dull (so some, I suppose, would call it) as the strange dead towns
of the Zuyder Zee, or as Coggeshall or Thaxted in our own green
Essex, Antwerp, at any rate, which lies only some fifteen miles or
so to the north of it, is very much awake, and of aspect mostly
modern, though not without some very curious and charming relics
of antiquity embedded in the heart of much recent stone and
mortar. Perhaps it will be well to visit one of these at once,
taking the tram direct from the magnificent Gare de l'Est (no
lesser epithet is just) to the Place Verte, which may be
considered the real centre of the city; and making our way thence
by a network of quieter back-streets to the Musee Plantin-
Moretus, which is the goal of our immediate ambition. I bring you
here at once, not merely because the place itself is quite unique
and of quite exceptional interest, but because it strikes
precisely that note of real antiquity that underlies the modern
din and bustle of Antwerp, though apt to be obscured unless we
listen needfully. Happy, indeed, was the inspiration that moved
the city to buy this house from its last private possessor, Edward
Moretus, in 1876. To step across this threshold is to step
directly into the merchant atmosphere of the sixteenth century.
The once great printing house of Plantin-Moretus was founded by
the Frenchman, Christopher Plantin, who was born at St. Aventin,
near Tours, in 1514, and began his business life as a book-binder
at Rouen. In 1549 he removed to Antwerp, and was there innocently
involved one night in a riot in the streets, which resulted in an
injury that incapacitated him for his former trade, and
necessitated his turning to some new employment. He now set up as
printer, with remarkable success, and was a sufficiently important
citizen at the date of his death, in 1589, to be buried in his own
vault under a chapel in the Cathedral. The business passed, on his