The Spell of Belgium. Isabel Anderson
where we had tea and cakes.
On Washington’s birthday we had another reception for Americans. The chancery was closed, the Stars and Stripes waved in all their glory over the door, and flowers were arranged around the bust of Washington in its niche high between the windows on the main landing of the staircase. We received about one hundred and forty guests—men, women, and children of all ages—in the room at the head of the stairs, where some of the tapestries were hung. It was a most democratic assembly—young schoolgirls, teachers, most of the regular “colony,” American women who had married Belgians—and they seemed to enjoy the dancing, to American airs. On the table in the dining-room was a splendid cake of many stories, all flag-bedecked—every one of the flags was proudly carried off before the afternoon was over.
For a change from the official routine and the formal entertainments, we often started out on a rainy evening and walked the glistening boulevards down into the town, so gay with its brilliantly lighted shops and restaurants. Having been duly advised by our Secretary of Legation of a respectable place to which diplomats “might” go, we sought it out and had happy little dinners together, forgetting our troubles for the time.
Perhaps the most delightful day I spent in Brussels was at Laeken. The Summer Palace stood on a hill overlooking the city, and was built of gray stone in Renaissance style. The greenhouses, which were erected by old King Leopold, were supposed to be the largest in the world. One could walk for miles through covered glass walks, with climbing geraniums and fuchsias hanging from the roof and heliotrope filling the air with its perfume.
The place was at its best for the royal garden party in May. As the invitations said two o’clock, we had luncheon early and set out at half after one. Soon we were careering up the fine avenue du Parc Royal, zigzagging from one side to the other as different officials gave us conflicting directions. Farther on, the road skirted the splendid park of Laeken, and we could look out over wide sweeps of lawn with great masses of trees and artificial waters winding in and out. Fine vistas led the eye up to the palace, which stood in a more formal setting of garden and terraces.
At the great gate in front of the palace, grenadiers in bearskin shakos stood guard, with uniformed officials and red-coated servants in gold lace and plumed hats. The palace was still unfinished, but looked very impressive. About it were great clumps of rhododendrons and magnificent lilacs.
The carriages stopped at the orangery, which had a long façade of stone columns and glass. Alighting, we passed into a perfect wonderland. To each side of us stretched a wing of a palace of crystal, with three rows of enormous orange trees arcading promenades.
Beyond this we passed into the great palm house, a vast dome with palms so huge that they seemed to lose themselves in the height of the rotunda. The people strolling beneath them looked quite like pygmies in contrast.
All the parterre was laid out with bright-coloured flowers. In a paved space in the center was held the royal circle. When the King and Queen arrived, the people arranged themselves along the sides—the Diplomatic Corps, the ministry, and prominent Belgians—and a band played gaily while Their Majesties came down the line. The scene was really fairylike.
The circle lasted a long time, and we were beginning to weary of standing, when the royal party finally set out to make a tour of the greenhouses. The rest of us followed, glad of a chance to see the wonders of which we had heard so much—and wonders they were indeed, for who ever saw before a lovely chapel built entirely of glass?
First we passed through a wide, two-aisled gallery with a forest of palms above and a rich display of pink and rose-coloured azaleas below. Then down steps into long, narrow passageways that were a bower as far as the eye could reach, gorgeous with climbing geraniums and lovely cinerarias. These galleries led one hither and thither, now in one direction, now in another, till both eye and mind were dazed with pleasure. We passed through tunnels of blooming flowers, and there was no end to the astonishing glory of colour and beauty.
Here and there were little grottoes with mirrors, and fountains plashing; then more alleys, and another great house all aflame with azaleas. Steps led to the door of a pavilion. Here it was that King Leopold II had died.
Our progress was not rapid, as the King and Queen stopped frequently to speak to different people. But we finally made the tour and returned to the great rotunda, where I felt as if I were standing in an unreal world, inside a giant soap-bubble of many colours.
CHAPTER III
BRUSSELS BEFORE THE WAR
Another custom which struck one as odd was that of using titles in letters—they would often sign themselves “Countess So-and-So,” or “Princess X.” If a woman belonged to a fine family she would put “née” with her maiden name on her card.
An amusing travesty on titles occurred when our footman received letters addressed to the “Chief Cleaner of the Silver.” I saw two cards which were even funnier than this, though. One bore the man’s name and the title, “The Secretary of the Secretary of the Minister of”—such a department. The other was a card of a Doctor A——, who had inscribed beneath his name, “Doctor for the Countess of B——‘s stomach.”
Hospitality generally took the form of afternoon teas. I have often been to as many as three or four in a day. They were always very ceremonial affairs, with all the servants turned out in style to receive me alone or perhaps two or three other guests.
During Lent people often received in the evening. Tea and cake and orangeade were served, while the guests sat and gossiped. At this season, we discovered, all the dinners had to have either fish or meat—not both—as it was a Roman Catholic country. Sundays, which are not Lenten days, gave them an opportunity for varying the festivities.
Dinners were given occasionally, and were always very formal and very long—really banquets—made up of a succession of rich dishes with a small glass of red or white wine with every course. The placing of guests at table was an extremely important matter, for every one must be seated strictly according to rank. One does not wonder that there were so few dinners, considering the difficulty of finding a group of congenial people who could dine together without dissatisfaction. Each was likely to think that he should have been given a higher place, and to go home feeling insulted instead of happy.
The favourite subjects among the women were children and the rainy weather; aside from gossip there was talk of little else. The men had no objection to sitting in silence, and were inclined to consider women who talked as chatterboxes. But for all that, they were very charming and high-bred and delightful to meet.
I should judge the Belgian sense of humour was not like ours. Many of them had a Latin wit, but as a race they were rather serious and conventional. They seemed to consider it bad form to have what we call a good time; all their entertainments were formal and dignified.
There was much in their character that was delightfully mediæval. People in the highest position socially would say with perfect simplicity things that sounded very strange to our ears. A man of high rank and intelligence explained to me one day that the reason why the Belgians slept with their windows closed was that the early morning air was bad for the eyes! He was quite serious about it and seemed to think the excuse sufficient.
I believe some of them still imagined that our country had not reached even the first stages of civilization.