University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER 7

Brussels

My Dear Mother:

Leaving Harwick the boat glided from the harbor so gently I became poetical and exclaimed, "How I shall enjoy the faint new moon glimmering and gleaming o'er the water of the deep." The lights on the shore were not dimmed by distance when my enemy gripped me. The night might have been worse but I thank heaven it was not. When we arose the boat was entering the harbor at Antwerp. Ed made me comfortable in a secluded corner of the deck, then went in search of his breakfast. I could not eat so I sat there communing with myself and sipped ginger ale; perhaps the shores were interesting but all my attention was demanded elsewhere.

Quite a little time was consumed in the examination of our baggage, the inspector was inclined to believe Ed's London suit was too new, and perhaps for sale. Let me whisper, I believe Ed would gladly have sold it to the inspector, as it is neither American nor English in appearance. We were driven to the hotel behind the finest cab horses I have seen, perfect beauties and absolutely matched. We passed many fine horses to carts, wagons and cabs. The drivers manage them with one small line. The shaded streets were at their best and I responded quickly to the spirit of repose, yet how short was my pleasure in Antwerp.

At the hotel we were informed that Tour No.--left on an early train for Brussels, so we hurried to the station, a mad race to purchase tickets, have trunks weighed, and get off on the train, then ready to leave. After we were seated the guard informed us that we were on a local, the express did not leave for two hours. That was the last straw. My vaunted stoicism availed me little in that hour. I sank upon my suit case and wept aloud. Poor Ed was so upset, his world was topsy turvy, and he besought me to tell him where I pained. I wailed, "We will not overtake them, we will go through Europe just one day behind." He tried to console me, but I was too far gone.

At last he confined himself to this: "Do let me get you a sandwich." I continued to cry, he continued to urge a sandwich, I promised not to move, and off he started to obtain his panacea. Many gazed curiously at the "weeping lady." I cried unrestrainedly and even defiantly, with a naughty desire to make faces at the onlookers.

Just as I was thoroughly enjoying myself I saw Ed approaching with two young men, and I lifted a woebegone face. "Now don't cry any more, dear, here are two boys also seeking Tour No.--. Ed evidently believed the old adage, "misery loves company," and having found if for me, was sure I would recover. The gentlemen, one a professor from Montreal, the other a Harvard student, were gaily encouraging, and assured me the three of them would stop Tour No.--in Brussels or greatly disturb Thomas Cook & Sons. Leaving me in possession of the baggage they resumed the search for sandwiches. When they returned the shower was over, and I was powdering my nose.

I like the compartment coaches better than ours, yet I can understand how, under certain conditions, they might prove disagreeable.

We were much pleased with the sample of Tour No.--and the hours passed pleasantly. Ed telegraphed to Cook's office, Brussels, and we found a man awaiting us, who turned us over bag and baggage to Mr. B. our good angel for the next two months. I am prepossessed in his favor; he is a quiet, unassuming German, of excellent manners and a pleasant smile. Your letters were awaiting me at the hotel, we left our address at the general post office and they were forwarded immediately. We were introduced to the members of Tour No--at luncheon, and from general appearance I think they will prove satisfactory. I know we shall like them. Ed is happy once more, he is radiant, and his laugh is truly infectious. At two o'clock a guide appeared and we started the afternoon of sight-seeing; first the City Hall, with its wonderful lace like tower dating from 500 years past, and of course we were shown the room wherein was given the ball on the eve of Waterloo, and I listened for the music of other days and almost heard the cannons boom.

The house where Victor Hugo wrote "Les Miserables," is just opposite. The cathedral of St. Michael and St. Gudule is very beautiful. The pulpit of Adam and Eve, so called because the carvings depict scenes from their lives, is a fine piece of work. We were told that from this on the churches will increase in beauty until Rome is reached, where we will find the climax of grandeur and wealth.

The Museum of Wiertz is one of Brussels' treasure houses. It is a little old structure, far up a hill, once the work shop and home of the artist. He could not afford canvas and his paintings are on the very walls. One, a girl with a rose, leaning from an open window, is so natural you would not start to hear her speak; another of a dog in kennel is so perfect you fully expect to hear him bark. Then, in cabinets with peep holes, are pictures so horrible you are sorry you have been to see them . Poor man, his genius was his undoing. It is said he starved rather than dispose of even one of his creations. We enjoyed a long drive in what was once the ancient forest of Soignes, but not to the site of the battle of Waterloo. I regret that very much, as I had hoped to stand on ground where my great-grandfather fought for his beloved Napoleon, and in despair saw him made a prisoner, but "Cookies" are not people of leisure, we are here today and far away tomorrow. After the drive we explored queer streets and enjoyed the holiday appearing crowds in the open air cafes. We saw dogs harnessed to heavily loaded carts, all wearing muzzles as it is said the hard work renders them very fierce. We also saw women dragging heavy carts; I wonder if the drudgery, in time, makes them savage, and do they need muzzling?

The river Senne runs beneath the main thoroughfare and also a canal. Small boats are used thereon, we were told. I tried the tea, but found it very unpalatable, I shall cultivate a taste for beer.

Think of it, I am leaving Brussels without buying one yard of lace. The beds have the dearest feather covers, and from the pillows and mattresses used it must be customary over here to sleep sitting up. I must ring for the maid to bring me a ladder to reach the bed, unless I run and jump. Good night, Mother of mine, with many a loving thought.

Yours,

C.