BRUGES IN THE DAYS OF CHARLES THE GOOD
To those for whom the past possesses elements of romance, of mystery
and of fascination that our more prosaic and orderly modern world
lacks, Bruges offers endless opportunities for enjoyment. To be sure,
the streets are a bit more crowded than they were twenty years ago,
and one sees more frequent groups of people, carrying little
red-backed Baedekers and evidently intent on seeing all the "sights,"
than formerly. But these are evils of which all old travellers
complain, as one compares notes with them at the hotel after the day
is over. One caretaker told us, with evident pride, that thirty
thousand tourists visited Bruges in 1913. If one divides this total by
three hundred and sixty-five, and the result again by the score or
more of places that every tourist wants to see, it will be perceived
that the number in any one place at the same time is not likely to be
excessive. In point of fact our little party was almost invariably
alone, save when we encountered a party of "personally conducted"
travellers rushing at break-neck speed from place to place.
If, after seeing all the "points of interest" enumerated by the
faithful red-coated guide, philosopher and companion above mentioned,
one should stray down one or another of the narrow, crooked streets in
the older parts of the town he is certain to find bits of mediæval
Bruges here and there so well preserved and perfect that if the few
passers-by only wore the picturesque costumes of the olden days the
illusion would be complete. Take, for example, the rue de l'Ane
Aveugle, the Street of the Blind Donkey, with its attenuated sidewalks
along which a tight-rope walker could hardly advance without stepping
off, its roadway too narrow for two blind donkeys to pass abreast, and
its charming archway from the Hotel de Ville to the Maison de l'ancien
Greffe Flamand; or the rue du Poivre, with its tiny one-story houses,
many of them with one room down-stairs and one overhead--the latter
lighted by the quaintest of gable windows--surely we have stepped
backward half a dozen centuries, for nothing like this could have
continued to exist until the prosaic present!
In fact these queer little one-story houses abound in all parts of the
city, and the Madame was constantly darting across the roadway to peer
within whenever she saw a door ajar. She generally returned highly
indignant that any one could think of existing in such narrow
quarters. "I'd as soon live in a tomb!" she exclaimed, nodding in the
direction of one little house which consisted of one room and only
one, being devoid even of the attic room with its customary dormer
window. Inside sat an old lady, gazing tranquilly out of doors and
doing nothing whatever. Indeed, as the Madame pointed out, there was
little enough to do as far as housework was concerned. In the morning
everybody in Flanders washes the stone floors of their living-rooms,
and frequently the sidewalk and out to the middle of the street as
well. This done, the housework for the day is over, except for
preparing the meals. We had hoped to see old ladies by the score
sitting at the doorways making lace, but on only one street--the rue
du Rouleau--did we catch a glimpse of any, and they went indoors as we
approached them. It was only the estaminets that we could inspect
within. Whenever we found what appeared to be an exceptionally old
house that bore the legend "Hier Verkoopt men drank" the Professor
and I often used to go in and order a glass of _Vieux système_, simply
to get a look at the interior. If, as sometimes happened, mijnheer and
his vroue were very accommodating and kind, we summoned the
ladies--despite the fact that the sign without appeared to mean "for
men only"--and together we explored the old house from garret to
cellar.
More than once, as we journeyed about among these delightfully old and
quaint surroundings, the longing to see some one whose costume would,
in a measure, suggest the period when these structures were built came
back to us. "Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Professor, as we sat one afternoon in
a particularly cosy corner of one of the oldest interiors we had yet
seen, "if two or three knights in armour--or in their lovely costumes
of velvet, silk and old lace--would stalk in and sit down at that
table over there it would make the picture complete." We found,
however, one spot in Bruges, dating from the twelfth century, in which
even the costumes were unchanged. This was the Béguinage, close to the
Minnewater and the ancient city ramparts--a city of the past where,
shut off by high brick walls from the noise and bustle of the outer
world, peaceful figures clad in sombre grey and white move noiselessly
about as if the big figures on the calendar read 1114 instead of 1914.
Except for two institutions of the kind in Holland, Belgium is the
only country in Europe in which these Béguinages have survived--all of
them in Flanders. No institution of the present day recalls so vividly
the conditions that existed at the time when Flanders was the name of
a wild marsh country peopled by yet wilder men. In 877 the Emperor
made the title of Count of Flanders hereditary--the oldest title of
the kind in Europe. Baldwin II, son of Baldwin of the Iron Arm and the
beautiful Judith, married Alfrida, the daughter of Alfred the Great.
The second Baldwin was renowned chiefly for his work in fortifying the
towns of Bruges, Ghent, Ypres and Courtrai as a means of protection
against the robber chiefs who still--despite the energetic warfare of
his father--infested this entire region. The necessity for protection
against robbers, and occasional incursions of savage Danes from the
North Sea, caused population to flock speedily into these walled
towns, and thus laid the foundation for the wonderful civic
development of the next four centuries. The son of Baldwin II,
Arnulph--often called Arnulph the Great--continued the policy of
strengthening the cities, and also established or restored nearly a
score of monasteries and convents for the protection of men and women
against the many dangers of that lawless age. The famous chapter of
St. Donatian's at Bruges was one of these, and while the Béguinage
dates from a somewhat later epoch in the town's history, it admirably
exemplifies many of the principles that made these early religious
orders the strongholds, not only of piety in a period of
semi-barbarism, but of learning and civilisation.
[Illustration: BÉGUINAGE BRIDGE, BRUGES.]
The Béguinage at Bruges is much smaller than the famous Grand
Béguinage at Ghent, which so many tourists visit, but is far more
ancient--its arched gateway dating from the thirteenth century and its
gloomy and barn-like chapel from 1605. How old the houses are no one
seemed to know, but probably many of them are older than the chapel.
The little bridge by which one enters its quiet precincts was first
built in 1297, of wood, according to the records, but its present
picturesque stone arches date from 1570--a respectable antiquity, even
for Bruges. We found several of the little houses untenanted for some
reason, but even the empty ones were spotlessly clean. The Béguines
live in small communities or "convents," under the superintendence of
a Lady Superior called "de Juffer"; or in "houses" where two or three
live together. In the convents there are usually about twenty inmates.
Each has her little cell, but these we were not permitted to see. We
did, however, inspect the kitchen and dining-room of one of the
convents--and the large sunny workroom, in which the Béguines were
assembled. Each was chatting aloud as she worked, but whether in
Flemish or Latin we could not tell. On every face there rested the
same expression of absolute peace and quietness, nor did a single one
betray the slightest interest or curiosity at our presence.
In the early annals of Bruges no story is more dramatic than that of
the murder of Charles the Good. It is, in fact, the theme of the great
Flemish novelist Hendrick Conscience's most famous book, _De Kerels
van Vlaanderen_, and has been told by several contemporary
chroniclers. When Charles became Count of Flanders the feudal system
was slowly displacing the anarchy that had resulted from the breakdown
of all centralised government as the Norsemen swept over northern
Europe. Charles was an ardent believer in the new order, but was
opposed in his policy of building up a strong feudal state by the
Karls, a class of free landholders of Saxon descent, who stubbornly
refused to swear allegiance to any feudal over-lord. The greatest of
these was the house of Erembald. Desiderious Hacket, the head of the
family, was Châtelain of Bruges, ranking next to the Count himself;
while his brother Bertulph was Provost of St. Donatian, the principal
ecclesiastical position in the County, and chancellor of the Count.
The head of the feudal lords was Tancmar, Lord of Straten. Between the
powerful houses of Erembald and Straten there was a deadly feud, which
culminated in a challenge to mortal combat delivered to Walter, a
nephew of Tancmar, by Richard de Raeske, a baron allied by marriage to
the house of Erembald.
To the amazement of all Flanders the challenge, delivered in the
presence of Count Charles and all his court, was refused. Walter, whom
the historians call "the Winged Lie," proclaimed that he would fight
only with a free man, and that the Lord of Raeske, by wedding a serf,
had become a serf himself. This was in accordance with a law recently
promulgated by Charles, but the house of Erembald, perceiving that
its very existence was threatened by the charge, fiercely repelled the
accusation and was supported not only by all of the Karls, but by most
of the feudal nobility as well--the latter no doubt fearing lest one
of their own houses might be attainted in a similar manner at any
moment.
The country was plunged into what was virtually civil war, when
Charles was suddenly summoned by his feudal over-lord, the King of
France, to come to his aid at Clermont. On his return, assured of the
King's powerful support, Charles undoubtedly meditated the complete
overthrow of the Erembalds, whom he had steadfastly claimed as his
vassals since "the Winged Lie" had denounced them as serfs. He arrived
at Bruges late in the evening, and early the following day, March 1,
1127, repaired to St. Donatian to hear mass. It was a foggy morning
and the Count went almost unattended. Hardly had he knelt before the
altar when a party of followers of the attainted house of Erembald
swarmed into the church and he was struck down before he had time to
rise, much less to defend himself.
If, in his lifetime, the Count was a dangerous foe to the Erembalds,
in his death he proved to be far more deadly. As his body lay on the
stone floor of the great church, clad in the crimson robe the
chroniclers so often allude to, and surrounded with flaming torches,
the heads of the house hastily consulted as to what was to be done
with it. To inter the body at Bruges would be to risk an outbreak of
popular passion at the murder, and it was decided to secretly convey
it away. This plan was rudely frustrated by a mob of citizens who
forcibly prevented the removal of the body, which was therefore laid
to rest with imposing ceremonies in the very church where the Count
had been assassinated.
Meanwhile the story of the murder spread far and wide, and, in a few
days, a huge host was marching on Bruges from every part of Flanders.
For a time the burghers stood by the Châtelain and the Provost, but
when the city was entered by stratagem and the Erembalds driven back
into the Bourg the mass of the citizens went over to the side of the
avengers. After a short defence the Bourg in turn was captured--its
defenders failing to guard one small gate by which their enemies
entered unopposed--and the remnant of the Erembalds fled into the very
church that had been defiled by their kinsmen's crime, St. Donatian.
Here, for a time, they were left in peace while the victors pillaged
the rich palaces in the ancient Bourg.
The day before the capture of the Bourg Bertulph, the Provost managed
to escape and fled to a little village near Ypres. Here, after
remaining in hiding for some three weeks, he was captured. The next
morning he was brought to Ypres, walking on foot all the way, although
a horse was offered him. That he was going to his death he well knew,
and asked for a priest to whom he confessed. The old man--who had been
"a soft, luxurious prelate," proud and haughty in his days of
power--made his last journey like a martyr. As the prisoner and his
captors neared the gates of the city a great throng came forth to meet
them, beating the Provost with their staves and fists and pelting him
with the heads of fish. Arrived in the market-place he stood amid the
huge jeering throng, not one of whom looked with pity on him, and
there, for his greater shame, he was fastened naked to a cross like a
common thief. On his refusing in a steadfast voice to reveal the names
of any of those implicated in the Count's murder, "those who were
assembled in the market-place to sell fish tore his flesh with their
iron hooks, and beat him with rods, and thus they put an end to his
days."
The news of this tragedy was brought to the little band still being
besieged at St. Donatian and caused great grief and terror. Of the
very considerable army of Erembalds and their partisans who had taken
refuge in the Bourg only thirty now remained, most having been killed,
while some no doubt had escaped. King Louis, with a host of French
knights, had joined the men of Flanders in the attack and it was seen
that further resistance was hopeless. The only terms were instant
surrender or instant death, and as they looked across the country from
the church tower they could see no hope of succour and surrendered.
After keeping them prisoners for a fortnight, Louis directed that all
save one, who was of somewhat nobler lineage than the rest, should be
flung from the tower of the now thrice historic St. Donatian. This
sentence was duly carried out. The cruel soldiers told the condemned
that they were about to receive a proof of the King's mercy and they
remained ignorant of their terrible fate until, one after another,
they stood on the lofty tower overlooking the city for a brief moment
and were then dashed down headlong to the jagged pavement below. The
bodies were denied Christian burial and thrown into a marsh outside of
the city, and it is related that for many years thereafter "no man
after nightfall would willingly pass that way."
The house of Erembald was well-nigh annihilated during this short, but
sanguinary, war. The sole survivor of the band captured in the church
was beheaded by King Louis as soon as he crossed the French frontier,
while most of the great names in the family were heard of in Flanders
no more--some having perished in battle, others in exile. Only one,
Hacket the Châtelain, returned after the cry for vengeance had died
down, was placed on trial for the murder, proved his innocence, and
eventually recovered much of his former power and wealth. The charge
of serfdom was never raised again, and his descendants for many
generations stood high in the rolls of the Flemish nobility.
The church of St. Donatian no longer stands, having been destroyed
during the French Revolution. In the small museum of antiquities in
the Halles adjacent to the Belfry we were shown some stone railings,
carved in imitation of rustic woodwork, that the concierge assured us
had come from the ruins of the famous church. From a painting made in
1710 the student can obtain a fair idea of the appearance of the
structure, which can hardly be said to have been imposing externally.
It stood opposite the Hotel de Ville, and the statue of Van Eyck in
the centre of the little shaded square is said to mark the spot where
Charles the Good fell at the hands of his assassins. The stones with
which the Cathedral was built were carried away, and some of them were
used to build a château a short distance outside of the city.
According to the peasants in the neighbourhood, ill-luck has always
followed those who lived there. If so, the spirit of the murdered
Count would seem to have been as dangerous in the nineteenth century
as it was in the twelfth.
Every morning here at Bruges, and elsewhere throughout our pilgrimage,
the Professor and I sallied forth between five and six o'clock to
explore as many of the by-ways and quaint out-of-the-way corners as we
could before breakfast. The sun rises in Belgium long before five, in
fact it is light as early as three in the summer time, but we found
very few people astir, and those who were up were usually engaged in
the morning scrubbing of floors and sidewalks--a fact that made us
keep pretty much to the middle of the road on these expeditions.
Cleanliness is certainly honoured next to godliness in Belgium, for
this morning ablution of the premises is universal--the big department
stores at Brussels observing the custom as faithfully as the tiniest
_estaminet_ in the remotest hamlet. Every one, rich and poor, performs
this rite, and the tourist could safely eat his breakfast off the
doorstep of any house when it is over. Nor is the rest of the interior
neglected, for every pot and pan that we could see within the little
houses as we passed their doors shone with a lustre that bespoke
perpetual polishing. On the other hand, the good vroue herself, or her
maidservant, was not so clean, and it is in this respect that the
people of Holland are superior, for they somehow manage to keep
themselves as immaculate as their little houses.
It was at Bruges that the Professor had his first experience with the
Belgian species of barber. Instead of the massive reclining chair,
with which all Americans are familiar, one finds in all parts of
Belgium, save the big tourist hotels and resorts, stiff little
arm-chairs with immovable head rests that look as if they could never
serve the purpose for which they are intended. In point of fact they
do fairly well, once one becomes accustomed to them. Razors in
Belgium, however, are almost invariably dull--especially with the lady
barbers who abound in the smaller villages. Avoid these sirens if you
value your skin, for they certainly will slice off a bit of it. On
Sundays and holidays, it appears, their husbands officiate, but week
days the better half does her best to accommodate the public--but her
best is none too good, and the experience is usually a painful one for
the unwary tourist.
The shave over, the barber says, "S'il vous plaît, monsieur," or its
equivalent in Flemish, motioning meanwhile toward a small wash basin
that is placed in front of the chair. To the uninitiated this is
somewhat bewildering, but the professor desires that monsieur will
kindly wash his own face. The ablution performed, he proceeds to rub a
piece of alum over the face, after which he sprays it with perfumed
water, then dries and powders it much in the manner of the American
barber. When one becomes accustomed to this performance--which costs
two to three cents in the villages and five to ten cents in the large
towns--he is apt to prefer it to the American method. Certainly it is
vastly superior to the hot towel torture so deservedly caricatured
some years ago by Weber and Fields. In the smaller villages of the
industrial provinces we found that the first and second class
distinction that one encounters everywhere in Belgium extends even to
the barber's chair. The rough clad workman is simply shaved--a few
fierce scrapes with the razor and it is all over--and is left to wipe
off the remnants of lather as best he can, usually with a red bandanna
handkerchief. For this the charge is only two cents--the alum, the
spraying and the powder being reserved for first-class patrons only.
On our way back to the hotel from these early morning promenades the
Professor and I kept on the look-out for some _patisserie_ where
_brioches_ or _cuches au beurre_ could be had with a pot of coffee.
This formed our usual breakfast for, it may as well be admitted right
now, we did not feel that we could afford the extravagance of a
three-franc breakfast at the hotel. The ladies were ready to join us
by eight o'clock--before that hour it would be useless to look for a
place open for business--and we conducted them to the _patisserie_ we
had discovered. The _brioche_, it may be remarked, is a light spongy
preparation--half cake and half biscuit--while the _cuche au beurre_
is apparently made from a kind of light pie-crust, rolled thin and
built up in several layers with butter between. When served fresh and
hot from the oven the latter is most delicious, but when cold it is as
tough and soggy as a day-old griddle-cake. The usual charge for these
delicacies was five centimes (one cent) each, and as three made a very
substantial meal, and the coffee cost three or five cents per cup, our
total expenditure for four people was less than two francs. If, as
often happened--in addition to getting everything hot and
delicious--we were served on little tables out of doors with a view of
a cathedral or Hotel de Ville thrown in, we felt that we were getting
a very good bargain indeed.
Of the Bruges of Charles the Good the most important existing monument
is the great Cathedral of St. Sauveur, which was rebuilt by him after
having been partially destroyed by fire in 1116, the work being
completed in 1127. Probably very little of the structure as we see it
to-day dates from this period, as the edifice has been enlarged and
restored many times, much of it dating from the fourteenth and part
from the sixteenth century--the era when architecture in Flanders
flourished as never before or since. The tower was begun in 1116,
continued in 1358, and its upper portions added during the last
century, so that nearly eight hundred years elapsed before it was
finally completed in its present form. Many writers speak of this
tower as clumsy and unsightly, but to me it is one of the most
majestic and stately structures in Flanders. At any rate, there is no
other tower like it, and the way in which it lifts its castle-like
mass of tawny brick high above the tiny houses that surround it is
profoundly impressive. The lower part of the tower is Romanesque,
being, no doubt, the portion erected under the supervision of Charles
the Good. The rest is Gothic, if so unecclesiastical a style can be so
denominated.
The interior of St. Sauveur dates in the main from a much later period
than Charles the Good, and as we visited this interesting edifice
several times an account of its later constructions and paintings will
be found in a chapter devoted more particularly to the art treasures
of Bruges. It is not the purpose of this book to weary the reader with
detailed descriptions of this and every other "monument" in Flanders.
For those who are interested in architectural details there are
numerous works written by experts and discussing exhaustively--if not
exhaustingly--every feature of technical importance. Our little party
was not learned and these random jottings will therefore record only
such facts as seemed interesting to the average American visitor. Nor
would it be possible to attempt a detailed account of the pictures and
sculptures, either at St. Sauveur or elsewhere. Many of the great
Flemish churches are literally museums of early Flemish art and a mere
catalogue of their contents would fill many pages. For the most part
the works are of mediocre merit, but nearly every church possesses one
or more masterpieces--which the uninformed visitor can generally
distinguish by the fact that a charge is made to uncover them. At
times this practice becomes a bit annoying, particularly when--in
addition to paying the fee--one has to hunt around for half an hour to
find the sacristan, who may live two or three blocks away; but, after
all, it is the tourist who is under obligation for the privilege of
visiting the churches when they are closed to the general public, and
all the fees in Flanders add only a trifle to the expense account of
one's tour.
In St. Sauveur on the occasion of our first visit we were especially
interested in a curious painting of the Crucifixion located in the
Baptistry and said to be the earliest picture of the famous Bruges
school in existence. The savants assign a date prior to 1400 to this
work, the author of which is unknown.
The name of Charles the Good is also associated with the Church of
Notre Dame, part of the present structure dating from his reign. The
bulk of the edifice was erected during the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries. The spire was begun in 1440, torn down and rebuilt, being
finally completed nearly a century later. There is a legend that the
architect, in despair over the fact that it leans considerably to the
east, threw himself from its summit. At present it is one hundred and
twenty-two metres in height, which is said to be the greatest
elevation ever attained by a structure of this kind built of brick. It
can hardly be described as beautiful, the dark red of the top portion
being out of harmony with the rich tawny grey of the lower part, but
it forms a splendid feature in the sky-line of the city. Perhaps the
most charming view of it is that obtained from the opposite side of
the Lac d'Amour. Another excellent point of view is from the Dyver
with the outline of the tower, reflected in the still waters of the
Roya.
The interior of this church is, like the tower, built of brick, only
the great supporting pillars being of stone. The general effect of
the interior is greatly marred by a wooden rood-loft that separates
the nave from the choir. In this church there is an interesting
"Adoration of the Magi" by Daniel Seghers, a painter of the later
Antwerp school, who became a Jesuit but continued to practise his art
and was especially renowned for the flowers and butterflies with which
he adorned his pictures. This work, which was finished in 1630, is
thought by many to be the artist's masterpiece. Another notable
treasure is the statue of the Virgin and Child by Michael Angelo,
executed in 1503.
[Illustration: TOMB OF MARIE OF BURGUNDY, CHURCH OF NOTRE DAME,
BRUGES.]
The most famous of the possessions of Notre Dame, however, are the
superb tombs of Charles the Bold and his daughter Marie of Burgundy,
to be seen only by paying a small fee to enter the chapel in which
they are placed. That of Marie is the older, and by far the finer of
the two, and consists of a sarcophagus of black marble upon which
rests a life-sized recumbent figure of the famous princess--"the
greatest heiress in Europe"--who died at the age of twenty-five as a
result of an injury received when hunting in 1482, less than five
years after her marriage to Maximilian who later became Emperor. At
the command of her son, Philip the Handsome, this masterpiece of
stone and bronze was begun by Pierre de Beckère in 1495 and completed
in 1502. Around the altar-tomb are exquisitely carved statues of
saints and angels, with twining plants and scrolls and the heraldic
shields of all the provinces and not a few of the cities within
Marie's wide domains. The figure of the princess lies above all this
with her hands folded as if in prayer, a crown upon her head and two
hounds lying at her feet. The bronze has been cunningly carved to
represent the finest lace and richly gilded until it seems to be pure
gold. The body of Charles the Bold was brought from Nancy in 1550 at
the command of Charles the Fifth, his grandson, and eight years later
the funeral monument was begun by order of Philip II. It was completed
in 1562, and is designed in imitation of that of Marie. The figure of
"the terrible Duke" is shown clad in armour, with his helmet at one
side and a lion crouching at his feet.
"Here, in this little chapel," said the Professor, "one can see the
beginning and the end of the most interesting period in the long
history of Bruges, the alpha and omega of her greatness. At the time
of Charles the Good the little Bourg on the Roya was slowly emerging
from obscurity and beginning to assume the aspect of a great capital.
For three hundred and fifty years its power and fame grew until 'the
Venice of the North' was everywhere recognised as one of the most
beautiful and brilliant cities in the world. Then suddenly, almost
within the span of a single generation, the fickle sea abandoned it
and it became the quiet inland city that it is to-day, living largely
upon the memories of its splendid past. When the beautiful Marie was
brought home to the Princenhof, dying from her fall at Wynandael, the
decline had already begun, and when the remains of her father were
placed beside her here in Notre Dame the end had already come and the
city's merchants and prosperity had departed."