Читать книгу The Spell of Flanders - Edward Neville Vose - Страница 8

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After the murder of Charles the Good had been so thoroughly avenged, the King of France sought to foist one of his own underlings upon the people of Flanders, but they would have none of him, and he fell fighting before the gates of one of the Flemish cities. Dierick of Alsace was the popular hero and became Count on the death of this rival. The King of France sought once more to interpose, but the burghers of Bruges retorted proudly: “Be it known to the King and to all princes and peoples, and to their posterity throughout all time, that the King of France hath no part in the election of a Count of Flanders.”

Of all the Counts of Flemish blood Dierick proved to be the greatest and the wisest who ever ruled over the land. During his long reign of forty years (from 1128 to 1168) and that of his son, Philip of Alsace, who ruled until 1191, the country prospered and grew rich. Both princes encouraged commerce, industry and the arts, and were liberal in their policy toward the cities. It was during this Golden Age of Flemish history—the longest period of happiness the country ever knew—that municipal charters were granted to the cities of Bruges, Ghent, Ypres, Furnes, Gravelines, Nieuport, Dunkerque and Damme.

While the memory of Dierick of Alsace deserves to be fondly cherished by the people of Flanders as that of a wise and liberal ruler, his most famous exploit was bringing back the relic of the Precious Blood from Jerusalem. Like most princes of his time, Dierick joined in the Crusades, but, unlike many of them, he left his government so strong and secure that no harm came to the country during his absence. It was the second Crusade, and Dierick departed in 1147, and returned in 1150, bringing with him this relic, a portion of the most precious possession of the Holy Church of Palestine, consisting of a small crystal vial filled with what was alleged to be the blood of Christ, preserved by Joseph of Aramathea who prepared the body for burial. Deeming himself unworthy to bear so holy a relic, the Count entrusted it to his chaplain, who never parted with it until the returning crusaders delivered it to the chaplains of the court who placed it in the chapel built by Baldwin of the Iron Arm, where it still remains in its original receptacle.

On the 2nd of May every year from 1303 until now—save for a brief interruption during the stormy times of the French Revolution—the city of Bruges has celebrated its possession of this holy relic by the great Procession of the Holy Blood. At first simply a religious ceremony, the procession gradually took on spectacular features such as the Flemings love, including representations of the Apostles, the Nativity, King Herod, and so on. At present La Noble Confrerie du Precieux Sang, or Honourable Society of the Holy Blood, is a very wealthy and aristocratic organisation, even its affiliated members—of whom there are several thousands, of every nationality—esteeming their connection with it a great honour.

During the French Revolution mobs stripped the chapel of everything that could be torn down or broken, leaving it such a wreck that the municipal authorities were considering tearing it down, but were happily prevented from doing so by Napoleon. The lower chapel was, however, used as a jail for drunken and disorderly persons—and even as a pound for stray dogs—until 1818. The upper chapel meanwhile was roofless and windowless, a sad wreck of so ancient and famous a structure. Both have since been restored, the lower—or Chapel of St. Basil—being now just as it was in 1150, and, in the opinion of many critics, “the most beautiful and perfect specimen of Romanesque architecture in Europe.” We had already inspected the lower chapel while exploring the Vieux Bourg of Baldwin of the Iron Arm our first day at Bruges, but had not spent much time in the upper one. Here the most interesting object was naturally the chasse, or casket, containing the holy relic after which the chapel is named. This is on one side of the little museum of the chapel and is of silver-gilt, standing four feet, three inches high. It was made in 1617 by a silversmith of Bruges and, while not regarded as a masterpiece of its kind, is very graceful and elegant. The chapel itself is richly decorated and has some excellent stained glass windows, all of this work dating from the middle of the last century.

Adjoining the Chapelle du Saint-Sang is the Hotel de Ville. This structure is a very fine example of Flemish municipal architecture, dating from the last quarter of the fourteenth century. Here the Counts of Flanders formerly took the oath to respect the rights and privileges of the city, this formality taking place in the last window to the right. Originally there were statues of former princes on the façade and six of these were coloured by Jean Van Eyck in 1435. All were destroyed during the Revolution. Part of the interior is still used by various government officials, while up-stairs the tourists usually visit the ancient Salle Echinivale, or Council Chamber. This was restored in 1895 and decorated with a series of twelve mural paintings representing notable scenes in the history of the city. Of these eleven are by Albrecht de Vriendt, and the last by his brother, Julian, the first artist dying just before his work was completed. As these pictures form an interesting epitome of the history of the city, the subjects are given herewith:

1 Return of the Brugeois from the Battle of the Golden Spurs at Courtrai in 1302.

2 Foundation of the Order of the Golden Fleece by Philip of Burgundy at Bruges in 1430.

3 Dierick of Alsace bringing the Holy Blood to the chapel of St. Basil in 1150.

4 The interior of the ancient Hospital of St. Jean.

5 Magistrates of Bruges renewing the privileges of the Hanseatic League.

6 Count Philip of Alsace granting a charter to Bruges (1190).

7 Magistrates visiting the Studio of Jean Van Eyck (1433).

8 The printing by movable type in Bruges by Jean Britto in 1446.

9 Count Louis of Maele laying the foundation of the Town-hall (1376).

10 Jacob Van Maerlant, father of Flemish poetry, born at Damme.

11 The Free-fair.

12 Opening of the new Zwyn canal in 1404.

Palais du Franc, Bruges

One of the most interesting of the almost innumerable mediæval buildings in Bruges is the Palais du Franc which, with its many quaint turrets and gables, overlooks the fish market on the Quai Vert. The associations and history of this sumptuous bit of sixteenth century architecture date from the twelfth century—1190 to be exact—when Philip of Alsace granted a charter to the region stretching to the northward from the city to the sea, and from Aardenburg (now just across the Dutch frontier) to Dixmude. This wide tract of territory was called the Franc or Liberty of Bruges, and comprised ninety-one parishes and the towns of Ostende, Blankenburghe, Eccloo, Lissweghe, Aardenburg, Sluys and Dixmude. Of these only the first two are known to the tourists of the present day, while one must[Pg 59] [Pg 60] needs search the map very closely to find one or two of the others at all, but in the time of Philip all were busy centres of trade and industry. This was the hereditary land of the Karls, whose revolt against the attempt of Charles the Good to force them under the feudal yoke cost that monarch his life.

The charter was called the Keurbrief and laid the foundation for the administration of a code of justice that, rude as it was, meant liberty for those who otherwise would have been utterly at the mercy of any feudal lord or wandering knight. It was the Magna Carta of a large part of the Count’s dominions and even its stern eye-for-eye and life-for-life doctrine was tempered by equivalents in cash that might be paid. The life of a Karl was worth twice as much as that of a monk or priest, while for each injury there was an appropriate fine. He who broke a dyke must lose the hand that did the damage, besides forfeiting all his goods; for false weights the penalty was a fine of three livres for each offence. Fencing one’s property against game entailed branding with a red hot iron, or trial by the Count—who might confiscate the goods of the guilty party, but his life and liberty were to be safe. This cruel game law was not repealed for nearly three centuries, and must have entailed much hardship. On the whole, however, the charter was liberal for its day, and the country under it flourished exceedingly—a sure evidence of wise laws.

The Keurbrief was administered by the Magistrates of the Franc in the Palais du Franc, which was therefore a sort of special court. The present edifice is not the one erected by Philip, or used by him for the purpose, but dates from the early part of the fifteenth century. Part of it is still used as the Palais de Justice, but that part of the present structure is for the most part modern. The most interesting portion of the edifice, and the only one shown to tourists, is the Court Room containing the magnificent Cheminée du Franc, or chimney-piece, erected in honour of the Ladies’ Peace negotiated by Margaret of Austria while Regent of the Netherlands in 1529. The work was executed from designs by Lancelot Blondeel, a painter of Bruges, and was completed in 1530. The fireplace itself is of black marble, surmounted by a frieze in white marble containing four bas-reliefs representing the history of the chaste Suzanne. One cannot but wonder what was the connection of thought that suggested this story in conjunction with the commemoration of the Treaty of Cambrai, but at all events here it is. The reliefs are of varying excellence, the one showing Suzanne about to be seized by her aged admirers being very sharp and clear, while the fourth which shows the culprits being stoned to death is rather indistinct.

The upper part of the monumental chimney is of oak and occupies almost the entire side of the room. In the centre stands Charles V, represented as a Count of Flanders, nearly life size and finely carved. At his right are statues of Maximilian and Marie of Burgundy, and at the left Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castile—these being the Emperor’s ancestors on his father’s and mother’s sides respectively. On the throne behind the Emperor are the busts of Philip the Handsome and Joanna of Spain, his father and mother, and below these are the portraits in small medallions of Charles de Lannoy, who won the victory of Pavia where Francis I, the King of France, was captured, and Margaret of Austria, who negotiated the treaty. As the last mentioned portrait is almost invisible in the shadow of the Emperor it hardly seems as though the chimney-piece does justice to the loyal and talented woman whose successful diplomacy the entire work is intended to commemorate. As an example of sixteenth-century wood-carving, however, and as a most important historical monument, this chimney-piece is by no means the least interesting of the many things to be seen at Bruges.

THE BELFRY, BRUGES.

Unlike most tourists, the Professor seemed to be in no hurry to inspect the famous Belfry, although we had passed it a score of times during our stay. Facing the Grande Place, and towering three hundred and fifty-three feet into the air, it could not be overlooked, while its loud chimes—which rang every quarter of an hour, and can be heard for many blocks around—insured that it could not be forgotten. Moreover, we more than once took our evening meal at a little restaurant just across the Place from it and saw its graceful octagonal parapet on one occasion outlined against the fast-flying grey clouds of a summer storm and the next day against the blue sky of one of the few perfect June days it was our fortune to enjoy. “Too soon,” he said, in answer to our inquiring glances—“the Belfry belongs to the period of Bruges’ splendour, while the buildings we have seen thus far date from the formative period when she was still little more than a fortress on a marsh.”

The original structure dates from the very early Counts of Flanders—possibly from the[Pg 63] [Pg 64] time of the first Baldwin—but was practically destroyed by a fire in the year 1280. It was then that the present edifice was begun, at a period when the commercial and industrial importance of the city was already very great. The city’s seal and archives were stored in a strong room within the belfry walls, where four wrought iron doors secured by ten locks and ten keys guarded them against abstraction by the emissaries of some Count who might desire to curtail the privileges of the city. Eight of these keys were kept by the deans of the eight leading guilds—the butchers, bakers, shoemakers, tailors, weavers, brokers, carpenters and blacksmiths—who thus virtually controlled the government. This room the Professor desired to see above all else in the old structure. We found the four wrought iron doors, but the archive chamber no longer contains archives or the city’s seal. It was a most interesting old room, nevertheless, and one that ought to particularly interest the builders of the elaborate burglar-proof and earthquake-proof vaults that extend below so many great banking houses in America. Alas! neither the four doors nor the ten locks rendered this ancient strong-room for the protection of the city’s liberties proof against the cunning and power of tyrants, and the precious charters it once held were gradually taken away, despite the stout handiwork of one Erembald, blacksmith, who received eighty-one pounds for forging the doors in the year 1290.

To reach the bells one mounts a steep, dark staircase which is said to contain four hundred and two steps, although we did not count them. The chimes are claimed to be the finest in Europe, and comprise forty-nine bells weighing in the aggregate fifty-six thousand, one hundred and sixty-six pounds. They were cast by George Dumery in 1743 and are noted for their soft tone. The tambour which operates the chimes that ring every quarter of an hour weighs nineteen thousand, nine hundred and sixty-six pounds and is pierced by thirty thousand, five hundred square holes in which are fixed the pegs that pull the strings commanding the hammers hanging outside the bells. By altering the position of these pegs the tunes can be varied, but the programme played while we were in the city was as follows:

At the hour: “Rondo, 15th sonata,” by Mozart; at the quarter past: “Le Carillon de Dunkerque,” a popular air; at the half: “The Day of Happiness,” by Mozart; at the three-quarters past: “The Three Drummers,” a Flemish popular air. The official bell-ringer is M. Toon Nauwelaerts, a native of Lierre, where his ancestors have been bell-ringers for more than a hundred years. Although a young man, M. Nauwelaerts won an international competition of bell-ringers organised by the city of Bruges in 1911.

The view from the summit of the Belfry is one of the most superb in Flanders, especially if the visitor is so fortunate as to have fallen on one of those days when the clouds roll in great fleecy masses of dazzling white that form a wondrous background for the grim grey tower of St. Sauveur and the tapering red spire of the cathedral. As one looks down upon the sea of tiny red-roofed houses far below he is transported in fancy to the time, centuries ago, when watchmen peered off across these very parapets day and night to sound the alarm of an approaching foe, or announce the approach of their mighty Count or some noble visitor. In so doing he can realise what the old Belfry has meant to the city on the Roya. “For six hundred years,” wrote M. Gilliodts, one of the city’s learned archivists, “this belfry has watched over the city of Bruges. It has beheld her triumphs and her failures, her glory and her shame, her prosperity and her gradual decay, and, in spite of so many vicissitudes, it is still standing to bear witness to the genius of our forefathers, to awaken alike memories of old times and admiration for one of the most splendid monuments of civic architecture which the Middle Ages have produced.”

The best time of all in which to study and admire the external aspect of this noble structure is when the sun is sinking to rest and its rays fall slantingly across the sombre pile of tawny brick, touching up its projections here and there with high lights that contrast sharply with the deep shadows behind them, and listen—as did so often our poet Longfellow—to the wonderfully sweet chimes as they ring the quarter hours: