Bruges and West Flanders | Page 4

Roya, and the foundations
of Bruges as we know it now were laid. Just as in the memorable years
1814 and 1815 the empire of Napoleon fell into fragments, and princes
and statesmen hastened to readjust the map of Europe in their own
interests, so in the ninth century the empire of Charlemagne was
crumbling away; and in the scramble for the spoils, the Normans
carried fire and sword into Flanders. Charles the Bald, King of the
Franks, at this crisis called to his aid the strong arm of Baldwin, a
Flemish chief of whose ancestry we know little, but who soon became
famous as Baldwin Bras-de-Fer--Baldwin of the Iron Arm, so called
because, in peace or war, he was never seen without his coat of mail.
This grim warrior had fallen in love with the daughter of Charles the
Bald, Judith, who had been already twice married, first to the Saxon
King Ethelwulf (after the death of his first wife Osberga, mother of
Alfred the Great) and secondly to Ethelbald, on whose death she left
England and went to live at Senlis. Baldwin persuaded the Princess to
run away with him; and they were married without the knowledge of
her father, to escape whose vengeance the culprits fled to Rome. Pope
Nicholas I. brought about a reconciliation; and Charles not only
pardoned his son-in-law, but appointed him ruler of Flanders under the
title of Marquis, which was afterwards changed into that of Count. It is
to the steel-clad Baldwin Bras-de-Fer that the Counts of Flanders trace
the origin of their title; and he was, moreover, the real founder of that
Bruges which rose to such glory in the Middle Ages, and is still, though
fallen from its high estate, the picturesque capital of West Flanders,
whither artists flock to wander about amidst the canals and bridges, the
dismantled ramparts, the narrow streets with their curious houses, and
the old buildings which bear such eloquent testimony to the ruin which
long ago overtook what was once an opulent and powerful city.
When the wrath of his father-in-law had been appeased, Baldwin, now
responsible for the defence of Flanders, came to Bruges with his wife,
and there established his Court. But the old burg, it seems, was not
thought capable of holding out against the Normans, who could easily
land on the banks of the Zwijn; and Baldwin, therefore, set about
building a new stronghold on the east side of the old burg, and close to
it. It was surrounded partly by the main stream of the Roya, and partly

by backwaters flowing from it. Here he built a fortress for himself and
his household, a church dedicated to St. Donatian, a prison, and a
'ghiselhuis,' or house for the safe keeping of hostages. The whole was
enclosed by walls, built close to the edge of the surrounding waters.
The Roya is now vaulted over where it ran along the west side of
Baldwin's stronghold, separating it from the original burg, and the
watercourses which defended it on the north and east are filled up; but
the stream on the south still remains in the shape of the canal which
skirts the Quai des Marbriers, from which a bridge leads by a narrow
lane, called the Rue de l'Âne Aveugle, under an arch of gilded
stonework, into the open space now known as the Place du Bourg. Here
we are at the very heart of Bruges, on the ground where Baldwin's
stronghold stood, with its four gates and drawbridges, and the high
walls frowning above the homes of the townsmen clustering round
them. The aspect of the place is completely changed since those early
days. A grove of chestnut-trees covers the site of the Church of St.
Donatian; not a stone remains of Bras-de-Fer's rude palace; and instead
of the prison and the hostage-house, there are the Hôtel de Ville, now
more than five hundred years old, from whose windows the Counts of
Flanders swore obedience to the statutes and privileges of the town, the
Palais de Justice, and the dark crypt beneath the chapel which shelters
the mysterious Relic of the Holy Blood.
[Illustration: BRUGES. Rue de l'Âne Aveugle (showing end of Town
Hall and Bridge connecting it with Palais de Justice).]
In summer it is a warm, quiet, pleasant spot. Under the shade of the
trees, near the statue of Van Eyck, women selling flowers sit beside
rows of geraniums, roses, lilies, pansies, which give a touch of bright
colour to the scene. Artists from all parts of Europe set up their easels
and paint. Young girls are gravely busy with their water-colours.
Black-robed nuns and bare-footed Carmelites pass silently along.
Perhaps some traveller from America opens his guide-book to study the
map of a city which had risen to