Part 1 — RELIGIOUS PROCESSIONS IN BELGIUM.

In Belgium the patronal feasts of the churches and towns are celebrated with great pomp and splendor. Each church, on its feast, is adorned in the richest style, the streets and houses of the parish are decorated with green branches and banners; high and low, rich and poor, unite to do honor to the Blessed Sacrament, that is carried in procession on the Sunday during the octave, within the limits of the parish. From the houses of the nobles hang the banners, and oriflammes emblazoned with their armorial bearings; one common bond of sympathy and love unites all ranks, one common desire to show homage and reverence to the dear Lord and Master, who is to be borne in triumph in their midst.

Catholicity has so thoroughly moulded the habits and customs of the people, the festivals of the church make the festivals of the people; consequently, the feast of the church is also the Kermesse, as it is called, of the people. The parish feast is the Petite Kermesse; the patronal feast of the city the Grande Kermesse, when all business is suspended, and universal rejoicing prevails.

Bruges celebrates the Grande Kermesse on the 6th of May, in honor of the Precious Blood, which is on that day carried in procession from the chapel of Le Saint Sang to the cathedral. In the chapel of Le Saint Sang, the oldest Christian building in Belgium, is preserved the holiest of relics, the precious blood of our Lord, which was expressed from the sponge with which his sacred body was washed after the descent from the cross. It was brought from the Holy Land by Comte Thierry d’Alsace, one of the first and most distinguished of the early crusaders, and presented to the bishop of his native city, Bruges; where it has ever since remained, the object of the most faithful love and veneration.

Every year, on the 6th of May, the Bishop of Bruges and the canons of the cathedral go in procession to the chapel of Le Saint Sang, carry the relic, which is inclosed in a shrine of inestimable value, to the cathedral; high mass is sung, benediction given, and then the procession returns to the chapel, where, during the octave, the precious relic is exposed to the veneration of the faithful.

Bruges is one of the oldest and most Gothic of the Belgian towns; in the middle ages it was the great commercial entrepôt, canals intersect it in every direction, but trade has moved off to Antwerp and other cities, and Bruges is left with only the traditions of its former importance. It is, too, one of the quaintest of places; grass grows in the streets, and, ordinarily, it is the quietest of towns; consequently, the English affect it a great deal, particularly converts. In the most retired part of the town is the great convent of the Dames Anglaises; the chapel is magnificent; around the walls are tablets with the names of the Talbots, Giffords, Somersets, Middletons, and others who have died in the convent, and were its benefactors. The habit is beautiful, pure white with black veil; they follow the rule of St. Augustine, and are principally English; nothing can be more calm and peaceful than their retreat.

The Hôpital St. Jean is also well worth seeing, as its gallery of paintings contains many of the gems of Memling and other masters of the Flemish school. The hospital is under the charge of the Sœurs Hospitalières, who are also Augustinians, dress in white like the Dames Anglaises, but are not quite so elegantly picturesque.

The Palais de Justice, the beautiful little Hôtel de Ville, and the Chapel of the Saint Sang, surround the Grande Place. It was the eve of the Grande Kermesse when we arrived in Bruges, and all the country and adjoining towns had emptied into it; the streets and Places were crowded with peasants in every imaginable costume; women in round caps, pointed caps, peaks on top and wings on the side; every age and style was represented. Near the Grand Place is a belfry, immensely high, called the Carillon, with the most delicious chime of bells, which made music all the afternoon and evening. The bells of Bruges are the most famous in Belgium.

In the Grand Place two or three gymnasiums were in full operation; at all the Kermesses there are machines called moulins, like enormous rotary engines, with chariots for the girls and women, and horses for the boys and men, decorated with red and gold in the most fantastic manner. Some of the carriages were red, others blue, then yellow, and so on; round and round they went, the bands of music playing, the children screaming with enjoyment, the women waving their handkerchiefs; the people around looking on delightedly, some smoking, some drinking, all enjoying themselves. In another place, a circus was performing in broad daylight, clowns jumping and turning somersaults, boys standing on men’s heads, girls poised on the shoulders of other muscular individuals. The chimes were ringing their merriest, and the great bells of the cathedral and Notre Dame joined their loud voices to the chorus to celebrate the eve of the great festival.

Early on the morning of the feast we visited the Chapel of the Saint Sang, ascended the staircase; a priest sat behind a little altar, holding the precious reliquary; we kissed the relic, saw with our own eyes the crimson life-blood of our Blessed Redeemer, shed for us on Calvary; passed down the other side; and descended into the subterranean crypt, the oldest church in Flanders. Then we visited the cathedral and Notre Dame, looked at the beautiful pictures that adorn the walls, and meditated by the tombs of the bishops and old dukes of Burgundy. In Notre Dame are the tombs of Charles the Bold and Maria of Burgundy.

At ten, the high mass commenced in the cathedral; the Bishop of Bruges sang the mass, the Nuncio’s throne was opposite, and on the right of the Bishop of Bruges the Bishops of Ghent, Liège, and Tournai occupied the first of the canons’ stalls, crimson velvet hangings being thrown over the carved oak in honor of their rank. The canons were in their stalls; the seminarians and the rest of the clergy had the good places directly in front of the screen. In the cathedral of Bruges the high altar is divided from the rest of the church by great marble walls, on top of which were splendid hangings of Gobelin tapestry; and all that could be seen was to be done by peeping through the railing of the doors.

We left at the benediction, and made our way out, so as to see the procession, which would pass the Hôtel de Flandre. The lancers were drawn up in front of the cathedral, the streets were lined with soldiers, flags and streamers floated in the breeze. We had barely reached our window when we heard the approaching music, the splendid band of the lancers. After the cavalry, that opened the way and made the line, came the infantry; then the different parishes, headed by the banners, the boys in cassocks and surplices chanting, the girls in white veils and flowers—all that was beautiful. The women came out from the houses and strewed flowers and green leaves, so that the street looked like a carpet. In nearly every detachment was a girl dressed like the Blessed Virgin; in one, it was the Queen of Heaven—white dress, studded with stars, mantle and train of blue velvet, gemmed with golden stars, diadem and sceptre. In another, the Comfortress of the Afflicted; in another, the Mother of God; again, the Mater Dolorosa.

Then came one of the most beautiful divisions: boys dressed to represent the different saints of the city and churches—St. James; St. Sebastian, with his bow and arrows; one, St. Charles Borromeo, was perfect, mitre on the head, superb cross and chain, the crosier in his hand—the little fellow marched with as much dignity and grace as the five bishops who followed.

Immediately before the relic was borne a splendid statue of the Mother of Sorrows, in purple velvet, surrounded by the confraternity, dressed in purple, covered with large black lace veils, followed by the “Three Marys.” Some artist must have dressed and grouped them. The Blessed Virgin’s face was most exquisitely pure and sorrowful, her blue mantle and dress fell around her with perfect grace; the Magdalene supported her on one side, a beautiful girl, with long flowing hair, superbly dressed, her arms covered with splendid bracelets; on the other side was the third Mary, her arm thrown around the Blessed Virgin to support her.

Last of all came the clergy of the cathedral, the seminarians flinging clouds of incense, the canons in procession. The shrine was carried in turn by different canons; immediately after walked the Bishop of Bruges, giving his benediction, his train borne by three boys; then the three other bishops, and the Nuncio, in a superb cape and mitre, who likewise blessed the people. It was beautiful; the white dresses of the children, the red and gold vestments of the priests (all the vestments, of course, were red in honor of the Precious Blood), the splendid banners, the magnificent music, and the picturesque crowd, made an ensemble not easily forgotten.

In Ghent, the great procession of St. Macaire, which only takes place once in a century, was celebrated May 19, 1867, with extraordinary splendor, to implore his intercession for the preservation of Belgium from pestilence, the cholera, the typhus fever, and the cattle disease, which so desolated the country the previous year. The Cardinal of Malines, all the Bishops of Belgium, the Nuncio, and Bishop Mermillod, of Geneva, who preached the Jubilee, assisted. The city was crowded; over 100,000 strangers from all parts, even from France and Germany.

The Cathedral of St. Bavon is very old, dates from 940, and was in its gala dress. The shrine of St. Macaire, of solid silver, a present from the city of Mons two hundred years ago, was placed upon a temporary altar, erected in the middle of the transept, surrounded by thousands of lights, a canopy of evergreens and flowers overshadowed it, and the church was decorated with garlands of flowers that hung from the ceiling in immense festoons; hundreds of pennants suspended from the arched roof fluttered above our heads; and the coup d’œil from the lower part of the church, or from behind the main altar, was surpassingly beautiful.

The mass was sung by the Nuncio, in the presence of the cardinal and the other bishops. After the mass we looked at the paintings in all the chapels, saw the font where Charles V. was made a Christian, and by making the most of being strangers persuaded a polite young gentleman to show us the famous statue of Duquesnoy. Duquesnoy was one of the greatest sculptors of his day; we had seen the beautiful statue of St. Ursula in the mortuary chapel of the Princes of Tour and Taxis, in the church of the Sablon in Brussels, and were anxious to see the still more famous chef-d’œuvre in the Cathedral of Ghent.

Duquesnoy, unfortunately, was as wicked as he was talented, and for some great crime was condemned to be executed. While in prison he finished his last great work, the recumbent figure of one of the bishops of Ghent. He devoted his best energies to the task, hoping by that means to obtain his pardon; the result was a grand success; he had surpassed all his former efforts; but even the great triumph could not obtain grace for him; the law was inexorable; he must die. He asked to see once more his beloved statue, upon which he had devoted his lonely prison life; he was taken before it, and in despair and rage he seized a hammer and broke off the fingers of the right hand. Before he could inflict further damage he was hurried off, and burnt before the church of St. Nicholas.

We rambled around the cathedral in every direction, looking perseveringly at the right hands of all the statues, but all the fingers were perfect; where was Duquesnoy’s? Men were going round clattering the keys, pushing the people out, priests were in all corners, telling everybody the church must be cleared to make ready for the procession. We made a beseeching appeal to a priest, who stood upon the steps leading to the choir, that we were strangers, probably never would be in Ghent again in our lives—couldn’t we see the statue? He gave a wink to one of the ushers, and the young gentleman responded by inviting us up the steps, and into the choir we hurried.

There were three thrones, two on the epistle side for the Cardinal and Nuncio, one on the gospel side for the Bishop of Ghent; the other bishops had crimson velvet chairs and pries-dieu. Behind the throne of the Bishop was the famous statue; the fingers have been repaired, but the line is visible where the unfortunate wretch wreaked his vengeance. Not only did we see the statue well, but our polite guide insisted upon our examining closely the shrine of St. Macaire; so we had a chance of admiring the beautiful chasing of the repository of the relics.

After dinner, we took possession of our window, and at five the procession came in sight. First, the lancers to make the line; then the charitable associations of Ghent, the confréries of St. Francis Xavier, free schools, etc., each headed by superb banners. The gem of this part was the Jesuit College of St. Barbe, forming a group—the Triumph of St. Aloysius of Gonzaga. The choirboys led the van, then the three cardinals—Borromeo, Bellarmin, and Gonzaga, preceded by pages bearing their escutcheons, followed by others carrying their trains; the statue of St. Aloysius, followed by his brother Rudolph, Duke of Mantua, preceded by heralds bearing the arms of the house of Gonzaga; the young nobles walked behind, and the avenue was formed by halberdiers in the dress of the time. The dressing of this group was gorgeous; the sons of the first families of Flanders arrayed in the most magnificent style. We have never seen it equalled on the stage.

Then followed in endless succession the religious orders of women, the Sisters of Charity with the deaf and dumb; the Sisters of the Visitation with their free schools; the Sisters of St. Joseph; the Black Sisters, who nurse the sick; the Beguines from the Petit and Grand Beguinage with their free schools; each division bearing patron saints decorated in the most beautiful manner, and arranged in the most artistic style.

The parishes were in full force; each parish was a grand procession by itself; the schools and confréries of each church with its insignia. The Living Rosary was exquisite; bands of young girls reciting the rosary; the Five Joyful Mysteries in white, with white roses and ribbons; the Five Sorrowful, white and violet; the Five Glorious, white and red—all with gorgeous banners and streamers.

The parish of St. John the Baptist was distinguished by a group of the church militant, suffering, and triumphant. The church militant, young girls dressed in white, green wreaths, ribbons, and gauze veils floating around, indicating the immortal hopes of the church; some bearing on velvet cushions the triple crown of the Pope and the emblems of episcopal authority; the cross borne aloft, crowned with garlands, and the words, in blazing letters, “Portæ inferorum non prævalebunt contra te!” The church suffering, girls in white, purple sashes and wreaths, covered with black lace veils, bearing the instruments of the Passion, the inscription on the cross, “Ave crux, spes unica!” The church triumphant, girls in white, veils of cloth-of-gold, dresses studded with golden stars, some bearing the banners of the Blessed Sacrament, others golden palms of victory; the cross golden, with the legend, surrounded by a halo of glory, “In hoc signo vinces!”

And so passed on the different parishes, each followed by the clergy of the church in the richest vestments. The religious orders of men came next, and lastly the parish of the cathedral of St. Bavon with the precious relics of St. Macaire; the free schools, the confréries, the congregation, and the most exquisite historical group, representing the courts of the King of France and the Comte de Flandre as they assisted at the translation of the relics of St. Macaire in 1067—the soldiers, archers, chaplains, standard-bearers, and pages in the most accurate costumes. The King and Queen of France and the Comte de Flandre were magnificently dressed; no tinsel, but superb diadems and robes of velvet and gold.

The “Slaves of Mary” formed a beautiful group; a lovely statue of the Blessed Virgin, borne aloft, from which hung golden chains, carried by young ladies, dressed in white, enveloped in white lace veils, the chains binding them together. It was difficult to choose where all was so beautiful, but we were almost tempted to say it was the gem. Add to this magnificence the streets adorned with flags, houses covered with green branches and flowers, balconies with blue, crimson, and yellow velvet hangings glittering with gold, and some idea may be formed of the uniquely beautiful spectacle.

The seminary, the curés in surplice and ermine hanging from the left arm, the deans in copes, the canons of the cathedral, the bishops of Namur, Liège, Bruges, Tournai, Geneva, and Ghent in mitre and cope, preceding the shrine of St. Macaire, borne by priests, surrounded by lights; then the Nuncio; and, last of all, the Cardinal of Malines—all the bishops giving the episcopal benediction, the people blessing themselves in the most earnest, reverential manner.

Well may Ghent have been proud of her procession! The Cardinal of Malines said it could not have been seen anywhere but in Belgium, and nowhere in Belgium but in Ghent. It was two hours passing our window, and five hours going from the Chateau des Espagnols, the old Abbey of St. Bavon, to the cathedral.

The Grande Kermesse of Brussels is in July, the first Sunday after the 13th, the anniversary of the translation of the Très-Saint-Sacrement de Miracle from St. Catharine’s to the beautiful collegiate church of St. Gudule. In the fourteenth century, in the year 1370, sixteen hosts were stolen by the Jews from the tabernacle of St. Catharine, carried to their synagogue, and on Good Friday they assembled to gratify their hate; they placed them upon a table, stabbed them—blood flowed. Shocked at what they had done, but not converted, even by what they had seen, they tried to get rid of them, and induced a woman to carry them to their brethren in Cologne. The woman had been recently converted, and although, from love of gold, she consented to conceal the crime, she determined to reveal all to the priest who had received her into the church. She carried them to him, avowing the part she had taken in the whole affair; the authorities arrested the Jews, the guilty ones were executed, the rest banished from Brussels, and their property confiscated.

St. Catharine’s was a chapel of St. Gudule’s; so the clergy went in grand procession, followed by the reigning sovereigns, nobility, and dignitaries, to bring them to St. Gudule’s. The Jews had destroyed some of them; there only remained three, which are the especial objects of veneration in Brussels. The synagogue where the outrage was committed was bought by Comte de Salagar, and converted into a chapel; but as it was small, a beautiful chapelle expiatoire, designed by Pugin, has been erected adjoining. Attached to it is a community of ladies, semi-religious, who perpetually adore the Blessed Sacrament in the spot where it was profaned; besides their office of perpetual adoration, they devote themselves to good works pertaining to the Blessed Sacrament; they make vestments for poor churches and missions, instruct children for the first communion, visit the sick, and prepare the dying for the holy viaticum.

Where once the most cruel hate was shown, now the most ardent love is manifested. The sanctuary is always perfumed with the choicest flowers, the altar blazes with light, and the incense of prayer and adoration is ever offered, to atone for the awful insult. On Holy Thursday, the ladies of Brussels send their richest jewels to adorn the repository, which is always in the old synagogue; and when one glances from the tablet, which tells that on this spot the shocking deed was perpetrated, he beholds, enthroned on high, the holy of holies, surrounded by diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and pearls.

The Très-Saint-Sacrement de Miracle is preserved in St. Gudule’s; Charles V. built the beautiful chapel of the Blessed Sacrament, and the superb windows were presented by his royal sisters, the Queens of Portugal and Hungary, his brother, Ferdinand, King of the Romans, and Francis I. of France. The sanctuary is surrounded by a cordon of lamps, always burning, and the monstrance presented by the Duc d’Arenberg is ablaze with jewels. When the Pays Bas were under the rule of Austria, the Austrian sovereigns lavished upon this chapel every mark of affection; the most superb laces, worth thousands of francs, and jewels; and the unfortunate Marie Antoinette sent her wedding-necklace of diamonds to be suspended around the monstrance.

The week before the festival, a retreat is always given in the Chapelle Expiatoire, and during the octave there are sermons by some famous preacher every day at St. Gudule’s. One year the retreat was given by Père Hermann, in religion Frère Augustin Marie du Très-Saint-Sacrement, a converted Jew, then a bare-footed Carmelite. He was a great artist, Liszt’s best pupil, the idol of the salons of Paris, Vienna, Brussels, and all the capitals of Europe, and was converted by the Blessed Sacrament in a miraculous manner. He told us the history of his conversion. Said he: “I was invited to play the organ in a church in Paris for some great charity. I consented. I played. At the benediction I ceased, I looked on; when in an instant I felt that I knew that God was in the Blessed Sacrament. I fell on my knees. I adored, and for some time was insensible to all around. But, although convinced, I was not converted. For three months I continued my artist-life, when, one day in St. Gudule’s, in the chapel of the Blessed Sacrament, I received my coup de grâce. I resisted no longer; I became a Catholic; and you see me now before you, a Carmelite.” We asked him if it was true that he had been such a great artist. “Yes,” he answered; “that is, in the history of music Liszt considered me his best pupil; as such, I accompanied him in his tours, and he presented me to all the crowned heads as his future successor.” His preaching was wonderful, always on the Blessed Sacrament, and when he turned to the tabernacle his countenance was inflamed with love.

The grand procession leaves St. Gudule’s after the High Mass, winds its way through the streets, adorned in the most gorgeous manner—military music, soldiers, the different parishes with their respective clergy, children strewing flowers, and priests swinging censers before the Très-Saint-Sacrement de Miracle, which is borne under a magnificent canopy by the deacon and sub-deacon of the Mass, followed by the dean. Through the kneeling crowds they march until they reach the picturesque Grande Place, and there, on an altar ornamented with the national colors, the Blessed Sacrament is exposed for adoration.

At that moment it is superb; the military form the square, the beautifully dressed children kneel in the centre, the clergy are ranged on the high flight of steps leading up to the altar—incense is burning from huge urns; the dean intones the Tantum Ergo, it is taken up by hundreds—and then the bell rings, the drums roll, the soldiers present arms, the dean raises the Très-Saint-Sacrement de Miracle, and gives the benediction to the Hôtel de Ville, and in blessing that hall blesses the city.

The Assumption is the festival of Antwerp, and on that day the grand church of Notre Dame is en fête; therefore, as the mother rejoices, the children must be happy. The church is the largest and richest in Belgium; seven aisles wide; the pillars are so numerous, it looks like a forest; the style is simple, but very fine, pure Gothic. The main altar was splendidly illuminated by hundreds of wax candles, and all down the nave the most magnificent banners were suspended from the columns, producing a superb relief. The music was excellent, Haydn’s Imperial Mass, with orchestra and organ and admirably trained voices. Near the main altar are the chefs-d’œuvre of Rubens—the Ascent and Descent from the Cross.

When we left the cathedral, we stood for a while contemplating the grand tower, from the top of which on a clear day can be seen Malines, Brussels, Bruges, and Ghent. The tower is a mass of the most elaborate tracery, and the filigree carving is so delicate, Charles V. said it should be put under glass, and Napoleon compared it to Malines lace. There is a delicious carillon or chime of ninety-nine bells, which ring every ten minutes, and are played by machinery, put up in 1540; the great bell, named Charles after its godfather, Charles V., requires sixteen men to ring it; consequently, it is only used on great festivals; and as this was the Grande Kermesse of Antwerp, we heard it.

Near by the cathedral is the fountain cast in iron by Quentin Matsys, one of the great Flemish painters, when he was a blacksmith. The story is he fell in love with the daughter of an artist, who would not consent to the marriage until the blacksmith should also become an artist. So Quentin Matsys left the forge for the pencil, and became one of the glories of his country. His tomb is in the cathedral, his statue ornaments one of the great Places, and his memory is ardently cherished by his native city.

We were in front of the Hôtel de Ville, a gloomy looking building, built by the Duke of Alva in the gloomiest Spanish style, and saw the procession pass. It was very fine; the banners of Antwerp are unequalled in the northern part of Europe; they were the glories of the procession. The statue of the Blessed Virgin was gorgeously dressed in a mass of gold, lace, and precious stones. The banners were sufficiently splendid in the beginning, but as the canopy over the Blessed Sacrament appeared, they became more and more dazzling, perfectly resplendent in the bright sun. The golden lamps borne around the canopy added to the gorgeousness, the vestments of the clergy corresponded; and as every one in the procession carried a light, it was like a stream of fire quivering along the Place. Files of soldiers made the outer line, and splendid military bands played at intervals.

One of the events of this Grande Kermesse was the unveiling of the statue of Teniers, another great Flemish painter. Antwerp is justly proud of her artist sons, and in her Places can be seen the statues of Rubens, Vandyck, Quentin Matsys, and Teniers—children whom the mother delights to honor; but greatest of all her glories is the grand Cathedral of Notre Dame, which speaks for the faith of the past that could raise such a glorious monument to the living God.