Part 6 (1/2)
One morning we halted at a small village called Gheluwe, where the train stopped beside a white-washed wall, and everyone got out, as the custom is. There seemed no reason for stopping here, for we were at some distance from the village, the spire of which could be seen above a belt of heavy trees ahead. The morning was somewhat chilly, and the only other occupant of the compartment was a young cleric with a soiled white necktie. He puffed away comfortably at a very thin, long, and evil-smelling ”stogie” which he seemed to enjoy immensely, and which in the Flemish manner he seemed to eat as he smoked, eyeing us the while amicably though absent mindedly, as if we were far removed from his vicinity. As we neared the stopping place, two very jolly young farmer boys raced with the train in their quaint barrow-like wagon painted a bright green, and drawn by a pair of large dogs who foamed and panted past us ”ventre a terre,” with red jaws and flopping tongues.
Had we not known of this breed of dogs we might have fancied, as many strangers do, that Flemish dogs are badly treated, but this is not the case. These dogs are very valuable, worth sometimes as much as five hundred francs (about $100).
Inspections of these dogs are held regularly by the authorities. The straps and the arrangement of the girths are tested lest they should chafe the animal, and, I am told, the law now requires that a piece of carpet be carried for the animal to lie upon when resting, and a drinking bowl also has been added to the equipment of each cart. The dogs do not suffer. They are bred for the cart, and are called ”_chiens de traite_,” so that the charge of cruelty upon the part of ignorant tourists may be dismissed as untrue. There is a society for the prevention of cruelty to animals, and it is not unusual to see its sign displayed in the market places, with the caution ”_Traitez les animaux avec douceur_.” Rarely if ever is a case brought into court by the watchful police.
The young cleric gazed at us inquiringly, as if he expected to hear us exclaim about the cruelty to animals, but catching his eye I smiled, and said something about ”_ces bons chiens_,” at which he seemed relieved, and nodded back grinning, but he did not remove the stogie from his mouth.
Priests in Flanders seemed to enjoy much liberty of action, and do things not possible elsewhere. For instance, at Blankenberghe, a fas.h.i.+onable watering place on the coast, I saw a prosperous, well-fed one (if I may so characterize him without meaning any offense) dining at the Great Gasthof on the digue, who after finis.h.i.+ng his _filet aux champignons_, with a bottle of _Baune superior_, ordered his ”_demi ta.s.se_” with _fine champagne_, and an Havana cigar which cost him not less than three francs (sixty cents) which he smoked like a connoisseur while he listened to the fine military band playing in the Kiosk. And why not, if you please?
We remained for nearly twenty minutes beside this white wall at the roadside, the animated discussions of the farmers continuing, for the group was constantly augmented by fresh arrivals who meant to travel with us or back to the town from which we had come. It was here that we saw the first stork in Flanders, where indeed they are uncommon. This one had a nest in a large tree nearby. One of the boys s.h.i.+ed a small stone at him as he flapped overhead, but, I think, without any idea of hitting him. The peasants a.s.sembled here eyed us narrowly. They probed me and my belongings with eyes of corkscrew penetration, but since this country of theirs was a show place to me, I argued that I had no right to object to their making in return a show of me. But such scrutiny is not comfortable, especially if one is seated in a narrow compartment, and the open-mouthed _vis a vis_ gazes at one with steely bluish green unwinking eyes--somewhat red rimmed. Especially if such scrutiny is accompanied by free comments upon one's person, delivered in a voice so pitched as to convey the information to all the other occupants, and mayhap the engine driver ahead.
The other train at length arrived, there was an interchange of occupants and then we proceeded amid heavy clouds of thick black smoke which, for a time, the wind blew with us. Across the tilled fields are narrow paths leading to d.y.k.es and roads. There are many green ditches filled with water and in them we could see rather heavy splashes from time to time.
These we discovered were made by large green bull frogs--really monsters they were, too. Of course we were below the sea level here, but one cannot credit the old story about the boy who plugged the d.y.k.e with his thumb, thereby saving the whole country.
The d.y.k.es are many feet high and as the foundation is composed of heavy black stones, then layers of great red bricks and tiles, and finally turf and large willow branches interlaced most cunningly like giant basket work, such a story is impossible.
My _vis a vis_, all the while regarding me unwinkingly, overheard me speak to A--, in English.
Then he slowly took the stogie from his mouth and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, ”_Ach--Engelsch!--Do it well met you?_”
I replied that it certainly did.
”_And met Madame?_”
I nodded.
”_Alst' u blieft mynheer--sir,_” he said. Then he changed his seat and thereafter related to the others that he had conversed with the strangers, who were English, and were traveling for pleasure, being _enormously rich_. I think thereafter he enjoyed the reputation of being an accomplished linguist. So, pleasantly did we amble along the narrow little steam tramway through luxurious green fields and smiling fertile landscape of the Flemish littoral in our well rewarded search for the quaint and the unusual.
The Gothic Town Hall, a remarkable construction on the Grand' Place, and erected 1526, has been restored with a great amount of good taste in recent years, and the statues on its facade have been replaced with such skill that one is not conscious of modern work.
The great Hall of the Magistrates on the ground floor, with its magnificent furniture, and the admirable modern mural paintings by the Flemish artists Guffens and Severts (1875) was worth a journey to see.
The most noteworthy of these paintings represented the ”Departure of Baldwin IX,” Count of Flanders, at the beginning of the Fourth Crusade in 1202, and the ”Consultation of the Flemish, before the great Battle of the Spurs” in 1302.
In this chamber is a remarkable Renaissance mantelpiece, which is embellished with the arms of the Allied Towns of Bruges and Ghent, between which are the standard bearers of the doughty Knights of Courtrai, and two statues of the Archduke Albert and his Lady, all surrounding a statue of the Holy Virgin.
On the upper floor is the Council Chamber, in which is another mantelpiece hardly less ornate and interesting, and executed in what may be called the ”flamboyant” manner in rich polychrome. It is dated 1527 and was designed by (one of the) Keldermans (?).
It has rows or ranges of statuary said to represent both the Vices and the Virtues. Below are reliefs indicating the terrible punishment inflicted upon those who transgress. Statues of Charles V, the Infanta Isabella, and others are on _corbels_.
Very large drawn maps of the ancient town and its dependencies cover the walls, and these are dated 1641.[1]
Termonde (Dendermonde)
Termonde (Dendermonde)
A strange half deserted little town on the right bank of the river Scheldt, cl.u.s.tered about a bridge, on both sides of a small sluggish stream called the ”Dendre,” where long lines of women were was.h.i.+ng clothes the live-long day, and chattering like magpies the while. A Grand' Place, with heavy trees at one side, and on the other many small _estaminets_ and drinking shops. That was Termonde. My note book says ”Population 10,000, town fortified; forbidden to make sketches outside the walls, which are fortifications. Two good pictures in old church of Notre Dame, by Van Dyck, 'Crucifixion' and an 'Adoration of the Shepherds' (1635). Fine Hotel de Ville, with five gables and sculptured decoration. Also belfry of the fourteenth century.”