The faded colours, the timeworn brickwork, the
indescribable look of decay which, even on the brightest morning,
throws a shade of melancholy over the whole place, lead one to
think of some aged dame, who has 'come down in the world,' wearing
out the finery of better days. It is all very sad and pathetic,
but strangely beautiful, and the painter never lived who could
put on canvas the mellow tints with which Time has clothed these
old walls, and thus veiled with tender hand the havoc it has made.
To stand on the bridge which crosses the canal at the corner of
the Quai des Marbriers and the Quai Vert, where the pinnacles of
the Palais du Franc and the roof of the Hotel de Ville, with the
Belfry just showing above them, and dull red walls rising from
the water, make up a unique picture of still-life, is to read a
sermon in stones, an impressive lesson in history.
The loss of trade brought Bruges face to face with the 'question
of the unemployed' in a very aggravated form. How to provide for
the poor became a most serious problem, and so many of the people
were reduced to living on charity that almshouses sprang up all
over the town. God's Houses ('Godshuisen') they called them, and
call them still.
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