silence.

This is Bruges sleeping peacefully in old age, lulled to rest by
the sound of its own carillon. But it is easy, standing there, to
recall the past, and to fancy the scenes which took place from time
to time throughout the long period of foreign danger and internal
strife. We can imagine the Bourg, now so peaceful, full of armed
men, rushing to the Church of St. Donatian on the morning when
Charles the Good was slain; how, in later times, the turbulent
burghers, fiery partisans of rival factions, Clauwerts shouting
for the Flemish Lion, and Leliarts marshalled under the Lily of
France, raged and threatened; how the stones were splashed with blood
on the day of the Bruges Matins, when so many Frenchmen perished; or
what shouts were raised when the Flemish host came back victorious
from the Battle of the Golden Spurs.

Though every part of Bruges--not only the Bourg, but the great
Market-Place, and the whole maze of streets and lanes and canals
of which it consists--has a story of its own, some of these stories
stand out by themselves; and amongst these one of the most dramatic
is the story of the death of Charles the Good.

More than two hundred and fifty years had passed away since the
coming of Baldwin Bras-de-Fer; Bruges had spread far beyond the
walls of the Bourg; and Charles, who had succeeded his cousin Baldwin
VII., was Count of Flanders. He was called 'the Good' because of
his just rule and simple life, and still more, perhaps, because
he clothed and fed the poor--not only in Bruges, but throughout
all Flanders. The common people loved him, but his charities gave
offence to the rich. He had, moreover, incurred the special enmity