Peeps At Many Lands: Belgium Part 3

CHAPTER VIII

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 n.o.bles 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."

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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 pa.s.ses, 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 cafe, 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.

CHAPTER IX

THE STORY OF ST. EVERMAIRE: A COUNTRY PAGEANT

Once upon a time there was a good man called St. Evermaire, who went on a pilgrimage to a part of Belgium called the Hesbaye, which is near the River Meuse. As he and his companions were journeying along, they came, when it was growing dark one evening, to a great wood. Being afraid of losing their way, they went to a village to ask for shelter.

This village belonged to a fierce robber, called Hacco, and it was at his door that the pilgrims knocked. The door was opened by Hacco's wife, who received them kindly, but told them that her husband was a robber, and that, though he was away from home, it would not be safe for them to remain there long. So very early next morning, as soon as it was light, they went into the wood, and lay down to sleep beside a fountain among the trees.

They had scarcely gone when Hacco, who had been out all night looking for people to rob, came home. When he heard about the strangers who had just left, he flew into a terrible rage, and went to look for them. He soon found them fast asleep in the wood, and killed them.

Then he tore off their clothes, and left their bodies lying on the ground.

After a little time some huntsmen found the dead pilgrims, and dug a grave for them. But these people, noticing that the face of one dead man shone brightly, and feeling sure that he must be some very holy person, buried him in a grave by himself. This was St. Evermaire.

The wood was many years later cut down, and a village called Russon was built near the place where Hacco murdered the pilgrims. The first priest of this village discovered the grave of St. Evermaire, whose bones were placed in a tomb in the church of Russon; but they were afterwards laid to rest in a chapel which was built on purpose to receive them. This chapel stands in a grove of beech-trees, on a meadow surrounded by a hedge, in one corner of which there is a fountain whose water is said to be a cure for ague. It is supposed to be on the very spot where the pilgrims were killed. Over the altar in the chapel is a painting of the murder. There are also statues of the Virgin Mary and of St. Evermaire, and a gilded case, which contains the bones of the saint.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A CHaTEAU IN THE LESSE VALLEY.]

On May Day there is a procession from Russon to this chapel. First two vergers come out of the village church, dressed in "tights," and covered from their ankles to their necks with ivy-leaves. They wear pointed caps on their heads, and brandish huge clubs, with which they threaten the country people, who roar with laughter at the faces they make. Seven men are dressed up to represent St. Evermaire and his companions. The saint himself wears a tunic of coa.r.s.e brown cloth, girt about with a leather belt, from which hang a string of beads and a pilgrim's bottle, a short cloak of ox-hide, and a round hat; but the other pilgrims have just black coats and breeches, with white stockings. They are followed by about fifty men on horseback, dressed up as Hacco and his band of robbers.

This strange-looking procession goes to the chapel, where there is service, the vergers in their ivy-leaves a.s.sisting at the altar; and the moment the Benediction has been said, the whole congregation rushes out to the meadow. The pilgrims stand in a circle near the fountain, where they sing a quaint old country hymn.

In the meantime Hacco and his band gallop about outside the meadow; but when the pilgrims have done singing, they enter it, and ride round and round several times. Then the pilgrims go near the chapel, and a short conversation is sung between them and Hacco, they imploring mercy, and he abusing them for trespa.s.sing on his lands. At last Hacco becomes impatient, draws his sword, and advances upon the pilgrims, declaring in a voice of thunder that he is about to kill them.

At this point the spectators are expected to weep; but all of a sudden the youngest pilgrim takes to his heels, and scampers away as fast as ever he can. Hacco and the robbers run after him, scrambling about among bushes and trees, as if they were playing at hide-and-seek. The spectators laugh and clap their hands, and the village children scream with delight. Hacco fires a pistol at the runaway, but misses, on which everybody cheers. Then he fires again, and the pilgrim tumbles down, and is killed with an arrow by one of the robbers, who picks him up, throws him across the back of a horse and brings him back to the meadow.

During this chase the other pilgrims have thrown themselves, as if in despair, on the gra.s.s, where presently Hacco and his followers proceed to kill them. But by this time all the actors are tired and thirsty; so St. Evermaire and his friends rise up, and the whole company of robbers and pilgrims walk off, and swill beer together for the rest of the day. So ends the rustic pageant of Russon.

CHAPTER X

THE CARNIVAL

The week before Lent begins is called in Flanders _Duivelsweek_, which means "The Devil's Week"; and on the Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday before Ash Wednesday there is the Carnival, so called from the Latin words _carni vale_ (which mean, as every school-boy knows, "farewell to the flesh"), because during Lent good Catholics should abjure "the world, the flesh, and the devil," and refrain from eating meat. In Ghent the Monday of that week is called _Zotten-Maanday_, or Fools'

Monday, and all over Belgium the next day (Shrove Tuesday in England) is called _Mardi Gras_--that is, Fat Tuesday--the day on which people can eat and drink as much as they like before beginning to fast.

During the Carnival people go about the streets in fancy dress, sometimes with their faces hidden by masks. Often they are dressed as clowns, and make a great noise, blowing horns, dancing, singing, and making fools of themselves in every possible way. In the shops bags of confetti are sold--little bits of coloured paper, like what you see in England too--which you may throw at other people, whether you know them or not. The children have often great fun, covering each other with these bits of paper, which stick in the hair and are very difficult to shake off. In some of the streets at Brussels the pavements are carpeted all the time of the Carnival with thousands of these small pink, yellow, and white fragments, which the people have been throwing about. Then there are false noses, wigs, and other disguises, so that you may pa.s.s people you know quite well without an idea who they are. A person may speak to you; you fancy you know the voice, but a beard, and perhaps a long blue nose, hide the face, and you are in doubt. A handful of confetti is thrown in your face, and in a moment the figure is gone and lost in the crowd.

A few years ago there was a Carnival procession in most of the towns, and then all the huge wickerwork giants were carried about. They all have names. The Brussels giant is Ommegan. In another town there is, or was, one called Goliath. There is a very old giant called Lange Man, or Long Man. He is probably still to be seen at Ha.s.selt, in the South of Belgium, which was his native place. A good many years ago he was carried through the streets on a car drawn by four horses, and all the poor people got soup, which he was supposed to give them in memory of a famine from which the town had suffered at one time. A good deal of money is collected for the poor during the Carnival by people who go about with boxes, into which everyone is expected to put something.

There are not so many Carnival processions as there used to be, and within the last two or three years they have been entirely given up in some places. But the Carnival goes on, with more or less gaiety, everywhere. There are few towns where masked b.a.l.l.s do not take place, and these usually last all night, so that some of the dancers never go to bed. During the Carnival most of the public-houses remain open all night, and there is dancing in them, and a great deal of noise.

The fourth Sunday in Lent is called Mi-Careme, or, in Flemish, _Half-Vasten_, when the fun of the Carnival is renewed; and on that day a person like Santa Claus, whom you know in England, makes his appearance. He is called _De Greef van Half-Fasten_--that is, the Count of Mi-Careme--and comes to give presents to all good children.

But he is so like Santa Claus that we shall leave him alone in the meantime, for I shall presently be telling you what Santa Claus does in Belgium.

There is, however, another Count who does not visit England--the Count of Nut Land, who rides along with a sack of nuts, which he throws about for anyone to pick up. Strange to say, cracking these nuts is supposed to be a cure for toothache! Is not that a funny idea?

CHAPTER XI

CHILDREN'S WINTER FESTIVALS

Very young children in Belgium look forward to the evening before November 11, which is the Day of St. Martin, because they have heard that something very exciting is going to happen.

Their parents make them stand in a corner, with their faces to the wall. They must not look round, for if they do nothing will happen.

But if they are not inquisitive, ask no questions, and stand quite still, a shower of nuts and apples suddenly falls on the floor behind them. They are told that these have been thrown down from heaven by St. Martin, and they at once turn round and scramble for them.

There is another thing which is sometimes done on St. Martin's Eve.

The father, or some big boy, comes into the younger children's bedroom, dressed up as the saint, with a beard and robes, and asks how the children have been behaving. If he is told they have been good, he gives them apples or sweetmeats; but if he hears they have been naughty, he pulls out a whip, throws it down, and leaves the room.

At Malines, and perhaps elsewhere, the children of poor people have a little procession of their own on St. Martin's Day, when they dress up and go about singing from house to house. One of them, who is dressed as St. Martin, carries a large basket, into which the people at whose doors they ring put apples or money. At another town, called Furnes, there is also a procession of children, who carry paper lanterns, with lighted candles in them, and march singing through the streets. The same thing is done in the country round Bruges, where the children visit the farm-houses at night, singing and asking for apples and nuts.