We thought it might be the hour when people were resting, so later we fared forth to see the gaieties of which we had heard so much. This time we found half a dozen others walking aimlessly up and down the streets. At dinner, silence reigned. In the evening we tried our best to cheer up, and went to the casino where a few persons were scattered about the auditorium listening to music. This seemed to be the height of the season at Spa, whose name has come into our language as a synonym for gaiety and relaxation.
So we got away next morning and ran up a long, steep, splendid road on to fine rolling uplands that waved away like the Bohemian Highlands, with lovely views in the blue distance. We were some fifteen hundred feet up, and the air was very refreshing as we sped along. Now and then we dipped again into valleys with wooded slopes and ravines with palisades. We were in the real Ardennes country, the famous “Forest of Arden“ of ”As You Like It,” which was sung by Ariosto a century or so before that.
In this region was the church of St. Hubert, to which peasants made Christian pilgrimage. Under the choir was a crypt where they knelt. A thread from the stole of the ancient saint was said to have had the power to cure hydrophobia, if aided by cauterization. But more easily, “one may prevent hydrophobia by carrying on the finger a ring or wearing a medal which has touched the relics of the saint; also by eating or making one’s animals eat the blessed bread of St. Hubert.” This bread is given chiefly to dogs, I believe.
We ran by picturesque La Roches and Rochefort, with fine smooth roads following the beds of little rivers in the valleys and climbing in zigzags the low mountains till we came, about one o’clock, to Han. Here we went at once, of course, to the Grottes de Han, which were very popular with tourists. It was an experience worth having. We passed through endless passages, grotesque and beautiful with stalactites and stalagmites, the varied effects well lighted by electricity. The finest thing, most terrible and impressive, was the Salle du Dome, where the black shadows were lost in the immensity of the vault. It is a cavern four hundred feet high and more than that in breadth, with a sort of mountain of broken boulders up which winds a path into the dusky gloom and blackness of the upper regions. But I must say it was more suggestive of the lower regions than the upper, especially when a guide with a flaring torch climbed and climbed, disappearing behind cliffs of darkness and reappearing on precipices till he stood at last, a tiny figure far above us, in Satan’s Pulpit, and lighted a fire that seemed to burn in another world.
Later we came to the banks of the subterranean river that flows through the mountain, and got into boats. As we floated down, the vaults reëchoed the singing of our fellow-travelers. But presently we saw ahead of us the light of day, peering in through the end of the cave, and slipped out—into the rain.
The car met us there, so we were able to get away again quickly. Off once more over the fine roadways, we passed Ciergnon, the summer château of the King, on its high bluff overlooking the vast landscape. Through more broken country we came down into the valley of the Meuse at Dinant, then one of the most picturesque places in Europe. Its palisades and striking cliff formations were crowned with ruined castles, like a miniature Rhine. The city has since been destroyed.
The abbey of Waulsort, which became a château, was at one bend of the river. According to tradition, it was founded by Count Eilbert in the reign of Louis IV—about the middle of the tenth century. The Count went one day to a fair in Picardie, and there he saw a horse which was much to his liking. He had no money with him, but offered the priest who owned the animal his beautiful graven beryl as a pledge till he could send home for funds. The priest accepted the offer and gave him the horse, but when the Count returned with the money he denied that he had the jewel or had so much as seen the Count before in all his life. In a fury Eilbert collected his men-at-arms and attacked the city where dwelt the forgetful cleric, sacking and destroying it, even to the church. Then his anger cooled, and he regretted his hasty vengeance. As a sign of penitence he not only rebuilt the church, but erected the abbey also.
Château de Waulsort on the Meuse
Just down the river from Waulsort is the cave of Freya, near a château of the same name. The cavern is not large but is very beautiful, with shining white stalactites, pointed columns piercing lofty vaults, and jeweled cascades. One of its chambers has an opening in the roof which lets in the daylight. Some young men who were anxious to avoid the conscription of the Empire are said to have let themselves down into this cave by means of ropes. They lived there for some time, cooking by a small fire whose smoke blackened the walls of the cave, as you can still see. They were contented to stay quite close to this one room, without much exploration, and it remained for a dog to really discover what lay beyond.