A Dead Flemish City.
NOTES OF A VISIT TO DAMME.
By the Rev. Joseph Maskell.
THERE are few cities in Europe of greater interest for the intelligent traveller than Bruges, the “cradle of opulent Flanders,” and the “Venice of the North.” The student in history, the connoisseur in art, the lover of antiquity, all find here ample instruction and enjoyment. Even the superficial traveller, hurrying on to more fashionable localities, but “doing” Bruges en route, as the correct thing, finds much to interest him in its quaint exteriors, silent canals, and old-world streets, to say nothing of its many treasures of pictures, sculptures, wood carvings, and other monuments of antiquity, to be seen only by penetrating into interiors, and looking deeper than the surface. “A decayed, dull place, where the grass grows in the streets,” was the verdict of a fellow-traveller, as the train from Ostend steamed into the modern Gothic unfinished station of Bruges on a wet day in last July. Not so. Bruges is neither decayed nor dull, nor does the “grass grow in its streets.” Gone is the day in which it could be written of the turbulent Flemish cities—
“Bruges et Gaud, qui toujours, ces bouillonnantes cuves,
Ecclataient à la fois, ainsi que deux Vesuves;”[18]
yet Bruges is still full of a steady kind of life and activity; and, as one of its intelligent citizens described it, “ce n’est pas ville morte; c’est une antiquité vivante,” retaining many tokens of the time when the proud Jeanne of Navarre, the Queen of Philippe le Bel, passing through streets lined with the palaces of its merchant princes, and observing the rich clothing of their ladies, cried out, “Je croyais être seule Reine de France; je vois ici cent reines que valent autant de moi.”
But my visit was not so much to Bruges as to its neighbour and ancient seaport, Damme. The former, lying so directly in the way of the English traveller to Brussels and Cologne, is fairly well known; the latter is known only to a select few. Damme[19], which is now a mere village, with a commune of less than 1,000 inhabitants, was, four centuries ago, a busy and prosperous town. It stands on the canal between Bruges and l’Ecluse, about three miles from the former place. Its full name is Hondts-Damme, la digue du Chien, so called from a circumstance that attended its origin. Anciently it stood at the head of the Zwyn, an arm of the North Sea; a broad digue extending from Bruges to Cadsand, made after a terrible inundation in the twelfth century, kept the waters of the Zwyn in their proper channel, and upon this digue Damme was built. The place was originally confined to the huts of the workmen from Zealand and Holland employed in the construction of the digue; by degrees it grew into a populous trading town, the convenient spot for a harbour, seaport, and depôt for merchandise. Its name of Honsdamme is thus explained. During the construction of the digue the workmen for a long time could not keep out the sea; as fast as their work proceeded the returning tides swept it away, till one of them advised that a great dog, who mysteriously appeared every day on the scene, without any apparent owner, should be thrown into the water. This done, the sea became calm, a solid foundation was soon secured for the digue, and the work rapidly accomplished. Hence the name Hondts-Damme, and the figure of a dog on the town’s escutcheon. The town dates from the completion of the digue in 1168; it grew immediately into influence and prosperity. In 1180 it was important enough to secure from Philip of Alsace, Count of Flanders, a charter of incorporation as an independent commune, under the government of two burgomasters and four echevins. The Zwyn was then a broad and deep gulf, protected from sea storms, and affording safe anchorage for vessels of all kinds. Even down to the seventeenth century, till the formation of the canal to Ostend, this was the only channel of communication between Bruges and the sea. In 1213, a fleet of 1,700 ships, equipped by Philippe Augustus of France for the invasion of England, entered the harbour. The craven fear of King John, and the intervention of the Count of Flanders having thwarted the designs of Philippe, the latter, in his rage and disappointment, resolved to carry the war into Flanders. The fine harbour of Damme, and the wealth of the town, excited the wonder of the French, who landed and made themselves masters of the place, and of a rich booty. “Les vins de France et d’Espagne, les bières anglaises, les laines d’Écosse, les soieries italiennes et orientales, les toiles, les filés, les attelages de chariots, les merceries, les épices de toute sorte, les peleteries de Hongrie, l’etain anglais, le cuivre rouge de Pologne”—these were some of the riches stored in Damme. Intoxicated with their prey, the French were easily surprised by an English fleet, under the command of Longsword, Earl of Salisbury, when 300 of the principal French ships were captured, and the rest scattered or destroyed. The captured vessels, laden to the deck with the rich booty, sailed with the conquerors to carry the joyful news to England. At the same time a Flemish army from the land side attacked the town, but without success. The French King, in revenge, set fire to the houses, and Damme was nearly destroyed. It was, however, quickly rebuilt, and recovered its prosperity. In 1240 it was admitted into the Hanseatic League, and the Lombards established banks here. Next year it received fresh privileges from Count John of Constantinople, and the extension of the canal to Ghent still further increased its importance. In 1270 its fortifications were renewed and enlarged. In 1297, during the brief war between England and France, and in consequence of the alliance between Edward I. and Guy de Dampierre, Count of Flanders, Damme was again temporarily in the hands of the French. A combined army of English and Flemish attempted to re-take the town: but the allies quarrelled over their respective shares of the plunder, and Edward, withdrawing his forces to Ghent, left to the Flemings the honour of success. In 1300 it was again assaulted and captured by the French; but the patriotic Flemings, led by the Brugois, quickly defeated their enemies and delivered their country. In 1384, during a war with the French, arising out of the insurrection of Flanders against the oppression of its Count, Louis le Mâle, the powerful walls of Damme withstood the attack of a French army, under Charles VI. It was garrisoned by only 1,500 of the men of Ghent, commanded by the patriotic Francis Ackerman, and for six weeks held out against 80,000 of the enemy. The capture of the town was as remarkable as its subsequent defence. Having received information that the Governor of Damme and his chief officers were absent at Bruges, Ackerman marched from Ghent with his little army, scaled the walls by night, and took the place without difficulty. In the citadel he found seven ladies of high degree, who had come to visit the Governor’s wife. Ackerman invited them to a banquet, and paid them every mark of courtesy. “I do not make war upon women,” he said, “notwithstanding that many of your nobles have treated the families of the burgesses in a very different manner.” After a brave defence, scarcity of drinking water and the non-arrival of the English allies, compelled the brave garrison to return under cover of the night to Ghent, which they reached in perfect order and safety.
But another enemy than the French was now silently plotting the destruction of Damme. The sea had shown signs of retreating from the Zwyn as early as the fourteenth century, navigation to Sluys became more and more difficult, and in 1475 the harbour was almost lost in the sand.[20] Still Damme long retained its outward signs of prosperity. Its entrepot of wines, founded by Louis de Crescy in 1357, continued till 1565, and its situation rendered it so important as a frontier fortress and outpost of the Southern Netherlands that possession of it was frequently disputed. The dissolution of the Hanseatic League in the sixteenth century and the partition of the Netherlands by the consolidation of the Northern provinces into the Dutch Republic, which strengthened the power and developed the commercial importance of Holland to the prejudice of Belgium, all helped to hasten the decay of Damme as a commercial town. In 1637 the Dutch occupied the place during the war of Holland with Spain arising out of the fruitless treaty between Richelieu and the United Provinces for the partition of the Spanish Netherlands. By the Treaty of Westphalia it was restored to Flanders, and the boundaries between the two Netherlands were left unaltered. In 1706 it was taken by Marlborough without a struggle, for the Flemings everywhere welcomed the allies and submitted to the authority of the English, although it was not very judiciously exercised. The Barrier Treaty, signed at Antwerp in 1715, finally secured that Damme should be included within the Austrian Netherlands, but, except from its situation close to the frontier, the town had now lost all its importance. Thus the decay of Damme was not less rapid than its rise, and its fall as remarkable and complete as was its opulence and greatness. From being a flourishing maritime town it has become only an inland village. The ancient harbour, where 1,500 ships could ride safely at anchor, is now a corn-field; its broad quays, stately warehouses, and fortified walls cannot be traced even in outline; its streets, once crowded with merchants and their goods, are now deserted: indeed it is difficult to realise that this slumbering village was ever awake. Jam seges est ubi Troja fuit. But there are not wanting signs of a departed greatness. The Hotel de Ville still occupies a prominent position in the Place, and though much neglected and injudiciously restored it is yet an object of beauty. It was founded in 1242, but the present building is of the fourteenth century. It is constructed in white stone, rectangular in shape, with small turrets at each corner. A double stair conducts to an elegant porch, much disfigured, but still quaint and interesting. On entering the building the first room that we see to the left is an estaminet, quite humble in character. Behind this is the Salle de Justice, still used by the communal authorities, and the remaining room is now a kitchen. On the oaken and cedar roof there are carvings of the Blessed Virgin and other saints, King David, and Van Maerlandt, “the Flemish Chaucer.” There are also some curious fire-tongs and fire-dogs, an enormous chimney corner, and some faded pictures and inscriptions. The crypt, partly a store-room and partly a stable, is striking, but very dirty and neglected. In the quaint central tower there are two ancient bells.
The church, dedicated to Notre Dame, is built throughout of grey bricks, and is a noble monument in ruins. It was begun in 1180, but the chief part of the present structure belongs to the fourteenth century. The work of destruction was begun by the Dutch Calvinists, who set fire to the church in 1578; the growing poverty of the town prevented repairs, till the transepts and part of the nave were destroyed in 1725. The walls of the ruined nave are left standing, leaving the massive and lofty tower nearly isolated from the main body of the church. The choir only is used for service. It is a fine relic, but sadly spoiled by whitewash. The west door is in the modern brick wall which shuts in the choir, beneath what was once the roof-screen, but now serves as the organ gallery. The monuments of the dead are few; several matrices of brasses remain, and a few modern tombs. A very fine memorial of Jacques van Maerlandt, “the father of Flemish poetry,” and a native of Damme, was destroyed by an ignorant curé about half a century ago. The poet died in 1300, and is buried at the base of the tower. His memorial was very curious. He was seated on a chair with an owl by his side, wearing spectacles and reading from a book supported on an eagle lectern. To atone somewhat for the destruction of the monument there is a poor statue of the poet in front of the Hotel de Ville.
In this church, in 1429, was celebrated the marriage of Philip le Bon with Isabella of Portugal, and on the 9th July, 1468, that of the unfortunate Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, with Margaret of York, sister of Edward IV. Her brother brought her hither with a considerable fleet, and many of the English nobility in her train, from Margate. They landed at Sluys, where the Duke met her and went through the ceremony of betrothal. The town of Damme received her with many tokens of welcome. As she passed through the streets every householder stood at his door carrying a blazing torch, and from this town the bride and bridegroom made their festive entrance into Bruges on the day following the wedding.
There is still in Damme a small hospital dedicated to St. John, founded by Margaret of Constantinople in the twelfth century.
I visited Damme towards the end of July last year. The road lies through the town of Bruges, past the Episcopal Seminary, and out of the Porte de Damme, along the canal, a perfectly straight line, bordered with poplars and with corn-fields on each side. In scenery of this kind there is a certain sense of repose and of general, though not brilliant, prosperity, but the eye of an artist is needed to extract beauty out of so many straight lines and such formal regularity. Many of the fields are planted with colza, which is said to look very gay when in flower. It was the annual horse fair of Bruges, and the scene was busy, but it could hardly be called picturesque or lively, with the multitude of peasants accompanied by young colts as “stolid, stubborn, and sturdy” as themselves. Harvesting operations were proceeding with the sickle in a very leisurely manner, and the mode of tying up the sheaves, till they looked as if they were only bundles of straw with the corn cut off the top, seemed very primitive. Altogether it was a scene not to be forgotten. The world here, instead of advancing, seems to have gone back several centuries, and there are fewer signs of progressive civilisation than when Bruges was, in fact, the “Venice of the North,” and Damme its busy sea-port.
The importance of Damme in the middle ages is shown by the fact that the Judgments or Customs of Oleron, out of which the maritime laws of the nations of Europe are derived, and which were said to have been brought by our Richard I. on his return from the Crusades, were generally called “Le droit maritime de Damme.” But the Flemish laws were merely a translation of the original customs.
Visitors to Damme should extend their excursion to the cathedral-like and judiciously restored church of Lisseweghe, with its noble thirteenth century tower. This village is within an easy walk of the watering-place of Blankenberghe, where once more the modern world may be studied in some of its brightest and most amusing aspects.
The Dignity of a Mayor: or, Municipal Insignia of Office.[21]
By R. S. Ferguson, F.S.A., Mayor of Carlisle 1881-2 and 1882-3.
PART I.
THOSE members of the Archæological Institute who attended the Congress held at Carlisle in 1882, will recollect that, though the mayor of Carlisle did not exactly blow his own trumpet, yet he was rarely seen without his trumpeter in immediate attendance. They may possibly, therefore, have set down to his credit a disposition to magnify the dignity of an office to which he, however unworthy, has been a second time elected. Indeed, they would not be far wrong; and he must admit that his recreations during office took the form of a research into Municipal Pageantry and Municipal Heraldry.
These are very large subjects indeed, and I cannot now undertake to grapple with them. I am glad to say that my valued friend, Mr. Lewellinn Jewitt, has seisin of them both; and that he is preparing for publication an exhaustive treatise on “The Corporation Plate and Insignia of Office of all the Cities and Corporate Towns of Great Britain.”
I propose merely to gossip a bit about Municipal Insignia of Office; to make a few remarks as to what they mean, under what authority they are, or have been assumed; and to bring under your notice a few examples.
Under the term Municipal Insignia I include Rods or Wands of office; Maces, both great and small; Swords of Honour or State; Caps of Estate or Maintenance; Chains and Badges, both of Mayors’ and of other officials; Rings and Robes; Halberts, Horns, and Constables’ Staves.
“Few people,” writes Mr. Llewellinn Jewitt, “have even the most remote idea of the amount of artistic wealth, of antiquarian treasure, and of historical relics possessed by and lying hidden away in the strongholds and chests of the various corporate bodies of this kingdom. The corporations ... are rich beyond compare in works in the precious metals, in emblems of state and civic dignity, in relics of mediæval pageantry, in badges and insignia of various offices, and in seals and records of different periods.”
The neglect with which these treasures have been treated is astounding. The reformed corporations of 1837 despised Municipal Pageantry; many actually sold their insignia for the best prices they would fetch, as “relics of the barbarous ages,” to use the words of a mayor of the town of Maidenhead. Others discarded the use of their insignia, and their existence was almost forgotten. A reaction, however, set slowly in. The Great Exhibition of 1851 caused some places, Nottingham for one, to provide their mayors with chains, in order to attend at the opening. Other places were induced to buy new, or furbish up old insignia on the occasions of Royal visits. During the International Exhibition of 1862 a loan collection, but on a small scale, was formed, to which several corporations contributed their maces and other objects.
In the year 1874, the Royal Archæological Institute presented to the mayor of Exeter a chain of office, in commemoration of the Congress held at Exeter in the previous year. This excited so much interest that the Council of the Institute, in 1875, entertained the idea of holding in London an exhibition of chains of office and other municipal insignia. A committee was formed, and circulars were sent to nearly 600 municipal bodies, asking for information as to their insignia, and as to the possibility of their being exhibited in London. About 300 replies were received; but in those about one-half neglected to describe their insignia, or contented themselves by saying they were “old and OF NO VALUE.” In fact, the municipalities still lacked proper education on the subject, for some of those that replied in the above terms possess most valuable insignia, as also do some that did not answer at all. Difficulties arose, many municipalities “did not see their way” to the loan of their insignia, and so the proposed exhibition was, temporarily as I hope, abandoned. But the attention thus drawn to the subject had good results; it awakened an intelligent interest in the treasures possessed by various corporations, and Mr. Llewellinn Jewitt seems to have had less difficulty in getting information than the Institute found. In the years 1880, 1881, and 1882, he published in the Art Journal a series of most interesting and beautifully illustrated articles, on Corporation Plate and Insignia of Office, shortly to be developed into the book which I have already mentioned.
Now it must not be supposed that a municipality can of its own free will adopt any insignia it pleases. On the contrary, the right to use certain insignia, such as maces, swords of state, &c., requires to have been conferred by special charter or royal donation, or else to be based upon prescription of such duration that a lost special charter or a forgotten royal donation may be presumed. Thus at Carlisle, where we possess a great mace, several sergeants’ maces, and a sword of state, our governing charter—of the time of Charles I.—authorises us to have three sergeants-at-mace, who are—
“To carry and bear maces of gold or silver, and engraved and adorned with the sign of the arms of this our Kingdom of England, everywhere within the said City of Carlisle, the limits and liberties of the same, before the Mayor of the said city for the time being.”
This was merely the confirmation of an older custom, for we have a set of sergeants’ maces of older date than this charter, as well as a set of about this date. The charter also authorises us to have a sword-bearer, “Portator gladii nostri coram Mayore,” a bearer of our sword (the King’s sword) before the Mayor. Thus, we have special authority by charter for our sword of honour, and our sergeants’ maces, but none of our charters mention our great mace or authorise us to have an official to bear it. But our great mace was given us by Colonel James Graham, Privy Purse to King James II., and I presume that no one will now object to our using it, and to our having an official to carry it. For robes and a chain I fancy no special authority at all is necessary; they are part of the idea of a mayor, and he may assume them or not as his corporation or he please to do. And, further, he may appear in them outside of his jurisdiction, as at the Mansion House. But his maces and sword (if he has one) he cannot with propriety display outside of his jurisdiction, and I should, as Mayor of Carlisle, resent bitterly the intrusion into that ancient city of a strange mayor with mace and sword, even of my Lord Mayor of London, unless he should prove his right from charter to carry them in Carlisle. The Templars never allowed the Lord Mayor to appear in state within their precincts.
Different views have been held as to the origin of the mace. Some have supposed that the regal sceptre, the ecclesiastical virgo or verge, and the civic mace, all had their origin in the simple emblem of straightness and integrity of rule, consisting of a plain slender rod anciently borne before kings and high public functionaries, and retained to the present day as an official badge by sheriffs and attendants in courts of justice. The other, and I venture to think the better idea, is that the civic mace is derived from the military weapon of that name, which itself is derived from a simple club or stick. The civic mace is nothing but the military one turned upside down. At one end of an early mace you have the flanged blades of the military weapon, at the other on a small bowl-like head the royal arms, the emblem of authority. In a mace of later date the military part, the flanges, survive only as a small button, while the bowl, on which are the royal arms, swells, until the peaceful end is itself capable of dealing a heavy blow.
In support, however, of the rod idea, I may mention that the Mayor of Carlisle always on state occasions carries a white rod, an ordinary white stick of deal. This is a very ancient custom. A Captain, a Lieutenant, and an Ancient, all of Norwich, who visited Carlisle in 1634, say of that place:—
“It makes shifte to maintain a Mayor, distinguished by his white staff, and twelve Aldermen his brethren, sans cap of maintenance, but their blew bonnets which they are as proud in as our southerne citizens in their beavers.”
The blue bonnets would be the ordinary head-gear of the local gentry, and of the Aldermen thus dressed more than one was of knightly rank and of high degree. The Mayor of Berwick had also a staff, and when James I. came to the English throne he sent the Abbot of Holyrood to secure the allegiance of the Mayor of Berwick, by which town he travelled into England. The Mayor’s staff and the keys of the gates were delivered to the Abbot, and immediately returned to the Mayor.
At Newark the Mayor carries a black rod with a gold head. At Marazion and at Wigan he carries a staff with a silver head; at Guildford ebony with silver top. Other instances probably exist, while various bailiffs’, head boroughs’, and other staffs are only varieties of the same idea. In the City of London this staff is represented by the Lord Mayor’s jewelled sceptre.
The mace with the royal arms thereon (and no civic mace is a proper civic mace unless it has the royal arms thereon) is the symbol of the power of the central government in municipal matters, and when borne before the mayor denotes that to him and to his colleagues is entrusted the government of their community. It is, in fact, the symbol of that which all Englishmen are proud of—local self-government.
The committee of the Royal Archæological Institute, who indexed the returns obtained in 1875, divided maces into two classes, great and small, but the proper and better division is into mayors’ maces and sergeants’ maces, though the two nearly correspond. I define as a great mace, or mayor’s mace, one whose raison d’être is to be carried before the mayor in procession, and to be displayed beside him in church or in court. The great mace is the insignia of the mayor. The sergeants’ maces are the insignia of the sergeants-at-mace; these maces are also carried before the mayor, but that is because it is part of the sergeants’ duty to precede and attend him in civic processions.
The maces belonging to sergeants-at-mace are generally small, from six to eighteen inches long, and the reason of their being of this small size comes from the use they were put to. The sergeants-at-mace were the officers of the mayor’s court; they served the processes of the court, which were not in the form of written summonses, but were actually delivered verbally, and by a sergeant-at-mace, who produced the mace and showed it as his authority. For convenience, he carried it in his pocket, and at Carlisle, prior to 1837, the gowns of the sergeants-at-mace had pockets in them for this purpose. At Scarborough, the sergeants-at-mace wore their maces in their official gowns, and at Stafford they carried them in their girdles. Hence convenience necessitated that the sergeants’ maces should be of small size; for the same reason they are generally without the open crowns, surmounted by orb and cross, which were added to most great maces after the Restoration. It would be difficult to pocket and unpocket a mace with a crowned head. Of course, there are exceptions to all rules. Yarmouth has a mayor’s mace of very small size, but the reason applies: it is called the pocket mace, and is intended to be carried in the mayor’s pocket, so that he always may have evidence of his authority about him. There was no such reason for making the other maces of small size; nay, the bigger they are, the grander, and the great mace of the City of London is 5 ft. 3 in. long. My own great mace at Carlisle is 4 ft. 2 in., while the maces carried by my sergeants are only about 9 in.
It is quite certain that a municipality cannot have sergeants-at-mace (and therefore cannot have their maces) without a special authorisation by charter. The sergeants-at-mace were originally the peculiar body-guard of the king, and the granting permission to a municipality to have sergeants-at-mace is a high mark of honour. In the case of old corporations, the right to a great mace will originally have been acquired in the same way, or else by a royal present of a mace, but a great mace has now come to be an essential which every place that has a mayor can with propriety adopt.
Even during the Commonwealth much importance was attached to maces; in 1649, Parliament ordered the royal arms to be taken off them, and those of the Commonwealth substituted. This was not done at Carlisle; but, in 1650, three new maces were bought for the sergeants at a charge of £12. After the Restoration the royal arms were again restored, and the Carlisle maces were sent to Newcastle to be altered.
(To be continued.)