Vanished towers and chimes of Flanders

by George Wharton Edwards

The angle of the "Place" opposite the pavilion of the officers is occupied by the Hôtel de Ville and the "Palais de Justice," very different in style, for on one side is a massive façade of severe aspect and no particular period, while on the other is a most graceful Flemish Renaissance construction, reminding one of a Rubens opposed, in all its opulence, to a cold classic portrait by Gainsborough.

The Hôtel de Ville, of 1612, exhibits in its "Pignons," its columns and Renaissance motifs, a large high tower of octagonal form surmounted by a small cupola. Its frontage pushes forward a loggia of quite elegant form, with balustrades in the Renaissance style.

Above this grave looking gray building rises the tower of the "Beffroi," part Gothic in style.

All the houses on the "Place" have red tiled roofs, and gables in the Renaissance style very varied in form, and each one with a characteristic window above, framed richly en coquille, and decorated with arabesques.

Behind these houses is what remains of the ancient Church of St. Walburga, half buried in the thick verdure of the garden. After considerable difficulty we gained admittance to the ruin, because it is not considered safe to walk beneath its walls. Even in its ruin it was most imposing and majestic. We would have tarried here, but the custode was very nervous and hurried us through the thickets of bushes growing up between the stones of the pavement, and fairly pushed us out again into the small parkway, accepting the very generous fee which I gave him with what I should call surliness. But we ignored this completely, after the manner of old travelers, which we had been advised to adopt.

At one side were stored some rather dilapidated and dirty wax figures which reclined in various postures, somewhat too lifelike in the gloom of the chamber, and entirely ludicrous, so much so that it was with much difficulty that we controlled our smiles. The roving eye of the surly custode, however, warned us against levity of any sort. These wax figures, he explained, gruffly enough, were those of the most sacred religious personages, and the attendant saints and martyrs, used in the great procession and ceremony of the "Sodalité," which is a sort of Passion Play, shown during the last Sunday in July of each year in the streets of the town. The story relates an adventure of a Count of Flanders, who brought to Furnes, during the first years of the Holy Crusades, a fragment of the True Cross. Assailed by a tempest in the Channel off the coast, he vowed the precious object to the first church he came to, if his prayers for succor were answered. "Immediately the storm abated, and the Count, bearing the fragment of the Cross aloft, was miraculously transported over the waves to dry land."

This land proved to be the sand dunes of Flanders, and the church tower was that of St. Walburga. After a conference with his followers, who also were saved, he founded the solemn annual procession in honor of the True Cross, in which was also introduced the representation of the "Mysteries of the Passion."[2]

This procession was suppressed during the religious troubles of the Reform, but afterwards was revived by the church authorities, and now all of the episodes of the life of Christ pass yearly through the great Grand' Place—the stable in Bethlehem; the flight into Egypt; down to the grand drama of the Calvary and the Resurrection, all are shown and witnessed with great reverence by the crowds of devout peasants from the surrounding country. And these pathetic waxen figures were those of Prophets, Apostles, Jews, Angels, Cavaliers and Roman Soldiers, lying all about the dim dusty chamber in disorder. Afterwards, from the window of the quaint Hôtel of the "Nobèle Rose," we saw this procession passing through the crowded streets of Furnes, and almost held our breaths with awe at the long line of black cloaked, hooded penitents, bare-footed, the faces covered so that one could hardly tell whether they were men or women, save for the occasional delicate small white foot thrust forward beneath the black shapeless gown.

And finally One Figure, likewise black gowned and with concealed face, staggering along painfully—feebly—and bearing a heavy wooden cross, the end of which dragged along on the stones of the street.[3]