Disinterestedness finds vent in generosity without limit, and in sympathy which admits of no distinction. Greatness embodies these ministering angels of succor, and calls them her almoners and handmaids. Heroes and conquerors have been bravest in their deeds of magnanimity—most honored in their tender considerateness. “Cæsar dando, sublevando, ignoscendo, gloriam sibi adeptus est.”[130] It is said of Napoleon the First that, walking one day on the coast of Calais, and meditating the ruin of the British empire, he descried an English lad furtively launching a tiny skiff, with a view to escaping from the navy of France and revisiting his native land. There was too much of precocious daring in the act not to stir the feelings of a soldier who had conquered everything but his cool contempt for danger. The emperor gave orders that a vessel of the line should be despatched to bear the young Saxon to the shores of Britain. The achievements of human generosity and sympathy fade into insignificance beside the heroism of the saints. Nothing was with them too sacred to be transformed into instruments of sympathy—into healing balsam to staunch the wounds of sorrow and distress. The sacred vessels of the altar were converted into money; the revenues of the church were made the patrimony of the poor; and asylums of mercy went up to meet the ravages of sudden epidemic, wherein the princely blood and fine feelings of a St. Charles Borromeo and the genius of a Bellarmine were happiest and most at home in bending over the pestilential couch of smitten wretchedness. It is written of the “Seraph of Assisi” that, on learning of a dearth of provisions among a horde of banditti, he furnished them with an abundant supply, went in person and publicly embraced the bandit chief, and soon saw them exchange their career of plunder for a life of edifying industry. To the hair-splitting sciolist, he would appear to have travelled beyond the bounds of orthodoxy and sanctioned highway robbery; but to the closer student of the Gospel, he will rather resemble him who, going out from Gethsemani, kissed the worst of robbers, and with his dying breath gave paradise to a public malefactor.
We have thus far indicated a few of those leading characteristics which, if they be not, in the aggregate, true moral greatness itself, are recognized as among its special and essential ingredients. We cannot take leave of this subject without repeating what at the outset we intimated, namely, that it is in the lives of the saints those lofty traits of character are most commonly and most endearingly illustrated. What share grace and nature respectively have had in the formation and development of each individual one, it has not been our object to investigate. “Facienti quod in se est Deus nunquam denigat gratiam.”[131] One thing only the saints sought at the hands of men—to be denied a place in their memory. While here below, their wish was for the most part realized to the fullest. They were of all others the least understood and most abused. Their lowliness is now fittingly exalted, and, while their bodies rest in peace, their names shall be honored from generation to generation. Nor can we conceive any means whereby men may more easily or more surely attain true greatness, even in the natural order, than by striving, however imperfectly, to rival those great men and women, once the earthly gems of our ransomed humanity, now the sharers of its glorified dignity and beauty, whom the church, in the progressive march of time, steadily reproduces to our notice, to strengthen our faith, to vivify our hopes, and intensify our undivided love for the Creator in the first instance, and then for our fellow-creature, without limit or distinction.
RELIGIOUS PROCESSIONS IN BELGIUM.
In Belgium the patronal feasts of the churches and towns are celebrated with great pomp and splendor. Each church, on its feast, is adorned in the richest style, the streets and houses of the parish are decorated with green branches and banners; high and low, rich and poor, unite to do honor to the Blessed Sacrament, that is carried in procession on the Sunday during the octave, within the limits of the parish. From the houses of the nobles hang the banners, and oriflammes emblazoned with their armorial bearings; one common bond of sympathy and love unites all ranks, one common desire to show homage and reverence to the dear Lord and Master, who is to be borne in triumph in their midst.
Catholicity has so thoroughly moulded the habits and customs of the people, the festivals of the church make the festivals of the people; consequently, the feast of the church is also the Kermesse, as it is called, of the people. The parish feast is the Petite Kermesse; the patronal feast of the city the Grande Kermesse, when all business is suspended, and universal rejoicing prevails.
Bruges celebrates the Grande Kermesse on the 6th of May, in honor of the Precious Blood, which is on that day carried in procession from the chapel of Le Saint Sang to the cathedral. In the chapel of Le Saint Sang, the oldest Christian building in Belgium, is preserved the holiest of relics, the precious blood of our Lord, which was expressed from the sponge with which his sacred body was washed after the descent from the cross. It was brought from the Holy Land by Comte Thierry d’Alsace, one of the first and most distinguished of the early crusaders, and presented to the bishop of his native city, Bruges; where it has ever since remained, the object of the most faithful love and veneration.
Every year, on the 6th of May, the Bishop of Bruges and the canons of the cathedral go in procession to the chapel of Le Saint Sang, carry the relic, which is inclosed in a shrine of inestimable value, to the cathedral; high mass is sung, benediction given, and then the procession returns to the chapel, where, during the octave, the precious relic is exposed to the veneration of the faithful.
Bruges is one of the oldest and most Gothic of the Belgian towns; in the middle ages it was the great commercial entrepôt, canals intersect it in every direction, but trade has moved off to Antwerp and other cities, and Bruges is left with only the traditions of its former importance. It is, too, one of the quaintest of places; grass grows in the streets, and, ordinarily, it is the quietest of towns; consequently, the English affect it a great deal, particularly converts. In the most retired part of the town is the great convent of the Dames Anglaises; the chapel is magnificent; around the walls are tablets with the names of the Talbots, Giffords, Somersets, Middletons, and others who have died in the convent, and were its benefactors. The habit is beautiful, pure white with black veil; they follow the rule of St. Augustine, and are principally English; nothing can be more calm and peaceful than their retreat.
The Hôpital St. Jean is also well worth seeing, as its gallery of paintings contains many of the gems of Memling and other masters of the Flemish school. The hospital is under the charge of the Sœurs Hospitalières, who are also Augustinians, dress in white like the Dames Anglaises, but are not quite so elegantly picturesque.