hotels, lodging-houses, and big shops.
Crowds of people go there in summer. There are horse-races, concerts,
dancing, and a great deal of gambling. One part of the beach in front
of the _digue_ is crowded with bathing-machines, and it is said that
during one day in August a few years ago no fewer than 7,000 people
bathed.
[Illustration: THE VEGETABLE MARKET, BRUGES.]
Ostend, however, is not a nice place to stay in. In summer it is
noisy, and full of people who care for nothing but eating, drinking,
dressing up, and gambling. In winter it is an ugly, dull, stupid town,
in which there is nothing to do, and nothing to see except
fishing-boats and the steamers which carry travellers to and from
Dover. So we shall not say anything more about it, but take the train,
and in twenty minutes find ourselves in a really interesting place.
This is Bruges. They call it _Bruges la Morte_--that is to say,
"Bruges, the Dead City." Once upon a time, long, long ago, this town
was great, and rich, and prosperous. It was surrounded by strong
walls, and within it were many gilded palaces, the homes of merchant
princes whose wealth was the talk of all the world. Their houses were
full of precious stones, tapestries, silk, fine linen, and cloth of
gold. Their warehouses were stored with costly bales. They lent money
to Kings and Princes, and lived themselves in almost royal luxury. A
broad channel led from the sea to Bruges, and ships entered daily
laden with goods from every country in Europe, as well as from India
and all parts of the world. In those days the cloth made by the
Flemish weavers was famous, and the greatest market for wool was at
Bruges.
So Bruges grew richer and richer, and much money was spent in
beautifying the town, in which there are said to have been 200,000
industrious people. Churches rose, and other noble buildings. There
were endless tournaments and festivals. Painters flourished there.
Bruges was spoken of as the Venice of the North.
But all this came to an end. The channel which joined this great city
to the sea dried up. There were wars and rebellions which drove the
foreign merchants away. They went to Antwerp. Bruges fell, and has
remained fallen ever since.
It is now a quiet, sad place, so poor that the streets are badly
lighted, seldom cleaned, and have a desolate, neglected appearance.
The few families of the upper class who live there belong to what is
called the _petite noblesse_; there is almost no trade or commerce;
and many of the lower orders live on charity.
But this dead city is very romantic, with all its memories of olden
times. Nobody should go to Belgium without visiting Bruges, once so
famous and now so fallen, not only because it is picturesque, with its
old buildings and quaint views such as artists love to paint, but also
because it is so quiet that you can watch the customs of a Belgian
town without being disturbed by a crowd--the market-folk with their
wares spread out on the stones of the street, the small carts drawn by
dogs, the women sitting at their doors busy with lace-making, the
pavements occupied by tables at which people sit drinking coffee or
beer, the workmen clanking along in their wooden shoes, and
numberless little things which are different from what you see at
home.
Every town in Belgium has its "belfry," a tower rising over some
venerable building, from which, in the days of almost constant
warfare, a beacon used to blaze, or a bell ring out, to call the
citizens to arms. The belfry of Bruges is, I think, the finest of them
all. If you have ever been to Bruges you can never forget it. It rises
high above the market-place. All day long, year after year, the chimes
ring every quarter of an hour; and all night too, unceasingly, through
winter storm and summer moonlight, the belfry pours forth its
perpetual lament over the dead city.
Not far from Bruges, only forty minutes by railway, is another ancient
town called Ghent; but instead of being dead like Bruges, it is alive
and busy. In the days of old the people of Ghent were the most
independent and brave in Belgium. In the belfry there was a famous
bell called "Roland," and if any of their rulers attempted to tax them
against their will, this Roland was rung, and wagged his iron tongue
so well that the townsmen armed themselves at once, and the
tax-gatherers were driven away. It was no easy task to rule them, as
all who tried it found to their cost. They grew very rich, chiefly
because of their trade in wool with England. But evil days came, and
for more than 200 years this mighty city remained in a most forlorn
state.
In the nineteenth century, however, when there was settled peace in
Belgium after the Battle of Waterloo, the people of Ghent set to work
in earnest once more, and made up for lost time so well that now their
town is full of flourishing factories, and has a harbour from which a
deep canal leads to the River Scheldt, and is used by many ships. Most
beautiful flowers are cultivated in nursery gardens and hothouses, and
are sent all over the world in such quantities that Ghent has been
called "The City of Flowers."
From busy Ghent, where the belfry in which Roland used to hang and the
walls and towers of many an ancient building look down upon the
crowded streets, you may go to the still busier town of Antwerp, which
stands on the River Scheldt.
Like Bruges and Ghent, and, indeed, every town in Belgium, Antwerp is
very old. It is said that long ago there was a giant who lived on the
banks of the Scheldt, and compelled the captain of every ship which
came up the river to give him money. If the money was refused, the
giant cut off one of the captain's hands, and threw it into the river.
In Dutch the word _werpen_ means "to throw," and thus the place where
the giant lived was called _Hand-werpen_, which became, in course of
time, _Antwerp_. Perhaps you may not believe this story, but in one of
the squares at Antwerp there is the statue of a man called Brabo, who
is said to have killed the giant.
Close to this statue is the cathedral, which is one of the grandest in
Europe, and where there are some famous paintings by the great artist
Rubens, who lived at Antwerp for many years.
Another very interesting thing to see at Antwerp is the
Plantin-Moretus house. It was the home, more than 300 years ago, of a
printer called Plantin, who made a great fortune, and whose
descendants took the name of Moretus, and carried on the business for
a long time. You will see there the types and printing-presses of the
sixteenth century, and also the very furniture of the sitting-rooms
and bedrooms, just as they were in those bygone days. One of the rooms
was the nursery of the Plantin children. The men who show you over the
house are dressed as servants were in Plantin's time. By going there
you will get a far better idea of the family life of those times than
by reading any number of story-books or looking at any number of
pictures.
Antwerp has, like the other Belgian towns, had its ups and downs, but
now it is one of the greatest harbours in the whole world. So many
ships go there that there is hardly room for all of them. It may seem
an extraordinary thing that a country like Belgium, so small that two
or three English counties would cover it, should have such an
important harbour crowded with the shipping of all nations. But
Antwerp is connected by railways and canals with the busiest parts of
Europe, and the Scheldt is a noble river, by which merchantmen can
find their way to every region of the world.
A hundred years ago Antwerp was in the hands of the French, who had
seized Belgium; and when Napoleon was beaten he clung to Antwerp as
long as he could. Just before he fell, there was a conference at a
place called Chatillon, when they tried to make peace, but could not;
and afterwards, when he was at St. Helena, Napoleon declared that the
war continued chiefly because he would not give up Antwerp. "Antwerp,"
he said, "was to me a province in itself. If they would have left it
to me, peace would have been concluded." He wanted to keep a fleet in
the Scheldt, so as to threaten England. If you look at a map of
Europe, you will see how near the Scheldt is to Kent and Essex. The
Belgians cannot do us any harm, but it would be a dangerous thing for
England if some strong and unfriendly nation had possession of
Antwerp.
But we must leave Antwerp, and hurry on to Brussels, which is the
capital of Belgium.
It is just an hour by railway, and as the train rushes on you will see
on your right a town from the middle of which rises a massive square
tower. The town is Malines (or Mechlin), and the tower is that of the
Cathedral of St. Rombold. Malines was once, like Bruges, a most
important city, and so many pilgrims went there that the cost of
building the cathedral was paid out of their offerings. It is now the
seat of the Archbishop of Belgium; but its former glory has long since
departed, and it is even more quiet and desolate than Bruges.
It is said that once upon a time, when the moon was shining brightly
through the open stonework of the tower, the people thought there was
a fire, and tried to put it out with water! Ever since then the
townsmen of Malines have been laughed at, and called "moon-quenchers"
by the other Belgians.
When you are in the train between Malines and Brussels, you may
recollect that you are travelling on the first railway-line that was
made on the Continent. Well, when the engineer had finished his work,
the very day before the first train was to run, he looked at some
plans he had of railways in England, and exclaimed: "By Jove! I've
forgotten a tunnel!" And so, without more ado, he sent for some
workmen, and had an archway made over a cutting! Then he thought his
railway was complete!
Brussels is by far the nicest town in Belgium. It is a charming place
to live in, clean, bright, and gay. The walls which once surrounded it
were taken down many years ago, and replaced by beautiful roadways
called _boulevards_, with a broad carriage-drive in the middle, and on
each side a place for riding on, shaded by rows of trees. There is a
park, not very large, but with many trees and shady walks, and a round
pond, in the centre of which a fountain plays. At one end of this park
is the King's Palace, and at the other end the Houses of Parliament.
In the new parts of the town the streets are wide, and there are
spacious squares, with large and handsome houses. There are no end of
carriages and motor-cars driving about, people riding on horseback,
and all the bustle of a great city of pleasure.
The people of Brussels are very fond of jokes and fun. They always
seem to be in good humour with each other and with themselves. The
part of Belgium in which Brussels lies is called Brabant. In olden
times it was spoken of as "gay Brabant," and so, indeed, it might be
nowadays. Dull, pompous people are not liked there. You must be lively
and amusing, like the town itself, of which the people are so proud
that they call it the Little Paris.
Close to Brussels, on the south and west, there is a great forest--the
Forest of Soignies. The part of this forest nearest the town is called
the _Bois de la Cambre_, which is a favourite place for walking and
riding in. You reach it by a fine _boulevard_ called the Avenue
Louise. In the middle of this _Bois de la Cambre_ there is a lake with
an island, on which stands a little coffee-house, the Châlet Robinson;
so called, perhaps, after Robinson Crusoe, who lived on an island.
Belgian families often go there to spend the summer afternoons. There
are lots of pigeons on the island, so tame that they run about on the
grass, and eat out of the children's hands, while the fathers and
mothers sit drinking coffee at tables under the trees.
[Illustration: ANTWERP.]
In Belgium the fathers and mothers of the _petite bourgeoisie_, or
lower-middle class, seem always to go about on holidays with their
children. They dine at half-past twelve, and after dinner off they go,
the parents arm-in-arm, and the children strolling before them, and
spend the rest of the day together. It is quite a sight on a summer
evening to see them coming home in crowds down the Avenue Louise, the
father often carrying the youngest on his shoulders, and the mother
with a child hanging on to each arm.
The Avenue Louise is in the modern part of the town. Brussels,
however, is not all modern. Most of the Belgian towns are quite flat,
but to reach the old Brussels you must go down some very steep, narrow
streets, one of which, called the _Montague de la Cour_, where the
best shops are, leads to the Grande Place, a picturesque square
surrounded by quaint houses with fantastic gables. These were the
houses of the Guilds, or Merchant Companies, in the old days. One of
them is shaped like the stern of a ship. Most of them are ornamented
with gilded mouldings. They are beautiful buildings, and the finest is
the Hotel de Ville, the front of which is a mass of statuettes. Its
high, steep roof is pierced by innumerable little windows, and above
it there is a lofty and graceful spire, which towers up and up, with a
gilded figure of the Archangel Michael at the top.
A flower-market is held in the Grande Place, and in summer, when the
sun is shining brightly, it is a very pretty sight. But the best time
to see the Grande Place of Brussels is at night, when all is silent,
and the tall houses look solemnly down on the scene of many great
events which took place there long ago.
I cannot tell you one-half of all there is to see in Brussels--the
beautiful churches, the picture-galleries and museums, the splendid
old library, and the gardens. The largest building is a modern one,
the _Palais de Justice_, where the law courts sit. It cost nearly
£2,000,000 to build, and is much bigger than anything in London. It
stands on an eminence overlooking the lower part of the town, and is
so huge that it may almost be said to make the capital of this tiny
kingdom look top-heavy.
There are many other towns in Belgium besides those we have been
looking at: Louvain, with its ancient University; Liége and Charleroi,
with their steel and iron works; Courtrai, celebrated for the
manufacture of linen; Tournai, where carpets are made; Mons, with its
coal-mines; and more besides, which all lie within the narrow limits
of this small country. Most of them have played a great part in
history. Belgium is, above all things, a country of famous towns.
When you wander about among the towns of Flanders and Brabant you
might think that the whole of Belgium was one level plain. But if you
leave Brussels and journey to the south, the aspect of the country
changes. Beyond the Forest of Soignies the tame, flat fields, the
formal rows of trees, and the long, straight roads begin to disappear,
the landscape becomes more picturesque, and soon you reach a river
called the Meuse, which flows along through a romantic valley, full
of quiet villages, gardens, woods, and hayfields, and enclosed by
steep slopes clothed with trees and thickets, and broken here and
there by dells, ravines, and bold, outstanding pinnacles of rock,
beyond which, for mile after mile, an undulating tableland is covered
by thick forests, where deer, wild boars, and other game abound. This
district is called the Ardennes.
In the Valley of the Meuse there are three old and famous
towns--Liége, Namur, and Dinant--each nestling at the side of the
river, at the foot of a hill with a castle perched upon it.
Other rivers flow into the Meuse. There is the Sambre, which runs from
the west, and joins the Meuse at Namur; the Lesse, which rushes in
from the south through a narrow gorge; and the Semois, a stream the
sides of which are so steep that there is not even a pathway along
them in some places, and travellers must pass from side to side in
boats when following its course.
This is the prettiest part of Belgium, and in summer many people, who
do not care for going to the seaside, spend the holidays at the towns
and villages which are dotted about in the valleys and among the hills
and woods.