The Queen sat beneath her canopy at the side of the high altar with her little court surrounding her, the diplomats in their full regalia were in a group at one side, the Ministers of State in their uniforms in a group at the other, with the judges of the court in their scarlet robes which made bright splashes of colour. The military music resounded in slow marches and re-echoed through the spaces where candles only dimly lighted the shadows.
When they came out of church they noticed above them, floating in the sky, a great dirigible balloon, manœuvering majestically over the city, silent and impressive. How little did they think that similar balloons would so soon be dropping bombs upon their peaceful country!
That evening the Minister of Foreign Affairs gave a gala dinner in honour of the King’s fête-day, and all the Chiefs of Mission and some of the court dignitaries attended. Madame Davignon, wife of the Minister, a handsome and distinguished woman, received with His Excellency. The gathering was impressive, and the diplomatic uniforms were rich with gold lace and decorations. Madame Davignon presided at this dinner of men only, the Minister sitting opposite her at the U-shaped table. Some plenipotentiaries were accredited to Paris as well as to Brussels, and came on for special functions. Although these were mostly South Americans, they were very fine in their regalia, as were also the Turks in their fezzes and the Persians in their astrakhan hats. After dinner there was a real “recivimento,” when distinguished people came in to pay their respects to the Minister of Foreign Affairs without invitation, as used to be the custom in Rome.
A few days after that L. made up a little party and ran out to Termeire, the de Buisseret château. The motor trip took about an hour and a half, the car running smoothly and swiftly between villages and jiggling over the famous Belgian blocks that pave the towns. The country was like France, with the ditches on either side of the road and the rows of trees, and like Holland, too, with its canals. About the château there was an extensive park with game, where they hunted in the autumn, and étangs and bridges and fine old trees.[1]
After luncheon they visited the lovely château of the Duc d’Ursel, where they met the Duchess, who has been in Paris since the war began, having established there the Franco-American Œuvre des Soldats Belges. They also met the charming, old-world Duchess Dowager. From there they ran along the banks of the Scheldt to the Pavillon, a most interesting little building, both in architecture and decoration.
It may be that there were more châteaux in the south, in the Walloon provinces, but Flanders was by no means lacking in fine old houses. Melis, the Edmond de Beughems’ place, was quite enchanting. A long avenue of deep trees brought one to a stone gateway with the family arms sculptured above it, and fortified walled buildings stretching away on either side. Crossing a garden and a moat, one came to the entrance of the quaintest little old château imaginable.
On one side its gray walls dipped straight down into the moat, while on the other were green lawns and bright-coloured gardens, with splendid overhanging trees and a still lagoon with white floating swans. Beyond the deep, protecting waters were the forests of the park, with long alleys leading the eye to far-away vistas.
From the bridge above the moat one passed beneath the old portcullis and the bastion with its loopholes into a little lop-sided courtyard. Here the walls were all pinkish and yellow, the old brickwork breaking through the ochre plaster placed on it in a different generation and overgrown with ivies and climbing roses. Indoors the rooms were low and tiny and filled with old-fashioned furniture.
Melis was not a great and battlemented fortress, but a small and homelike place, so miniature that it seemed as if one might put it in a pocket. No doubt it really was, as the family admitted, very cold and damp and uncomfortable, but on a warm sunny day it appeared quite one’s ideal of what a château in Flanders ought to be.
While I was still staying quietly in Paris, I found much pleasure in reading about the historic old city which I was so soon to see.