The Spell of Flanders

Thus far Bruges has not suffered seriously from the war, and it is profoundly to be hoped that no bombardment such as crumbled its fair neighbour Termonde into utter ruin will create similar havoc amid these indescribably beautiful scenes. A few hours would suffice to destroy artistic and architectural treasures of a value that would make the destruction of Louvain seem of little consequence in comparison.

CHAPTER XV

MALINES IN THE TIME OF MARGARET OF AUSTRIA

Since this chapter was written the ill-fated city of Malines has been swept with shot and shell for many days together, its once happy and prosperous inhabitants driven far and wide—many of them into foreign lands—and it is doubtful if a single one of the various ancient edifices which we visited last June has escaped injury. Notwithstanding these sad facts it has seemed best to retain the chapter substantially as it was written, inasmuch as it affords a pen picture of the old town as it looked on the very eve of its destruction. Let us hope that when the war is over it will be found that most, if not all, of its famous old structures can be restored again. As the scene of some of the most stubborn conflicts of the great war, it is likely that the city will be more generally visited by tourists than was the case when its architectural and artistic treasures were uninjured, save by the gentle hand of time. To those who thus visit it the following account of the Malines that was may prove interesting.

Situated midway between Antwerp and Brussels, on a route formerly traversed by scores of rapides every day, the ancient city of Malines—which is the French spelling, the Flemish being Mechelen—was exceptionally easy to visit, yet during the three days that we spent wandering along its entrancing old quays and streets and inspecting its many “monuments” we saw not a single tourist. This was the more remarkable because Malines is not only one of the very oldest cities in Northern Europe, but was for centuries among the most famous. For a considerable period it was the capital of all the Netherlands, and it is still the religious capital of Belgium—the archbishop of its cathedral church exercising authority over the bishops of Bruges, Ghent, Liége, Namur and Tournai.

No matter from which side one approaches the city the first object to be seen is the vast square tower of the Cathedral of St. Rombaut, and as this huge structure—the eighth wonder of the world, according to Vauban—dominates the town, so the church itself has dominated the history of the city on the River Dyle for more than eleven centuries. According to tradition St. Rombaut, or Rombold, to use the English spelling, sought to convert the savage tribes inhabiting the marshes that extended along the river about the middle of the eighth century, the date of his martyrdom being placed at 775. A Benedictine abbey was shortly afterwards established near his tomb, which steadily grew in importance and power until by the twelfth century it had become one of the most important religious institutions in the region. During the thirteenth century the prince-bishops of Malines became the virtual sovereigns of the city, one of them—Gauthier Berthout, sometimes called the Great—defeating the Duke of Gueldre, who attempted in 1267 to assert his authority over that of the prelate. At this period many of the religious institutions of Malines were established under the patronage of Gauthier Berthout and his successors.

Meanwhile the comparative immunity of the city from the ravages of the wars that so often raged at that period between the various feudal lords of the region caused great numbers of artisans to settle there, particularly weavers, while the cloth merchants’ guild came to be recognised as entitled to a voice in the civil affairs of the commune. Ships, according to the chronicles, came up the River Dyle in such numbers as to make the commercial activity of the town rival that of Antwerp—a statement that is hard to believe when one gazes at the tiny River Dyle of to-day. However, the ships in those days were very small, and the river, like so many others in Belgium, was no doubt broader then than it is now that the marshes have all been drained. The weavers and other artisans were a turbulent lot, and it soon became evident that the bishops lacked the power to hold them in check.

This led to a series of alienations of the temporal power over the commune to neighbouring princes whose armies were strong enough to keep the unruly burghers in restraint. The first of these was effected in the year 1300 between the prince-bishop, Jean Berthout, and Jean II, Duke of Brabant. In 1303 the news of the great victory gained over the nobility by the Flemish communes at Courtrai caused the citizens to revolt against their new master, the Duke, who besieged the city and finally reduced it by starvation. Until this time the Dyle had never been bridged, its waters flowing over a broad marshy bed. This made the siege the more difficult as the attacking forces were separated by the river, and it was five months before the sturdy burghers yielded. To this day an annual procession, called the peysprocessie, perpetuates the memory of this famous siege.

During the next half century the civil authority over the city became a veritable shuttlecock of politics and war, shifting back and forth between the Dukes of Brabant and the Counts of Flanders. It was bought and sold like a parcel of real estate, but eventually rested with the Counts of Flanders, who had first acquired it by purchase in 1333, and were finally left in undisputed possession by a treaty signed in 1357. Four years later a violent insurrection of the weavers and other artisans broke out that was only mastered after the city had been in their possession fifteen days, but with the advent of the Dukes of Burgundy to the supreme power over all of Flanders, Brabant, Hainaut and Holland, the unruly workmen were no longer strong enough to resist these redoubtable princes. Great numbers of them emigrated to other cities, and the cloth industry, after languishing for a time, finally disappeared.

Like most Flemish towns, Malines has its principal railway station located on its very outskirts, and as far as possible from the Grande Place. A tram car was standing in front of the station on the morning of our first visit, but it seemed that it did not start for ten minutes. A score of roomy two-seated carriages invited our patronage, but we valiantly decided to walk. We soon regretted our decision as the walk proved to be long and hot, with very little of interest to see, as the houses in this part of the town are comparatively modern. At the bridge across the Dyle we paused for a few moments to admire the fine views that can here be had of the old Church Notre Dame au delà de la Dyle to the westward and the equally picturesque Notre Dame d’Hanswyck to the eastward. Just beyond the river is the entrance to the Botanical Gardens, and as our first visit chanced to be on a Friday we walked in unmolested and enjoyed the welcome shade and the beautiful landscape effects of this charming little park. Later on we learned that Friday is the only week-day on which admission is free, a fee of ten cents being exacted on other days.

As is the case in most Belgian cities, the street from the station to the heart of the town, although continuous and straight, changes its name more than once. At the outset it is the rue Conscience, then the rue d’Egmont, and from the bridge across the Dyle to the Grande Place it is named Bruul. Entering the Place from this side we paused to admire the tremendous tower of the cathedral which here burst upon us in all its majestic grandeur, although the edifice is situated a little to the west of the Place itself. In front of us, on the right, was a singularly dilapidated ruin, which we learned was the old Cloth Hall. Part of it is used as a police station, part is vacant with its window openings devoid of sashes or glass staring blankly at the sky, while part is devoted to housing a small museum of municipal antiquities. The first Cloth Hall at Malines was destroyed by fire in 1342, and the new one that was begun to replace it was never finished, owing to the ruin of the cloth industry during the struggles between the artisans and their overlords, and a belfry which it was proposed to erect similar to that at Bruges was never begun. The museum contains a number of pictures by Malines artists, of historical rather than artistic interest, a “Christ on the Cross,” by Rubens, and a variety of relics of the city’s famous past. Curiously enough, there is not a single piece of lace in the collection, nor anything to represent the great cloth weaving industry—the two branches of manufacture to which the city owes so much of its former wealth and fame.

Adjoining the Halle aux Draps to the north is a fine modern post-office built from designs drawn by the great Malines architect of the sixteenth century, Rombaut Keldermans, for a new Hotel de Ville, which was never built. Unfortunately its principal façade overlooks the narrow rue de Beffer instead of the Grande Place, and its beautiful details cannot be seen as effectively as could be desired. In the Vieux Palais, the ancient “Schepenhuis,” or house of the bailiffs, situated a little south of the Place, we were shown the original design by Keldermans. It is kept in a sliding panel on the wall and, although somewhat dim with age, can still be studied in detail. The modern architects of the post-office have reverently followed the plans of the great master so that at least this one of his many brilliant architectural dreams has come true, and now stands carved in imperishable stone just as his genius conceived it nearly four centuries ago.

To the ancestor of this architect, Jean Keldermans, is generally attributed the honour of designing the tower of St. Rombaut, the architectural glory of Malines and one of the most magnificent structures of the kind in the world. There are a thousand places throughout the city where the photographer or painter can obtain attractive views of this masterpiece, but perhaps the best of all is from a point some distance down the Ruelle sans Fin (Little Street without End) where a quaint mediæval house forms an arch across the narrow street, while behind and far above it rises the majestic tower. From whatever standpoint one regards the great tower, whether gazing up at its vast bulk from directly beneath—a point of view that the camera cannot reproduce—or from any of the little streets that radiate away from it, its grandeur and beauty are equally impressive.

Begun in 1452, work on the great tower advanced slowly. In 1468, according to a memorial tablet near the southern side of the tower, Gauthier Coolman was buried there. It was the custom in the Middle Ages to thus recognise the magister operis, or creator of the work, but it is generally acknowledged that Jean Keldermans is entitled to share in the credit for this achievement. Jean was the first in a family of famous architects, his brothers André, Mathieu and Antoine I, following the same profession, and their skill being handed down to later generations, of whom the most famous were Antoine II, Rombaut and Laurent. At the beginning of the sixteenth century work on the great tower was stopped, owing to lack of funds, after attaining a height of three hundred and eighteen feet. The plans, of which sketches are still preserved at Brussels, called for carrying the spire upward to a total height of five hundred and fifty feet, and in the ambulatory of the cathedral we found a plaster cast showing the spire as it was proposed to erect it. The stones to complete the work were already cut and brought to Malines, but were carried away between 1582 and 1584 by the Prince of Orange to build the town of Willemstadt. Apart from its height, this tower is remarkable for its great bulk, measuring no less than twenty-five metres in diameter at the base.

On each side for most of its height the architect designed a series of lofty Gothic windows. Of these the lowest are filled in with masonry, except for a tiny window in the centre. In the higher ones stone blinds fill in the openings, while the topmost pair are wide open to the sky. The well-known legend about the over-excitable citizen of Malines who cried “Fire!” one night after seeing the full moon through these windows gave the people of the town for many years the nickname of Maanblusschers, or moon extinguishers, and also gave rise to the slur in the last three words of the following Latin distich in which an old monkish poet compares the six chief cities of Belgium:

Nobilibus Bruxella viris, Antwerpia Nummis,Gandavum laqueis, formosis Bruga puellis,Lovanium doctis, gaudet Mechlinia stultis.Brussels is renowned for its noble men, Antwerp for its money,Ghent for its halters, Bruges for its pretty girls,Louvain for its scholars, Malines (Mechelen) for its fools.

This seems rather hard on Malines, and also on Ghent, the allusion to that city referring to numerous occasions when its sovereigns humbled the burghers by forcing them to plead for mercy with halters around their necks.

On the outside of the tower, close to its present summit, is a clock the face of which is claimed to be the largest in the world. As the same claim is made for the great clock on an industrial establishment in Jersey City I will simply give the dimensions of the one at Malines and let those interested make the comparison for themselves: Diameter of face, 13.5 metres; circumference, 41 metres; length of hour hand, 3.62 metres; height of figures, 1.96 metres. The minute hands were originally 4.25 metres long, but are missing on all four sides. This renders the time-piece hardly one to be consulted if one is catching a train, as the exact minute can only be estimated from the position of the hour hand. Furthermore, the gilding on the hour hands and on most of the figures has become so dim that only the strongest eyes can distinguish the former, and some of the latter can only be made out from their position. As the city appeared to be exceedingly proud of the size of this clock it seemed strange that the authorities did not authorise the expenditure of the small sum necessary to re-gild it.

It is a hard climb to the top of the tower, but one well worth making, not only for the fine panorama of the city that unfolds itself wider and wider as one mounts higher, but for the opportunity thus afforded of seeing the fine carillon, or set of chimes, and the curious mechanism operating the clappers that strike the hours. Just before reaching the floor upon which these are placed the guide conducts the visitor to a trap door from which one can look down into the interior of the cathedral—a thrilling experience to be enjoyed only by those who are not inclined to be dizzy. The massive timber work supporting the huge bells was constructed in 1662, but the oldest of the bells dates from 1498, or six years after the discovery of America. The two biggest bells are named Salvator and Charles, of which the larger one weighs 8,884 kilos, or more than nine tons, and requires twelve men to ring it. There are four other big bells and forty-five for the entire carillon, most of which were cast by Pierre Hémony of Amsterdam, the Stradivarius of bell founders, in 1674. Altogether they form four octaves, the giants chiming in with the others as the music demands. The keyboard which operates the little hammers is operated by both hand and foot power, and the carillonneur who operates it is worthy of the splendid instrument at his command, being Josef Denyn, the son of an equally famous carillonneur, and reputed to be the finest in Europe. M. Denyn not only gives frequent concerts at Malines, but also at Antwerp and Bruges, as well as in many European cities outside of Belgium.

We made a special trip to Malines one Monday afternoon in June solely to listen to one of these concerts, which takes place on that day between eight and nine in the evening, during the months of June, August and September. The sleepy old town was thronged with automobiles, for the renown of these famous concerts has spread far and wide, and some of the cars, we were told, had come from points as far away as Ostende, Blankenburghe and Heyst, while scores were from Antwerp and Brussels. The crowd gathered quietly in the streets surrounding the great tower and a great silence seemed to pervade the entire city as the hour of eight approached. Then, faint and far at first, came the first dulcet tones from this great organ of the sky, until—as the music swelled and more of the larger bells began to blend their notes in the harmony—the very air seemed vibrant with celestial sounds. The selection, as we afterwards learned, was one of the Volksliederen, or pieces of folk music for the rendition of which M. Denyn is famous. As we listened we realised as never before the part the ancient carillon was meant to take in the daily life of the people. It is, in truth, as a French author has beautifully expressed it, the orchestra of the poor, giving expression through its wondrous notes to their joys and their sorrows. On the occasion of great fêtes its music is light and gay, in attune with the popular rejoicing; in times of public grief the carillon gives utterance to notes of lamentation; when a famous citizen is being borne to his last resting-place through the streets lined with silent mourners the carillon sends the deep notes of its funeral dirges across the city; in time of war or sudden danger the great bells roar the wild tocsin of alarm; in time of peace their softest notes breathe a sweet prayer of peace and benediction at eventide.

While we were visiting the tower we were shown the tambour cast in copper by means of which the clock strikes the hours, the half hours and the quarters. This was cast in 1783, and two years were required to make the sixteen thousand, two hundred square holes into which drop the teeth that actuate the striking hammers.

The interior of St. Rombaut, while majestic and imposing, is hardly as masterly as the tower. On the occasion of our first visit a high mass was being celebrated and we reverently joined the throng of worshippers. In addition to the choir there was a body of some two hundred young men in the centre of the cathedral who participated in the singing, a curé beating time for them. Their strong manly voices blended finely with the higher notes of the distant choir boys and the deep tones of the organ. From the top of the choir long crimson streamers were suspended, terminating at the back of the high altar and giving a rich note of colour to the interior, while the light from the stained glass windows overhead poured downward in many-coloured rays upon the throng of black-robed priests, with a sprinkling of higher dignitaries clad in purple. Truly a picture that filled the eye with the pageantry of religion, even as the rolling notes of the sonorous chants filled the ear!

After the service was over, and the great cathedral, but now so crowded, was deserted, we started on our tour of inspection. It would be a tedious task to chronicle all of the objects of interest. The carved stalls of the Gothic choir are far less elaborate in workmanship than those at Amiens. The altar by Faid’herbe, a native of Malines, is imposing, but not of remarkable merit. The carved pulpit in the nave, however, is a veritable masterpiece of wood carving by Michel Van der Voort of Antwerp, and dates from 1723. Below, St. Norbert is shown flung from his horse by a thunderbolt, above is the Crucifixion at the left, with the Virgin and St. John standing below the cross, while at the right is shown a charming representation of the Fall, with Eve offering the apple to Adam, both figures embowered in a mass of foliage that twines up the stairway to the pulpit and lifts its branches far overhead. The masterpiece of the paintings is an altarpiece by Van Dyck representing the Crucifixion, a notable representation of the gradations of grief in the faces of the Virgin and Mary Magdalen. The attendant requires a franc to uncover this picture. “The Adoration of the Shepherds,” by Erasmus Quellen, in the opposite arm of the transept, while less famous, is a noble piece of work.

As would be expected from its great religious importance, Malines has numerous minor churches that contain much of interest to the visitor. The largest of these is Notre Dame au delà de la Dyle, situated across the River Dyle from the oldest part of the city, but dating from the fifteenth century. Here the tourist usually asks to see “The Miraculous Draught of Fishes,” by Rubens, a highly coloured triptych that is only uncovered when one pays a franc to the attendant. As this master produced some seventeen hundred known works it would cost a small fortune to see them all at a franc apiece, but this one dates from the artist’s best period and is fully worth the price charged to see it. It is vigorous in treatment, and the Fishmongers’ Guild, which purchased it from the artist in 1618 for sixteen hundred florins, certainly got very good value for their money. The wings are painted on both sides. This church also contains the curious Virgin with the Broken Back. According to the popular legend her sharp leaning to the right is due to the fact that one day, when the sacristan of the church failed to wake up in time to ring the angelus the lady obligingly did it for him, but wrenched her spine in the effort. Her smug smirk of satisfaction, as if over a duty well performed, no doubt also dates from the same incident.

Hardly less interesting is the ancient church of Notre Dame d’Hanswyck, situated on the same side of the Dyle as the other Notre Dame just described. A chapel was erected on the site of this church soon after the country was converted from paganism by St. Rombaut, and a large church was built near the end of the thirteenth century. This, however, was pillaged by the iconoclasts in 1566, riddled by shot from the cannon of the Prince of Orange in 1572, and finally completely demolished eight or nine years later by the Gueux. It was not until 1663 that the present edifice was begun. It was designed by Luke Faid’herbe, the famous sculptor of Malines and a pupil of Rubens, and was built under his personal supervision. The church itself is a veritable museum of the works of this master. The finest and most famous of these are the two bas-reliefs in the dome, one showing “The Nativity,” and the other “The Saviour Falling Under the Burden of the Cross.” The pulpit, by Theodore Verhaegen, is a fine example of Flemish wood carving. In this church the chief treasure, from the standpoint of its priests and parishioners, is the miraculous statue of the Virgin, which dates from 988, or earlier, according to some authorities. It is made of wood, painted and gilded, and is life size. Not the least miraculous feat of this interesting relic of the Middle Ages is its escape from destruction, at the hands of the iconoclasts, the Gueux, and the French revolutionists. At the period when the church itself was destroyed the statue was hidden in a secret subterranean passage for nearly a century; during the French Revolution it was successively lodged in various houses in the rue d’Hanswyck—each time being replaced in the church, after the danger was over, amid great popular rejoicing.

Another church that is a small art gallery is that of St. Jean, not far from the cathedral. Here is the fine “Adoration of the Magi,” by Rubens, which many critics consider one of the four best of his ceremonial works. It was painted in 1617, the year before “The Miraculous Draught of Fishes,” at Notre Dame de la Dyle, when the artist was fresh from his studies in Italy, and before his success had caused him to employ a throng of students to assist in the production of his works. Furthermore, it was executed for this very church, which still possesses his receipt for the final payment, written in Flemish, dated March 24, 1624, and signed by the artist, “Pietro Paulo Rubens.” The price was eighteen hundred florins, but for good measure the church obtained three small paintings by the great master to be hung below the triptych. In 1794 these pictures were taken to Paris and the “Adoration of the Magi” was not restored to its original position until after the fall of Napoleon. Two of the small pictures, “The Adoration of the Shepherds” and “The Resurrection,” are now in the museum of Marseilles—having never been returned—while the third, “Christ on the Cross,” after changing hands several times, was at last purchased by an amateur who recognised its authorship and history and restored it to the church of St. Jean. The two little pictures on either side of it, often attributed to Rubens, are by Luc Franchoys the younger. This church also boasts some marvellous Flemish wood carvings. Around the two pillars of the transept where it intersects the nave are some bas-reliefs, six altogether, by Theodore Verhaegen and his pupils, that if there was nothing else to see would alone justify a visit to St. Jean, while the pulpit by the same master, representing “The Good Shepherd Preaching to His People,” is one of the most noteworthy of the numerous examples of pulpit carving to be seen in Flanders. Below the organ are two more admirable bas-reliefs carved in Flemish oak by Pierre Valckx, a pupil of Verhaegen.