The Spell of Flanders

The weavers, who under Van Artevelde had become the dominant power in all of the Flemish communes, soon had good reason to regret his fall, for the new Count, Louis of Maele—named like most of the Counts of Flanders from the place where he was born, the great castle of Maele—was able by liberal promises and the restoration of ancient charters and privileges to win the support of most of the cities. At Ghent the butchers, fish merchants, and boatmen’s guilds submitted, followed by the fullers and minor industries. The weavers, although their numbers had been greatly reduced by the plague, held out stubbornly, but were massacred on the Marché du Vendredi, Tuesday, January 13, 1349, their captain and their Doyen, Gérard Denys—the man who had slain Van Artevelde—being flung into the Lys. The victors called this bloody day De Goede Disendach, or Good Tuesday, and it certainly amply revenged the Bad Monday four years before when the weavers were the aggressors. The members of the unfortunate guild were now hunted down like dogs throughout all Flanders, great numbers fleeing to England where they established the weaving industry—King Edward wisely welcoming the exiles and giving them every aid in his power to settle in his Kingdom. Later the competition of these fugitives and their descendants gave Flanders good cause to rue the folly of the internal strife that thus drove away some of the best workmen in the country.

The numerical superiority of this guild, however, and the fact that its members were necessarily more skilled than the fullers, led to its gradual recovery, and by 1359 the weavers were again admitted to a share in the government of the communes and the fullers were relegated to the inferior position to which their smaller numbers and less skilled work entitled them. Louis of Maele made Bruges virtually his capital, but during the greater part of his reign of forty years was able to continue on fairly peaceful terms with the turbulent city of Ghent by means of a careful and detailed adjustment of the order of precedence between the various guilds which was devised about the year 1352 and continued in effect for nearly two centuries. In 1369 the daughter of the Count married Philip the Bold, Duke of Burgundy and brother of the King of France—an event full of dire significance for the guildsmen as it led to their having, in after years, the powerful Dukes of Burgundy as their over-lords instead of the comparatively feeble Counts of Flanders. In 1377 Count Louis held a great tournament in the Marché du Vendredi. Despite the long conflict between the guilds the city was at this period very prosperous.

The Count, however, who was always short of money, sold to the citizens of Bruges the right to construct a canal from their port to the River Lys. At this Ghent, headed by the Boatmen’s Guild, flew to arms and a civil war broke out in 1379, the men of Ghent fearing that they might lose their monopoly of the grain traffic. After various successes and reverses the Count besieged the city and had very nearly reduced it by starvation when Philip Van Artevelde, son of the famous tribune, came forward and was made Captain-General of the city, in 1382. The new leader, and a motley crowd of five thousand half-starved followers, marched on Bruges, where the Count, at the head of a host of over forty thousand, attacked them under the walls of the city. The larger army, however, was a mere rabble—over-confident and half intoxicated—and Van Artevelde won a complete victory. The Count of Flanders was compelled to hide for the night under a heap of straw in a poor woman’s hovel, and later escaped to Lille and so to France. Van Artevelde treated the captured city with generosity and was soon captain of all Flanders. His next battle was with the King of France, but this time he was less fortunate, and at Rosbecque, November 27, 1382, the Flemish host was cut to pieces and its leader slain. Louis of Maele himself died two years later, leaving the reputation of being the worst and weakest of the line of Flemish Counts, as well as the last. It was at his request that the French had invaded the country, which they swept with fire and sword after the defeat of the Flemish guildsmen, but the victory was of no benefit to the broken-down old man who no longer dared to show himself in Flanders and died at Paris in poverty and neglect.

As an offset to these remarks regarding the weakness of Louis of Maele it is only fair to that worthy to relate a little legend generally attributed to his reign. It is said that on a certain occasion the magistrates of Ghent—which was at the time renowned as the most opulent city in Europe—were invited to a great feast given in honour of some foreign king. Those in charge of the arrangements forgot, however, to put cushions on the chairs and the men of Ghent accordingly threw their richly embroidered cloaks upon them, and retired when the feast was over without putting them on again. When reminded of this the Chief Magistrate replied, “The Flemings are not accustomed to carry their cushions with them.” Not only the grandees but the bourgeois citizens at this period were said to wear purple and fine linen. The baths, “stooven,” frequented by both sexes, became the scenes of great vice and disorder and one ancient chronicler reports an incredible number of murders as occurring during a single year at gaming tables and drinking places. All this would seem to show that Louis of Maele was not so bad a sovereign—for at least the country prospered under his rule—but in reality he had, as we have seen, very little to do either with the actual government or public policy during his long reign.

No visitor to Ghent fails to take a look at De Dulle Griete, or “Mad Margery,” Philip Van Artevelde’s big cannon that stands in the Mannekens Aert. According to Froissart, Van Artevelde took with him to the siege of Audenaerde “a bombard which was fifty feet in length, and shot stones of immense weight. When they fired off this bombard it might be heard five leagues off in the daytime, and ten at night. The report of it was so loud, that it seemed as if all the devils in hell had broken loose.” Mad Margery seems to have shrunk considerably since Froissart’s time, for she is now nineteen feet long and three feet in diameter at the mouth. The gun was made of wrought iron and weighs thirty-four thousand, one hundred and sixty-six pounds, and was capable of throwing a stone weighing seven hundred and eight pounds.

Another interesting monument dating from the same period in the city’s history as the Belfry is the Hospital of the Biloque or Biloke. Some of the buildings are of much more recent construction, but the Gothic chapel was built early in the thirteenth century, apparently about 1228, with a double gable and immense timber roof. The former Refectory offers an example of early brick work at one of its ends, le beau pignon, that is a joy to architects, and has often been described and illustrated in the technical books. The timber roof of this structure is also noteworthy. It is now used as a hospital for old men. This edifice is a century later than the chapel, while some of the other buildings date from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

Ghent contains two Béguinages, a circumstance that gives not a little trouble to visitors who in trying to visit one are about always—at least that was our experience on two occasions—directed to the other. Both are large, but one is more notable for its antiquity and the other for its size and the perfection of its appointments. The first Béguinage in Ghent was founded by Jeanne of Constantinople in 1233 as a place of refuge for women disciples of the church who in those evil days felt the need of protection, but did not desire to enter the conventual life. Little houses sprang up and the institution proved so popular that a second Béguinage was soon established which came to be called the Petit Béguinage. Protected by the successive Counts, and particularly by the patronage of the Countesses of Flanders, both institutions flourished and expanded steadily. The present Petit Béguinage de Notre Dame dates largely from the seventeenth century, and the Chapel and streets of tiny houses inhabited by the Béguines are most picturesque. It has accommodations for three hundred sisters. The Grand Béguinage de Ste. Elisabeth was confiscated during the French Revolution and the property presented to the almshouses of the city of Ghent. The Committee in charge of the almshouses suffered the Béguines to remain undisturbed, however, until 1872 when strained relations resulting from this arrangement led to the Béguines giving up their establishment, which was modernized by the authorities and many of its interesting features destroyed. The church remains, having become a parish church, and the rue des Prébendières retains its original appearance. Meanwhile, the Duke of Arenberg purchased ground for a new Grande Béguinage at Mont St. Amand, and here a little city of small houses, designed in fifteenth-century Flemish style, and a new chapel were erected, the work being completed in 1874.

We spent a very charming afternoon visiting the Grande Béguinage. Passing through the lofty gateway we were greeted by the pleasant-faced Béguine who receives all visitors and who directed us how to reach the buildings we were permitted to see. As at Bruges, the cells were not shown to visitors. Altogether at St. Amand there are fourteen “convents” and eighty houses, the former accommodating twenty or thirty inmates and the latter two or three, with occasionally some lady from the outer world who is taken as a lodger. Each little house is numbered and also has a name, usually that of some saint. Arriving at the convent we had been permitted to visit we were first conducted down a long, clean corridor, painted a glaring white, to a parlour or reception room, of which there appear to be several. Then, after the Lady Superior had been notified of our presence and had come to welcome us, we were taken to the refter, or dining-room. The inventor of the kitchen cabinet could have taken points from this curious apartment. Along the walls and between the windows are a dozen or more cupboards, of which one belongs to each Béguine. Here she keeps her napkins, dishes and cooking utensils, and even her bread and provisions. A board can be pulled out near the middle, which serves as a table. These cupboards are so constructed that no Béguine can see into that of her neighbour, and apparently they take their meals one at a time, as one was eating her frugal repast when we entered, and when we passed through the room again a little later her little private refectory was closed and another one was seated at her little shelf or table. Adjoining this queer dining-room was a large kitchen, with an extremely big cook stove, on which a half-dozen little pots were simmering gently. One Béguine, we were told, has the duty of attending to the kitchen for three weeks, then another, each taking turns. The Béguines prepare their own meals to suit themselves, the one in charge of the kitchen merely looking after the actual process of cooking.

We next visited the workroom, where a group of Béguines were busily engaged in making lace. The bright sunshine streaming through the large windows on the silent group of workers, each clad in her sombre garb of black and white, made a pretty picture. All seemed to be care-free and contented, though the expression on their faces could hardly be described as one of happiness. As in all conventual institutions, the inmates are required to go through quite a series of devotional exercises from morning mass to the Benediction Night Prayers. The scene in the little chapel attached to each convent, or in the large chapel of the entire Béguinage, when the sisters are assembled for service is a very picturesque one and gives the visitor an impression likely long to be remembered.

Speaking of the peculiar dining customs of the Béguines reminds me that in Flanders the judicious should not overlook the importance of doing justice to the culinary treats that are provided by even the little hotels. For those travellers who look upon eating as one of the disagreeable necessities of existence, to be shirked or evaded as far as possible, and, in any event, to be hurried through with quickly lest something be overlooked that the immortal Mr. Baedeker said must be seen, this is one feature of Flemish life that will make no appeal. On the other hand, for those who are neither mentally nor bodily dyspeptic; who agree with the French aphorism that “the animals feed, while man eats”; and who are still able to enjoy a good meal well planned, well cooked, and well served, a trip through Flanders will bring a new pleasure every day. A peep into any Flemish kitchen will convince the most sceptical that here, at all events, one’s stomach is not likely to be forgotten. Pots and kettles, casseroles and pans, pitchers and jugs, large and small, hang around the walls or rest upon long shelves—all of brightly polished copper and ready for instant service.

The great meal of the day in all parts of Flanders is the dinner, and it cuts the day in two—coming between noon and two o’clock and usually lasting an hour or more. The evening meal, or supper, is much less important, save in a few hotels catering largely to tourists. To get up a real Flemish dinner, cooked and served in the best style of which the Flemish cooks are capable, the housewife first ascertains when the local butcher has fresh-killed meat and plans accordingly. Vegetables in Flanders are always good, in their respective seasons, but to get the finest quality of meats one must buy just after the butcher has made a killing. To Americans, who have been accustomed all their lives to eat meat that has been kept on ice, it almost seems as though one has never tasted a roast of beef or a shoulder of mutton before—so deliciously sweet, tender and juicy are they when cooked and eaten before the ice has robbed them of their richness and flavour.

It was while we were browsing around Ghent that the ladies discovered a bit of handicraft that seems worth mentioning. We subsequently saw the same thing at Brussels and Antwerp, so that it appears to be distinctly a Belgian industry. In a large window they noticed two women engaged in what from over the way might have been taken for lace-making. Mrs. Professor hurried across at once to investigate and she and the Madame spent half an hour watching the operation. Each of the two women was engaged in repairing, the one a pair of trousers and the other an overcoat. In each case the repair consisted of literally weaving a new segment of cloth in place of the damaged portion. First cutting out all of the latter they frayed out an edge of the goods at some point where there was sufficient material turned under for their purpose. This done they took short strands of each of the various coloured yarns and, with infinite patience and skill, wove them together in an exact reproduction of the design of the original textile. So cleverly was the work done that when completed the reparation could not be detected. It is possible that repairing of this kind is done in America but none of us had ever seen or heard of it. In Belgium it seemed to be fairly common, being styled Reparation invisible, and the price varying from one to three or four francs for each hole repaired, according to the nature of the goods and the design. We also saw rugs being repaired in the same manner, as well as ladies’ dress goods of every description.

It is one of the most deplorable features of the war that its most fearful destructiveness should have been wreaked upon a little country where every small economy and patient utilisation of trifles had been practised for centuries. All Belgium is pre-eminently a land of thrift, of painstaking husbanding of small resources, and to beggar half the population of such a country means a calamity to each family group and individual far more poignant than would be the case where frugality was less deeply ingrained as a national characteristic.

CHAPTER XI

PHILIP THE GOOD AND THE VAN EYCKS

As the sunset is often the most beautiful hour of the day, so the splendour of the old Flemish communes reached its zenith at the moment when many of them were about to sink into their long sleep. This was the period of Burgundian rule. Upon the death of Louis of Maele the County of Flanders ceased to be a separate sovereignty, as it had been since Baldwin of the Iron Arm, for the husband of Margaret, the old Count’s daughter, was Duke of Burgundy and brother of the King of France—a foreign prince whose interests in France far out-weighed in his mind his interests in Flanders. The new ruler, Philip the Bold, was acknowledged as Count of Flanders in 1384, but was only able to enter Audenaerde by stratagem after a siege, and was defied openly by the sturdy burghers of Ghent. The following year, however, Philip effected a family union by which he virtually controlled the two important States of Brabant and Hainaut. His eldest son was married to Margaret, daughter of the Regent of Hainaut, while the latter’s son married Philip’s daughter. These marriages were celebrated at Cambrai, in April, 1385, and at the same time the Duchess of Brabant recognised Philip’s second son as heir to the Duchy. Brabant at that time was less rich and powerful than Flanders, but its chief cities, Brussels and Louvain, were growing rapidly. Hainaut, on the other hand, had been termed by one of its leaders “a poor country of proud men”—its chief cities, Mons and Valenciennes, being places of third-rate importance, and its present vast mineral wealth then undreamed of. The marriages of Cambrai are worth remembering, however, as explaining the rapidity with which the House of Burgundy extended its sway over nearly all of what is now Belgium.

Ghent still resisted its new Count, but an army of one hundred thousand French and Burgundians—gathered primarily to invade England—destroyed the seaport of Damme, which had been rebuilt since its previous destruction by the French, and plundered “the Four Trades,” as the fertile region thereabout was called. Ghent, however, had suffered enough to make it sue for peace and acknowledge Philip’s sovereignty. The invasion of England project came to nothing—as have so many others before and since—but it had at least enabled Philip to establish his power in Flanders.

On Philip’s death in 1404, he was succeeded by his son, John the Fearless (as the old chroniclers call him). The life of this prince belongs to the history of France rather than Flanders, as he had little use for his Flemish towns except to extort money from their burghers—who granted him such sums as he required on his renewing acknowledgment of their liberties and privileges. In 1407 John caused the murder of his great rival in the government of France, the Duke of Orleans. Then came the battle of Agincourt, where the power of France was ruined by Henry the Fifth, and in 1419 the son of the Duke of Orleans avenged the murder of his father twelve years previously by murdering John the Fearless at Montereau.

The son of John the Fearless was Philip, called by the chroniclers “the Good.” A better term would have been “the Magnificent,” for goodness was hardly his chief characteristic. The murder of his father caused Philip to take the side of England in the long conflict between that country and France that was still raging—a policy that pleased his Flemish communes, which depended for their prosperity on the wool trade. Meanwhile Philip took advantage of the matrimonial difficulties of Jacqueline of Bavaria, Countess of Hainaut and Holland, to compel that beautiful but unfortunate princess to abdicate in his favour. The dungeon in the Castle of the Counts at Ghent, where the fair Jacqueline was for a time confined, has already been mentioned. He also succeeded in making himself Duke of Brabant, thus uniting in his own person the government of these rich provinces with that of Flanders and Burgundy and his other possessions in France.

In 1430 Philip married the Princess Isabel of Portugal, a great-granddaughter of John, Duke of Lancaster. This marriage cemented the English alliance, and the English made Philip Regent of France, over which they still claimed sovereignty. It was Philip who captured and indirectly caused the execution of Jeanne d’Arc at the darkest period of French history.

The now all-powerful Duke of Burgundy signalized his marriage by establishing at Bruges the famous Order of the Golden Fleece. This consisted of himself, as founder and sovereign prince, and twenty-four knights—naturally the highest in the land—and in renown and lustre the new order quickly took rank as the very pinnacle of mediæval chivalry. Membership was an honour than which there was none higher, while members also enjoyed a personal security against the tyranny of princes in being amenable only to their comrades of the order. The head of such an institution naturally exerted powers equal, and, in some respects, superior, to those of any crowned monarch. The fêtes with which Philip celebrated the establishment of the order were without precedent in the history of Europe for magnificence, and the old city of Bruges was for days thronged with the bravest knights and the fairest ladies to be found in the Duke’s widespread dominions.

Up to this date the policy of Philip had coincided with the interests of his great communes in Flanders and his popularity throughout the county was unbounded. Not only did friendship with England protect and stimulate trade between the two countries, but the misery and ruin of France also contributed to extend the commerce of the great towns just over the frontier whose trade and industries were unmolested. In 1435 Philip concluded the treaty of Arras with Charles VII, King of France, by which, for the sake of peace, the French King ceded to him a number of counties in France and made him, during his lifetime at least, an independent prince owing no homage to the French Crown. This treaty naturally enraged the English, who at once declared war on Burgundy, destroying many Burgundian vessels and raiding its coast towns. In revenge Duke Philip marched on Calais with an army of thirty thousand Flemings whom he induced to join in the war against their ancient ally chiefly through their confidence in his good intentions and against their own better judgment. The siege proved to be a long one, and the Flemings becoming discontented finally set fire to their camp and crying, “Go, go, wy zyn all vermanden!” (“Go, go, we are all betrayed!”) marched back to Flanders, leaving their Duke raging at his discomfiture.

This fiasco determined Philip to adopt a new policy toward the communes and compel them to obey his orders. On May 22, 1437, he camped outside of the city of Bruges with a considerable force of knights and Picard footmen, informing the burghers that he was on his way to Holland. The next day, telling his men “That is the Holland we have come to conquer!” as he pointed to the city, Philip led his forces to the market-place. The tocsin in the old belfry instantly sounded the alarm, and angry guildsmen and burghers came pouring down the narrow streets in thousands. Philip’s small force, taken at a disadvantage, was forced to retreat to one of the gates. It was shut, its heavy bolts securely drawn. Already some of the French force had been killed, and in a few moments the Duke himself would have perished but for Burgomaster Van de Walle, who brought a smith and broke the lock. The Duke escaped with most of his followers, but many who were caught in the rear lost their lives. This was the Bruges Vespers—to distinguish it from Bruges Matin, the year of the Battle of the Spurs.

Philip now set about humbling the proud city in grim earnest, cutting off the commerce upon which its prosperity depended, and even its food supplies. To add to the horrors of the siege the plague broke out within the city, while leprosy was also prevalent. No less than twenty-four thousand died of pestilence and famine before the brave burghers at last gave in. Philip’s terms were hard. The city officials were required to meet him bareheaded and barefooted the next time he deigned to visit the defeated commune, and on their knees give him the keys of the city. A heavy fine was imposed and forty-two leading burghers were excluded from amnesty and beheaded—including Van de Walle, who had saved his life at the Bouverie gate. This was the “Great Humiliation,” as it is sometimes called, but—finding that continued hostility to the chief trading centre in his dominions was driving foreign traders away—the Duke now took Bruges again into his favour and never again molested it during his long reign.