NIEUPORT AND THE YSER CANAL
When the war is over, and the era of commemoration begins, Belgium, if
she is free, should erect at Nieuport, close to the great locks that
mark the outlet of the Yser Canal--or at some point along the canal
where the fighting was the fiercest--a monument higher than that at
Leipzig where the Germans recall their victory over Napoleon, higher
than the great lion that guards the field of Waterloo. At its summit
should stand a heroic-sized figure in imperishable bronze of a Belgian
infantryman, one of the round-capped "demons" whose indomitable will
and unwavering courage held this last bit of Belgian soil against
overpowering numbers for days. It was here that Germany's magnificent
rush from Antwerp to the Channel ports was stopped, and it was the
last remnant of the little Belgian army that, turning on its foe like
a lion at bay, hurled back every assault until the little Yser Canal
ran red and until, at last, the great reinforcing hosts of the allies
came.
The little straggling town of Nieuport, peaceful and sleepy as it
looked last summer, is not a stranger to battles and sieges. In the
time of William the Conqueror Lombartzyde, now a little hamlet on the
_chemin de fer vicinal_ behind the dunes from Nieuport to Ostende, was
the shipping port of this region, but great storms filled the harbour
with sand and the citizens established a "New Port" on another branch
of the Yser in 1160. It was fortified three years later, and for
several centuries was one of the strong towns defending the Low
Countries on the French frontier. Its strategic importance made it the
scene of many battles and sieges. It was destroyed by the English and
their allies, the men of Ghent, in 1383. The lonely tower or Donjon of
the Templars, standing on the edge of the town, is all that remains of
a monastery of that order which was ruined at that time.
The city itself, however, was quickly rebuilt, and among other
memorable sieges beat off a great French force in the year 1489. In
1568 the Spanish, under Condé, beat a French army commanded by Turenne
not far from the city. Another famous fight before the walls of the
old town took place in the year 1600 during the long war between Spain
and her revolted Provinces. Count Maurice of Nassau, at the head of
twelve thousand men from the United Provinces, had invaded Flanders,
which still remained under the power of Spain, and marching rapidly
from the Scheldt past Ostende, proceeded to besiege Nieuport. The
Archduke Albert, hastily raising an army of fifteen thousand
Spaniards, advanced unexpectedly on the Dutch, who were taken
completely by surprise. Perceiving that he was caught in a trap, Count
Maurice--in order to give his men the courage of despair--ordered the
Dutch fleet to withdraw, and told his soldiers that they must either
conquer or "be prepared to drink all the water behind them."
Meanwhile an advance guard of the Dutch army was driven back by the
advancing Spaniards who, thinking they had met the whole army, sent
couriers to Bruges and Ghent announcing the victory. Bells were rung
to celebrate the Archduke's supposed success which, as the event
proved, was a strategic victory for Nassau as it delayed the enemy
several hours. It was three o'clock in the afternoon when the
advancing Spaniards found themselves face to face with the main army
of the republic, drawn up on the very beach outside the city walls.
Perceiving their sturdy ranks and unyielding front the Archduke
hesitated, but the Spaniards urged him not to let them lose their
prey, whom they regarded as hateful rebels and heretics.
Thus encouraged, the Archduke gave the order to advance and the battle
soon became general. The fate of the day was decided by the artillery
of the Dutch which, by a fortunate order of their far-sighted
commander, had been lifted off from the sand and mounted on platforms
made from boughs, brush and such timber as was handy. That of the
Archduke, mounted in haste directly on the beach, embedded itself in
the sand at each discharge until it became useless, while that of the
republicans became more accurate and deadly. At the same time the rays
of the setting sun falling directly in the eyes of the Spanish
soldiers, who were facing westward, blinded them and caused them to
fire wildly. The Archduke performed prodigies of valour, having two
horses killed under him and being himself slightly wounded, but as
darkness began to fall on the bloody beach Count Maurice ordered a
charge by a force of cavalry he had held in reserve. This fresh force
proved irresistible, the Spanish lines began to give way on all sides,
and the retreat quickly turned into a rout. Even the proud Archduke
had to seek safety in flight, and the day, which had begun so
auspiciously, ended in one of the greatest disasters of the disastrous
war.
Nieuport and its sister cities in this, until lately, half-forgotten
corner of Flanders were, in former times, renowned for other contests
happily less bloody than these famous battles. Here, during the Middle
Ages, flourished a group of societies devoted to rhetoric. In place of
the still more ancient tourneys, where armed knights fought with lance
and sword, these "Chambers of Rhetoric" held annual contests of
oratory. From one end of Flanders to the other the movement spread;
and these debating societies did much to cultivate a regard for
learning and dialectic skill among the mass of the population. Sternly
suppressed by Alva, implacable foe of every form of free thought,
these societies were revived after the Spanish scourge was withdrawn,
and some of them continue to the present day.
The visitor who wandered around the long, slightly hilly streets of
the Nieuport of last July would have had little trouble in locating
plenty of the "monuments" of its famous past, although the beach has
now receded two or three miles to the northward and pleasant fields
extend along the edge of the wide marshes which then were probably
part of the sea. A curious old lighthouse with a pointed tower stands
about midway between the present town and Nieuport _Bains_, as the
beach town is called, showing where the coastline lay some three
hundred and fifty years ago. Even this spot is now too far inland for
the light to be seen at sea and a new lighthouse has been built on the
rampart of dunes that runs, like a miniature mountain range, almost to
Ostende toward the east, and westward to Coxyde and beyond.
[Illustration: TOWER OF THE TEMPLARS, NIEUPORT.]
Our first visit at Nieuport was to the Tower of the Templars, a huge
square pile of brick standing in the midst of a potato patch. This
prosaic environment detracted not a little from the sentimental
interest of the edifice, and we were unable to get into the structure,
although one of the gens d'armes of the village was said to have a key
to the low wooden door at its base. Equally disappointing was a visit
to the ancient _Halle aux Draps_, or Cloth Hall, now used on certain
days as a local butter market. Here again, the door was locked and no
one seemed to know who had the key. Curiously enough, although
situated very close to the French frontier, we found in this little
town and its neighbours, Dixmude and Furnes, very few people who
understood French. Flemish is the universal language hereabouts
apparently, but it was only on this little trip that we were at all
inconvenienced by our inability to speak it. Elsewhere in
Flanders--even at Ypres and Audenaerde, where our friends said we
would have trouble--we were able to make our French universally
understood.
On the Grande Place, close to the Cloth Hall, we found a little inn,
called the Hotel du Pelican, where the Professor proposed that we
should get some liquid refreshment. We failed, however, to obtain any
response to our raps and thumps on the door, and concluding that the
establishment must be run for pelicans only we took ourselves and our
patronage elsewhere. The Church of Notre Dame, which stands just off
the Grande Place, we found to be a most quaint and interesting old
structure dating, it is said, from the thirteenth century. While less
imposing externally than St. Nicholas at Furnes its massive square
baroque tower was very striking, and formed a fine picture in
conjunction with the more slender tower of the Cloth Hall hard by. The
approach to the main entrance of the church was beneath some lofty
trees and we did not see a solitary human being either outside of the
edifice or within it. This church has an interesting _jubé_ or rood
loft, a fine wooden pulpit, and we also noticed a curious winding
stairway that seemed to lead upward within one of the pillars at the
intersection of the transept and the choir. As the tower is not built
at this point, but at one end of the edifice, it was quite a mystery
where this stairway went and what its purpose might be, but as it
seemed exceedingly narrow and dark we did not explore it, nor did we
find any one to whom we could apply for information about it.
It was in this church, by the way, or possibly in one of those at
Dixmude or Furnes, that the Madame developed a violent antipathy to a
certain painting that seems to be one of the most cherished
possessions of nearly every church in Flanders. As old Cotton and
Increase Mather delighted in scaring and harrowing their audiences
with word pictures of the tortures of the burning fiery pit, so nearly
every old Flemish artist seems to have delighted in portraying most
vividly the sufferings and martyrdoms of the saints, and one subject
in particular appears to have caught the fancy of every one of them.
This was the beheading of John the Baptist. At times the head is shown
rolling in the dust or mire of the street, at times it is represented
as being served on a platter--but to one and all of these works of art
the Madame objected. This circumstance added not a little to the
happiness of Mr. and Mrs. Professor, who were continually contriving
to lead her artfully around to inspect some new wonder, which proved
to be another representation of this agreeable scene. As works of art
they were nearly all atrocities, but as jokes on the Madame they were
one and all great successes, and it was really surprising how many of
them there were.
The Hotel de Ville, a somewhat commonplace looking structure, is said
to contain a small collection of paintings, but we were unable to make
any of the phlegmatic gens d'armes whom we found lounging close by
take enough interest in our questions to inform us where admission
might be obtained. In fact the whole town seemed singularly
uninterested in tourists, apparently caring not a bit whether they
came or stayed away. While the war will undoubtedly change this, still
any one desiring to visit it will do well to make the trip from
Ostende or Furnes, returning for the night to some point where hotel
accommodations are more adequate. In our case we went over to Ostende,
where there are many good hotels. No doubt a pleasant week or month
could be spent in this corner of Flanders, but for such a stay the
best plan would be to go to one of the many little seaside resorts
between Coxyde and Ostende for one's hotel or pension, and explore the
hinterland from there.
The ride by the little _chemin de fer vicinal_ from Nieuport to
Ostende is a very interesting one. At the outset the line crosses the
huge locks that join the canals to Ostende and Furnes with the tidal
river Yser. There are seven or eight bridges in all, the different
canals and channels being separated by tiny islands. Had Madame Thebes
only suggested that we explore the Yser Canals while we were there
last July how much more interesting this part of the book would be!
Unfortunately they looked then much as hundreds of other Belgian
canals had looked and we gave them only a passing glance. While the
newspapers in their accounts of the great battle of Flanders usually
spoke of the Yser Canal as though there was but a single canal, in
reality there are three canals that flow into the tiny Yser River at
this point. One of these runs parallel with the coast to Ostende, and
then onward to Bruges and beyond; the second runs behind the range of
dunes westward to Furnes, where it divides and crosses the French
frontier in two branches, one going to Bergues and the other to
Dunkerque. It is the third branch that achieved immortality in the
Battle of Flanders. This runs straight inland, at right angles to the
other two, following the tortuous channel of the old river much of the
way to Dixmude. A short distance beyond Dixmude the canal ceases to
follow the River Yser, which here flows eastward from a source well
across the French boundary, and ascends the Yser's smaller tributary,
the Yperlée, to Ypres. It did not seem like very much of an obstacle
from a military standpoint, but brave hearts can make the most of a
small advantage. Below the big locks the little river runs in its own
bed to the sea. Here the tide was out the day of our visit and a few
small fishing boats were lying tipped over sideways in the mud, while
two or three English ladies were busily sketching the not
over-picturesque scene. There will be a great many people sketching in
this vicinity by and by!
About two miles from Nieuport the train passes the church of
Lombartzyde, within which is a statue of the Virgin known among
mariners far and wide as the _Bonne Mére de Lombartzyde_, and who is
devoutly believed able to protect the faithful seaman from perils by
sea, to aid the farmer in his harvest, to cure the sick and succour
the distressed. Many are the little ships, patiently carved by fingers
hardened by toil and exposure, that have been reverently hung before
the good Virgin's shrine. There are perhaps fewer now than formerly,
but faith in her protection and power is still strong and will
probably always continue to be so, for the Flemings are intensely
loyal to the church.
Not a few of those who visit these little towns, rich in mementoes of
the past, but otherwise apparently very sleepy and dull, wonder what
the inhabitants do for amusement. No one who has ever spent a Sunday
in a Belgian country village need ask this question. From one end of
the country to the other, in the Borinage or mining provinces of the
southwest as well as in the Flemish counties of the north, the male
population devotes the greater part of the day to what may
unhesitatingly be termed the Belgian national sport--archery. In the
early part of the Middle Ages Flemish archers were as famous as the
longbowmen of Merrie England, and on many a hard fought field they
gave a good account of themselves. Curiously enough, the archery
societies into which they formed themselves for practice have survived
all the wars and changes of the centuries, have continued in spite of
the invention of gunpowder and the perfection of firearms--an industry
in which Liége, in southern Belgium, has led all other cities--and
seem to be as vital a part of the national life of the country as ever
they were. The fact that the bow and arrow is an anachronism troubles
your Belgian peasant not at all; he shoulders his long bow as
cheerfully on a Sunday morning as if he were carrying the latest model
of smokeless powder repeater, with Maxim silencer and all modern
improvements, instead of a weapon that was out of date and useless
five hundred years ago.
As practised in Belgium, archery contests are carried on in two ways.
There is first what is known as the _Tir á l'oiseau_ or _Perche_. In
the centre of the village green of the smaller towns, and in some open
space in the suburbs of the larger places, the traveller cannot fail
to notice what looks like a flag pole, the top of which, however,
tapers to a slender point, from just beneath which four short arms
point upward diagonally, while three cross arms are placed
horizontally below them. On these are fixed the _oiseaux_, or
birds--blocks of cork covered with tinsel or gaily-coloured paper,
each with a tuft of feathers stuck at the top. The archers gather
below the pole and shoot upward, aiming at the "birds" and
endeavouring to knock them off cleanly. Each shoots in turn, and the
prizes--which have been duly announced by posters for days
beforehand--go to those capturing one of the "birds," the value
varying according to its position. In the contests entitled "_Tir du
Roi_," the archer bringing down the last bird wins the largest prize
and is called the "_Roi_," or King, and as by that time the archers
have one and all consumed a goodly portion of their favourite
beverages there is general hilarity--especially if the victor is a
popular favourite. Immemorial custom decrees that the King should deal
liberally with his subjects and dispense in libations whatever sum he
may have gained as a prize, after which he is usually escorted, or if
necessary carried, home in great state with a band in advance and all
the members of the contest following in a disorderly, but jolly,
crowd.
The second form of contest is known as the "_Tir au berceau_," and
consists of shooting at a target. The birds, in this case, are
fastened about the bull's eye. The archers stand at a distance of one
hundred metres from the target, which is usually placed at the rear of
a walled court or garden. Generally a series of wooden arches placed
at intervals along the line of fire serve to arrest any arrows that go
wild, while the back of the target is reinforced strongly with straws
about a foot long laid lengthwise with the line of the shooting and
packed under great pressure. There is invariably a public café or
estaminet attached to the places where archery contests _au berceau_
are conducted, while such places are always found close by the spot
where a _Tir á l'oiseau_ takes place. Between shots the men consume
liberal quantities of lambic, faro, or the beer of some neighbouring
brewer, and discuss politics or the news of the day. A circumstance
that renders disorders comparatively rare is that each archery society
consists of men of a single party. The Catholics have their favourite
places that are patronised exclusively by Catholics, while the
Socialists in the southern provinces, where that party is strong, have
their own societies and places of rendezvous. The clergy are heartily
interested in the Catholic contests, giving liberal prizes and
attending in considerable numbers to cheer the victors and console the
vanquished.
During the early part of the war numerous references were made in the
despatches to the marvellous accuracy of the Belgian riflemen. To one
who has attended scores of these archery contests it is not surprising
that the Belgians are good shots. Out of date though the bow and arrow
is, yet the sport cannot fail to train the eye and hand, and constant
rivalry in such a pastime has made the Belgians literally a nation of
sharpshooters. On one occasion the writer and a friend took a couple
of shots with a carbine in one of the little shooting galleries that
accompanied a village kermesse. We both missed. A young man standing
by, who worked in the village sugar mill, politely asked which of the
various pipes and other objects we were aiming at. We indicated one of
them and, zip! his bullet had shattered it. Half a dozen shots in
quick succession at different objects we pointed out proved equally
accurate. It was an exhibition of marksmanship such as one frequently
sees on the stage in the United States, but being made by a casual
bystander in a village street it was most impressive. Nor was the lad,
as I took pains to inquire, noted particularly for his skill in this
direction--having seldom won prizes in the official contests.
All ages join in this sport, the small boys erecting diminutive poles
in the fields around the villages, where they imitate their elders
with toy bows and arrows, while men of seventy or eighty take their
turn with beardless youths in the prize competitions. While I was
visiting in the Borinage two years ago the uncle of my hostess
shouldered his two-metre bow and started off to a "meet" despite his
eighty-seven years. What is more, his hand had lost none of its
strength and firmness, and his eyes none of their keenness, for twice
while I was present he brought down one of the "birds," and I later
learned that he had won one of the principal prizes. Only the year
before he had been crowned "King" at one such contest, and the first
time he ever won that coveted honour was when he was sixteen--or
seventy-one years before. I doubt whether there is any athletic game
in the world of which the devotees can point to a longer record of
success.
This fine old athlete had two brothers older than himself alive at the
time, the combined ages of the three aggregating two hundred and
eighty years. One of them, aged ninety-four, recently expressed some
anxiety as to what would become of him in the event of the death of
the daughter with whom he was living.
"What will I do if Amèlie should die?" he asked of one of his other
daughters.
"Why, papa, then you would come and live with me," she replied,
adding with a flash of characteristic Belgian humour, "and when I am
dead you'll go to live with Fèlicienne" (a grand-daughter still in her
'teens). As this provided safely for his future for at least another
fifty years, the old gentleman was greatly relieved, feeling perhaps
that if he survived Fèlicienne her children would by that time be old
enough to take care of him.
While archery is everywhere the dominating pastime of the working
class it is by no means the only form of popular amusement. The
bicycle has not yet gone out of vogue in Belgium, and societies exist
in hundreds of cities and communes for the encouragement of bicycle
racing. The day of our arrival in the village where Tante Rosa spread
for us the banquet mentioned in the second chapter, we were so
fortunate as to witness the final sprint of a twenty-five kilometre
race. A score of contestants had pedalled ten times over a course
consisting for the most part of roadways paved with ragged
cobble-stones, the rest being dirt roads filled with mud puddles owing
to a recent rain. The riders, as they rushed by, were literally
covered with mud and had evidently struggled hard to gain one of the
five prizes which aggregated, as we afterwards learned, the
munificent sum of eighty francs, sixteen dollars, of which the winner
received thirty--six dollars!
Another favourite form of recreation is the racing of pigeons, and
societies for the promotion of this sport exist in every part of the
Kingdom. Frequently the birds fly from one end of the country to the
other and many examples of remarkable speed have been reported, the
winners bringing comparatively high prices:
No better idea of the variety of popular amusements can be given than
to take the programme of one little commune that I had an opportunity
of copying, entitled "_Fêtes Communales de 1914_"--this announcement
being printed in French and Flemish. While many of the events were
evidently organised by various societies the officials of the commune
assumed responsibility for the proper conduct of the contests, and
either provided the prizes or contributed a substantial sum toward
them, the rest being raised by a fee exacted from each contestant
which varied from one franc, thirty centimes for the smaller events to
five francs for the more important ones. With one hundred contestants
this would yield one hundred and thirty francs, to which the commune
usually added fifty, making one hundred and eighty francs available
in all. For the chief events the prizes aggregate 1,000 to 2,000
francs--quite a respectable sum for a commune of six thousand
inhabitants. The difference between archery contests _au berceau_ and
_à la perche_ has already been explained. The programme, much
abbreviated, follows:
Sun., Apr. 19.--Archery contests, both au berceau and
perche.
Sun., Apr. 26.--Archery contest, au berceau, and rifle
contest (carbines).
Fri., May 1.--Fête du Travail (Labor Day) Archery
contest and popular ball on a public
square in the evening--dancing in
the street, rain or shine.
Sun., May 10.--Rifle contest.
Thurs., May
21.--Archery contest.
Sun., May. 24.--Annual Fair with archery contests of
both kinds, rifle contest and grand
concert in evening with two bands.
Sun., May 31.--Kermesse, with archery contests of both
kinds and a popular out-door ball in
the evening.
Sun., June 7.--Bicycle Race--outdoor course around
the village ten times, 25 kilometres.
Sun., June 14.--Archery contest au berceau and Tir du
Roi (perche).
Sun., June 21.--Kermesse in another quarter of the commune,
with rifle contest and concert in
evening, followed by popular ball.
Sun. to Tues.,
July 5, 6, 7,--Annual Kermesse in the centre of the
commune, with archery contest (perche)
on Sunday, au berceau on Monday, and
Tir du Roi with public games and
sports on Tuesday. Itinerant amusement
enterprises of all kinds make
these annual kermesses a miniature
Coney Island while they last.
Sun., July 26.--Tir du Roi and Grand Fête Gymnastique,
followed by concert, Fête de Nuit and
a ball.
Sun., Aug. 9.--Fête d'Enfance, distribution of prizes to
school children with public exhibition
of school gymnastics, etc.
Sat. and Sun.,
Aug. 15 and
16.--Kermesse in a third quarter, with archery
contests and concert.
Sun. Mon. and
Tues., Aug.
30 to Sept. 1.--Annual Kermesse, with archery contests
of both kinds, concert and sports and
games.
Sun., Sept. 20.--Archery au berceau and rifle contest.
Sun., Oct. 25.--Same.
Sun., Nov. 21.--Archery, perche.
Sun., Dec. 13.--Rifle contest.
It must be confessed that this programme is somewhat monotonous, but
in the larger towns it is considerably amplified and varied. Still to
one who was brought up in a small country village in New Hampshire it
seems very good, both as an evidence of the popular desire for
healthy and rational out-door enjoyment, and of the disposition of the
Government to promote and foster legitimate amusements of all kinds.
The kermesse is an European rather than a Belgian institution and
requires no description further than that it is a jolly good time for
everybody. It has existed in Flanders and throughout the Walloon
provinces from time immemorial, as ancient paintings and still more
ancient historical references conclusively show. Its most interesting
feature to the American visitor is the night dancing out of doors on
the rough cobble-stones of the town square or on the soft grass of the
village green. Lighted by flaring gas torches, or sometimes only by
the moon and such stray beams as fall on the dancers from the open
doors and windows of adjacent cafés, the spectacle of the gaily
dancing couples carries the observer back to the days when the world
was young, and love and laughter and happiness reigned supreme.
[Illustration: AN ANCIENT PAINTING OF THE FLEMISH KERMESSE, BY
TENIERS.]