THE BÉGUINAGE--CHURCHES--THE RELIC OF THE HOLY BLOOD
Bruges is one of the most Catholic towns in Catholic Flanders.
Convents and religious houses of all sorts have always flourished
there, and at present there are no less than forty-five of these
establishments. Probably one of the most interesting to English
people is the Couvent des Dames Anglaises, which was founded in
1629 by the English Augustinian Nuns of Ste. Monica's Convent at
Louvain. Its chapel, with a fine dome of the eighteenth century,
contains a beautiful altar built of marbles brought from Egypt,
Greece, and Persia; and amongst its possessions is the rosary of
Catherine of Braganza (Queen of Charles II. of England), who died
at Bruges.
And then there is the Béguinage. There are Béguinages at Amsterdam
and Breda, but with this exception of Holland, Belgium is now the
only country in Europe where these societies, the origin of whose
name is uncertain, are to be found. They consist of spinsters or
widows, who, though bound by a few conventual oaths during their
connection with the society, may return to the world. On entering
each sister pays a sum of money to the general funds, and at first
lives for a time along with other novices. At the end of this term
of probation they are at liberty to occupy one of the small dwellings
within the precincts of the Béguinage, and keep house for themselves.
They spend their time in sewing, making lace, educating poor children,
visiting the sick, or any form of good works for which they may
have a taste. They are under a Mother Superior, the 'Grande Dame,'
appointed by the Bishop of the diocese, and must attend the services
in the church of their Béguinage. Thus the Béguine, living generally
in a house of her own, and free to reenter the world, occupies a
different position from the nuns of the better-known Orders, though
so long as she remains a member of her society she is bound by the
vows of chastity and obedience to her ecclesiastical superiors.
[Illustration: BRUGES. The Béguinage.]
The Béguinage at Bruges, founded in the thirteenth century, is
situated near the Minnewater, or Lac d'Amour, which every visitor
is taken to see. This sheet of placid water, bordered by trees,
which was a harbour in the busy times, is one of the prettiest
bits of Bruges; and they say that if you go there at midnight,
and stand upon the bridge which crosses it on the south, any wish
which you may form will certainly come to pass. It is better to go
alone, for strict silence is necessary to insure the working of
this charm. A bridge over the water which runs from the Lac d'Amour
leads through a gateway into the Béguinage, where a circle of small
houses--whitewashed, with stepped gables, and green woodwork on the
windows--surrounds a lawn planted with tall trees. There is a view
of the spire of Notre Dame beyond the roofs, a favourite subject for
the painters who come here in numbers on summer afternoons. The
Church of Ste. Elizabeth, an unpretentious building, stands on one
side of the lawn; and within it, many times a day, the Sisters may
be seen on their knees repeating the Offices of the Church. When
the service is finished they rise, remove their white head-coverings,
and return demurely to their quaint little homes.
Bruges has, needless to say, many churches, but nothing which can
be compared to the magnificent Cathedral of Antwerp, to the imposing
front of Ste. Gudule at Brussels, or to the huge mass which forms
such a conspicuous landmark for several leagues round Malines.
Still, some of the churches are not without interest: the Cathedral
of St. Sauveur, where the stalls of the Knights of the Order of
the Golden Fleece, which was founded at Bruges, are to be seen in
the choir, and over one of them the arms of Edward IV. of England;
the curious little Church of Jerusalem, with its 'Holy Sepulchre,'
an exact copy of the traditionary grave in Palestine--a dark vault,
entered by a passage so low that one must crawl through it, and
where a light burns before a figure which lies there wrapped in
a linen cloth; and the Church of Notre Dame, which contains some
treasures, such as a lovely white marble statue of the Virgin and
Child, from the chisel of Michael Angelo; the tombs of Charles
the Bold of Burgundy and his daughter--the 'Gentle Mary,' whose
untimely death at Bruges in 1482, after a short married life, saved
her from witnessing the misfortunes which clouded the last years
of her husband, the Archduke Maximilian; and a portion of the Holy
Cross, which came to Bruges in the fifteenth century. The story
goes that a rich merchant, a Dutchman from Dordrecht, Schoutteeten
by name, who lived at Bruges, was travelling through Syria in the
year 1380. One day, when journeying with a caravan, he saw a man
hiding something in a wood, and, following him, discovered that
it was a box, which he suspected might contain something valuable.
Mijnheer Schoutteeten appropriated the box, and carried it home
from Syria to Dordrecht, where a series of miracles began to occur
of such a nature as to make it practically certain that the box
(or some wood which it contained, for on this point the legend is
vague) was a part of the true Cross! In course of time Schoutteeten
died in the odour of sanctity, having on his death-bed expressed a
wish that the wood which he had brought from the East should be
given to the Church of Notre Dame at Bruges. His widow consoled
herself by taking a second husband, who, Uutenhove by name, fulfilled
the pious request of his predecessor, and thus another relic was
added to the large collection which is preserved in the various
churches and religious houses of Bruges. It was brought to Flanders
in the year 1473, and must have been a source of considerable revenue
to the Church since then.
The buildings of Notre Dame, with the well-known Gruthuise Mansion
which adjoins them, and the singularly graceful spire, higher than
the Belfry tower, rising from the exquisite portico called 'Het
Paradijs,' form a very beautiful group; but, with this exception,
there is nothing remarkable about the churches of Bruges. One of
them, however, has a peculiar interest--the Chapelle du Saint-Sang,
which stands in the Place du Bourg in the corner next to the Hôtel
de Ville. It is built in two stories. The lower, a dark, solemn
chapel, like a crypt, was dedicated to St. Basil at an early period,
and is one of the oldest buildings in Bruges. The greater part
of the upper story does not date further back than the fifteenth
century. But it is not the fabric itself, venerable though that is,
but what it contains, that makes this place the Holy of Holies in
the religious life of Bruges; for here, in a costly shrine of gold
and silver adorned with precious stones, they guard the wonderful
relic which was brought from Palestine in the time of the Crusaders
by Thierry d'Alsace, Count of Flanders, and which is still worshipped
by thousands of devout believers every year.
Thierry d'Alsace, the old chroniclers tell us, visited the Holy
Land four times, and was the leader of the Flemish warriors who,
roused by the eloquence of St. Bernard of Clairvaux, joined the
second Crusade in the summer of 1147. He had married Sybilla, sister
of Baldwin, King of Jerusalem; and when the time came for his return
to Europe, his brother-in-law and the Patriarch of Jerusalem resolved
to reward his services by giving him a part of the most valuable relic
which the Church in Palestine possessed, which was a small quantity
of a red liquid, said to be blood and water, which, according to
immemorial tradition, Joseph of Arimathæa had preserved after he
had washed the dead body of Jesus.
The earlier history of this relic is unknown, and is as obscure
as that of the other 'Relics of the Holy Blood' which are to be
found in various places. But there can be no doubt whatever that
in the twelfth century the Christians at Jerusalem believed that
it had been in existence since the day of the Crucifixion. It was,
therefore, presented to Thierry with great solemnity in the Church
of the Holy Sepulchre during the Christmas festivals of 1148. The
Patriarch, having displayed the vessel which contained it to the
people, divided the contents into two portions, one of which he
poured into a small vial, the mouth of which was carefully sealed
up and secured with gold wire. This vessel was next enclosed in
a crystal tube, shut at the ends with golden stoppers, to which
ax chain of silver was attached. Then the Patriarch gave the tube
to Baldwin, from whose hands Thierry, kneeling on the steps of
the altar, received it with profound emotion.[*]
[Footnote *: Canon van Haecke, _Le Précieux Sang à Bruges_ (fourth
edition), pp. 95, 96.]
The Count, however, did not think his hands, which had shed so
much human blood, worthy to convey the relic home; and he entrusted
it to Leonius, chaplain of the Flemish Army, who hung it round
his neck, and so carried it to Bruges, where he arrived in May,
1150, along with Thierry, who, mounted on a white horse led by two
barefooted monks, and holding the relic in his hand, was conducted
in state to the Bourg, where he deposited the precious object in
the Chapel of St. Basil, which is commonly known as the Chapel
of the Holy Blood.
After some time the relic was found to be dry, but, strange to say,
it became liquid, we are told upon the authority of Pope Clement
V., every Friday, 'usually at six o'clock.' This weekly miracle
continued till about the year 1325. Since then it has never taken
place except once, in 1388, when the vial containing the relic
was being transferred to a new crystal tube; and on this occasion
William, Bishop of Ancona, was astonished to see the relic turning
redder than usual, and some drops, as of newly-shed blood, flowing
within the vial, which he was holding in his hand. Many notable
persons who were present, one of them the Bishop of Lincoln, testified
to this event!
Other miracles wrought through the agency of this relic are recorded.
A child which had been born dead was taken to the shrine, and came
to life after three days. A young girl who had suffered for twenty
months from an issue of blood, and for whom the doctors could do
nothing, was cured by the application of a piece of cloth which had
been used to cover the relic. Another girl who had been paralyzed
for a long time, being carried into the Chapel of St. Basil, was
restored to complete strength the moment she kissed the crystal tube.
In December, 1689, a fire broke out in the Bourg, and threatened to
destroy the Hôtel de Ville; but a priest brought forth the tube
containing the relic, and held it up before the flames, which were
instantly extinguished. These and many other similar miracles,
confirmed by the oath of witnesses and received by the Church at
the present day as authentic, make the relic an object of profound
devotion to the people of Bruges and the peasants of the surrounding
country, who go in crowds to bow before it twice every Friday,
when it is exhibited for public worship.
It was nearly lost on several occasions in the days of almost constant
war, and during the French Revolution it was concealed for some
years in the house of a private citizen. The Chapel of St. Basil
suffered from the disturbed condition of the country, and when
Napoleon came to Bruges in 1810 it was such a complete wreck that
the magistrates were on the point of sweeping it away altogether.
But Napoleon saved it, declaring that when he looked on the ruins
he fancied himself once more amongst the antiquities of Egypt,
and that to destroy them would be a crime. Four years after the
Battle of Waterloo the relic was brought out from its hiding-place,
and in 1856 the chapel was restored from the designs of two English
architects, William Brangwyn and Thomas Harper King.[*]
[Footnote *: Gilliat-Smith, _The Story of Bruges_, p. 103.]
On the first Monday after the 2nd of May every year the town of
Bruges is full of strangers, who have come to witness the celebrated
'Procession of the Holy Blood,' which there is good reason to believe
has taken place annually (except during the French Revolution) for
the last 755 years.
Very early in the day a Mass is celebrated in the Upper Chapel
of the Holy Blood, which is crowded to the doors. In the crypt,
or lower chapel, where many people are kneeling before the sacred
images, the gloom, the silence, the bent figures dimly seen in the
faint yellow light of a few tapers, make up a weird scene all the
morning till about nine o'clock, when the relic, in its 'châsse,'
or tabernacle, is carried to the Cathedral of St. Sauveur, and
placed on the high altar, while a pontifical Mass is celebrated
by one of the Bishops. When that is done, the procession starts
on its march along the chief thoroughfares of the town. The houses
are decorated with flags, and candles burn in almost every window.
Through the narrow streets, between crowds of people standing on
the pavements or looking down from the windows, while the church
bells ring and wreaths of incense fill the air, bands of music,
squadrons of cavalry, crucifixes, shrines, images, the banners
of the parishes and the guilds, heralds in their varied dresses,
bareheaded pilgrims from England, France, and other countries,
pages, maidens in white, bearing palms, or crowns of thorn, or
garlands, priests with relics, acolytes and chanting choristers,
pass slowly along. The buffoonery of the Middle Ages, when giants,
ballet-dancers, and mythological characters figured in the scene,
has been abandoned; but Abraham and Isaac, King David and King
Solomon, Joseph and the Virgin Mary, the Magi, and many saints
and martyrs, walk in the long procession, which is closed by the
Bishops and clergy accompanying the gorgeous shrine containing
the small tube of something red like blood, before which all the
people sink to the ground, and remain kneeling till it has passed.
The proceedings of the day end with a benediction at an altar erected
in front of the Hôtel de Ville. The Bourg is filled from side to side
with those who have taken part in the procession, and by thousands
of spectators who have followed them from all parts of the town to
witness the closing scene. The crowd gathers under the trees and
along the sides of the square, the centre of which, occupied by
the processionists, is a mass of colour, above which the standards
and images which have been carried through the streets rise against
the dark background of the Hôtel de Ville and the Chapel of the
Holy Blood. The relic is taken out of the châsse, and a priest,
standing on the steps of the altar high above the crowd, holds it
up to be worshipped. Everyone bows low, and then, in dead silence,
the mysterious object is carried into the chapel, and with this
the chief religious ceremony of the year at Bruges is brought to
a close.
There are sights in Bruges that night, within a stone's-throw of
the Chapel of the Holy Blood, which are worth seeing, they contrast
so strangely with all this fervour of religion.
The curtain has fallen upon the drama of the day. The flags are
furled and put aside. The vestments are in the sacristy. Shrines,
canopies, censers, all the objects carried in the procession, have
disappeared into the churches. The church doors are locked, and the
images are left to stand all night without so much as one solitary
worshipper kneeling before them. The Bourg is empty and dark, steeped
in black shadows at the door of the chapel where the relic has
been laid to rest. It is all quiet there, but a stroll through
the Rue de l'Âne Aveugle and across the canal by the bridge which
leads to the purlieus of the fish-markets brings one upon another
scene. Every second house, if not every house, is a café, 'herberg,'
or 'estaminet,' with a bar and sanded floor and some rough chairs and
tables; and on the night of the Procession of the Holy Blood they are
crowded to the doors. Peasants from the country are there in great
force. For some days before and after the sacred festival the
villagers are in the habit of coming into Bruges--whole families of
them, father and mother, sons and daughters, all in their best finery.
They walk through the streets, following the route by which the
Holy Blood is carried, telling their beads and saying their prayers,
crossing themselves, and kneeling at any image of Christ, or Madonna,
or saint, which they may notice at the street corners. It is curious
to watch their sunburnt faces and uncouth ways as they slouch along,
their hands busy with their beads, and their lips never ceasing
for a moment to mutter prayer after prayer. They follow in the
wake of the Procession of the Holy Blood, or wait to fall upon
their knees when it passes and receive the blessing of the Bishop,
who walks with fingers raised, scattering benedictions from side
to side. In the evening, before starting for home, they go to the
cafés.
As evening passes into night the sounds of music and dancing are
heard. At the doors people sit drinking round tables placed on the
pavement or in the rank, poisonous gutter. The hot air is heavy
with the smell of decayed fish. Inside the cafés men and women,
old and young, are dancing in the fetid atmosphere to jingling
pianos or accordions. The heat, the close, sour fumes of musty
clothing, tobacco, beer, gin, fried fish, and unwashed humanity,
are overpowering. There are disgusting sights in all directions.
Fat women, with red, perspiring faces and dirty fingers, still
clutching their rosaries; tawdry girls, field-workers, with flushed
faces, dancing with country lads, most of whom are more than half
tipsy; ribald jokes and laughter and leering eyes; reeling, drunken
men; maudlin affection in one corner, and jealous disputing in
another; crying babies; beer and gin spilt on the tables; and all
sorts of indecency and hideous details which Swift might have gloated
over or Hogarth painted.
This is how the day of the Holy Blood procession is finished by
many of the countryfolk. The brutal cabaret comes after the prayers
and adoration of the morning! It is a world of contrasts. But soon
the lights are out, the shutters are put up, the last customer goes
staggering homewards, and the Belfry speaks again, as it spoke
when the sweet singer lay dreaming at the Fleur-de-Blé:
'In the ancient town of Bruges,
In the quaint old Flemish city,
As the evening shades descended,
Low and loud and sweetly blended,
Low at times and loud at times,
And changing like a poet's rhymes,
Rang the beautiful wild chimes
From the Belfry in the market
Of the ancient town of Bruges.
Then, with deep sonorous clangour,
Calmly answering their sweet anger,
When the wrangling bells had ended,
Slowly struck the clock eleven,
And, from out the silent heaven,
Silence on the town descended.
Silence, silence everywhere,
On the earth and in the air,
Save that footsteps here and there
Of some burgher home returning,
By the street lamps faintly burning,
For a moment woke the echoes
Of the ancient town of Bruges.'
[Illustration: BRUGES. Quai des Marbriers.]
THE BRUGES MATINS--BATTLE OF THE GOLDEN SPURS