The seminary, the curés in surplice and ermine hanging from the left arm, the deans in copes, the canons of the cathedral, the bishops of Namur, Liège, Bruges, Tournai, Geneva, and Ghent in mitre and cope, preceding the shrine of St. Macaire, borne by priests, surrounded by lights; then the Nuncio; and, last of all, the Cardinal of Malines—all the bishops giving the episcopal benediction, the people blessing themselves in the most earnest, reverential manner.
Well may Ghent have been proud of her procession! The Cardinal of Malines said it could not have been seen anywhere but in Belgium, and nowhere in Belgium but in Ghent. It was two hours passing our window, and five hours going from the Chateau des Espagnols, the old Abbey of St. Bavon, to the cathedral.
The Grande Kermesse of Brussels is in July, the first Sunday after the 13th, the anniversary of the translation of the Très-Saint-Sacrement de Miracle from St. Catharine’s to the beautiful collegiate church of St. Gudule. In the fourteenth century, in the year 1370, sixteen hosts were stolen by the Jews from the tabernacle of St. Catharine, carried to their synagogue, and on Good Friday they assembled to gratify their hate; they placed them upon a table, stabbed them—blood flowed. Shocked at what they had done, but not converted, even by what they had seen, they tried to get rid of them, and induced a woman to carry them to their brethren in Cologne. The woman had been recently converted, and although, from love of gold, she consented to conceal the crime, she determined to reveal all to the priest who had received her into the church. She carried them to him, avowing the part she had taken in the whole affair; the authorities arrested the Jews, the guilty ones were executed, the rest banished from Brussels, and their property confiscated.
St. Catharine’s was a chapel of St. Gudule’s; so the clergy went in grand procession, followed by the reigning sovereigns, nobility, and dignitaries, to bring them to St. Gudule’s. The Jews had destroyed some of them; there only remained three, which are the especial objects of veneration in Brussels. The synagogue where the outrage was committed was bought by Comte de Salagar, and converted into a chapel; but as it was small, a beautiful chapelle expiatoire, designed by Pugin, has been erected adjoining. Attached to it is a community of ladies, semi-religious, who perpetually adore the Blessed Sacrament in the spot where it was profaned; besides their office of perpetual adoration, they devote themselves to good works pertaining to the Blessed Sacrament; they make vestments for poor churches and missions, instruct children for the first communion, visit the sick, and prepare the dying for the holy viaticum.
Where once the most cruel hate was shown, now the most ardent love is manifested. The sanctuary is always perfumed with the choicest flowers, the altar blazes with light, and the incense of prayer and adoration is ever offered, to atone for the awful insult. On Holy Thursday, the ladies of Brussels send their richest jewels to adorn the repository, which is always in the old synagogue; and when one glances from the tablet, which tells that on this spot the shocking deed was perpetrated, he beholds, enthroned on high, the holy of holies, surrounded by diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and pearls.
The Très-Saint-Sacrement de Miracle is preserved in St. Gudule’s; Charles V. built the beautiful chapel of the Blessed Sacrament, and the superb windows were presented by his royal sisters, the Queens of Portugal and Hungary, his brother, Ferdinand, King of the Romans, and Francis I. of France. The sanctuary is surrounded by a cordon of lamps, always burning, and the monstrance presented by the Duc d’Arenberg is ablaze with jewels. When the Pays Bas were under the rule of Austria, the Austrian sovereigns lavished upon this chapel every mark of affection; the most superb laces, worth thousands of francs, and jewels; and the unfortunate Marie Antoinette sent her wedding-necklace of diamonds to be suspended around the monstrance.
The week before the festival, a retreat is always given in the Chapelle Expiatoire, and during the octave there are sermons by some famous preacher every day at St. Gudule’s. One year the retreat was given by Père Hermann, in religion Frère Augustin Marie du Très-Saint-Sacrement, a converted Jew, then a bare-footed Carmelite. He was a great artist, Liszt’s best pupil, the idol of the salons of Paris, Vienna, Brussels, and all the capitals of Europe, and was converted by the Blessed Sacrament in a miraculous manner. He told us the history of his conversion. Said he: “I was invited to play the organ in a church in Paris for some great charity. I consented. I played. At the benediction I ceased, I looked on; when in an instant I felt that I knew that God was in the Blessed Sacrament. I fell on my knees. I adored, and for some time was insensible to all around. But, although convinced, I was not converted. For three months I continued my artist-life, when, one day in St. Gudule’s, in the chapel of the Blessed Sacrament, I received my coup de grâce. I resisted no longer; I became a Catholic; and you see me now before you, a Carmelite.” We asked him if it was true that he had been such a great artist. “Yes,” he answered; “that is, in the history of music Liszt considered me his best pupil; as such, I accompanied him in his tours, and he presented me to all the crowned heads as his future successor.” His preaching was wonderful, always on the Blessed Sacrament, and when he turned to the tabernacle his countenance was inflamed with love.
The grand procession leaves St. Gudule’s after the High Mass, winds its way through the streets, adorned in the most gorgeous manner—military music, soldiers, the different parishes with their respective clergy, children strewing flowers, and priests swinging censers before the Très-Saint-Sacrement de Miracle, which is borne under a magnificent canopy by the deacon and sub-deacon of the Mass, followed by the dean. Through the kneeling crowds they march until they reach the picturesque Grande Place, and there, on an altar ornamented with the national colors, the Blessed Sacrament is exposed for adoration.
At that moment it is superb; the military form the square, the beautifully dressed children kneel in the centre, the clergy are ranged on the high flight of steps leading up to the altar—incense is burning from huge urns; the dean intones the Tantum Ergo, it is taken up by hundreds—and then the bell rings, the drums roll, the soldiers present arms, the dean raises the Très-Saint-Sacrement de Miracle, and gives the benediction to the Hôtel de Ville, and in blessing that hall blesses the city.
The Assumption is the festival of Antwerp, and on that day the grand church of Notre Dame is en fête; therefore, as the mother rejoices, the children must be happy. The church is the largest and richest in Belgium; seven aisles wide; the pillars are so numerous, it looks like a forest; the style is simple, but very fine, pure Gothic. The main altar was splendidly illuminated by hundreds of wax candles, and all down the nave the most magnificent banners were suspended from the columns, producing a superb relief. The music was excellent, Haydn’s Imperial Mass, with orchestra and organ and admirably trained voices. Near the main altar are the chefs-d’œuvre of Rubens—the Ascent and Descent from the Cross.