The Spell of Flanders

Unlike many Flemish towns, Courtrai is less renowned for its churches than for its civic monuments. The great church of St. Martin, whose picturesque Gothic tower rises high above the Grande Place, although the edifice itself is some hundred yards distant from the Place itself, dates from 1382, when an older church on the same site was burned by the victorious troops of Charles VI when they sacked the city after the Battle of Rosbecque. It was completed in 1439 and contains a number of interesting paintings and carvings, several of them by local artists and sculptors. The more important Church of Notre Dame, with its square unfinished tower, dates from 1211 and was founded by Baldwin of Constantinople. At that time the Counts of Flanders had a castle at Courtrai and it was at the side of this that Count Baldwin and his fair wife Marie located their great church, of which the foundation stone was laid before the Count departed on the crusade from which he was destined never to return. In the Chapel of the Counts, which was built in the fourteenth century, are mural paintings of the Counts and Countesses of Flanders, the earlier ones dating from the century during which the chapel itself was constructed.

The artistic masterpiece of this church is the “Raising of the Cross,” by Van Dyck. This fine picture was painted for this very church and was delivered by the artist in 1631, the church still possessing his receipt for the one hundred livres de gros (about two hundred and twenty dollars) paid for it. In 1794 the picture was carried to Paris and placed in the Louvre, and on its restoration to the Netherlands was several years in the museum at Brussels, being returned to its proper place in Notre Dame in 1817. During the night of December 6th-7th, 1907, it was mysteriously stolen, its disappearance causing a great commotion, but January 23rd it was discovered in a field at Pitthem, where it had lain exposed to the rain and sunshine since its removal from the church. Apparently the robbers had become frightened and abandoned it, or possibly were prevented from returning to get it by the hue and cry that had been raised. At any rate, it did not seem to be much the worse for its little outing, and was duly hung up again where any tourist who has a franc to spare can see it.

It was in Notre Dame that the victors after the battle of Courtrai hung up seven hundred golden spurs, more or less, picked up from the battle-field. These were hung in a little side chapel at present decorated by two black lions, but the original spurs were taken away when the French sacked the city after the disastrous battle of Rosbecque.

A little beyond this interesting old church the rue Guido Gezelle—named after the poet who for many years was a vicaire at Notre Dame and whose bust stands in a little bosquet, or wooded parklet, hard by—conducts us to the famous old Broel towers which guard an ancient bridge across the Lys. These fine specimens of mediæval military architecture are in an admirable state of preservation. The Spuytorre, or Southern tower, was first built by Philip of Alsace in the twelfth century, was pillaged, and perhaps wholly destroyed, by Charles VI and restored or rebuilt by Philip the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, in 1386. There was not much to see in this tower, save some dungeons below. The Inghelbrugtorre, or South tower, was built at the same time as the bridge, in 1411-1413. There was formerly an archeological museum in this tower, but we were told that it had been removed to the Grandes Halles, near the railroad station, which have recently been restored. We subsequently visited the collections there, which were very interesting but too miscellaneous to be described. Returning from the towers by the rue de Groeninghe we paid a brief visit to the fine monument of the Battle of Groeninghe, which is the Flemish name for the Battle of the Spurs. At the summit a bronze Pucelle of Flanders brandishes a goedendag, one of the celebrated war-clubs that did such deadly work on that famous day. This monument, by Godefroid Devreese, a native of Courtrai, was erected by popular subscription in 1905.

It is in these smaller Flemish towns that the visitor who takes the time to journey a little away from the closely built houses and rough paved streets of the city will find himself after a few minutes of brisk walking out in the green fields and winding lanes of the open country. The trip is well worth the small exertion, for nowhere in the world can one see such marvellous wild flowers—fleurs des champs—as in Belgium. Every wheat field is sprinkled with the most wonderful poppies, of a rich deep red that even the choicest artificial flowers in America cannot equal; with blue corn-flowers growing tall and big and of an indescribably deep blue that at times shades into purple; and along the edges is a thin fringe of small purple flowers, shaped like morning glories but much smaller, the English name of which I do not know. In the grass of the pasture lands are innumerable tiny white marguerites, with here and there a tuft of daisies. Along the country lanes one can pick a score of other varieties of wild flowers which here bloom all summer long, not to mention the exquisite purple heather that makes every hillside glow with colour in August and throughout the fall. To us, however, the wheat fields with the poppies and corn-flowers were by far the most charming as we wandered up and down West Flanders in the month of June. Often one or the other grew so profusely as to give the whole field a rich mass of colour, at times all red, in other places a solid blue.

As we strolled along through these flower gardens of the fields we enjoyed still another treat, for everywhere in Belgium the skylarks abound in myriads. To one who has never heard them there are few enjoyments more exquisite than to watch and listen as these tiny minstrels of the sky go through their little performance. Suddenly, almost before the eye can locate it, one shoots upward from the waving wheat in front of us, his rich trills fairly making the air vibrate with melody. Higher and yet higher he goes, his little wings struggling wildly, as if the effort of flying and singing at the same time was too much for him. Never, for an instant, however, does the music stop, and as his tiny form rises farther and farther into the air he gradually begins to drive forward in a wide curve—but still rising and still fluttering madly—until he becomes a mere speck against the sky. Then, all at once, the fluttering wings spread outward and are still, and he begins to volplane slowly downward in a long slow sweep, while his notes become if possible more shrill and vibrating than ever. Then, like a flash, as he nears the ground, he darts sharply out of sight and the song is over.

All day long the pleasant, flower-bedecked fields ring with this music—at times a dozen are singing in the air at once. When the sun is high the birds often rise until completely out of sight, only their falling music telling the listener that they are still there. Toward evening the flights are shorter, but as the calm of approaching night settles over the broad and peaceful fields it seems as if the songs are sweeter than at any other time.

Two of the greatest English poets have given us wonderful word pictures of this marvellous little bird, which surely sings as sweetly in Belgium as in England. Shelley in his famous Ode, describes the song itself; his metre imitating the breathless rush of the aerial notes:

“Hail to thee, blithe spirit!Bird thou never wert,That from Heaven, or near it,Pourest thy full heartIn profuse strains of unpremeditated art.“Higher still and higherFrom the earth thou springest,Like a cloud of fire;The deep blue thou wingest,And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.”

In Wordsworth’s noble lines the thought is less upon the song, but dwells upon the mother bird and her hidden nest:

“Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky!Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound?Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eyeBoth with thy nest upon the dewy ground?Thy nest, which thou canst drop into at will,Those quivering wings composed, that music still!”

CHAPTER IX

GHENT IN THE DAYS OF THE FLEMISH COUNTS

During the Middle Ages Ghent was, for nearly five centuries, one of the greatest cities in the Occidental world. “If you have ever been in Flanders,” wrote Jean Froissart, near the close of the fourteenth century, “you are aware that Ghent is the sovereign city of Flanders in power, in wisdom, in government, in the number of its houses, in position and in all else that goes to make a great and noble city, and that three great rivers serve to bring to it ships from every part of the world.” After further eulogising the three rivers referred to, which were the Scheldt, the Lys and the Lieve, the chronicler of Valenciennes added that the city could put eighty thousand men in the field, and that it would require a host of two hundred thousand warriors to capture it. These statements, though no doubt exaggerations, do not seem to the tourist so impossible of belief as corresponding figures regarding the former greatness of the other cities in Flanders, for Ghent is still “a great and noble city,” while some of its once puissant rivals are now little more than country villages. In fact, to the visitor who approaches the centre of the town from either of its two principal railway stations—it has five in all—the city seems to be essentially a modern one, with fine streets similar in every way to those to be found in Antwerp or Brussels, and it is therefore with a shock of surprise that he suddenly finds himself riding past one hoary old structure after another whose frowning grey walls and massive architecture bespeak an antiquity strangely at variance with their surroundings.

To the Professor, and to all students of the thrilling history of this famous old Flemish town, the most interesting of these reminders of the Ghent of five hundred or one thousand years ago is the imposing Château des Comtes, or Castle of the Counts, the ruins of which stand in the very heart of the town with the busy life and bustle of the Ghent of to-day surging about them. Hither, as soon as our belongings were safely deposited in the hotel, we came—almost as a matter of course. In part this magnificent relic of the feudal ages dates from the ninth century, when it was called the new castle, Novum Castellum, to distinguish it from a still older castle situated hard by that was destroyed about the year 1010. Two of the three stories composing this original structure are still intact and can be seen by the visitor when he inspects the cellar of the keep. Here the columns and arches are of later construction, but the walls—which are over five and a half feet thick—are the work of builders who put these stones in place more than a thousand years ago. It was in 1180, according to the Latin inscription that can still be read just inside of the main entrance from the Place Ste. Pharaïlde, that Philip of Alsace—son of the Dierick of Alsace who brought the Holy Blood to the chapel of St. Basil at Bruges—erected the present structure. Its purpose was “to check the unbounded arrogance of the inhabitants of Ghent, who had become too proud of their riches and of their fortified houses, which looked like towers.” The Count had been in Palestine two years before and had greatly admired some of the strong castles erected there by the crusaders and instructed his builders to imitate these models, which he no doubt described to them.

After inspecting the remains of the earlier castle we mounted the staircase at the left of the entrance tower. This leads to the top of the outer castle wall and can be followed entirely around the great ellipse formed by the complete structure. From every side fine views can be had of the surrounding city and the moat and River Lieve which guard the castle on the opposite side from the Place. Coming to the square tower behind the entrance gateway we were shown a room on the first story formerly used as a prison and torture chamber. From the top of this tower the banner of the Count was hoisted when the men of Ghent were called upon to follow their over-lord to war. The gateway below, at the corner of the Place Ste. Pharaïlde and the rue de la Monnaie, has a tragic interest from the fact that here were placed the two railings, called les bailles, between which those sentenced to death by the Council of Flanders were executed. Executions also often took place in the outer courtyard between the exterior wall and the Keep, or inner structure. In this yard, in 1445, the procession of the Order of the Golden Fleece formed for its march to the church of St. Bavon, and one can imagine how gay with banners and fair ladies the old castle must have been on that occasion.

The inner castle, usually styled the Palace, was the actual residence of the Counts of Flanders whenever they chanced to be stopping in the city. Thanks to the skilful restoration of the government, the various parts of this edifice can be seen in approximately their original condition, save for the rich tapestries and the scant but solid furniture with which the rooms were formerly made habitable. The chambers of the Count and Countess are particularly fine specimens of the living quarters of the mediæval nobility, quite apart from their many historic associations. Below the former is the entrance to the underground prison built by Philip of Alsace. It is eighteen feet deep, and extends ten and one-half feet below the level of the courtyard, while one of the walls is seven and the others six feet thick. A little air filters in from a zig-zag opening in one wall, but no light. The prisoners were let down into this horrible cavern by means of a ladder, or a basket attached to a rope, after which even the opening by which they entered was closed and they were left alone in the dark. For more than six centuries this cell was in constant use, and one cannot but wonder whether milady the Countess in her sweet chamber overhead ever had her dreams troubled by visions of the despairing victims in their beds of slime who were here awaiting the Count’s decision as to their final fate. It seems that this prison, fearful though it must have been to those incarcerated there, was not one of those oubliettes of which the Bastille and many another mediæval castle had so many. So far as known, it was only used for prisoners awaiting trial, or as a species of solitary confinement for serious crimes. In 1657 a school-teacher accused of teaching heretical doctrines to his pupils was confined here thirteen months, but there is no record of any one being flung down into this pit to be “forgotten.” Still, it must be said that such proceedings would not be likely to become a matter of record, and very little is known about what went on behind these grim walls when the Counts of Flanders and Dukes of Burgundy held absolute and undisputed sway. Any one who asked inconvenient questions would very probably have come here himself!

The Great Hall, which is about one hundred and twenty-five feet long by from fifty to sixty feet in width, is a chapter in the history of Flanders by itself. Here the Counts, and their successors, the Dukes of Burgundy, held many of their great banquets and state functions of various kinds. Louis of Maele in 1346 and Philip the Good in 1445 gave state banquets in this hall of which long accounts have been preserved in the contemporary chronicles. The latter, which was held on the occasion of the seventh meeting of the Knights of the Golden Fleece already mentioned, must have been quite a tremendous affair. At one end of this Hall the Council of the Vieux-Bourg used to pronounce sentence upon prisoners, and half a dozen famous treaties and many of minor importance were proclaimed in this room. No doubt, also, the Great Hall was used as the chief living-room of the castle on less formal occasions, when the Count and Countess perhaps dined on a raised dais at one end, while the throng of courtiers and retainers feasted noisily farther down the hall. On such occasions one can imagine how the great stone fireplace, a dozen feet wide and seven or eight feet high, must have roared, while the torches and candles used to supplement the feeble light from the narrow windows flared and sent their smoke up to the grimy rafters overhead. The great room, now so empty and silent, was then gay with the variegated costumes of the olden time, while its walls echoed to the songs and laughter of the boisterous throng.

There are half a score of other rooms to be seen: the kitchen with its fireplace big enough to roast an ox whole; the residence of the Castellane or keeper of the castle; the small audience chamber near the bedrooms of their highnesses—which was used on ordinary occasions instead of the great hall—and several others. Of them all the most interesting is the ancient stable, which is entered from the castle yard. It seems hard to believe that this vast vaulted room, with its splendid columns and Romanesque arches was ever designed or used as a stable, but such the historians all aver was the case. In appearance it resembles an early church or chapel. In a glass case at one side is a gruesome collection of skeletons that were uncovered here in 1904, presumably those of prisoners who were secretly executed no one knows how many years ago. After the fourteenth century the castle ceased to be occupied by the sovereigns as a residence, and the stable, no longer needed for horses, became a torture chamber and continued to be used for this purpose until the close of the eighteenth century. It is here that the beautiful and unfortunate Jacqueline, Countess of Hainaut and Holland, is said to have been confined by Philip the Good when that amiable monarch was trying to persuade her to part with her patrimony. She resisted bravely and was finally released, but her powerful and wily antagonist subjugated her at last. The Professor read, or was told, that there is another prison cell below the waters of the moat, and also a passage, miles in length, leading out to the open country and intended for escape in case a foe besieging the castle seemed likely to take it, but these we were not able to discover nor did the official guide to the castle appear to know anything about them.

Speaking of sieges, the castle has witnessed more than one. The Novum Castellum, which preceded the present edifice, was besieged in 1128 by Dierick of Alsace. In 1302, a few months before the Battle of the Spurs, the citizens of Ghent rose en masse against the sheriffs of King Philip of France, who took refuge here. The infuriated crowd, armed with pikes, axes and swords, beat upon the gates and finally set fire to the castle. At this the besieged gave up, and all within were forced to run a fearful gauntlet. Without the castle gates the people formed a dense mass, bristling with pikes and spears, through which a narrow lane was kept open. As the late defenders of the castle emerged they had to pass down this avenue of steel, and whoever had committed any crime against the burghers never reached the farther end alive, whether he was one of the lord high sheriffs or a page. In 1338 the Count himself, Louis of Maele, was here besieged by Jacques Van Artevelde, and forced to make terms with the great tribune.

The later history of the structure itself is interesting and curious. Already in 1302 hovels had been built against the castle walls on the land side. In 1350 a mint was installed within the castle, where it remained until suppressed in the sixteenth century, and from the same year the Court of the Count held sessions here. It was used less and less as a residence after this, but from 1407 to 1778 was the seat of the Council of Flanders, which succeeded the Court of the Counts. In 1779 the buildings used by the court were sold and in 1797 and 1798 those of the Assembly of the Vieux Bourg also passed into private hands. The Castellany of the Vieux Bourg was for many years a public inn, and in 1807 a factory was established in the Keep, the Great Hall being used as a machine-room. The Castellany then became a cotton spinning mill, was partly burned in 1829, but rebuilt and continued in use as a mill until 1884. Meanwhile other small buildings were erected around the old walls until they were entirely concealed, and a guidebook of this period states that of the old castle “nothing now remains but the entrance.” In 1887 some archeologists stirred the municipal and national governments to action with a view to saving and restoring this splendid monument of the Middle Ages, the Gateway having already been acquired by the nation in 1872. The work of demolishing the buildings that had clustered about the old walls and of restoration lasted from 1889 till 1913, when at last the structure was brought into the condition that the visitor beholds to-day. In its present form it is unquestionably one of the most interesting and important examples of feudal architecture in Europe. Within its sombre walls the student has, in records of stone, an epitome of the history of ten centuries.

The Professor informed us that, in the course of his researches, he had run across a reference to some legend or popular tradition concerning a siege of Ghent in the year 930, or thereabouts, by the Kings of England, Scotland and Ireland. The city, according to this tale, was bravely defended by Dierick, Lord of Dixmude, and all the attacks of the besiegers were repelled for many months. Their majesties from across the Channel were naturally much incensed at this unexpected resistance, and warned the burghers and their valiant chief that if they did not surrender within twenty-four hours, they would raze the city to the ground and sow corn on its ruins. Notwithstanding this threat, to the fulfilment of which the kings aforesaid took a mighty oath, the men of Ghent fought stubbornly on, and finally the besiegers were forced to give up their enterprise. The English monarch, however, in order to fulfil his vow and thereby ease his conscience, humbly begged permission of the victors to allow him to throw a grain of corn in the market-place. This modest request was granted, but to prevent any such stratagem as the one that proved so successful in the famous siege of Troy, a tiny hole was made in the city wall and the monarch required to crawl through alone, returning the same way after the corn-throwing performance was over. From this circumstance the name of Engelande-gat was derisively given to the little street leading from the Bestroom-Porte to St. Michel—a name which Pryse L. Gordon in his book on Holland and Belgium, written in 1834, stated was still retained at that time. We were unable to find it, however, in one of our early morning tramps, although we found a rue d’Angleterre which runs into the Place St. Michel directly in front of the church, and may have derived its name from that of the earlier street which, quite possibly, it may have replaced. The great plan of the city drawn by Hondius shows a vast number of streets and lanes that to-day have entirely disappeared. The legend, however, may have had some basis in fact, although the three kings were no doubt a fanciful embellishment added by the peasants as they repeated the story of some early attack. There were plenty of small potentates in those days prowling about to seize whatever was not well defended, or gave promise of rich booty, without going across the Channel to look for them.

It was at about this period, in fact a little earlier, that another of the famous “monuments” of Ghent was erected. This is the Abbey of St. Bavon, which alone would justify a visit to the city if there were nothing else to see. A primitive abbey on this site is said to have been founded about the year 631 by St. Amand, an early missionary, who dedicated it to St. Peter. One of this prelate’s converts was a rich nobleman named Allowin, who took the name of Bavon on his conversion and retired into a monastery. A second abbey took the name of St. Bavon, the deceased monk having been canonized, and around these two religious institutions a little settlement grew up that was destined to expand into the mighty city of Ghent. At St. Bavon, therefore, the visitor beholds not merely the ruins of an ancient and famous abbey but the birthplace of the city that has played so great a part in the history of Flanders and of Europe. When Baldwin II died his widow, the daughter of Alfred the Great, had him buried at the monastery of St. Peter, to which she made liberal donations. Successive Counts and Countesses followed this example, the two abbeys becoming rich and powerful, and the town soon became the home of numerous merchants who took advantage of the protection afforded by these religious institutions, and also of the strategic location of the town at the junction of three rivers. The Quai au Blé and the Quai aux Herbes date from this epoch, the merchants speedily establishing a market for the sale of grain and other products. The Fish Market and the famous Marché du Vendredi, or Friday Market, soon followed and Ghent had begun the development that was destined to make it, for three centuries, one of the greatest trading centres in the world.