PAGEANTS AND PROCESSIONS
The Belgians are very fond of pageants and processions. In each town
there are several, and in all villages at least one, every year. It
has been so for hundreds of years, and these spectacles must have been
magnificent in the Middle Ages, when the narrow streets were full of
knights in glittering armour riding on their strong Flemish war-horses
decked with embroidered saddle-cloths, bishops and priests in gorgeous
vestments, standard-bearers, trumpeters, heralds in their robes of
office, images of saints borne high above the crowd, mingled with
jesters and the enormous giants with grotesque faces which were
carried along on these occasions. The tall houses with their
projecting wooden gables were gay with flags. The windows and
balconies were hung with rich tapestry, and from them the wives and
daughters of nobles and wealthy merchants looked down upon the scene
below. A Queen of France once rode in a procession through the streets
of Bruges, and was moved to jealousy by the sight of so many ladies
decked in jewels as rich as her own. "I thought," she said, "that I
alone was Queen, but here I have hundreds of rivals."
[Illustration: AT THE KERMESSE.]
One of the most splendid of these pageants was in the summer of the
year 1468, when an English Princess, Margaret of York, married a
Prince called Charles the Bold, who was Duke of Burgundy. On that
occasion there was a famous tournament in the market-place of Bruges,
in which many valiant knights took part. It was called the "Tournament
of the Golden Tree." Two years ago, in the summer of 1907, there was a
pageant at Bruges, when the marriage festivities of Charles the Bold
and Margaret of York were represented. A young Belgian lady took the
part of the English Princess, and a Belgian gentleman appeared as
Charles the Bold. There were knights in armour, ladies of the Court of
Burgundy, heralds, men-at-arms, and pages, all dressed in the
picturesque costumes of the Middle Ages. There was tilting in the
lists, when lances were broken, and, in short, everything was done
very nearly as it was 440 years ago. This spectacle, which was
produced on three days, was attended by thousands of people, who came
from all parts of Belgium to see it. It was a very good example of how
well the Belgians can manage a pageant, and how popular these shows
are with the people.
A very celebrated pageant takes place every year at Bruges, the
"Procession of the Holy Blood," which devout Catholics from every
country in Europe attend. There is a small chapel in that town, where
they keep, in a crystal tube, what is said to be some of the blood of
our Lord. It has been there for more than 700 years. The tube is
preserved in a beautiful case adorned with precious stones, which is
carried through the town on the first Monday after May 2. The houses
are decorated with flags, and candles burn in almost every window.
Through the 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,
heralds in their varied dresses, bareheaded pilgrims from England,
France, and other countries, maidens in white, bearing palms or crowns
of thorn or garlands--priests and chanting choristers, move slowly
along, and, when the relic of the Holy Blood passes, all the people
sink to the ground. Bruges, usually so empty, is always crowded on
that day.
Seven or eight years ago at Lierre, a town near Antwerp, I saw three
processions in one month, each of which showed the Belgian fondness
for such things. One was the procession of St. Gommarius, the patron
saint of the town, when a golden shrine, said to contain his bones,
was carried through the streets, just as the relic of the Holy Blood
is carried through Bruges. There were a great many little children in
that procession, dressed as angels and saints--in white, pale green,
blue, crimson, and other colours. Some had wreaths of flowers on
their heads, and some carried lighted tapers. They all seemed proud of
taking part in the procession. The smallest, who were tiny mites, with
their mothers walking with them to take care of them, were very tired
at the end, for they had to walk slowly for hours on the hard stones,
stopping often before sacred images, when the priests burned incense,
and all the people went down on their knees. This, like that at
Bruges, is a religious procession, and there are many others of the
same kind all over Belgium.
Another procession was in honour of an old couple, who had been
married for fifty years. They were poor people, and the parish was
celebrating their "golden wedding." There was a service in the
Cathedral of St. Gommarius, and when that was finished the old man and
his wife were put in a carriage and four. They were neatly dressed,
and each had a large bouquet of yellow flowers. At the head of each
horse walked a young man, leading it by a long yellow ribbon. In front
of the carriage a band of musicians played, and behind it came a
number of peasants, all in their best clothes. They wore white cotton
gloves and yellow wedding-favours. The man and his wife, who were
evidently feeble as well as very old, seemed rather bored, but all the
people in the procession were in high spirits, for they were on their
way to a good dinner paid for by the parish.
A few nights after that there was a tremendous noise of music in the
market-place, and another procession was formed, which marched off
round the town, and at last stopped before the door of a house. Here
they remained for a long time. There was a great deal of cheering, and
the band played tune after tune, finishing up with the Belgian
National Anthem. And what do you think it was all about? A boy whose
parents lived in the house had gained a prize at school. That was all;
but it was an excuse for a procession, music, and drinking healths.
Not long ago a young man won a prize at a great School of Music in
Brussels called the _Conservatoire_, and so his native town must needs
have a procession. There were two bands, a number of flags, and
several carriages, in one of which the young fellow sat, bowing from
side to side as he was driven through the streets to a café, at which
what they call the _vin d'honneur_, or cup of honour, was served.
In the same town two years ago the football team of a regiment
quartered there won a cup, and there was a long procession of soldiers
and townsmen in honour of the event. The cup was carried in triumph on
a platform adorned with wreaths, and the crowd shouted as if the
soldiers were returning victorious from war.
The Belgians have always been the same in their love of such displays.
Long ago their country was oppressed by the Spaniards, who killed and
tortured many of them without mercy. But that made no difference, and
their sorrows were soon forgotten if their conquerors provided some
pageant to amuse them. A circus procession of buffoons, with
dromedaries, elephants, sham giants, and pasteboard whales and
dragons, seems to have consoled them for all their misery.