Ghent for its halters, Bruges for its pretty girls,
Louvain for its scholars, Malines (Mechelen) for its fools.
This seems rather hard on Malines, and also on Ghent, the allusion to that city referring to numerous occasions when its sovereigns humbled the burghers by forcing them to plead for mercy with halters around their necks.
On the outside of the tower, close to its present summit, is a clock the face of which is claimed to be the largest in the world. As the same claim is made for the great clock on an industrial establishment in Jersey City I will simply give the dimensions of the one at Malines and let those interested make the comparison for themselves: Diameter of face, 13.5 metres; circumference, 41 metres; length of hour hand, 3.62 metres; height of figures, 1.96 metres. The minute hands were originally 4.25 metres long, but are missing on all four sides. This renders the time-piece hardly one to be consulted if one is catching a train, as the exact minute can only be estimated from the position of the hour hand. Furthermore, the gilding on the hour hands and on most of the figures has become so dim that only the strongest eyes can distinguish the former, and some of the latter can only be made out from their position. As the city appeared to be exceedingly proud of the size of this clock it seemed strange that the authorities did not authorise the expenditure of the small sum necessary to re-gild it.
It is a hard climb to the top of the tower, but one well worth making, not only for the fine panorama of the city that unfolds itself wider and wider as one mounts higher, but for the opportunity thus afforded of seeing the fine carillon, or set of chimes, and the curious mechanism operating the clappers that strike the hours. Just before reaching the floor upon which these are placed the guide conducts the visitor to a trap door from which one can look down into the interior of the cathedral—a thrilling experience to be enjoyed only by those who are not inclined to be dizzy. The massive timber work supporting the huge bells was constructed in 1662, but the oldest of the bells dates from 1498, or six years after the discovery of America. The two biggest bells are named Salvator and Charles, of which the larger one weighs 8,884 kilos, or more than nine tons, and requires twelve men to ring it. There are four other big bells and forty-five for the entire carillon, most of which were cast by Pierre Hémony of Amsterdam, the Stradivarius of bell founders, in 1674. Altogether they form four octaves, the giants chiming in with the others as the music demands. The keyboard which operates the little hammers is operated by both hand and foot power, and the carillonneur who operates it is worthy of the splendid instrument at his command, being Josef Denyn, the son of an equally famous carillonneur, and reputed to be the finest in Europe. M. Denyn not only gives frequent concerts at Malines, but also at Antwerp and Bruges, as well as in many European cities outside of Belgium.
We made a special trip to Malines one Monday afternoon in June solely to listen to one of these concerts, which takes place on that day between eight and nine in the evening, during the months of June, August and September. The sleepy old town was thronged with automobiles, for the renown of these famous concerts has spread far and wide, and some of the cars, we were told, had come from points as far away as Ostende, Blankenburghe and Heyst, while scores were from Antwerp and Brussels. The crowd gathered quietly in the streets surrounding the great tower and a great silence seemed to pervade the entire city as the hour of eight approached. Then, faint and far at first, came the first dulcet tones from this great organ of the sky, until—as the music swelled and more of the larger bells began to blend their notes in the harmony—the very air seemed vibrant with celestial sounds. The selection, as we afterwards learned, was one of the Volksliederen, or pieces of folk music for the rendition of which M. Denyn is famous. As we listened we realised as never before the part the ancient carillon was meant to take in the daily life of the people. It is, in truth, as a French author has beautifully expressed it, the orchestra of the poor, giving expression through its wondrous notes to their joys and their sorrows. On the occasion of great fêtes its music is light and gay, in attune with the popular rejoicing; in times of public grief the carillon gives utterance to notes of lamentation; when a famous citizen is being borne to his last resting-place through the streets lined with silent mourners the carillon sends the deep notes of its funeral dirges across the city; in time of war or sudden danger the great bells roar the wild tocsin of alarm; in time of peace their softest notes breathe a sweet prayer of peace and benediction at eventide.
While we were visiting the tower we were shown the tambour cast in copper by means of which the clock strikes the hours, the half hours and the quarters. This was cast in 1783, and two years were required to make the sixteen thousand, two hundred square holes into which drop the teeth that actuate the striking hammers.
The interior of St. Rombaut, while majestic and imposing, is hardly as masterly as the tower. On the occasion of our first visit a high mass was being celebrated and we reverently joined the throng of worshippers. In addition to the choir there was a body of some two hundred young men in the centre of the cathedral who participated in the singing, a curé beating time for them. Their strong manly voices blended finely with the higher notes of the distant choir boys and the deep tones of the organ. From the top of the choir long crimson streamers were suspended, terminating at the back of the high altar and giving a rich note of colour to the interior, while the light from the stained glass windows overhead poured downward in many-coloured rays upon the throng of black-robed priests, with a sprinkling of higher dignitaries clad in purple. Truly a picture that filled the eye with the pageantry of religion, even as the rolling notes of the sonorous chants filled the ear!
After the service was over, and the great cathedral, but now so crowded, was deserted, we started on our tour of inspection. It would be a tedious task to chronicle all of the objects of interest. The carved stalls of the Gothic choir are far less elaborate in workmanship than those at Amiens. The altar by Faid’herbe, a native of Malines, is imposing, but not of remarkable merit. The carved pulpit in the nave, however, is a veritable masterpiece of wood carving by Michel Van der Voort of Antwerp, and dates from 1723. Below, St. Norbert is shown flung from his horse by a thunderbolt, above is the Crucifixion at the left, with the Virgin and St. John standing below the cross, while at the right is shown a charming representation of the Fall, with Eve offering the apple to Adam, both figures embowered in a mass of foliage that twines up the stairway to the pulpit and lifts its branches far overhead. The masterpiece of the paintings is an altarpiece by Van Dyck representing the Crucifixion, a notable representation of the gradations of grief in the faces of the Virgin and Mary Magdalen. The attendant requires a franc to uncover this picture. “The Adoration of the Shepherds,” by Erasmus Quellen, in the opposite arm of the transept, while less famous, is a noble piece of work.
As would be expected from its great religious importance, Malines has numerous minor churches that contain much of interest to the visitor. The largest of these is Notre Dame au delà de la Dyle, situated across the River Dyle from the oldest part of the city, but dating from the fifteenth century. Here the tourist usually asks to see “The Miraculous Draught of Fishes,” by Rubens, a highly coloured triptych that is only uncovered when one pays a franc to the attendant. As this master produced some seventeen hundred known works it would cost a small fortune to see them all at a franc apiece, but this one dates from the artist’s best period and is fully worth the price charged to see it. It is vigorous in treatment, and the Fishmongers’ Guild, which purchased it from the artist in 1618 for sixteen hundred florins, certainly got very good value for their money. The wings are painted on both sides. This church also contains the curious Virgin with the Broken Back. According to the popular legend her sharp leaning to the right is due to the fact that one day, when the sacristan of the church failed to wake up in time to ring the angelus the lady obligingly did it for him, but wrenched her spine in the effort. Her smug smirk of satisfaction, as if over a duty well performed, no doubt also dates from the same incident.