The sincere and unaffected sorrow of those who raised a monument to the Princess, is much more impressively bespoken in the simple and natural language of its inscription. After recapitulating the pompous honours of her house, and her greatness as a Queen, they have thus expressed affectionate esteem for her as a woman and a wife. “Five years she reigned as Lady of the Low Countries, for four of which she lived in love and great affection with my Lord, her husband. She died deplored, lamented and wept by her subjects, and by all who knew her as was never Princess before. Pray God for her soul. Amen.”
The most conspicuous object in Bruges, both from a distance and within the walls, is the lofty tower of an ancient building, called “Les Halles”—an edifice of vast extent, whose original destination seems to be but imperfectly known, but which, in all probability, served as a depot for merchandize during the palmy days of the Hanseatic League, whilst in its ponderous tower were deposited the ancient records of the city. The lower buildings are now partly unoccupied, and partly used for the purposes of a covered market, and on the tower are stationed the warders, who, night and day, look out for fires in the streets of the city or the suburbs. It contains, likewise, one of those sweet carillons of bells, which, in their excellence, seem to be peculiar to the Netherlands, as in no other country that I am aware of do their chimes approach to any thing like harmonious music. In the tower of Les Halles and some others in Belgium, they are set in motion by a huge cylinder with moveable keys, similar to those in a barrel organ or a Geneva box. The tunes are arranged and altered every year at Easter, and the carillon, besides announcing every hour, is played almost daily for the amusement of the citizens. But besides the mechanical arrangement, there are keys which can be played on at pleasure, and during our visit, the “chief musician” commenced this feat, hammering with his fists, defended first by strong leather, and tramping with his heels, till every muscle in his whole body seemed called into action—an exercise very like that of Falstaff’s recruit Bullfrog, when he “caught a cold in ringing in the king’s affairs upon the coronation day.”
The view from this tower is really surprising, owing to the vast level plain in which it stands, and which stretches to the horizon without an undulation upon every side; the view is only limited by the ability of the eye to embrace it, and the sight is bewildered with the infinity of villages, towers, forests, canals and rivers which it presents, taking in at one vast glance, the German Ocean, the distant lines of Holland, the towers of Ghent, and to the south, the remote frontier of France. Its views, like almost every thing else in the Netherlands, are peculiar to itself, and in the repose and richness of cultivated beauty, have not a parallel in any country of Europe.
In a small square adjoining that in which stands the tower of Les Halles, are two other ancient buildings of equal interest. The palais de justice occupies the site of the old “palace of the Franc or liberty of Bruges.” It contains in one of its apartments, (the others are chiefly modern,) a remarkable mantel-piece of carved oak, covering the entire side of the hall, and consisting of a number of statues the size of life, let into niches decorated with the most elaborate and beautiful carvings, and surmounted by the armorial bearings of Burgundy, Brabant, and Flanders. This singular specimen of the arts, dates from the reign of Charles V. and contains statues of the Emperor himself, with Maximilian, and Mary of Burgundy to his left hand; on his right, those of Charles le Téméraire, and his Lady Margaret of York. These specimens of the perfection to which this description of modelling has attained amongst the Flemings, must really be seen, in order to be sufficiently comprehended.
The other building adjoining is the Hotel de Ville, a small, but elegant example of the gothic architecture in the fourteenth century. The many niches which now stand empty at each compartment of its front, were formerly filled with statues of the native Princes of Flanders and Burgundy, to the number of thirty-three; numerous shields, charged with arms surmounted the principal windows, and on a little balcony in front, the Dukes, on the occasion of their inauguration, made oath to respect the rights and privilege of their subjects. But in 1792, the soldiers of the French directory, under Dumourier, in the “fine frenzy” of republicanism, tore down these ancient monuments of the former history of Bruges, as “the images of tyrants” and pounding them to dust, flung them upon a pile composed of fragments of the gallows and the scaffold, and ordered it to be kindled by the public executioner. The grand hall in the Hotel de Ville is occupied as a library, and contains a large and valuable collection of books and manuscripts.
Bruges was the birth-place of Berken, who discovered the art of polishing the diamond, and, as if the secret were still confined to the craft, (in fact it was for a length of time a secret amongst the jewellers of the Low Countries), one still sees over many a door in Bruges, the sign-board of the “Diamant-zetter,” who resides within.
In other cities, one would feel as if compiling a guide-book in noting these particulars of Bruges; but here it is different, as every spot, however trifling, is exalted by some traditionary association with the past. “In the thirteenth century,” says the Hand-book, “the ambassadors of twenty states had their hotels within the walls of the city, and the commercial companies of seventeen nations were settled and carried on their traffic within its walls. It became the resort of traders of Lombardy and Venice, who carried hither the merchandize of Italy and India, to be exchanged for the produce of Germany and the north. The argosies of Genoa and Constantinople, frequented her harbour, and her warehouses were stored with the wool of England, the linen of Belgium, and the silk of Persia.”[5] Can any one read this record of the past, and comparing it with the desolation of the present, avoid being reminded of the magnificent description and denunciation of Tyre, by Ezekiel. “Fine linen from Egypt was that which thou spreadest forth for thy sails; the inhabitants of Zidon were thy mariners; the men of Persia were thine army; and they of Gammadin were on thy towers, and hung their shields upon thy walls to make thy beauty perfect. Tarshish was thy merchant, and with iron and with tin they traded in thy fairs. Syria gave thee emeralds and broidered work, and coral, and agate. Judah traded in thy markets in honey, and oil, and balm. Damascus in the wine of Hebron and white wool. Arabia occupied with thee in lambs and in goats; and the merchants of Sheba brought thee precious stones and gold. * * * They that handle the oar, the mariner and pilots of the sea, shall come down from thy ships; they shall stand upon the land, and in their wailing they shall cry, what city is like unto Tyre, like unto the destroyed in the midst of the waters?”
Of all her active pursuits, Bruges now retains no remnant except the manufacture of lace, to which even her ancient fame has ceased to give a prestige; and it is exported to France to be sold under the name of Point de Valenciennes. Mechlin, Antwerp, Ypres and Grammont share with her in its production; and it is interesting to observe how this mignon and elegant art, originally, perhaps, but the pastime of their young girls and women, has survived all the storms and vicissitudes which have from time to time suspended or disturbed the other national occupations of the Belgians, and now enables the inhabitants of their superannuated cities, in the ruin of their own fortunes, to support themselves, as it were, upon the dower of their females. France, in the time of Colbert, seduced the manufacture to establish itself at Paris by actual gifts of money; and England, emulous of sharing in it, purchased the lace of Belgium to sell to Europe as her own, and made by it such a reputation, that English lace is still a popular name for a particular description made at Brussels!
The exquisitely fine thread which is made in Hainault and Brabant for the purpose of being worked into lace, has occasionally attained a value almost incredible. A thousand to fifteen hundred francs is no unusual price for it by the pound, but some has actually been spun by hand of so exquisite a texture, as to be sold at the rate of ten thousand francs, or upwards of £400, for a single pound weight. Schools have been established to teach both the netting of the lace and drawing of designs by which to work it, and the trade, at the present moment, is stated to be in a more flourishing condition than it has been ever known before, even in the most palmy days of the Netherlands.