The Palais de Justice, the beautiful little Hôtel de Ville, and the Chapel of the Saint Sang, surround the Grande Place. It was the eve of the Grande Kermesse when we arrived in Bruges, and all the country and adjoining towns had emptied into it; the streets and Places were crowded with peasants in every imaginable costume; women in round caps, pointed caps, peaks on top and wings on the side; every age and style was represented. Near the Grand Place is a belfry, immensely high, called the Carillon, with the most delicious chime of bells, which made music all the afternoon and evening. The bells of Bruges are the most famous in Belgium.
In the Grand Place two or three gymnasiums were in full operation; at all the Kermesses there are machines called moulins, like enormous rotary engines, with chariots for the girls and women, and horses for the boys and men, decorated with red and gold in the most fantastic manner. Some of the carriages were red, others blue, then yellow, and so on; round and round they went, the bands of music playing, the children screaming with enjoyment, the women waving their handkerchiefs; the people around looking on delightedly, some smoking, some drinking, all enjoying themselves. In another place, a circus was performing in broad daylight, clowns jumping and turning somersaults, boys standing on men’s heads, girls poised on the shoulders of other muscular individuals. The chimes were ringing their merriest, and the great bells of the cathedral and Notre Dame joined their loud voices to the chorus to celebrate the eve of the great festival.
Early on the morning of the feast we visited the Chapel of the Saint Sang, ascended the staircase; a priest sat behind a little altar, holding the precious reliquary; we kissed the relic, saw with our own eyes the crimson life-blood of our Blessed Redeemer, shed for us on Calvary; passed down the other side; and descended into the subterranean crypt, the oldest church in Flanders. Then we visited the cathedral and Notre Dame, looked at the beautiful pictures that adorn the walls, and meditated by the tombs of the bishops and old dukes of Burgundy. In Notre Dame are the tombs of Charles the Bold and Maria of Burgundy.
At ten, the high mass commenced in the cathedral; the Bishop of Bruges sang the mass, the Nuncio’s throne was opposite, and on the right of the Bishop of Bruges the Bishops of Ghent, Liège, and Tournai occupied the first of the canons’ stalls, crimson velvet hangings being thrown over the carved oak in honor of their rank. The canons were in their stalls; the seminarians and the rest of the clergy had the good places directly in front of the screen. In the cathedral of Bruges the high altar is divided from the rest of the church by great marble walls, on top of which were splendid hangings of Gobelin tapestry; and all that could be seen was to be done by peeping through the railing of the doors.
We left at the benediction, and made our way out, so as to see the procession, which would pass the Hôtel de Flandre. The lancers were drawn up in front of the cathedral, the streets were lined with soldiers, flags and streamers floated in the breeze. We had barely reached our window when we heard the approaching music, the splendid band of the lancers. After the cavalry, that opened the way and made the line, came the infantry; then the different parishes, headed by the banners, the boys in cassocks and surplices chanting, the girls in white veils and flowers—all that was beautiful. The women came out from the houses and strewed flowers and green leaves, so that the street looked like a carpet. In nearly every detachment was a girl dressed like the Blessed Virgin; in one, it was the Queen of Heaven—white dress, studded with stars, mantle and train of blue velvet, gemmed with golden stars, diadem and sceptre. In another, the Comfortress of the Afflicted; in another, the Mother of God; again, the Mater Dolorosa.
Then came one of the most beautiful divisions: boys dressed to represent the different saints of the city and churches—St. James; St. Sebastian, with his bow and arrows; one, St. Charles Borromeo, was perfect, mitre on the head, superb cross and chain, the crosier in his hand—the little fellow marched with as much dignity and grace as the five bishops who followed.
Immediately before the relic was borne a splendid statue of the Mother of Sorrows, in purple velvet, surrounded by the confraternity, dressed in purple, covered with large black lace veils, followed by the “Three Marys.” Some artist must have dressed and grouped them. The Blessed Virgin’s face was most exquisitely pure and sorrowful, her blue mantle and dress fell around her with perfect grace; the Magdalene supported her on one side, a beautiful girl, with long flowing hair, superbly dressed, her arms covered with splendid bracelets; on the other side was the third Mary, her arm thrown around the Blessed Virgin to support her.
Last of all came the clergy of the cathedral, the seminarians flinging clouds of incense, the canons in procession. The shrine was carried in turn by different canons; immediately after walked the Bishop of Bruges, giving his benediction, his train borne by three boys; then the three other bishops, and the Nuncio, in a superb cape and mitre, who likewise blessed the people. It was beautiful; the white dresses of the children, the red and gold vestments of the priests (all the vestments, of course, were red in honor of the Precious Blood), the splendid banners, the magnificent music, and the picturesque crowd, made an ensemble not easily forgotten.
In Ghent, the great procession of St. Macaire, which only takes place once in a century, was celebrated May 19, 1867, with extraordinary splendor, to implore his intercession for the preservation of Belgium from pestilence, the cholera, the typhus fever, and the cattle disease, which so desolated the country the previous year. The Cardinal of Malines, all the Bishops of Belgium, the Nuncio, and Bishop Mermillod, of Geneva, who preached the Jubilee, assisted. The city was crowded; over 100,000 strangers from all parts, even from France and Germany.
The Cathedral of St. Bavon is very old, dates from 940, and was in its gala dress. The shrine of St. Macaire, of solid silver, a present from the city of Mons two hundred years ago, was placed upon a temporary altar, erected in the middle of the transept, surrounded by thousands of lights, a canopy of evergreens and flowers overshadowed it, and the church was decorated with garlands of flowers that hung from the ceiling in immense festoons; hundreds of pennants suspended from the arched roof fluttered above our heads; and the coup d’œil from the lower part of the church, or from behind the main altar, was surpassingly beautiful.