At Bruges the official reception was the most gorgeous of all, the rich gowns of the wives and daughters of the burghers causing Queen Isabella to exclaim, “I thought I was alone Queen, but here I see six hundred!” The mass of the people, however, were cold and sullen, and when the King proclaimed some public games no one would take part in them. Hardly had the royal party left the city before an insurrection broke out. De Coninck was arrested, but his followers burst into the prison, and, for a time, the leaders of the Liliaerts were behind the bars. A French force soon entered the city and set them free, and De Coninck fled to Damme, where the Lion of Flanders waved unmolested over a rapidly increasing host of Clauwaerts.

On the 17th of May, 1302, a still stronger army of French entered the city, and it was rumoured that a general massacre of the Clauwaerts was planned for the morrow. Without waiting for the blow to be struck, the men from Damme and the surrounding towns, under the leadership of De Coninck and John Breidel, poured into the city before daybreak and roaring “Schilt end vriendt”—a battle-cry and password that no Frenchman could pronounce—they overwhelmed the partisans of the Lily. So sudden and unexpected was the attack, in the darkness and among narrow streets with which they were not acquainted, that the two thousand French knights who had entered the city so gaily on the previous day could offer no resistance and were slaughtered almost to a man. Barely forty escaped to tell King Philip of the massacre, while no record was made of the number of Liliaerts among the Flemings themselves who were in the heaps of dead that for three days thereafter were being buried in the fields outside of the city. This was the famous Matin de Bruges, hardly a glorious day’s work considered as a feat of arms, but bold enough when regarded as a defiance by the artisans of a single industrial town of the most powerful monarch of the age.

Philip, as was to be expected, was furious, and at once gathered an army the like of which had never before been seen in France; while all Flanders, with the exception of Ghent which the French still held, rallied to the support of De Coninck and his comrades. Scores of Flemish nobles were at that time languishing in French prisons, but those who were free to come enlisted under the Lion of Flanders. The army of defence consisted for the most part, however, of workingmen—members of the great guilds of Bruges, Ypres, Audenaerde and the other Flemish towns, with seven hundred even from Ghent. Each guild marched under its gorgeous banner, the men armed with long pikes, iron lances, short swords, and a sort of club which they derisively called “goedendag,” or “good morning.” On the eve of the battle a conference was held by the leaders of the army of defence, this being the scene depicted in the fine fresco in the Hotel de Ville.

About nine or ten in the morning of the following day the French army, some forty thousand strong, was seen approaching, led by the youthful Count of Artois. After a reconnoitre two experienced officers advised the young Prince not to attack the Flemings at once, but to worry them with his archers and separate them from the town where their baggage and provisions were. “These people have to eat three, or four times a day—when they start to retreat, fall on them, you will quickly win,” they counselled him.

This sage advice did not appeal to the impetuous young Count, or to his valiant knights, who were burning with eagerness to avenge the Matin de Bruges. They confidently expected that at the very sight of their host, for the most part mounted knights, the cowardly townsmen would turn and run. Nor did they pay much heed to the shrewdness and skill with which the Flemish leaders had chosen their position. In the marshy ground in front of the Flemish army were many streams and canals, the water concealed by brushwood, while the River Lys and the fortifications of the town protected them against an attack on either flank or in the rear.

As the French knights rode forward the first ranks plunged into the hidden canals and streams with which the marsh—since known as the Bloed Meersch, or Bloody Marsh—was intersected. Then, as five centuries later at Waterloo, each succeeding rank pushed in the one before it, the canals became choked with drowning men and struggling horses, and it was not until these obstacles were literally filled with dead bodies that any part of the great French host could approach the Flemish lines. Then the Flemish guildsmen were for a moment hard pressed, but they quickly rallied and the proud French nobles were beaten down beneath their cruel pikes and clubs by hundreds. The Count of Artois himself led the reserves into the mêlée when the day was all but lost and fought his way clear to the great standard of the Lion of Flanders, at the foot of which he fell. Their leader killed, the French sought to flee, but the rout and slaughter lasted through the long summer twilight and far into the night.

According to an ancient chronicle, twenty thousand Frenchmen went down to death that day, including seven thousand knights, eleven hundred nobles, seven hundred lords, and sixty-three counts, dukes or princes. As to these statistics they differ in every history, but certain it is that the flower of French chivalry perished in unheard of numbers before the onslaught of the Flemish townsmen, and it is said that in all France there was no great house that did not mourn a father, a brother or a son.

To the men of Flanders, on the other hand, the victory was complete beyond their wildest dreams. They piously gave thanks to Notre Dame de Groeninghe, the Abbey overlooking the Bloody Marsh, and hung up seven hundred golden spurs taken from the battlefield in the Church of Notre Dame. For a time Philip the Fair sought to prolong the conflict, but his losses had been too terrible in this battle for him to risk another one against the now thoroughly aroused guildsmen, and a few years later a treaty was signed that completely rescinded the act of annexation and recognised the independence of Flanders once more.

In the little Museum of Paintings we found a most interesting picture of the famous battle by the great Belgian artist, Nicaise de Keyser. It is said that the historian Voisin suggested this subject to the painter, then a young man of twenty-three, and he devoted eight months to its execution. Exhibited at the Salon at Brussels in 1836, it made a sensation through its merit, the historical importance of the subject and the youth of the artist, and was purchased by the city of Courtrai by means of a popular subscription. It represents the decisive moment of the battle when the Count of Artois, unhorsed and disarmed, is about to be killed by the leader of the butchers’ guild, John Breidel. The museum contains a number of other interesting works by Belgian painters, chiefly modern, including one by Constantin Meunier, and a number by natives of Courtrai. This last feature is characteristic of all these little museums and is a most happy idea. In France the museums of fine arts in the provincial towns often form in themselves admirable memorials of the famous artists who were born or worked there, the names of the most important being carved about the frieze or brought to mind in some equally prominent way. In years to come it is to be hoped that these little Flemish towns can follow this example and erect suitable structures to house their art treasures—of which such a collection as this one at Courtrai forms a fine nucleus—and in so doing strive to commemorate all of those to whom the town is indebted for its artistic fame. In the case of Courtrai the roster would be a long one, for local authorities have recorded the names of more than two hundred painters, sculptors, architects, engravers, metal-workers, miniaturists and master-makers of tapestries.

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:

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

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.

The present buildings of the Abbey date from the eleventh and twelfth centuries, the original structures having been destroyed during the tenth century. It was during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries that the Abbey attained the zenith of its power. Here, in 1369, was solemnised the marriage of Philip the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, with Margaret, the daughter of Louis of Maele, the last of the Counts of Flanders to be known by that title only. This event virtually ended the long line of Flemish Counts, for the title thereafter became one of many similarly held by the powerful Dukes of Burgundy and their successors and was only used on state occasions, or when it served their purpose. The unfortunate Michelle, the first wife of Philip the Good, was interred here. By a strange irony of fate it was Charles the Fifth of all men, the valiant Protector of the Faith, head and front of the monarchs who remained steadfastly loyal to the Catholic Church, who began the work of destroying this splendid and ancient monastery. To build the great fortress by which he held in awe the turbulent citizens of Ghent he ordered the demolishment of a considerable part of its buildings and the erection on its site of his citadel, the Château des Espagnols. The Calvinists continued the work of destruction in 1581, the French wrecking the buildings still further, and the revolt of 1830 completing the ruin of what was in its day of prosperity one of the finest monastic institutions in Europe.

Since 1834 the ruins have been carefully protected against further injury; and, as they stand, give the observer a most imposing realisation of their former grandeur. The Refectory, or dining-hall, is still fairly intact, and is used as a museum of sculptures saved from the wreck of the other buildings, and including some found in other parts of the city. One of these is a tombstone thought to be that of Hubert Van Eyck, while another is the Homme du Beffroi, one of the four stone statues erected in 1338 on the corners of the Belfry. A baptismal font found in the ruins of the Abbey contains a curious bas-relief representing Adam and Eve being expelled from Paradise. It is not, however, in these detached items that the visitor will find the chief interest and inspiration of the ancient Abbey, but in the general views that in every direction give a conception of the former vast extent and richness of the buildings. In their present condition the ruins form a series of pictures of wonderful beauty, not only in the remains of their architectural and artistic splendour, but because Nature, kinder than man, has covered the scars made by the despoilers with her choicest tapestries of trailing vines and glowing flowers and spread her softest carpets of verdure along the silent and deserted cloisters.

Returning to the heart of the city, another memento of the earliest period of the city’s growth attracted our attention. This was the Château of Girard le Diable (Girard the Devil) the first of the “monuments” to be encountered if one arrives by the Southern railway station. This edifice, now completely restored and used as the depository of the provincial archives, dates from 1216. Apart from the exterior, however, which reproduces the original appearance of the castle, the only portion of interest to the visitor is the crypt which is over one hundred feet long and nearly forty-five feet in width, making it one of the largest in Flanders. The vaulted roof is supported by massive round columns and forms a notable example of the ogival style of architecture. We sought in vain to find what the noble Sir Girard did or did not do to receive his satanic appellation. From the records he appears to have been a tolerably worthy citizen, holding, as did his father before him, the position of Châtelain of Ghent. A fortunate marriage, apparently, gave him the means to erect this exceptionally fine castle, which has—like many of the old buildings in the city—had a most varied history. For two or three centuries it remained the residence of the Châtelains of Ghent, then, for a time, was used by the city as an arsenal, was occupied by the Hiéronimites, and then became in succession a school, a mad-house, an orphan asylum, a house of correction, and a fire house. Its spacious halls now contain the precious charters of the Counts of Flanders and innumerable historic documents of Ghent and the other cities of the province.

The most ancient church in Ghent is that of St. Nicholas in the Marché aux Grains. It was founded in 912, or slightly more than a thousand years ago. The original edifice was burned in 1120, so that the present structure dates from that century. A picturesque feature of the exterior is the row of tiny one-story houses snuggling up against the side of the great church on the rue Petite Turquis. The west window is an extremely lofty lancet of great beauty. The doorway on this side was for many years crowded between commonplace three-story houses, the church builders of Flanders apparently caring very little how the imposing majesty of their noble churches might be marred by adjacent buildings, but these have now been removed and this front of the structure cleared.

Among the treasures of this church are the relics of St. Anne, said to have been brought from Jerusalem by Godfrey of Bouillon. In the sacristy is some oil from the tomb of St. Nicholas of Myra and Bari, after whom the church was named. This saint died in 342 and is the subject of many picturesque mediæval legends. Even in infancy he is alleged to have observed the fasts, refusing the breast of his nurse. He used to look particularly after children, young women, sailors and travellers. On one occasion he came to an inn where the wicked inn-keeper fed his guests with the flesh of young children. St. Nicholas immediately went to the tub where the bodies of the innocents lay in brine and, reviving them, restored them all alive and whole again to their parents. This incident is frequently depicted by Flemish painters. After his death the bones of the Saint were buried at Myra, but were stolen some centuries later—according to certain monkish chronicles—and, after many adventures in which the spirit of the deceased prelate participated, the oil which was found in his sarcophagus was brought here. Jean Lyon, Dean of the guild of boatmen, and one of the heroes of the White Hoods in their resistance to the cruel Louis de Maele, was buried in this church.

One of the other churches of Ghent, the Cathedral of St. Bavon, dates in part from the same early period as the other monuments described in this chapter. Originally dedicated to St. John, the name was changed to St. Bavon in 1540 and it became a cathedral nine years later. It is not, however, the cathedral—of which the nave and transepts were not completed until 1533 to 1559—but the earlier church of St. Jean that figures in the history of Ghent under Counts of Flanders. Of this church the crypt, which dates from the eleventh or twelfth century, and the choir, dating from the thirteenth century, still remain. Our exploration of the cold and gloomy crypt served to bring back the earlier period of the history of Ghent in two ways—not only is its present appearance undoubtedly much the same as it was eight or nine centuries ago, when the city of the weavers was just beginning to make its power and fame known in the land, but the historian sees here the tombs of many of the great men of the city. For the most part there were merchant princes, aristocrats, the leaders of the Liliaert faction—those who sided with the King of France and took his lilies as their emblem.

Under its early Flemish Counts, the history of Ghent was, on the whole, one of rapid and almost uninterrupted expansion. The merchants who flocked to the little town around the Abbeys of St. Peter and St. Bavon were followed by similar throngs of artisans, and as the commerce of the city grew apace so its industrial importance expanded. On the death of Philip of Alsace, who had erected the Château on the Place Ste. Pharaïlde to hold the city in check, its burghers wrested from the feeble hands of his widow the famous Keure of 1191, a sort of local Magna Carta which confirmed all pre-existing privileges and granted others. The same year the Treaty of Arras, by which Baldwin VIII ceded Arras and the County of Artois to Philip Augustus, the wily and land-grasping King of France, made Ghent virtually the capital of Flanders—a position that had hitherto been occupied by Bruges. Like its rival on the Roya, Ghent had become an important centre for the woollen trade with England, and also for all the branches of woollen manufacture, the “scarlets” of Ghent being renowned far and wide. The thirteenth century—in consequence of the folly of Baldwin of Constantinople who, as we have seen, went off on a fanatical enterprise to the Far East, leaving the richest county in the world at the mercy of his enemies—saw a steady decline in the power of the Counts; and, while the Kings of France profited mightily by this situation, the shrewd burghers of Ghent, Bruges, Ypres and the other powerful Flemish communes were not backward in extending and securing their own powers also. The result was that the successive Counts and Countesses were forced to submit to repeated encroachments on their authority. In 1228 Count Ferrand established a Council of thirty-nine members which soon became a virtual oligarchy and the actual ruler of the city. This body, while maintaining at first fairly friendly relations with the Counts, soon began to treat with other nations and the other cities in Flanders as if it was the actual sovereign. Then, as the King of France, toward the close of the thirteenth century, began to give evidence of an intention to seize the rich county of Flanders for himself—thus despoiling both the Counts and the burghers at the same time—Ghent joined heartily in the general movement toward a national resistance. In 1297 the Count Guy granted the city a new Keure, or charter, even more liberal than that of 1191, and formed an alliance with England against the common foe. This, however, came to nothing, and all Flanders was over-run by the victorious French troops. Ghent, after a brief resistance, yielded, and the French King, making liberal concessions to win the support of the most powerful of all the Flemish communes, the Liliaerts, or supporters of the Lily of France, were temporarily holding the upper hand when the astounding tidings came of the Battle of the Spurs.

CHAPTER X
THE AGE WHEN GHENT WAS GOVERNED BY ITS GUILDS

It was on the 12th of July, 1302, that the guildsmen of Flanders—chiefly, as we have seen, those from the two cities of Bruges and Ypres—humbled the chivalry of France and demonstrated the fact that the guilds of the great Flemish communes were a power to be reckoned with. Obviously, when the greatest monarch of the day had been so decisively beaten there was no longer any question as to the relative importance of the guilds and the local Counts of Flanders. The latter, though still figuring prominently in the history of the time, were unable to cope with the might of their united subjects, and only by the help of their overlords of France, by bribery and even by downright treachery, were they able to maintain themselves on their tottering thrones at all. This period is the most interesting in the long history of Flanders, for it was during the fourteenth century that the land of the Flemings just missed becoming a nation, and, possibly, a republic. That it failed was due to the fact that, while there existed a splendid and indomitable spirit of freedom in every true Flemish breast, the sense of loyalty was local instead of national. To his guild and his commune the Fleming was intensely loyal, but his patriotism—fine as it was—was too narrow. Each commune acted solely for itself, uniting with the others in time of great and impending peril, but often sending its armies to fight a sister commune over some trifling dispute as soon as the common danger was over. The princes were able, by cunningly taking advantage of this defect in the Flemish character, to play one commune against another and, by dividing the hosts of the guildsmen, to establish finally a tyranny too powerful to be thrown off. For one hundred and fifty years after the Battle of the Spurs, however, the guilds—although now and then temporarily defeated—were, in the main, supreme throughout the length and breadth of Flanders, and it was still another century before the last spark of civic freedom at Ghent was finally extinguished.

Two days after the great fight at Courtrai the victors, headed by the redoubtable Peter de Coninck, William of Juliers and Guy of Namur, entered the city of Ghent and “converted” the too lukewarm magistrates to the popular side. The patrician Liliaerts were expelled from the magistracy and many were killed or driven from the city. The Count fought stubbornly on, nor did the war with France end immediately, but in almost every instance the guildsmen were able to maintain the results of their great victory and firmly establish the foundation of their power. In the government of the commune of Ghent their voice was a potent one. Naturally the wool-spinners and weavers were the dominant organisations, while the petits-métiers, or minor industries, were also represented.

The apprentice system was rigidly enforced among all the guilds, but the policy of the organisations was liberal in this respect—for example, an apprentice was often sent for a year’s journey in other cities or countries in order to obtain a wider knowledge of his craft. The guildsmen had a hearty and honest pride in good and skilful workmanship, and the officers of the guilds supervised the quality of the goods turned out and imposed penalties for poor workmanship or the use of inferior materials. Each guild had its own house or meeting-place, and while the fine guild houses on the Marché aux Grains date from a somewhat later period, they were no doubt preceded by earlier structures. It was one of the dreams of the Professor to rummage about in these ancient edifices, poring over the archives of the guilds and inspecting the rooms and halls where their ofttimes stormy meetings were held. In this he was destined to be disappointed, for while the exteriors of several of these historic buildings have been carefully restored, the interiors are now devoted to private uses and contain little of interest to the visitor. The archives have been, for the most part, preserved in the ancient castle of Girard the Devil. Some of the old guild banners still exist, but the guild houses themselves are only the empty shells of the powerful organisations that once made them their homes.