[CHAPTER XIV]
IN THE WALLOON COUNTRY
THE line of the old Flemish principality ran from Antwerp southwest to Courtrai, but today the line that divides the French and the Flemish speaking Belgians runs due east and west, from Visé to Courtrai, with Brussels midway in its course.
North of the line are the fertile plains and gardens, the busy cities and the factories, of Flanders. Through them flows the Scheldt, the river of commerce.
South of the line are the mines and the mountains, the foundries and the forests, of Namur, Liège, Hainault, and the Ardennes. This is the Walloon country, through which runs the Meuse, the river of romance.
In the north live the stolid, easy-going, devout Flemish peasantry, while in the south are the lively, energetic, enterprising Walloons. They are a larger people physically than their neighbours, more heavily built, and of darker colouring, for there is a strain of Spanish blood in their ancestry. Many Walloons came to America in the seventeenth century, and we have had few immigrants of better stock. Showalter says that the women are “famed for their industry, thrift, cleanliness, capacity for hard work, and cheerfulness whatever their lot.”
The country of the Meuse and the Sambre is by far the loveliest part of Belgium. It abounds in myths and legends suited to the wild, romantic scenery of its hills and valleys. It abounds also in the villas and châteaux of the Belgian noblesse and haute bourgeoisie. The wealthy people of the cities delighted in their summers among the mountains of the Ardennes, while many families of ancient lineage but lesser fortunes lived the year round in their old-world houses.
Some of the châteaux were of exceptional beauty. Our trip to Belœil, the seat of the de Ligne family, will never be forgotten, for it was the finest château in Belgium. His Highness the Prince de Ligne had asked us out to luncheon, and we started about nine, motoring out toward Hal and Enghien.
It was a bright, sunny day, and the country rolled away on every side, checkered with its crops in varying stages of ripeness into fields of green and orange and lemon and brown. The roadside was flecked with red poppies and blue cornflowers, and quaint farmhouses dotted the landscape. We passed deep forests, too, with glimpses of old châteaux through the vistas.