CHAPTER IIIBRUSSELS BEFORE THE WAR

AMERICAN LEGATION, BRUSSELS.

My bedroom and boudoir were also on this floor, and opened into one of the great salons. The bedroom, which had been the present Queen’s sleeping room, was very large, and was hung in rose-coloured brocade. It contained a few superb pieces of carved furniture with brass trimmings and inlaid crowns. I had the comfort of an open fire in the boudoir; indeed, I needed its cheeriness, for the sky was always gray, and we were forced to turn on the lights even early in the morning.

On the garden side of the house was a longgallery, into which the dining room broke in the center. The reception rooms were square with high ceilings and mostly finished in white and gold. The house had been partly done over by a French architect, and the interior decorations were very handsome. At one end of the palace, passing up over the legation offices, was the grand staircase, which was opened only on special occasions. The heating was very imperfect, according to American ideas, for although there was a furnace, the ceilings were so high that the heat made little impression.

At the foot of the garden, behind the house, were the stables and the garage. From the porte-cochère the drive passed round both sides down to the stables, and in the center was a lawn with a screen of shrubbery. There were some handsome large trees, and several smaller ones that were trained upon trellises by the side walls, so that it promised to be a pleasant, shady place in the summer time.

By dint of much hurry and rush the house was gotten in order for Christmas Day. The workmen were in their last entrenchments on the great stairs on the 23d, and then fortunately disappeared forever. Our few belongings were quickly put in place. The tapestries and pictures were hung in the salons, and at last the Christmas tree was lighted.

LIBRARY, AMERICAN LEGATION, BRUSSELS.

In Belgium, very little is made of Christmas. Presents are given on St. Nicholas’ Day, but their real celebration is at New Year’s. We did our best, however, to make it seem like a New England Christmas. As a part of our diplomatic duties, we gave a reception for the Americans in Brussels. About seventy-five came, including every sort of person. L. and I received in the library, where the tree lighted up prettily, the music in the ballroom was good, and our guests danced and ate, and I think enjoyed themselves.

We had our share of servant troubles at the Legation. At one time we were on the point of sending away our chef, but he wrote L. a little note saying that he felt he must leave us and permit a more “valiant one” to undertake our large household. As we had already telegraphed to England for another, this was not so unfortunate as it might seem.

At another time our concierge, whom we thought a model of good behaviour, “ran amuck,” and we had a series of scenes. He began to talk incoherently in the kitchen, and to complain because the automobiles went in and out so often, declaring that the chauffeurs werein league against him. Then he appeared with his coat off and rushed about the house with a loaded revolver in each hand, challenging the men servants to fight. Later, as he would not come when summoned, my husband took him by the coat collar and put him out of the house. After he had been away three days and the pistols had been safely hidden, we decided, for various reasons, to give him another chance, and, curiously enough, his conduct was perfect all winter.

My first important duty was to call on the ladies in the diplomatic circle, and I went in company with Comtesse Clary, the wife of the Austrian Minister, who was theDoyenneof the Diplomatic Corps. I was indebted to the Comtesse de Buisseret for many little points of etiquette that Europeans and diplomats are extremely careful about, but which Americans often do not consider, such as sitting on the left of your carriage and putting your guest on the right. It is also polite of the hostess to ask a distinguished guest to sit on the sofa when calling, and the manœuvering for the proper seat is sometimes as complicated as the Japanese tea ceremony. A stranger, after speaking to the hostess, must ask almost at once to be introduced to the other guests. If they are Belgianladies, the newcomer is supposed to leave cards within forty-eight hours, and the task of finding the correct names and addresses is a great nuisance, for there are endless members of certain well-known families.

MARIE JOSÉ, THE LITTLE PRINCESS.

The King and Queen were very popular, even in those days, and both were young and good looking. They have three fine children, the two boys bearing the splendid historic titles of the Duc de Brabant and the Comte de Flandre. The youngest of the three is the fascinating little Princess Marie José, who is idolized by the people. His Majesty is the nephew of the former King Leopold, and the Queen is the daughter of His Royal Highness, Charles Theodore, a Bavarian Grand Duke. King Albert, before he succeeded to the throne, had traveled in America, and he always had very pleasant things to say of his visit here. His town residence was the Winter Palace, now a hospital, which was not very far from the Legation; the Summer Palace at Laeken, occupied of late by German officers, is about half an hour’s distance from Brussels by motor.

My private audience with the Queen was granted within a week after my arrival in Brussels. I was told to wear a high-neckedgown with a short train, a hat and no veil—veils are not worn before royalty. Her Majesty received me standing, then asked me to sit on the sofa with her. I found her very pretty and sweet. I courtesied and waited for her to speak—as is customary—and then we talked upon different subjects for about twenty minutes, until she closed the interview.

Of the various functions at Court, the balls were the most brilliant. The women wore gowns with rather long trains, quantities of old lace, and superb jewels, and with the gorgeous Hungarian uniforms, the endless orders, and the varied coats of the Chinese, the scene was dazzling. According to the rank of one’s husband, or according to the length of time he had been in Brussels as Minister, the wives took their places in the “circle” which was formed in the “Salon Bleu,” a room for “Serene Highnesses” and diplomats. The King and Queen made a tour of the apartment, speaking to the ladies on one side, the men on the other, as they do at most court functions. As each person courtesied to Their Majesties, it was a pretty sight to see the courtesies follow them down the line like a slow-moving wave.

After this, all the members of the Diplomatic Corps who had any of their compatriots to present,formed another circle in an adjoining room, where again the King and Queen passed down the line, and each one of us made our presentations. Then the royal party and the diplomats passed in procession through the dense throng, crossing the ballroom, a great white and gold hall, to seats on a little raised daïs to the right of the throne chairs, where the diplomats watched the dancing, while to the left the Ministers of State gathered with their wives. During the evening there were repeated processions headed by the King and Queen, in which the Diplomatic Corps joined, first to a winter garden, where tea and simple things were served, then to a supper room all marble and glass, where the table was magnificent with the famous old gold service. After our return to the ballroom there was more dancing. Finally the King and Queen withdrew, and then the guests were at liberty to go home.

The royal dinner given for us at the Winter Palace was delightful. In Belgium every Envoy used to receive the honour of a dinner, at which the King took in the Minister’s wife on his arm, and the Minister escorted the Queen. Their Majesties sat together in the center of the table, the Minister on the right of the Queen,the Minister’s wife on the left of the King. At each Court I believe the custom is a little different. In Italy they give a retiring Ambassador a dinner; in Germany the diplomats are all asked together at one dinner; in Russia the Czar does not eat in the same room with the foreign diplomats and the Ministers, I am told; and in Japan they give a luncheon, where you are placed at the same table with Their Majesties, but members of the Diplomatic Corps do not sit next to the Emperor or Empress, who have on either side of them some member of the royal family.

One of the pleasantest occasions of the winter was our reception and dinner with the Comtesse de Flandre, the mother of the King. We passed up the great staircase with the red carpets, lined with footmen in red coats and knee breeches and wearing their many medals, just as at the King’s palace. At the door the Grand Maître and the lady-in-waiting received the guests in a small room of white and gold, with portraits of the royal family on the walls. The doors were opened and the Countess entered, and spoke to each person. She was elderly and dressed in black, and had a very pleasant, attractive face. The guests, who numbered about forty, included the Spanish,French, English and American representatives. At table, the Grand Maître sat opposite Her Royal Highness, the diplomats had the high seats, and the others down the table were Belgians of different degrees of distinction. We returned to the reception room at the close of the dinner, and the Countess asked us all to be seated, and sat first with one group and then with another.

COMTESSE DE FLANDRE.

Her death occurred, very suddenly, the following autumn, just before our departure for Japan. For court mourning I was obliged to buy a crêpe bonnet, such as was worn for a long period by all the diplomats’ wives and many of the Belgian ladies.

But for the Duke of Fife they wore black for only four days. Mourning for the Duke of Luxembourg was for twenty-one days, the first ten days in black, after that in black and white. Teas and dinners, however, went on just the same.

The funeral of the Countess was most imposing. I watched the procession from a house on the route, but L. went to St. Gudule with the rest of the Diplomatic Corps. Lines of soldiers guarded the streets as the procession, headed by the Garde Civique, passed along in the pouring rain. Following the Garde were troops ofcavalry on fine horses, a military band, and a number of ecclesiastics and church dignitaries. The catafalque was borne on a great black and gold car, drawn by eight black horses decorated with plumes, and laden with magnificent wreaths of flowers. The King walked solemnly behind the funeral car, the Crown Prince of Germany on his right, and the Crown Prince of Roumania on his left, with several other lesser royalties following in their train. After these came the special Ambassadors, the Cabinet, Senators and others, in great carriages draped in black, with coachmen and standing footmen in mourning liveries. (The only touch of colour was the brilliant red robes of the Justices as they entered the church.) When the service was over, the whole funeral train was conveyed in carriages to the chapel at Laeken, near the Summer Palace.

The Comtesse de Flandre had been very popular and was greatly missed. She was a kindly and much beloved old lady, and was certainly very active in society, going about everywhere, giving dinners and opening bazars. She showed especial favour to artists and musicians, and was herself a talented musician and etcher of landscapes.

Another ceremony that we saw at St. Gudule’soccurred after the death of the little daughter of one of the Ministers of State, when L. and I attended the Angels’ Mass, which was celebrated in this old church. There was a great crowd in black, and the music in the immense vault with its solemn, stained-glass windows was most impressive. As the mass proceeded, all the men in the audience crowded up towards the altar, and lighted candles were handed them in turn as they formed in procession and passed before the catafalque, the Catholics kissing the patten, and others bowing to it, and then passing in review before the bereaved family, who sat to one side. This, I believe, was for the purpose of showing the mourners who had attended the ceremony, but, as some one complained, women were not allowed any credit for being present. The custom of holding the candles near the face, no doubt, was a relic of the days when the churches were so dark that it was only in this manner that people could be recognized. I believe it was also a common practice of old to drop an oblation in the plate as one passed.

To return to more cheerful subjects, we had the honour of dining with the Duchesse d’Ursel one evening. The d’Ursels, the de Lignes, and the de Mérodes (Comtesse de Mérode, we hear,was arrested during the war, as she was the bearer of important papers) are some of the great names in Belgium, counting, as they do, one thousand years of “lignage.” Several members of the d’Ursel family lived in the same house. The Duchess Dowager received at the end of one wing, and the younger Duchess in her salon at the end of another, while the Comtesse Wolfgang d’Ursel was at home in still a third. So one made a series of visits without going out of the main door—quite a hospitable way of entertaining one’s friends. The old Palais d’Ursel remained alone in that part of the city which was being rebuilt with great government structures—for King Leopold promised the old Duke that his historic residence should be allowed to stand, even if the other buildings around it had to be torn down. It is long and low-lying, and mediæval in appearance. The dimly lighted rooms, with their old tapestries and quaint pieces of antique furniture, were of another age, dignified and quiet. Here we met such old-world looking people—the men with Roman noses and waxed mustachios and elegant manners. The Duchess’ second son was Comte Wolfgang d’Ursel, a name that suggests the Middle Ages and a great heroic figure, although in reality he was a small man. I regret to add that he has been killed in the war.

PALAIS D'URSEL.

Our dinner with Prince Charles de Ligne was also enjoyable. No family of the Belgian nobility has a prouder record than this. To name only a part of their titles, they were barons before the year 1100; they have been marshals and grand seneschals of Hainault since 1350; counts of the Empire and hereditary constables of Flanders since the sixteenth century; and were made princes of the Spanish Netherlands in the seventeenth; while “the glorious order of the Golden Fleece,” says Poplimont, in his “Heraldry,” “has been from its creation an appendage absolute, so to speak, of the house of Ligne.”

Although the palace was so stately, and the doorkeeper wore a decoration on his livery, and the footmen were in maroon and shorts, with showy little gold shoulder-knots, the dinner was simple and well done, and so like one at home that it was really delightful. We passed up the fine staircase, with the balcony opening above and the plants as in a winter garden, and through salons in which chairs were arranged in the formal way that they affect abroad. The Prince and the Princess received us cordially, and, after dinner, we went into a smallfumoirin which were hung tapestries that had been in the family for four centuries.

We were taken one day by the Princesse de Ligne to visit the palace of the d’Arenbergs in Brussels, which was the finest in the city next to the King’s. The great staircase was the most beautiful that I have ever seen—in its proportions and in the splendour of its marbles. The rooms were palatial, and there were so many wonderful tapestries and famous pictures! We saw the suite with a private entrance for royalties, where the Kaiser’s son Adelbert had been a guest a few days before. Notwithstanding all this glory the bathrooms had tubs for which the water had to be heated by gas in a stove. The old wing of the palace, which had belonged to Count Egmont in the sixteenth century, was burned some time ago, and many of his possessions were destroyed, notably the desk at which he wrote. The Duchesse d’Arenberg is the daughter of the Princesse de Ligne. The Duke is a German, and I have been told that before the war he removed all their superb collection to Germany. It is reported that extraordinary things went on beneath that roof previous to the invasion.

Among the old nobility of Belgium is a member called Comte Vilain XIIII. There is a curious tradition in regard to the origin of this title. When Louis XIV was in Belgium, during his Flemish campaign, it was discovered one evening that there were but thirteen to sit down at his table. The King was too superstitious to allow this, so sent out an aide to find some one to make the fourteenth. Of course only noblemen sat at the King’s table, but as the aide was unable to find any one of suitable rank he brought in a wayfarer, or villain. The King at once ennobled him, calling him Comte Vilain XIIII, and the title is still written in this way.

M. CARTON DE WIART, MINISTER OF JUSTICE.

Of the many “official” dinners that we attended one was with the Minister of the Interior, M. Berryer, who is a brilliant man. We also dined with Minister of State Beernaert, one of the wonderful old men of Europe, eighty-three years old when we were there, but quite alert and still an able statesman.

Another dinner was given for us by M. Carton de Wiart, the Minister of Justice, and a writer of much ability. He was a member of the commission that came over here from Belgium in the autumn of 1914. This dinner was rather different from others that we had attended, for it was made up of the deputies. It was quite interesting to meet this entirely different class of men, whom I found to be very intelligent.Among the guests was a nice old man, whom all the deputies of the Right called “Uncle.” There were also dinners, of course, with the Minister of Foreign Affairs and other officials, as well as the diplomats, all of which I remember with pleasure.

The reception to the foreign ministers at a quarter-past ten New Year’s morning was postponed on account of the King’s indisposition. So L. went off to write in the King’s and the Queen’s books, which had to be protected by the crimson-liveried servants against the throng of people who were struggling to reach them.

Among other functions the balls at the “Concert Noble” were very enjoyable; the music was good, and the vast assembly room was handsome and not crowded. The lofty suite of salons made an effective setting for the dancing. One night when we were there, the entrance was lined with men in gold and black, and the King and Queen came in, followed by gentlemen-in-waiting. They took their seats upon a raised daïs, after walking through the rooms, and watched the dancing for a time. When supper was ready everybody stood about, and the King and Queen talked with different people.

The life of the American Minister in Brussels, even in time of peace, was by no means all around of social gaieties. While nothing of the greatest or most pressing importance came up in our relations with Belgium, yet there were questions of commerce and questions of policy to be kept constantly in mind, and reports to be made from time to time to the home Government, not to speak of countless interruptions from Americans who, for one reason or another, were in need of the kind offices of their representative. For instance, according to Belgian law, vagabonds without money, but who might be absolutely innocent of crime, could be sent to the workhouse for two years, and sometimes American sailors landing at Antwerp would be left there without a cent. Our kind-hearted Consul General used his influence to have them set free; but then what was to be done with them?

Among our countrymen who came to the Legation, however, were many welcome visitors and not a few whom we had met in far distant parts of the world. There was Governor Pack, of the mountain province in the Philippines. The last time L. had seen him, he was ruling supreme among the head-hunting Igorrotes at Bontoc. With a small handful of brave and resourceful men as lieutenants, he had in a few years brought those extraordinary aboriginesinto such willing subjection that their loyalty to the American was really devotion. He had been visiting the families of that company of wonderful Belgian priests who were doing so much good in his far-away mountain home—sons of rich parents, who had taken up the work in a spirit of pure self-sacrifice.

It is a curious thing that the men of affairs in Belgium—often some of the Ministers of State and the captains of industry—who were broad, up-to-date men, forceful and interesting, one seldom met socially. Even some of the King’sentouragecould not join the Cercle du Parc, the most exclusive club in Brussels.

I had a reception day every Tuesday, beginning in January, besides which there were various times at which we received diplomats and titled Belgians by themselves. One of the most interesting figures was the Papal Nuncio, who came in his robes, with magenta cape and cap and gloves, wearing his ring outside. The concierge and a chauffeur waved his motor under the porte-cochère; two servants opened the doorsà double battant; and L. met him and escorted him upstairs, where we had tea and cakes.

On Washington’s birthday we had another reception for Americans. The chancery wasclosed, the Stars and Stripes waved in all their glory over the door, and flowers were arranged around the bust of Washington in its niche high between the windows on the main landing of the staircase. We received about one hundred and forty guests—men, women, and children of all ages—in the room at the head of the stairs, where some of the tapestries were hung. It was a most democratic assembly—young schoolgirls, teachers, most of the regular “colony,” American women who had married Belgians—and they seemed to enjoy the dancing, to American airs. On the table in the dining-room was a splendid cake of many stories, all flag-bedecked—every one of the flags was proudly carried off before the afternoon was over.

For a change from the official routine and the formal entertainments, we often started out on a rainy evening and walked the glistening boulevards down into the town, so gay with its brilliantly lighted shops and restaurants. Having been duly advised by our Secretary of Legation of a respectable place to which diplomats “might” go, we sought it out and had happy little dinners together, forgetting our troubles for the time.

Perhaps the most delightful day I spent in Brussels was at Laeken. The Summer Palacestood on a hill overlooking the city, and was built of gray stone in Renaissance style. The greenhouses, which were erected by old King Leopold, were supposed to be the largest in the world. One could walk for miles through covered glass walks, with climbing geraniums and fuchsias hanging from the roof and heliotrope filling the air with its perfume.

The place was at its best for the royal garden party in May. As the invitations said two o’clock, we had luncheon early and set out at half after one. Soon we were careering up the fine avenue du Parc Royal, zigzagging from one side to the other as different officials gave us conflicting directions. Farther on, the road skirted the splendid park of Laeken, and we could look out over wide sweeps of lawn with great masses of trees and artificial waters winding in and out. Fine vistas led the eye up to the palace, which stood in a more formal setting of garden and terraces.

At the great gate in front of the palace, grenadiers in bearskin shakos stood guard, with uniformed officials and red-coated servants in gold lace and plumed hats. The palace was still unfinished, but looked very impressive. About it were great clumps of rhododendrons and magnificent lilacs.

The carriages stopped at the orangery, which had a long façade of stone columns and glass. Alighting, we passed into a perfect wonderland. To each side of us stretched a wing of a palace of crystal, with three rows of enormous orange trees arcading promenades.

Beyond this we passed into the great palm house, a vast dome with palms so huge that they seemed to lose themselves in the height of the rotunda. The people strolling beneath them looked quite like pygmies in contrast.

All the parterre was laid out with bright-coloured flowers. In a paved space in the center was held the royal circle. When the King and Queen arrived, the people arranged themselves along the sides—the Diplomatic Corps, the ministry, and prominent Belgians—and a band played gaily while Their Majesties came down the line. The scene was really fairylike.

The circle lasted a long time, and we were beginning to weary of standing, when the royal party finally set out to make a tour of the greenhouses. The rest of us followed, glad of a chance to see the wonders of which we had heard so much—and wonders they were indeed, for who ever saw before a lovely chapel built entirely of glass?

First we passed through a wide, two-aisledgallery with a forest of palms above and a rich display of pink and rose-coloured azaleas below. Then down steps into long, narrow passageways that were a bower as far as the eye could reach, gorgeous with climbing geraniums and lovely cinerarias. These galleries led one hither and thither, now in one direction, now in another, till both eye and mind were dazed with pleasure. We passed through tunnels of blooming flowers, and there was no end to the astonishing glory of colour and beauty.

Here and there were little grottoes with mirrors, and fountains plashing; then more alleys, and another great house all aflame with azaleas. Steps led to the door of a pavilion. Here it was that King Leopold II had died.

Our progress was not rapid, as the King and Queen stopped frequently to speak to different people. But we finally made the tour and returned to the great rotunda, where I felt as if I were standing in an unreal world, inside a giant soap-bubble of many colours.

THEsocial life of Brussels we found very interesting. That of the Court was simple but elegant, while that of the aristocracy was old-world and conservative to a degree. Indeed, it was much like that of the Faubourg in Paris. Outside of royalty and serene highnesses, every one “in society” was either a count or a baron. It certainly seemed strange to an American that not one was without a title.

Another custom which struck one as odd was that of using titles in letters—they would often sign themselves “Countess So-and-So,” or “Princess X.” If a woman belonged to a fine family she would put “née” with her maiden name on her card.

An amusing travesty on titles occurred when our footman received letters addressed to the “Chief Cleaner of the Silver.” I saw two cards which were even funnier than this, though. One bore the man’s name and thetitle, “The Secretary of the Secretary of the Minister of”—such a department. The other was a card of a Doctor A——, who had inscribed beneath his name, “Doctor for the Countess of B——’s stomach.”

Hospitality generally took the form of afternoon teas. I have often been to as many as three or four in a day. They were always very ceremonial affairs, with all the servants turned out in style to receive me alone or perhaps two or three other guests.

During Lent people often received in the evening. Tea and cake and orangeade were served, while the guests sat and gossiped. At this season, we discovered, all the dinners had to have either fish or meat—not both—as it was a Roman Catholic country. Sundays, which are not Lenten days, gave them an opportunity for varying the festivities.

Dinners were given occasionally, and were always very formal and very long—really banquets—made up of a succession of rich dishes with a small glass of red or white wine with every course. The placing of guests at table was an extremely important matter, for every one must be seated strictly according to rank. One does not wonder that there were so few dinners, considering the difficulty of finding agroup of congenial people who could dine together without dissatisfaction. Each was likely to think that he should have been given a higher place, and to go home feeling insulted instead of happy.

The favourite subjects among the women were children and the rainy weather; aside from gossip there was talk of little else. The men had no objection to sitting in silence, and were inclined to consider women who talked as chatterboxes. But for all that, they were very charming and high-bred and delightful to meet.

I should judge the Belgian sense of humour was not like ours. Many of them had a Latin wit, but as a race they were rather serious and conventional. They seemed to consider it bad form to have what we call a good time; all their entertainments were formal and dignified.

There was much in their character that was delightfully mediæval. People in the highest position socially would say with perfect simplicity things that sounded very strange to our ears. A man of high rank and intelligence explained to me one day that the reason why the Belgians slept with their windows closed was that the early morning air was bad for the eyes! He was quite serious about it and seemed to think the excuse sufficient.

I believe some of them still imagined that our country had not reached even the first stages of civilization. A little gentlewoman whom I had engaged through a friend to act as secretary courtesied very prettily on being presented, but wasn’t at all sure whether we were South Americans or not, and inquired rather anxiously whether I had ever before been away from my native land. She thought that I should always be accompanied when out walking.

I once asked an American lady who had married a Belgian what her adopted countrymen thought of Americans. She laughed and told me what happened when her husband took her home to his château as a bride, many years before. All the peasants and tradespeople of the village had turned out to greet them, and while they were evidently pleased, something in her appearance seemed to surprise them. Finally her husband asked some one if there was anything the matter. Very politely the man explained that since they had heard that their new countess came from America, they had all expected her to be black. The Count paused a moment, glancing at his wife, who was not only very beautiful but very blonde, and then answered gravely, “Oh, but you must not forget—it is winter now. My wife, she only turns black in summer!”

Before the war broke down the barriers between them, the Belgians and Dutch were much inclined to make fun of each other. The former said their neighbours were heavy, stupid and stiff. The Dutch retorted that the Belgians were so weak they could simply eat them up if they wished.

Quite the most important social event of the Brussels year was the Fancy Fair, which was given for the benefit of some charity. It came off in February and lasted four days. I had been asked to help on the flower table, where we sold not only flowers, real and artificial, but flower stands, vases, and perfumes. The shelves and tables were covered with mauve paper and velvet, and the effect was quite pretty. The fair was much like ours at home, and most of the men were afraid to attend. Some of the diplomats discreetly sent donations with their cards. The Queen was expected, but was ill at the last moment and the Comtesse de Flandre took her place, spending ten dollars at each table.

During the winter months Belgium sees little of the sun. All through April, too, they tell you, as a matter of course, “It is to rain.”The weather is undoubtedly bad. In most countries the people stand up for their climate to some extent, but there they have to acknowledge that it is wretched. May can be delightful, as I discovered, with floods of sunshine everywhere. But even then there were cold, dreary days, and later in the month the chestnut trees turned brown and the flowers began to fade, so the spring is short enough at best.

I found the streets of Brussels always amusing, whether the sun was in or out. There were sturdy dogs pulling carts laden with shining brass and copper milk-cans, the occasional trumpet-call and tramp of soldiers, and the women selling baskets of flowers, as they do in Rome. The church bells rang at all hours, for the clocks did not any two of them agree, and were forever contradicting each other with their musical chimes.

As I have said before, Brussels was a model city, beautiful and well kept. In the center of the town was the superb Grande Place, second to none in Europe, with the Hôtel de Ville, which was second only to that in Louvain, the galleried and much-gilded Maison du Roi, and the many guild-houses of the archers and skippers and printers and merchants. I am told that this historic square has been mined by theGermans, so that all its treasures of mediæval architecture can be blown up at a moment’s notice.

A Flemish Kermesse

The Grande Place was at its best when there was akermesse. Then the windows of the guild-halls and the long galleries of the Hôtel de Ville—the glory of Brussels—were lined with people looking down into the square. Flags streamed from the buildings, and there was good music, and groups of happy burghers were drinking their beer at little tables. After dark there was continuous illumination of the lovely spire of the Hôtel de Ville, with varying coloured lights that showed its tracery and design in beautiful, mysterious relief—an entrancing sight.

Not far from the corner of the Hôtel stood the famous little fountain figure of the Mannikin, the “First Citizen of Brussels.” He was dressed for thekermessein his best Sun-day-go-to-meeting suit, as was proper for the occasion—a plum-coloured velvet with ruffles and embroidery, a three-cornered hat with feathers and cockade, buckled shoes, and white stockings and gloves.

The Grande Place was the civic center of Brussels. The Government buildings were grouped about a park half a mile away, withthe royal palace at one end and the Palais de la Nation, the House of Parliament, at the other. Close by, on either side, were grouped the various departments and the fine houses provided for the Ministers by the Government.

The Palais de la Nation was only moderately impressive. The senate chamber was decorated with frescos, while the “deputies” was bare and plain. Like our two houses in Washington, the upper was rather dignified, while the lower was in apparent disorder all the time. While Parliament was in sessionhuissierswith their chains of office about their necks were on guard throughout the building.

One of the points in Brussels most familiar to me was the Gare du Nord, near the long public greenhouse and park, where the narrow shopping street began, in the lower part of the town. This led to the Bourse, the Place de la Monnaie, and the Grand Théâtre. Then there was the upper Boulevard with its tram that climbed the hill from the Gare du Nord, and a foot and bridle path which led through the Quartier Leopold—and on for miles to the Gare du Midi, changing its name with every block.

There were three good motor roads leading out of town: one from this boulevard tothe avenue Louise continued on through the Bois; another extended from the Quartier Leopold to the Musée Congo, while a third led in the opposite direction, through the lower town and on to Laeken, where the Summer Palace of the King was located.

A favourite stroll of mine from the Legation was through the park near by, between the palace and the government houses, past the palace of the Comtesse de Flandre and the Museum, to the American Club for a cup of afternoon tea. I sometimes stopped and took a look at the interesting paintings in the Museum—a jumble of religious pictures, butchers’ shops, and fat women. The street known as the Montagne de la Cour, in this part of the town, was widened a few years ago by the old King, and no doubt is more healthy, but its picturesqueness was much marred by the tearing down of some quaint old houses which had stood there for generations.

Before the war Brussels was one of the first musical cities of Europe. This was not a new honour for it, however, for as far back as the fifteenth century the Low Countries led the world in the art of music. They furnished choirmasters for the churches of the continent, and singers for the royal courts. Besides allthis, they founded schools of music and supplied the instruction as well. One of their most famous composers, Grétry, who lived in the eighteenth century, wrote many operas which were very popular in Paris. Much of his life was spent in the French capital, but when he died his heart was taken to his native Liège for burial. One of his songs is supposed to have inspired the Marseillaise by its vigorous expression of loyalty to the French king.

Few people, I believe, know that Beethoven’s father was a Belgian. Since the tragedy of Belgium, the great composer has been taken out of the German Hall of Fame. His ancestral town was Louvain.

“Beethoven? From Louvain his fathers spring,Hence came the exile’s dolor in his mien.Rebukes prophetic in his numbers ring;And when wild clangors smite his sealed ears,And loud alarums rung by hands unseen,It is the tocsin of his town he hears.”

“Beethoven? From Louvain his fathers spring,

Hence came the exile’s dolor in his mien.

Rebukes prophetic in his numbers ring;

And when wild clangors smite his sealed ears,

And loud alarums rung by hands unseen,

It is the tocsin of his town he hears.”

Because of their long inheritance of good musical taste, the public of modern Brussels had the reputation of being the most difficult to please of any. Even London and Paris audiences seemed less critical, and a triumph in Brussels was a triumph indeed. The audience was usually made up of thoroughly educated musicians who went to concerts seriously. Both Calvé and Melba made their débuts there.

EUGENE YSAYE.

But much of Brussels’ musical renown was due to the presence there of the two great masters of the violin—Thompson and Ysaye. The former is less known in this country than Ysaye, who has had great success here and is a popular favourite in England as well. But he himself considers Thompson his superior, and certainly the latter is acknowledged to be the greatest living master of technique.

Both men came from Liège, in the Walloon country, and both have been head of the violin department in the Conservatoire in Brussels. When Ysaye resigned a few years ago, Thompson took his place. (The Conservatoire, by the way, was subsidized by the Government and was entirely for the service of the people. The aristocracy did not send their children there, employing members of the faculty to come to their homes instead.) Unlike so many great men, Ysaye was honoured in his own country, and appreciated and adored by his own people. He was especially adored by his pupils, who considered him a sort of god.

When Thompson played in Boston he was not appreciated. He admits that he has stage fright, and when appearing before a large audiencebecomes frozen and fails to play at his best. He is a master of counterpoint, and an authority on ancient music. Although a fine teacher, he sometimes becomes sarcastic, and his pupils do not worship him as Ysaye’s do. His son served in the Belgian army and at last accounts was convalescing from a wound, in an English hospital.

We attended a wonderful performance of “Götterdämmerung,” which began at half-past five and lasted all the evening. An American woman, Madame Walker, sang remarkably well. The opera was very good, and Friday night was the fashionable time to attend, when it was generally crowded.

One morning we went to the “Concours de Violons” at the Conservatoire. The playing was of a high order and the enthusiasm of the crowded audience tremendous. The judges sat in one of the stage boxes and the competitions began at nine, all the pupils playing the same piece in succession. Each competitor came out and stood on the stage alone, save for her accompanist and her teacher, and played for some fifteen minutes, facing the jury and the critical crowd.

Quite the nicest looking of all the contestants was a little American girl of sixteen, MissHildegarde Nash, who seemed very self-possessed. Her method was so perfect that, while she had to compete with men, as well as with other clever little half-grown girls like herself, she gained a “premier prix avec grand distinction.” We felt quite proud of her.

Besides the music, there wereconférences—talks by various people on various subjects. One went to them either by invitation, or by purchasing tickets; some were given for charity, others for mutual benefit.

Before the war broke out there were about two hundred of our compatriots in the American colony in Brussels. Most of the older ones had brought their children there because the schools were good and quite inexpensive, and both rents and servants’ wages were low. Many of the younger people were there for the purpose of studying music.

The life of an American girl studying in any Continental city is always beset with difficulties. This was no less true in Brussels, the “Little Paris” of the Low Countries, than elsewhere. So that winter I started an American Students’ Club. It occupied so much of my time that it is worth a passing mention here. We had some difficulty in finding suitable rooms; my husband was much amused because I found some excellentones over what he insisted was a bar, though it was really a restaurant. However, we didn’t take them, but a lower suite in a respectablepensionwith a small writing room, reading room, tea and music rooms, bath, bedroom and kitchen.

The club had its opening the first of February, and during Lent it was crowded. Different ladies poured tea, and the students sang or recited. The little Boston girl who had won the prize at the Conservatoire played for us delightfully, as did also Miss Zoellner and others. Including the students and their friends we sometimes had a hundred present. In the spring it was suggested that we should give the most prominent member of the club an introduction, so it was voted that Miss Donnan should have the first concert given for her. She had quite a lovely high voice, and the affair was very successful.

Later on the character of the club was somewhat altered. The membership grew and the treasury swelled, but it became more of an American woman’s club, with dances and bridge whist. The last I heard it was being restored more to its original character. I hope it has been of service to Americans during the war.

Even before this war there was much kindlyfeeling in Belgium toward Americans, although during our war with Spain they sympathized with the Spaniards. (During the Boer War they were anti-English.) There was an eclipse of the sun in April, and at the moment of greatest darkness Baron von der Elst of the Foreign Office came to express to L. the sympathy of the Government in the face of the catastrophe to theTitanic—a catastrophe that we, like the rest of the world, had been slow to believe possible. The Baron said that the King was much concerned, and that they intended to express their sympathy in Parliament that afternoon. Indeed, both the Senate and the Chamber of Deputies passed resolutions of condolence, and later the King sent his Grand Marshal, Comte de Mérode, to further express his sympathy and distress.

When spring came, and sunnier weather, I had many delightful rides on horseback. A favourite one, which I took several times with the Duc and Duchesse d’Ursel, was out in the Forêt de Soignes, which was quite wonderful with its damp young green. It covered some ten thousand acres, and had alleys of great trees with beautiful vistas.

About twelve hundred years ago, they tell you, a gay and worldly young prince lived in acastle near the edge of this forest, where he was fond of hunting. He was so devoted to the sport, in fact, that he quite neglected the fast days, and hunted on Fridays as freely as on Mondays. This impiety could not be permitted, of course. One day a white stag bearing between its antlers a cross, appeared to the prince in a forest glade. The vision so impressed the young man that he forsook his sport and turned religious. In time he became Bishop of Liège, converted Brabant from paganism to Christianity, and was canonized by the Church he had served so faithfully. The people still believe that the blessing of St. Hubert rests upon the Forêt de Soignes.

A favourite sport with all classes, but also a social function, was horse-racing. There was a lovely miniature racecourse at Boitsfort, just beyond the Parc de la Cambre. We walked down among the flower beds and under the shading trees to where the horses were being paraded and the betting was going on. The dresses of the women, of whom all sorts and conditions were crowded together, were quite remarkable.

The races frequently took place on Sunday afternoon. There was one at Groenendal, out on the avenue Louise, through the Parc de laCambre—the latter very beautiful with its wide sweeps and vistas, all crowded with the holiday-making people. We ran by the artificial waters dotted with little boats, out through the alley of the Forêt de Soignes, where the deep, pleasant woods were all sun and shadow, and filled with promenaders. From there we went on past Groenendal Château, along a road that reminded one of Rock Creek Park in Washington, turning at length into the Grande Route, which leads to Waterloo. This was a great avenue of trees, lined with the burnish of copper beeches. At last we reached the hippodrome, the racecourse of Groenendal, and were just in time to see the great steeple-chase of the year. The course was unexpectedly pretty, small and with cozy stands. The international steeplechase, ridden by French and Belgian officers in uniform, was very exciting and well run, and the whole scene beautiful against the green background of the forest.

Afterward we walked in the Bois de la Cambre, across the wide lawns with the people sitting about in groups, and into the shade of the great trees, dipping down into the valleys where hundreds of children were playing and tumbling about, and up again across the plateau. Here in the groves of beech trees were restaurantswith many little tables and crowds of people listening to the music. Later we motored back to the avenue Louise, which was the bourgeois promenade of a Sunday afternoon, and down its long length to the boulevards and home.

One week-day afternoon in early May we went to the horse show, which was the last important spring event. It was held in the great glass building back of the Palais du Cinquantenaire, the floor being laid out in a lovely parterre with banks of flowers and palms and blossoming chestnuts. In this setting the jumps and obstacles were arranged. There was a water jump in the center, and a great, terrible, grassy mound on to which the horses had to jump and from which they had to stride over a fence back on to the flat again. It was heart-breaking to watch the tumbles there—twenty-six took place; the horses seemed to fear it more than the men, and showed their nervousness. When we went again we were relieved to see that it had been removed.

As the show was a great social event, all the women were in their best, and the men wore black coats and silk hats. The officers of the Guides Regiment were very showy in their bright uniforms, and there were many French officers there, too, in the pale blue and red ofthe Chasseurs. The royal loge had a canopy and a garden of azaleas. It all made a very lovely scene.

The King and Queen came in full state to the Cinquantenaire for the exhibition of the cadets of the school of riding at Ypres. There was a tremendous crowd in the huge building, and the horsemanship was good, though no better than one could see at Fort Myer at home. There were various feats of jumping, of fencing on horseback, and some musical rides. One officer jumped his horse over three other horses, while others took a “burning” hedge.

The entry of the royal cortége was quite fine, for the gate at the end was opened and a squadron of the Guides came with fanfare of trumpets and took up their position opposite the royal loge. Then followed the five carriages, with red-coated outriders on prancing horses leading the way, each one attended by four red-coated postilions wearing gold tassels on their caps. There was much waving of handkerchiefs, and some cheering, when they came in, but when they left there was more of a demonstration, for the ladies in the audience had been provided with flowers, and as the royal carriage drove around the arena Their Majesties received a shower of blossoms.

This horse show turned out tragically, however. The great event of another day was the international military race, run by many French and Belgian officers. They were started somewhere out in the country, and after a ten-mile run entered the arena, heralded by the blare of trumpets, followed each other over a series of jumps and passed out of a second gate for another ten miles across country, returning finally for more jumps. At some bars just opposite our loge young Lieutenant Terlinden, a son-in-law of the Minister of Foreign Affairs, fell, with his horse on top of him, and never regained consciousness. His wife was there, and his mother, and the world of Brussels, looking on. He was a splendid rider, but had a poor horse.

We often ran out to Waterloo in the open motor, shooting down the avenue Louise, through the Bois de la Cambre and the Forêt de Soignes, and finally out on the wide paved highway to St. Jean and Waterloo. From there it was a short ride through the straggling village to the rolling country which made the battlefield, its center marked by the conical hill surmounted by its lion. It is reported that the Germans have melted this lion for ammunition. Going by this roundabout way, and taking ourtime, the run was made in about an hour, but it was a day’s journey before motors came into use.

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