CHAPTER XVIIAUDENAERDE AND MARGARET OF PARMA

Photograph by E. Sacré. MAISON DE LA KEURE, HOTEL DE VILLE, GHENT.

A still more notable structure, the Hotel de Ville, dates in part from the time of Charles. This edifice in reality comprises a group of buildings erected at different epochs and for diverse purposes. Architecturally the most beautiful of these is the Maison de la Keure, which forms the corner of the Marché au Beurre and the rue Haut Port, extending for most of its length on the latter somewhat narrow street. This was designed and builtby Dominique de Waghenakere of Antwerp and the famous Rombaut Keldermans of Malines, and was erected between 1518 and 1534. The actual edifice represents only a quarter of the fine design of the architects and lacks an entire story with various decorative features which would have greatly improved its appearance and made it one of the finest Hotels de Ville in Flanders. As it is, this part is by far the best of the entire structure. The Maison des Parchons facing the Marché au Beurre was built in 1600 to 1620 and is in the Italian Renaissance style and vastly inferior to the fine Gothic structure of a century earlier. The other portion of the building comprises a Hall for the States of Flanders, in the ruelle de Hotel de Ville, built in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; the grande conciergerie joining this to the earlier Gothic Maison de la Keure and built in 1700; and a Chambre des Pauvres built by order of Charles V in 1531, of which the present façade dates from 1750.

The inner rooms of this collection of buildings, of different ages and different architectural styles, are of relatively minor interest. The Grande Salle de Justice de la Keure is somewhat imposing with its large fireplace, but its lack of other decorations makes it rathercold and gloomy and we were glad to leave it. Much more beautiful is the Salle de l’Arsenal, built half a century later. In the Chapel of St. John the Baptist, which adjoins the Salle de Justice in the most ancient part of the edifice, and is now used as a Salle des Mariages, is a fine picture representing Marie of Burgundy begging her people to forgive Hugonet and Humbercourt, her two ministers who—despite her tearful pleas—were executed in the Place Ste. Pharaïlde hard by.

On the death of Margaret of Austria the Emperor appointed his sister, Marie of Hungary, Regent of the Netherlands. The steady decline of its trade and the increasing poverty of the people caused the city of Ghent to seethe with discontent, and in 1539 an outbreak occurred that gave the Regent great alarm. Under the leadership of a group of demagogues theMétiersor lower associations of artisans, overawed the magistrates and seized Liévin Pyn, an aged and honourable member of the Council and Dean of theMétierswho was unjustly accused of giving the Queen Regent a false report on the situation and of having stolen the great banner of the city. This unfortunate old man was subjected to fearful tortures in the Château des Comtes, but resolutelyrefused to confess to any of the acts charged against him. Nevertheless, he was finally executed on the Place Ste. Pharaïlde—one of the most pitiful and unjust of the many cruel tragedies enacted there. Broken and weakened from the tortures to which he had been subjected, he had to be carried to the place of execution, where his indomitable spirit was such that before bowing before the axe of the executioner he sternly reproached his judges with their cowardice, and predicted that the people would soon have occasion to regret the fatuous course they were pursuing.

The dying old man spoke the truth. The Emperor was then in Spain and matters connected with the government of his world-encircling realm demanded for the moment his attention, but he was none the less kept well informed as to what was going on in his native city, where affairs meanwhile progressed from bad to worse, until a veritable state of anarchy prevailed. When Charles learned of the virtual insurrection against his authority that prevailed, and of the death of Liévin Pyn, he was furious and vowed to inflict upon the rebellious city a vengeance that would deter all other cities in the empire from ever following its example. Slowly, but with a deliberatenessthat boded ill for the foolhardy rabble who for the moment guided the destinies of the commune, the Emperor made his preparations for a trip to the Low Countries. Two months after the execution of Pyn it became known in the city that their puissant sovereign was on his way. The news filled the mutineers with terror. No longer was Ghent in the proud position she had occupied under the Counts of Flanders and the first Dukes of Burgundy—the premier city of the realm and a foe to be respected and even feared. The power of Charles V was too vast for even the most ignorant to think of armed resistance to his authority, now that he was about to assert it in person. Many of those responsible for the period of anarchy fled, others went into hiding.

Early in the year 1540 the Emperor arrived at Cambrai, proceeding next to Valenciennes and Brussels. Meanwhile a strong force of German soldiers entered the city—meeting with no resistance from its now thoroughly terrified inhabitants, many of whom no doubt wished they could restore the dead Doyen des Métiers, whom they had so cruelly sacrificed, to life again that he might plead their cause with the dreaded Emperor. They had good reasonto tremble, for in a few days the ring-leaders of the late troubles began to be arrested and all men were forbidden, under penalty of death, to harbour them or aid them to escape their sovereign’s wrath. A few days later nine of the mutineers were executed on the Place Ste. Pharaïlde where Liévin Pyn had perished at their hands six months before. The magistrates were now filled with terror and abjectly pleaded for mercy. The Emperor haughtily replied that he knew how to be merciful and also how to do justice, and that he would presently give judgment on the city “in such a manner that it would never be forgotten and others would take therefrom an example.”

This disquieting response was followed by the Emperor’s famous visit to the top of the cathedral tower in company with the Duke of Alva. It was on this occasion that the latter, with the ferocity that afterwards made his name a by-word for cruelty for future ages, counselled his sovereign to utterly destroy the rebellious city. To this the Emperor responded with thebon motthat showed at once his sense of humour and his moderation. Pointing to the wide-spreading red roofs of the populous city he asked, “How many Spanish skins do you think it would take to make a glove (Gand, the French spelling of Ghent, also means glove) as large as this?”

PORTRAIT OF THE DUKE OF ALVA BY A. MORO.

Meanwhile, under the direct supervision of the Emperor, a huge citadel began to be erected on the site of the ancient little town surrounding the Abbey of St. Bavon—a choice that involved the destruction of many of the Abbey buildings. The Emperor, while this work was going on, remained at the Princenhof where he held his court, but gave no sign as to what the fate of the city was to be. It was not until April 29th, 1540, that he finally—in the presence of a great throng of princes, nobles and the members of his Grand Council, with the city magistrates on their knees at his feet—gave his long delayed decision. In a loud voice the Imperial herald first read a list of thirty-five crimes committed by the people of the city, declaring them guilty ofdèsléalté,désobéyssance,infraction de traictés,sedition,rébellion et de léze-magesté. In consequence of these crimes the sentence deprived them forever of their privileges, rights, and franchises. It directed that the charters, together with the red and black books in which they were registered, should be turned over to the Emperor to do with them as he pleased, and it was forbidden ever again to invoke or appeal to them. It pronouncedthe confiscation of all the goods, rents, revenues, houses, artillery and war material belonging to the city or to theMétiers. It confiscated the great bell Roland and decreed that it must be taken down. It further directed that three days later the magistrates, thirty members of the bourgeois or middle class, the Doyen of the weavers, six men from eachMétierand fifty “creesers” should beg pardon of the Emperor and Queen. The suppliants on this occasion were dressed in black, with heads and feet bare, and cords about their necks, and were compelled to beg the pardon of the Emperor on their knees in the market-place. Besides this public degradation the magistrates were required to wear the cords about their necks thereafter during the exercise of their functions. It is said, however, that before very long the hemp was converted into a rich cord of gold and silk, which they wore as a scarf—as if it were a badge of honour instead of one of disgrace.

The walls of the city were to be still further demolished, and the sovereign reserved the right to specify later which towers, gates and walls should be torn down to erect the citadel. Finally, a heavy money indemnity was exacted, and the following day a new code of laws in sixty-five articles was promulgated—the famousConcession Caroline—which served as the basis of government until the end of the old régime during the French Revolution. The city, no doubt, breathed a sigh of relief that the Emperor exacted no further toll of human life, but the conditions were none the less heavy enough. In brief, these terms ended, once and for all, every vestige of self-government, and swept away all of the privileges for which the burghers had fought for so many centuries. The year 1540 marks the end, therefore, of the long and brilliant history of the Flemish communes—for no other city dared resist the Emperor’s authority after this—and thereafter Flanders became a mere province in the wide dominions of sovereigns who seldom visited its cities and frequently did not even speak the language of its people.

Among the tombstones in the Cathedral of St. Bavon one that deserves more than a passing glance is that of Bishop Triest. Designed by the celebrated sculptor, Jerome Duquesnoy, it is a notable example of Flemish sculpture, besides possessing an added interest by reason of the fact that the artist sought to destroy it when complete. More important, however, than the monument and its story is the fact that Bishop Triest was the father of the art ofhorticulture for which Ghent is so renowned today. It was in his gardens—which were famous throughout the seventeenth century—that rare and exotic plants were for the first time planted out of doors in Flanders and trained to grow in the form of pyramids, arches, summer-houses, and a hundred fantastic shapes. The “Belvedere Gardens” of the worthy prelate became the model for other gardeners, and the seed, planted in fertile soil, from which sprang a great industry.

Not content with cultivating his own gardens the Bishop sought to encourage in every way the humble gardeners of the city, giving them his august protection, his friendly counsel, making loans to the needy, and uniting them into a society under the patronage of St. Amand and Ste. Dorothy. This noble example was speedily followed by the city, which also encouraged the horticulturists. In 1640 William de Blasère, an alderman of the city, constructed the first hothouse ever seen in Europe. It was a hundred feet long, made of wood and glass, heated with huge stoves, and sufficiently high to accommodate the exotic plants that, in summertime, were set outdoors. This novelty made a great stir and brought many visitors to Ghent. Soon afterward a society of horticulturistswas founded, and by the end of the century a botanical garden was established.

In the opening years of the nineteenth century this institution very nearly came to an end. It was costly to keep up, produced little or no revenue, and Napoleon, who was then First Consul and included Ghent in his rapidly widening dominions, decided that it should be suppressed. A friend of the garden skilfully took advantage of a visit of Josephine to Ghent to enlist her aid in persuading her husband to spare it. Inviting the future empress to visit the establishment, he contrived that the plants and flowers should plead their own cause. Between two palms at the entrance he had a huge placard suspended bearing the words: “Ave, Cæsar, morituri te salutamus.” Then, along the different walks, each flower and plant bore a card proportionate to its size and containing a verse alluding to its approaching destruction. Naturally surprised at this outburst of poetry on the part of the “nymphs” of the garden, as the flowers styled themselves in their effusions, Josephine inquired the reason for it. This gave her conductor his opportunity, and he pleaded for the preservation of the garden with such ardour and eloquence that he won her assurance that if her wishes had any weighthis beautiful garden should be preserved and its “nymphs” should not perish in exile. The event proved that he had secured a powerful ally, for the edict of the First Consul was rescinded and the garden was saved.

To-day Ghent boasts of her title of “the City of Flowers.” The Botanical Garden is protected by a Royal Society, there are many private collections that are worth going far to see, and more than five hundred establishments, large and small, are engaged in horticulture as an industry, the annual exports amounting to millions of dollars. Bishop Triest can therefore be thanked for giving Flanders one of its great industries.

Speaking of Napoleon, it is not generally remembered that Ghent was, for the brief space of one hundred days, the capital of France. When Napoleon returned from Elba, and was received with open arms by the very troops sent to attack him, Louis XVIII fled incontinently to Ghent where he set up a feeble court at his residence on the rue des Champs. Here Guizot, Chateaubriand, and his other ministers met formally every morning to discuss with His Majesty the chances of his ever getting back to Paris again—Paris where, by the way, the mob was singing mockingly:

“Rendez nous notre père de GandRendez nous notre père!”

“Rendez nous notre père de Gand

Rendez nous notre père!”

It would take a satirist like Dickens or Thackeray to describe the scene when the fat monarch sat down to his mid-day meal, in the presence of whoever might wish to watch the curious spectacle. He conquered enormous quantities of food, but depended on Wellington and Blücher to conquer the army of Napoleon. The forms of sovereignty were none the less carefully observed, as the little court waited day by day for the great event that all men could see was drawing steadily nearer. At last, as the thunder of Napoleon’s guns startled the allies from their dance at Brussels, and the tramp of his advancing squadrons shook the fields of Waterloo, this fat little fly on the chariot wheel of European politics prepared once more for flight. Coaches were made ready to carry the entire court to Ostende, where an English vessel awaited them if the battle went against the allies. All day long the horses stood in the courtyard, the drivers whip in hand. History does not record what gastronomic feats His Majesty performed that day, but late at night the tidings came that the Grande Armée was in retreat, and that King Louis could return to his kingdom.

Ghent shares with Bruges the glory of being the birthplace of Flemish painting. The famous “Adoration of the Lamb,” by the brothers Van Eyck, was ordered by a wealthy burgher of Ghent for the cathedral of St. Bavon—where the greater part of the original work still rests. It was at Ghent that Hubert, the elder brother, planned the masterpiece and completed his share of it. But Ghent also had masters belonging to the early Flemish school whose fame she does not have to share with any other city. One of these was Josse or Justus, usually called Justus of Ghent, who visited Italy in 1468 and there painted several pictures. Another was Hugo Van der Goes who gave promise of becoming as great a master as Jean Van Eyck when he suddenly gave up his chosen profession and entered the Monastery of Rouge-Cloitre, near Bruges. He was admitted to the Guild of Painters at Ghent in 1467, and left the world of action in 1476—eventually becoming insane and dying six years later. There is a story to the effect that he once painted a picture of Abigail meeting David for a burgher of Ghent who lived in a house near the bridge called the Muyderbrugge, and while engaged on this work—which was painted on the wall above a fireplace—fell in love with his patron’s daughter. Thepainting proved a great success, but the stern parents frowned on the suit of the young artist, and the daughter, in despair, entered the convent of the White Ladies known as the Porta Coeli, near Brussels. The house, which was said to have been entirely surrounded by water, has long since disappeared, together with the painting, but the story may be the explanation for the abandonment by the artist of a promising career when he was still in the prime of life. One of the finest pictures in the Modern Gallery at Brussels is that by E. Wauters representing the madness of Van der Goes. The painter is shown seated and staring eagerly at some phantasm before him—perhaps a vision of the fair Abigail—while a group of little choir boys are striving, under the leadership of a monk, to exorcise the evil demon that possesses their famous brother by means of sacred songs and chants. It is said that this method of cure was indeed attempted while he was at Rouge-Cloitre, but without success.

The best work of both of these artists is, unfortunately, far from Flanders—being found in Italy, where Flemish painters were in their day very highly regarded. “The Last Supper,” which was the greatest masterpiece of Justus, was painted as an altarpiece for thebrotherhood of Corpus Christi at Urbino and still hangs in the church of Sant’ Agatha in that Italian town. “The Adoration of the Shepherds,” which was the greatest work of Van der Goes, is in the Uffizi Gallery at Florence. At Bruges there are two paintings attributed to this master, “The Death of the Virgin,” in the museum, and the panel representing the donors in “The Martyrdom of St. Hippolytus” in the church of St. Sauveur. The greater part of the paintings by Van der Goes in Belgium were destroyed by the iconoclasts in the sixteenth century, including several of which his contemporaries and other early writers spoke in the highest terms. Frequent mention is made of his skill as a portrait painter, and Prof. A. J. Wauters, after a careful study of his known works throughout Europe, ascribes to him the famous portrait of Charles the Bold in the museum at Brussels. The early writers state that private houses at Bruges and Ghent, as well as churches, were filled with his works. Let us hope that some of these—hidden away during the religious wars or at the time of the iconoclasts—may yet be discovered and identified.

Ghent, during the fifteenth century, was the artistic centre of Flanders, and the names, but not the works, of many of its painters have come down to us. One of the most celebrated of these in contemporary annals was Gerard Van der Meire, to whom tradition has assigned the triptych of “The Crucifixion” in the cathedral of St. Bavon. This artist rose to high rank in the Guild of St. Luke, to which he was admitted in 1452, and a considerable number of paintings in various European galleries are attributed to him. An Italian writer ascribes to him one hundred and twenty-five of the exquisite miniatures in the famous Grimani Breviary, now in the library of St. Mark’s at Venice. If this were true, Van der Meire was indeed a great artist, but this book was illustrated after his death.

“THE ADORATION OF THE SHEPHERDS.”—HUGO VAN DER GOES.

According to the Royal Commission of Art and Archeology of Belgium, Ghent contains more noteworthy antiquities than any other town in the Kingdom. The Commission, it appears, divides the “antiquities” into three classes, according to their relative importance, and credits Ghent with thirteen of the first class, ten of the second and six of the third—or twenty-nine in all. The figures for the other Flemish cities are: Antwerp, seven first, five second, six third, total eighteen; Bruges, four first, six second, six third, total sixteen; Tournai, three first, six second, six third, total fifteen;Malines, four first, eight second, two third, total fourteen. Many places are credited with two or three each. We tried to get a copy of the Report of the Commission giving the names of the antiquities in each class, and the reasons for ranking them, but were unable to do so during our stay in Belgium. It would have been a learned check on the list of places we had found most interesting. Quite likely we would have found that the Commission gave the first rank to some “antiquity” we did not see at all, and maybe never heard of! However, we saw enough to occupy every minute of our brief vacation, and the majority of those we missed—wilfully at least—were churches, of which Flanders has enough to fill three books like this were one to faithfully report them all.

In Ghent there are, as at Bruges, many interesting private houses scattered throughout the city. The Professor and I on our morning walks looked up many of these, but the list would be tedious to enumerate. One of the most famous is the “Arriére-Faucille,” formerly the home of a rich seigneur, but since 1901 used as a Royal Conservatory of Music. Its castle-like tower is very picturesque, but we saw nothing of interest in the interior. Near by are two very old houses with typically Flemish gables, called the Zwarte Moor and the Groot Moor. Built in 1481, or thereabouts, the Confrerie of St. George had its headquarters here for many years.

OLD GUILD HOUSES, QUAI AUX HERBES, GHENT.

The guilds have already been mentioned, and the façades of all of the more famous of the guild houses have been carefully restored. These include the Maison des Mesureurs de Blé and the Maison des Francs Bateliers on the Quai aux Herbes, the Maison des Maçons and the Maison des Bateliers non francs. The ancient Grand Boucherie, recently restored, is another interesting “monument.” It seems that the Butchers’ Guild at Ghent owed its prosperity to the fact that Charles V chanced one day to fall in love with the pretty daughter of a Ghent butcher. This young lady obtained for her son and his descendants an imperial monopoly of the slaughtering and meat-selling business which survived all the various dynastic changes till the French Revolution. The butchers were calledPrinse Kinderen, or Prince’s Children, and seem to have made a very good thing out of the blot on their family escutcheon. Another old edifice is the Maison de l’Etape, or Staple House, a granary dating from the thirteenth century, which stands beside the guild houses on the Quai aux Herbes. Inshort, the tourist can easily find enough of interest in this rare old Flemish city to occupy many days of leisurely sight-seeing. Ghent, like Bruges, has thus far been spared the destruction that has overtaken so many of the smaller Flemish towns during the war and, as far as is at present known, all of its twenty-nine monuments are still intact.

Itwas on a pleasant morning in June that the Professor and I set forth on a little expedition to the famous town of the tapestry weavers, leaving the ladies to rest and shop at Brussels. The poplar-trees that line the country roads and canals in all parts of Belgium were in full bloom and their light cotton-clad seeds were drifting like snow in every direction. Moreover, contrary to our experience for some time past, the sun seemed likely to shine all day and our old friend J. Pluvius was in complete retreat. Our route lay for a considerable distance through a charming hop country, the plots being much smaller than one sees in Kent or in Central New York State, but very numerous, and, no doubt, aggregating a considerable acreage. Farther along we passed through a superb stretch of hilly country where many of the houses and barns had thatched roofs and were so picturesque, both in themselves and in theirsurroundings, that we would fain have descended at one of the little stations and spent the day exploring and photographing this charming corner of Flanders. The most beautiful spot of all bore the pretty name of Louise-Marie—the thatch-roofed houses nestling cosily together upon a hillside. This little station, by the way, is on the line from Blaton to Audenaerde (in Flemish Oudenaarde), as we were approaching our destination from the south instead of directly from Brussels. Presently the great tower of Ste. Walburge loomed up ahead on our right, and we could even catch a glimpse of the famous Hotel de Ville. Instead of stopping, however, our train went on past the church, past the town, past everything, until we began to fear that our faithful “omnibus” had suddenly gone crazy and fancied itself a “rapide” bound for goodness knows where. At last, however, the station came in sight, but we even sped past that, coming to rest finally some distance down the railroad yard. As we walked back toward the “Sortie-Ausgang” gateway we debated whether we would drive back to the town in a cab or take a tram. Emerging on the street we promptly decided to walk, since neither cab nor tram-car could be seen.

There was no danger of losing our way, for there, straight down the long street before us, we could see the huge mass of Ste. Walburge towering far above the little houses around it. After a leisurely walk of five or six minutes we arrived at a large bleak-looking square, called the Place de Tacambaro, at the centre of which stood a monument that—had we been in a carriage or on a tram-car—we would have passed without more than a passing glance. As it was, we paused to read the inscriptions and found that, for Americans, they told a story of no little interest. It appears that this is a memorial erected in honour of the volunteers from Audenaerde who died in Mexico in the service of the unfortunate Emperor Maximilian. The south side of the monument, which represents a reclining female figure by the sculptor, W. Geefs, bears the following inscription:

“Ordre de JourOfficiers et Soldats! Vous avez pris votre part des travauxet des luttes dans la guerre du Mexique, votrevaleur dans les combats, votre disciplinedans les fatigues des longuesmarches ont honoré lenom Belge.Au moment de vous rembarquer pour aller revoir votrepatrie recevez les adieux de vos frères d’armes ducorps expeditionaire français.Dans quelques semaines vous aurez revu les rivages de votrepatrie y conservez, je l’espère, bon souvenir de leuxqui ont soufert et combattu à vos cotes,ainsi que du Maréchal de Francequi a eu l’honneur devous commander.Le Maréchal de France, Commandant en Chef.BAZAINE.”

“Ordre de Jour

Officiers et Soldats! Vous avez pris votre part des travauxet des luttes dans la guerre du Mexique, votrevaleur dans les combats, votre disciplinedans les fatigues des longuesmarches ont honoré lenom Belge.

Officiers et Soldats! Vous avez pris votre part des travaux

et des luttes dans la guerre du Mexique, votre

valeur dans les combats, votre discipline

dans les fatigues des longues

marches ont honoré le

nom Belge.

Au moment de vous rembarquer pour aller revoir votrepatrie recevez les adieux de vos frères d’armes ducorps expeditionaire français.

Au moment de vous rembarquer pour aller revoir votre

patrie recevez les adieux de vos frères d’armes du

corps expeditionaire français.

Dans quelques semaines vous aurez revu les rivages de votrepatrie y conservez, je l’espère, bon souvenir de leuxqui ont soufert et combattu à vos cotes,ainsi que du Maréchal de Francequi a eu l’honneur devous commander.

Dans quelques semaines vous aurez revu les rivages de votre

patrie y conservez, je l’espère, bon souvenir de leux

qui ont soufert et combattu à vos cotes,

ainsi que du Maréchal de France

qui a eu l’honneur de

vous commander.

Le Maréchal de France, Commandant en Chef.

BAZAINE.”

Proceeding along the street, which still led straight toward the great church, we discussed the strange fate that had led these valiant Flemings to give their lives in a war of conquest so many thousands of miles away—a futile sacrifice as the event proved, with this little monument as their sole reward.

Almost before we were aware of it we found ourselves at the Grande Place with the Hotel de Ville right in front of us. We were on the west side of the little structure, which on the rue Haute adjoins the ancient Halle aux Draps. An old doorway gives on the rue Haute, but is no longer used, the entrance being now through the Hotel de Ville.

While the two principal churches of the town have suffered severely from the fanatical ravages of the iconoclasts, or image breakers, the Hotel de Ville can be seen in almost its pristine magnificence. Architecturally this monument is generally considered as one of the finest, notonly in Flanders, but in the whole of Europe. Little it undeniably is, although it towers up bravely above the low two-story buildings surrounding it, but its very smallness gives its marvellous façade the richness and delicacy of the finest lace. Begun in 1525, it was completed twelve years later at a cost of “65,754 livres parisis, 16 sols, 2 deniers.” Those who are curious can ascertain the modern equivalent of the “Paris pound” of 1537, but even when we add the 16 sols, 2 deniers, it seems as though the burghers got very good value for their money.

HOTEL DE VILLE, AUDENAERDE. Photograph by E. Sacré.

Late Gothic is the period to which this gem in the galaxy of splendid Flemish town halls belongs. It is considered the masterpiece of its architect, Henri Van Péde, who also designed the superb Hotel de Ville at Brussels and that at Louvain. The many little niches on the front once contained statues of the noble lords and dames of Flanders, including no doubt several of the great house of Lalaing, the Count Philippe de Lalaing having laid the corner stone. Unfortunately these were all destroyed during the religious wars and the French Revolution and have never been replaced. This seems a great pity, as Flanders still possesses many stone-carvers of great skill,and the kindly hand of time would soon mellow the new work to harmonise with the old. As it is, every niche contains the iron projection that formerly held its statue in place, so that the work of restoration would consist of simply carving each of the little statues in the sculptor’s own atelier, wherever it might be, and afterwards placing them in position.

One of the original statues still remains in place, however, and is entitled to the honour of being styled the oldest citizen of Audenaerde. This is none other than Hanske ’t Krijgerke, Petit Jean le Guerrier, or Little John the Warrior, who, with his diminutive standard bearing the arms of the city, stands on the topmost pinnacle of the tower. His gaze is ever toward the South, with a far-away look in his eyes, across the Grande Place and toward the distant hills. During the three hundred and seventy-eight years that he has been standing there, braving the winter rains and the summer sunshine, how many changes have taken place in the great outside world while little Audenaerde has stood still!

Even without its statues the principal façade of the Hotel de Ville merits more than a passing glance. In the admirable harmony of its proportions, the delicate beauty of its details,in the excellence of the stone carvings—almost perfectly preserved—that form wreaths and festoons of stone about its Gothic windows, there is nothing finer to be seen in all Flanders. The high pointed roof, with its tiny dormer windows, is exactly as the architect intended it, and the charming little tower seems as perfect as the day the last of the sixteenth-century masons left it.

The interior is worthy of the exterior. On the first floor a large hall, called the Salle du Peuple—Hall of the People—extends from one side of the building to the other. This contains a fine stone fireplace surmounted by a splendidly carved Gothic mantelpiece with statues of Ste. Walburge in the centre and Justice and Power on either side. Below are the arms of Austria, Flanders, and of Audenaerde. This masterpiece was carved by Paul Van der Schelden. The walls on each side of the fireplace are decorated with modern mural paintings depicting Liederick de Buck, the first Forester of Flanders, Dierick of Alsace, Baldwin of Constantinople, and Charles the Fifth. Between the windows overlooking the Grande Place are the Arms of Castile and Aragon, while at the ends of each of the great beams that support the ceiling are carved the arms ofthe various kingdoms and principalities belonging to Charles V.

Already we perceive that the shadow of the great Emperor rests heavily on this little city of Audenaerde, and as we proceed further in our explorations the more dominating and omnipresent does his personality become. Even the very arms of the city bear a mute evidence to his generosity and sense of humour. It is related that on a certain occasion the Emperor and his stately train approached the city without being perceived by the sentinel stationed in the tower of this very Hotel de Ville to announce his arrival. On reaching the gates, therefore, the Imperial cortège found no one to welcome the great monarch. The Burgomaster and the members of the Council, who should have been there in their robes of state, were conspicuous by their absence. Had this happened to his ancestor Charles the Bold, whose fiery temper brooked no discourtesy, even when unintended, it might well have gone hard with the unfortunate officials. As it was, the Emperor overlooked the slight, but not long afterwards he maliciously inserted a pair of spectacles in the arms of the city, remarking that in future they would thus be able to see more clearly the approach of their sovereign.

WOODEN DOORWAY, CARVED BY VAN DER SCHELDEN, HOTEL DE VILLE, AUDENAERDE.

Adjoining the Salle du Peuple is a smaller chamber, the Salle des Échevins, or the Council Chamber of the ancient commune. Here there is another stone fireplace slightly inferior to the one in the larger hall, but resembling it in general design. The statues here represent the Virgin Mary in the centre, with Justice and Hope on either side. The chief masterpiece in this room, however, is the wooden doorway carved by Van der Schelden, who was instructed by the burghers to make it as beautiful as possible. How faithfully the artist performed his task the result shows. Around its top stand wooden cupids surmounting a richly carved entablature containing the arms of Charles V in the centre with those of Flanders and of Audenaerde on either side. The first is supported by two griffins, the second by two lions and the last by two savages. The panels of the door itself and of the sidewalls forming the complete portal are richly carved, each design being different from all the others. For this bit of wood-carving the frugal burghers paid the sum of one thousand, eighteen livres parisis, or nine hundred and twenty-three francs—something over $175—and the artist furnished the wood!

Formerly the walls of this room were decoratedwith tapestries of Audenaerde, but at the time of Louis XIV these were all removed and taken to Paris. Most of the tapestries in the town overlooked by le Grande Monarque were subsequently taken away by Napoleon, so that the Hotel de Ville of the city that gave these treasures to the world, and that should possess the finest collection of them, has been stripped completely bare. In their stead the Council Chamber at present contains a collection of paintings of no special artistic merit but of great historical interest. There is, of course, a portrait of Charles V, wearing the insignia of the Order of the Golden Fleece. A portrait of Louis XIV on horseback and bearing a marshal’s baton, by Philippe de Champaigne, forms a poor substitute for the tapestries filched by His Majesty. This collection also comprises several portraits of personages famous in later Flemish history. Of these the most noteworthy is that of Margaret of Parma, which hangs close to that of her father, the Emperor.

Just across the Grande Place from the Hotel de Ville stands the Tower of Baldwin, undoubtedly the oldest structure in the city, and erected by Baldwin V, a Count of Flanders who died in 1067, making it date from the Norman Conquest.The concierge of the Hotel de Ville informed us that this little tower, which adjoins another ancient edifice now used as a brewery, was the birthplace of Margaret, but this does not appear to be altogether certain. Some authorities state that the honour belongs to a little two-story house with a high, steep-sloping roof that also faces the Place. If the walls of these old houses had the ears that proverbially belong to all walls, and were still further provided with lips to whisper the secrets they overheard, they could no doubt settle this question; and at the same time throw some additional light upon a famous bit of mediæval romance and scandal.

Of all the natives of the ancient town of Audenaerde the most famous was Margaret, afterwards the Duchess of Parma, and for many years Regent of the Low Countries, over which she ruled with an almost imperial sway. Her father was the great Emperor, Charles V, who dallied here for several weeks as guest of the Countess de Lalaing, wife of the Governor of Audenaerde, while his soldiers were besieging Tournai in the year 1521. The attraction that kept him so far from his army was a pretty Flemish maiden named Jehanne or Jeanne Van der Gheynst. According to the none too trustworthyStrada, this young lady was a member of the Flemish nobility, but according to the city archives it appears that she belonged to a family of humble tapestry workers residing at Nukerke, a suburb of Audenaerde. At all events, her pretty face attracted the attention of the youthful Emperor—whether at a ball, as Strada says, or while she was serving as maid of the Countess de Lalaing, as many writers assume, or perhaps at a village Kermesse which Charles might well have attended incognito. After the little Margaret was born the mother received an annual income of twenty-four livres parisis from the Emperor. In 1525 she married the Maître de Chambre extraordinaire of the Counts of Brabant, and died in 1541. Charles took his little daughter and had her brought up as a princess. In 1537, when she was only fifteen years old, she was married by the Emperor to Alexander, the Duke of Urbin, a cruel and dissolute Italian prince who, however, died the same year. The following year she was married to Octavio Farnese, a grandson of Pope Pius III, who was then only fourteen. She was herself strongly opposed to this marriage, but the Emperor was obdurate and she finally yielded. Her son, Alexander Farnese, was the famousDuke of Parma who became the foremost military leader on the Spanish side during the sanguinary war between Philip II and the Netherlands. On the death of her father, Margaret was made Regent of the Low Countries by her half-brother Philip II. She arrived at Ghent, July 25th, 1559, and on August 7th the King presented her to the States General, saying that he had chosen her as his representative because she was so close to him by birth and “because of the singular affection she has always borne toward the Low Countries where she was born and raised and of which she knew all the languages.” She retired from the Regency in 1567, but was called back once more in 1580 at the personal request of the King. As her son Alexander was then at the zenith of his power, and opposed to her resuming the regency, she finally declined the honour which was reluctantly given to him. She died in 1586 at the age of sixty-six.

It was her fortune, or rather misfortune, to rule over the Netherlands at a period when the seething forces of religious unrest and protest were becoming too violent to be restrained. Had Philip II, her half-brother, been less bigoted, less cruel, and less blind to the best interests of the country and of his own dynasty,it is possible that the great popularity of the Duchess—who was sincerely loved by the majority of her subjects and respected by all—might have enabled the Government to restrain the rising passions of the people. If, instead of a policy of savage repression, the King of Spain had authorised Margaret to pursue a policy of moderation and conciliation, the fearful history of the next eighty years—the blackest page in human history—might never have been written. Unfortunately, moderation and conciliation were as foreign to the nature of that sombre monarch as to Torquemada himself, and fanaticism fought fanaticism with a fury that was as devoid of intelligence as it was of mercy.

The first act in the drama of blood was the sudden outbreak of the frenzy of the iconoclasts, or image-breakers, which swept over the greater part of the Spanish Netherlands in the month of August, 1566. Scarcely a church, a chapel, a convent or a monastery, escaped the devastation that resulted from these fanatical attacks. Paintings, statuary, altars and chapels, even the tablets and monuments of the dead—the accumulated art treasures of centuries—were torn to pieces or carried bodily away. In some places the work of destruction was completedin a few hours, in others organised bands of pillagers worked systematically for days before the local authorities—taken completely by surprise—recovered their wits and put a stop to the work of desecration. The loss to art and civilisation effected by the iconoclasts in Flanders is beyond computation. The Regent acted with energy and decision, her spirited appeals to the magistrates finally bringing them to their senses and resulting in a speedy restoration of order. Philip, who had just cause for resentment, meditated vengeance, however, and in 1568 replaced the too gentle Margaret by the Duke of Alva.

For the Professor the Hotel de Ville contained still another room of inexhaustible interest. This was the museum of the commune which occupies the entire second floor. For some reason—certainly not from fear of the suffragette, which is a non-existent species in Belgium—this is closed to the public, but we were admitted by courtesy of the Secretary of the Commune. The collection is of the utmost value to the historian and archeologist, but is rather badly kept. Among the most interesting objects were four chairs once used by Charles V; the ancient keyboard of thecarillonwhich formerly hung in the belfry of the townhall but is now installed in the tower of Ste. Walburge, and some water-colour designs for tapestries. A large painting of the Last Judgment covered a considerable part of one wall. This is attributed to Heuvick, and originally hung in the Salle des Échevins. It was the ancient custom to have a painting of this subject, covered by curtains, in the olden justice halls. When a witness was about to be sworn the curtains were suddenly drawn back and the sight of the picture, which represented with great vividness the destruction of the damned, was intended to prevent false testimony. The collection also included a variety of ancient arms and coins, several curious mediæval strong boxes, and two huge snakes which hung from the rafters overhead. There are no snakes in Belgium to-day, but our guide assured us that a crocodile had once been taken in the River Scheldt near Audenaerde, so the snakes may have been natives after all—assuming, of course, that the crocodile story is correct.

Back of the Hotel de Ville proper is the still more ancient Cloth Hall, dating from the beginning of the thirteenth century. Its small, high windows were built slantingly, to prevent archers from sending arrows directly into the interior. At some comparatively recent periodtwo large windows were cut through, the walls on each side, but a goodly number of the earlier windows still remain, and the beams that support the high, pointed roof are still as sound as the day they were laid in position.

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