_Bruges in the Days of Charles the Good, etc._
Of the actual buildings of Charles's day only a few fragments remain:
the Chapel of St. Basil, the lower part of the tower of the present
cathedral, and perhaps some portion of the Church of Notre Dame; of
those associated with his tragic end or the bloody scenes which
followed, in all probability no stone is left.
His palace, called the Loove, which he himself had built, has long since
been swept away; its site is now occupied by the Palais de Justice. The
old Church of St. Peter, where his funeral Mass was celebrated, was
pulled down at the close of the seventeen hundreds, of the church which
took its place only the chancel now remains, and even this no longer
serves its original purpose. Some years ago it was converted into a
tavern, and it is now a warehouse. St. Donatian's, the scene of
Charles's death, and of the Erembalds' last stand for life and liberty,
was destroyed at the Revolution. It stood just opposite the Hôtel de
Ville, on the site where now, under the shade of spreading sycamore and
chestnut trees, the flower market is held, and the statue of Van Eyck in
the centre of this square marks the spot where Charles is said to have
fallen.
The débris of the cathedral was carried all over Flanders. A portion of
it is said to have been used for the construction of a château which
stands some little way off the high road on the right-hand side between
Steenbrugge and Lophem, about three miles from Bruges. It is a pleasant
enough place to look at in its beautiful wooded grounds, but the country
folk will tell you that ill fortune has always followed those who have
dwelt there.
Charles's name is also associated with the beautiful Church of Notre
Dame. Here, in 1091, a chapter of secular priests was installed, Charles
provided for the endowment of half the canonicates, and when, in 1116,
the building was destroyed by fire, it was he who restored it.
Tradition says that the main portion of the present church was
constructed in 1180 or thereabouts by Gertrude of Alsace, the widow of
Rodolphe de Nesle, Châtelain of Bruges, and curiously enough a scion of
the house of Erembald, but as Charles's church was only completed in
1120, and it is not likely that a comparatively new and probably
magnificent structure would have been deliberately pulled down--and
there is no record of its having been accidentally destroyed by fire or
otherwise--it may well be that Charles in reality only built a portion
of the new church, perhaps the nave and the adjoining aisles, and that
what Gertrude did, sixty years later, was to complete his unfinished
work. If this be so, the greater part of the present building owes its
origin to Charles the Good.
In the Church of Notre Dame we perhaps also get a glimpse of the
magnificent Bertulph himself. Of its chapter a certain Germanus was the
first provost, who in all probability at the time of his appointment was
quite a youth, for shortly afterwards he went to reside at Louvain, in
order to complete his theological studies, and one Bertulph was
appointed to act as superior during his absence. What we are told of
the character and disposition of this ecclesiastic coincides so nearly
with the character and disposition ascribed to the redoubtable Provost
of Bruges, that, bearing in mind the identity of their name, not a
common one in those days in Flanders, and the intimate connection which
we shall see each of them had with Eeckhout Abbey,[15] it is difficult
to believe that the Bertulph of Notre Dame and the Bertulph of St.
Donatian's were different persons. In each of them we find the same
fiery temper, the same overweening pride, and the same indomitable will,
the same exaggerated devotion and the same harshness in their dealings
with their fellow-men. Walbert has left us a graphic picture of the
receptions this 'proud prelate' held in the great oak-roofed hall of his
sumptuous palace on the Bourg. Swelling with pride, there he used to sit
on a stately throne placed underneath the huge beam which broke and fell
with a mighty crash on the throne itself three weeks before his
death--portent of coming ill, had he but taken it to heart, but Bertulph
was too stiff-necked for that, says Walbert. There a crowd of knights
and clerks and burghers were daily wont to jostle one another in their
quest to pay homage to, or perchance seek favour from, the great man who
was all-powerful alike in Church and State. When any one approached whom
this proud prelate knew quite well but did not wish to recognise, he
made pretence that he had never seen him before. 'Who is this person?'
he used to ask of one of his attendants, and then, when he had been
informed of the name and rank of his would-be interlocutor, if he were
in the humour to do so, he would vouchsafe to salute him. And, blurts
out Walbert with much feeling and inappositeness, 'he was very hard on
his clergy.' Walbert was one of them, and he, if any one, should have
known.
The canons of Notre Dame would certainly have given their Bertulph the
same character.
Hardly had he been installed provost than he sent them all about their
business and filled their places with monks. The irregularity of their
lives, he alleged, was scandalous. Irregular lives in those days, if we
may trust Walter, were far from uncommon alike amongst layfolk and
clerics, and that was one reason why men thought so highly of Charles.
Amidst so much wood, hay and stubble, Charles appeared pure gold. It is
not unlikely then that Bertulph's accusations were well founded.
Radbode, Bishop of Tournai, presumedly thought so, for he had authorised
what had been done. Not so Germanus. Immediately on his return to
Bruges, he petitioned Bishop Baldwin, who meanwhile had succeeded
Radbode in the See of Tournai, to revoke his predecessor's decision,
alleging that the changes at Notre Dame had been made without consulting
him, the lawful superior, and in opposition to the wishes of the secular
canons, and thereupon the bishop gave orders for their reinstatement.
This was on March 31, 1101. Bertulph was furious and appealed in vain to
Rome. By letters, dated April 1102, Pope Pascal II. confirmed Baldwin's
decision, and presently Bertulph's monks were forced to quit the canons'
cloister. After several peregrinations they at last built themselves a
habitation hard-by the Church of Notre Dame in the great oak wood which
at that time fringed the left bank of the Roya and stretched far away
into the country beyond.
This was the origin of the Abbey of Eeckhout (oak wood) famous in the
annals of Bruges.
This abbey was destroyed during the French Revolution, and only the
gateway now remains--No. 40 _rue Eeckhout_. Part of the grounds are
included in the gardens of the Convent of St. André in the same street;
part in a lovely old kitchen garden and orchard at the back of the
houses on the Dyver. As Eeckhout Abbey was associated at its birth with
Notre Dame, so was it at its death.
[Illustration: THE PORCH OF NOTRE DAME]
At the time of the Revolution Notre Dame was dismantled--the pavement
was torn up, the stained-glass windows were broken, and every kind of
havoc was made, but the bare walls were left standing, and presently,
when more tranquil times came, the old church was restored to public
worship. As the beautiful flamboyant stalls which had once lined the
choir had ere this been sold and carried away, it is said to England, it
became necessary to procure new ones. It so happened that just before
the French came, the monks of Eeckhout had ordered a new set of stalls
for their abbey church. These, owing to the fact that they had not yet
been erected, had escaped destruction, and by Napoleon's orders they
were set up in Notre Dame. The wood-carver, however, who had made them,
had not received payment, and protested that the stalls were his, and by
way of asserting his right, every Sunday and feast day, at High Mass and
Vespers, until the day of his death some years after, he persisted in
seating himself in the choir stalls at Notre Dame. Matter of little
moment; after the Revolution there were no canons to occupy them.
From an artistic point of view there is nothing very remarkable about
the stalls in question. They are sufficiently mediocre work of the
period, but the hand of time has mellowed them, and their associations
make them interesting. The carving of some of the _miserere_ seats is
very quaint, and is certainly ancient. Whether these formed part of the
lost stalls of Notre Dame, or whether the redoubtable wood-carver
employed some of the old Eeckhout work for his new stalls, it would be
difficult to say.