Note 346 — Chapter IX

At least, such were the images suggested to my mind, as I wandered through the aisles of this fine old cathedral, on a visit which I made to Brussels a few years since,—in the summer of 1850. Perhaps the reader will excuse, as germaine to this matter, a short sketch relating to it, from one of my letters written on the spot to a distant friend:—

"Then the noble cathedral of Brussels, dedicated to one Saint Gudule,—the superb organ filling its long aisles with the most heart-thrilling tones, as the voices of the priests, dressed in their rich robes of purple and gold, rose in a chant that died away in the immense vaulted distance of the cathedral. It was the service of the dead, and the coffin of some wealthy burgher probably, to judge from its decorations, was in the choir. A number of persons were kneeling and saying their prayers in rapt attention, little heeding the Protestant strangers who were curiously gazing at the pictures and statues with which the edifice was filled. I was most struck with one poor woman, who was kneeling before the shrine of the saint, whose marble corpse, covered by a decent white gauze veil, lay just before her, separated only by a light railing. The setting sun was streaming in through the rich colored panes of the magnificent windows, that rose from the floor to the ceiling of the cathedral, some hundred feet in height. The glass was of the time of Charles the Fifth, and I soon recognized his familiar face,—the protruding jaw of the Austrian line. As I heard the glorious anthem rise up to heaven in this time-honored cathedral, which had witnessed generation after generation melt away, and which now displayed, in undying colors, the effigies of those who had once worshipped within its walls, I was swept back to a distant period, and felt I was a contemporary of the grand old times when Charles the Fifth held the chapters of the Golden Fleece in this very building."