ANTWERP.ANTWERP.PAGE 20.
The Avenue Louise is in the modern part of the town. Brussels, however, is not all modern. Most of the Belgian towns are quite flat, but to reach the old Brussels you must go down some very steep, narrow streets, one of which, called theMontague de la Cour, where the best shops are, leads to the Grande Place, a picturesque square surrounded by quaint houses with fantastic gables. These were the houses of the Guilds, or Merchant Companies, in the old days. One of them is shaped like the stern of a ship. Most of them are ornamented with gilded mouldings. They are beautiful buildings, and the finest is the Hotel de Ville, the front of which is a mass of statuettes. Its high, steep roof is pierced by innumerable little windows, and above it there is a lofty and graceful spire, which towers up and up, with a gilded figure of the Archangel Michael at the top.
A flower-market is held in the Grande Place, and in summer, when the sun is shining brightly, it is a very pretty sight. But the best time to see the Grande Place of Brussels is at night, when all is silent, and the tall houses look solemnly down on the scene of many great events which took place there long ago.
I cannot tell you one-half of all there is to see in Brussels—the beautiful churches, the picture-galleries and museums, the splendid old library, and the gardens. The largest building is a modern one, thePalais de Justice, where the law courts sit. It cost nearly £2,000,000 to build, and is much bigger than anything in London. It stands on an eminence overlooking the lower part of the town, and is so huge that it may almost be said to make the capital of this tiny kingdom look top-heavy.
There are many other towns in Belgium besides those we have been looking at: Louvain, with its ancient University; Liége and Charleroi, with their steel and iron works; Courtrai, celebrated for the manufacture of linen; Tournai, where carpets are made; Mons, with its coal-mines; and more besides, which all lie within the narrow limits of this small country. Most of them have played a great part in history. Belgium is, above all things, a country of famous towns.
When you wander about among the towns of Flanders and Brabant you might think that the whole of Belgium was one level plain. But if you leave Brussels and journey to the south, the aspect of the country changes. Beyond the Forest of Soignies the tame, flat fields, the formal rows of trees, and the long, straight roads begin to disappear, the landscape becomes more picturesque, and soon you reach a river called the Meuse, which flows along through a romanticvalley, full of quiet villages, gardens, woods, and hayfields, and enclosed by steep slopes clothed with trees and thickets, and broken here and there by dells, ravines, and bold, outstanding pinnacles of rock, beyond which, for mile after mile, an undulating tableland is covered by thick forests, where deer, wild boars, and other game abound. This district is called the Ardennes.
In the Valley of the Meuse there are three old and famous towns—Liége, Namur, and Dinant—each nestling at the side of the river, at the foot of a hill with a castle perched upon it.
Other rivers flow into the Meuse. There is the Sambre, which runs from the west, and joins the Meuse at Namur; the Lesse, which rushes in from the south through a narrow gorge; and the Semois, a stream the sides of which are so steep that there is not even a pathway along them in some places, and travellers must pass from side to side in boats when following its course.
This is the prettiest part of Belgium, and in summer many people, who do not care for going to the seaside, spend the holidays at the towns and villages which are dotted about in the valleys and among the hills and woods.
The Belgians may be divided, roughly speaking, into five classes of people. There are those of the highest rank, who are called thegrande, orvraie, noblesse. Of these there are not many, but they belong to old families, some of which have been famous in the history of their country. They have often fine country-houses, and the towns in which you will find them most often are Brussels and Ghent. Then come those of a much lower class, thepetite noblesse, of whom there are very many. They seldom mix in society with thegrande noblesse, and their friends are generally members of thehaute, orbonne, bourgeoisie. Thebonne bourgeoisieare like our middle class, and there is no difference between them and thepetite noblesseas to the way in which they live. Below these are thepetite bourgeoisie, who are mostly shopkeepers, clerks, and people in various employments. Last of all are the artisans and working-class people.
It is about the children of thebonne bourgeoisiethat I am going to speak, for they are a very numerous class, and their customs are in many respects the same as those of most Belgians.
When a child is born, the parents should send to all their friends a box ofdragees—that is, sugared almonds or sugar-plums. If the child is a boy, the box is tied with pink ribbons; and if it is a girl, with blue. Cards announcing the birth of a child are often sent nowadays, but the real old Belgian fashion is to send thedragees, and it is a great pity that people are giving it up so much.
The next thing is to find a name for the child, and that is done by the godmother, who either chooses some family name or calls the child after its patron saint—that is to say, the saint on whose day it was born—for in Belgium, as in all Catholic countries, each day is dedicated to some saint. The commonest name, however, for girls is Marie, a name given in honour of the Virgin Mary, to whom many baby girls are devoted from their birth. The mothers of these little girls vow never to dress them in anything but blue and white till they are seven years old. When the baby is baptized, the godfather gives a pair of gloves to the mother and the godmother. Curiously enough, most Belgian parents would rather have a baby girl than a boy, because a boy costs more to educate, and also because boys, when they grow up, have to draw lots for service in the army, and almost every father who can afford it buys his son off, and that costs money.
There is no nursery life such as we have in England—at least, in very few Belgian families. Here againmoney is grudged. People who will pay high wages for a good cook hire young girls of fourteen or fifteen to look after their children, and thesebonnes, as they are called, are paid very little, and are often careless and stupid. The result is that the children are constantly with their parents, and, to keep them quiet, are dreadfully spoilt and petted. It very often happens that, when a Belgian lady has a friend calling on her, young children, who ought to be in a nursery, are playing in the drawing-room. Their mother has no control over them, and if she ventures to tell them to keep quiet, or to run away, they don't obey her, and then she gives in, and lets them have their own way.
Another thing which follows from this want of nursery training is that if, as sometimes happens, there are disputes between the parents, the children are mixed up in them. You will hear a Belgian mother say to her young daughter: "Imagine what your father has done!" Or if the husband is angry with his wife, he will turn to his boy, and exclaim: "That is just like a woman!" Of course, this is very bad for the children, who hear a great deal which they would know nothing about if they were not always with their parents.
From being so much with older people these children get strange ideas. I know a lady who said to a small Belgian girl, who was an only child: "Would you like a little brother or sister to play with?" "Oh! no, no," replied the child, "because when my father and mother die, I shall have all their money." Whereupon the mother exclaimed: "There! the dear child; how well she knows the world already!"
The children of thepetite bourgeoisieare the most unruly. One sees them often at the various holiday places, at the seaside or in the Ardennes, where they dine, however young, along with their parents at thetables d'hôte, or public dining-tables, of the hotels. They eat untidily, spill their soup, throw bread at each other, upset their tumblers of beer or wine (for they are allowed to have whatever their parents are drinking), talk at the top of their voices, and really make such a row that the older people can't hear each other speaking. The moment they have had as much food as they want, they jump up, push their chairs noisily aside, and begin to chase each other round the room. Their parents never think of stopping them, and care nothing about the annoyance such unmannerly behaviour causes. It is curious how few Belgians, old or young, rich or poor, consider the feelings or convenience of others. They are intensely selfish, and this is doubtless caused by the way in which they are brought up.
As you know, parents in England are forced by law to send their children to school, or have them taught privately. There is no such law in Belgium, and parents, if they like, may leave their children without any education. The number, however, of those who do not go to school is gradually decreasing, and most children get lessons of some sort or another.
THE HÔTEL DE VILLE, BRUSSELS.THE HÔTEL DE VILLE, BRUSSELS.PAGE 4.
No religious instruction is given in Belgian schools, except in convent schools, or in those where the teachers are entirely under the Church. But almost all children have to learn the Catechism at home. They need not understand it, but they must be able to repeat the words. This is to prepare them for theirPremière Communion, or first Communion, to which they go when they are eleven or twelve years old. It takes place two Sundays before Easter Day.
The custom is for all members of the family to wear new clothes on the day of aPremière Communion, but the child's dress is the important thing. In Belgian towns, for some time before, the windows of the shops in which articles of dress are sold are full of gloves, stockings, ties, and other things marked "Première Communion." A boy's dress is not much trouble. He wears black trousers, a black jacket, and white gloves and tie. But great thought is given to seeing that a girl looks well in her white dress, and other nice new things. She thinks and talks of nothing but her clothes for ever so long before, and especially of her "corsets," which she then puts on for the first time. Her mother takes her to the shop to try them on, and is at much pains to make her waist as slender as possible. "Can't you pull them a little tighter?" she will say to the shopwoman. The girl has tight new shoes to make her feet look as small as possible; thecoiffeurdresses her hair; and she is very proud of her appearance when,squeezed into proper shape and decked out in her new clothes, she sets off to church.
The children are confirmed on the Monday, the day after their first Communion, and are then taken to visit the friends of the family to be shown off, and to receive presents. The windows of the confectioners' shops are full of little white sugar images of boys and girls saying their prayers, and even the poorest people manage to have a feast of some sort on this occasion. They often beg money for the purpose. It is, of course, difficult for parents who are poor to buy new clothes. But any little gifts of money which a child may receive are taken and hoarded up to be spent on its first Communion.
All Belgian children, even those whose parents are not Catholics, go, with scarcely an exception, to first Communion, and are confirmed, for there may be relatives with money to leave, and they must not be displeased.
ThePremière Communionis the chief event in the life of a Belgian child.
Christmas is not kept in Belgium in the same way as in England, Germany, and other countries. There are special services in church, but no Christmas-trees, Christmas presents, or family dinner-parties.
This was not always so, and some traces still remain in different parts of the old customs which used to be observed in Belgium. The ancient Belgians had a festival at mid-winter, and when they were converted to Christianity they continued to use a good many of their old rites at that season of the year, and the few very old Christmas customs which survive really began when Belgium was a pagan or heathen land.
Some of these customs are rather curious. In the Valley of the Meuse the pagans used to feast on the flesh of wild boars at their mid-winter banquets, and now the people of Namur have roast pork for dinner on Christmas Day. Thepetite bourgeoisieof Brussels often eat chestnuts on that day—an old usage handed down from the days when the Germans ate acorns—and think they can find out what is going to happen in the future by burning them. For instance, a young man andwoman who are engaged to be married throw two nuts into the fire. If they burn peacefully, the marriage will be happy; if they crack and jump away from each other, it will be unhappy. If a candle or lamp goes out suddenly on Christmas Eve, it is believed that someone in the room will die soon. Another sign of death is if you throw salt on the floor and it melts. In some places candles are burnt all night to scare away evil spirits. Another custom is to go into orchards, and strike with an axe trees which have not been fruitful. This, it is thought, will make them bear next year.
There are many other superstitions like these which can be traced back to heathen times, but are now mixed up with the rites of Christian worship. One strange superstition, which a few old peasants still have, is that when the clock strikes twelve on Christmas Eve all the water in the house may turn into wine. This comes down, no doubt, from early Christian times.
In some Belgian towns the children of the poor go round on Christmas Eve, from house to house, singing, and asking for bread, fruit, or nuts. One of their favourite songs begins:
"Blyden nacht,O blyden nacht! Messias is geboren!"
"Blyden nacht,O blyden nacht! Messias is geboren!"
That is Flemish, their language, and it means: "Happy night, oh, happy night! The Messiah is born." Another song begins: "Een Kindeken is onsgeboren," which is the same as "Unto us a Child is born."
Good children, who have said their prayers every night, expect to find under their pillows on Christmas morning a cake, or rather a bun, which is called anengelskoek, or angel's cake, which the Archangel Gabriel is supposed to have brought during the night to reward them. Naughty children find nothing. In some places the children are told that it is thepetit Jesus(the little child Jesus), who puts the bun under their pillows.
In many churches, but by no means in all, there is a midnight service, at which there is a manger surrounded by wax candles, with an image of the Holy Child in it. But this late service was so often made an excuse for going to public-houses, and drinking too much, that the hour has been changed, in most places, to five in the morning. The custom of having shrines, with a manger and candles, known as "Bethlehems," is, however, common, even in private houses.
On Christmas Day in Flanders people wish each other "A Merry Christmas," just as they do in England; and many parents of the upper classes send their children, in charge of a servant, to visit their relatives, from whom they may receive some small gifts.
But Christmas Day is not the same, in the way of presents and merry-making, as it is in England.
New Year's Day is a great day in Belgium.
December 31, the last day of the old year, is dedicated to St. Sylvester, and there is a custom, at least in Antwerp, that the child who gets out of bed last is called a "Sylvester," and must give the best of its toys to its brothers and sisters. If one of the older girls in a family does not finish any sewing or fancy-work she may have on hand by the end of the day, she is afraid of being haunted by evil spirits. Some people say that a young woman who does not finish her work before sunset has no chance of being married for a year. So they all get their various tasks done, and the last night of the year is spent in amusement. The whole family, children and all, sit up till midnight, singing, reciting, or playing games till the clock strikes twelve, when they all kiss each other, and give wishes for "A Happy New Year."
In the big towns, however, many of thepetite bourgeoisiedo not "bring in the New Year" at home, and the restaurants and cafés are crowded till twelve o'clock, when healths are drunk, and there is cheeringand singing, which are continued in the streets when the people are going home; and there is a great deal of noise for a long time after all the cafés are closed.
It used to be the fashion to fire guns at midnight on New Year's Eve, but that is not common now except in one part of Belgium, called Limburg, where any girl who has a lover expects him to fire off shots in front of her window. The more shots he fires the more she thinks he loves her, and to reward him she ought to hide a bottle of gin in some corner outside the house, from which he can drink her health. Mischievous young men, however, sometimes find the bottle, and drink the gin before the lover comes, and so the girl often waits till she hears the shots, and then lowers the bottle by a string from the window. This funny custom, like many others, is now going out of fashion.
On New Year's Day all Belgians call on their friends to wish them "A Happy New Year," when they are offered wine, sweetmeats, and things of that sort. This paying of visits on New Year's Day goes on to such an extent in Belgian towns that people who have many friends spend almost the whole day in walking or driving about from one house to another. As everyone is doing the same thing, of course a great many people are not at home when their friends come, and so the hall-table of nearly every house is covered with calling-cards before evening. The servants have almost nothing to do all day but answer the door-bell, which is constantly ringing.
In some towns, Antwerp among others, it is supposed to be quite allowable for grown-up people, ladies and gentlemen, to kiss anyone they know on New Year's Day. A Belgian lady once told me that it brought good luck to kiss an officer of the army; but, of course, there are limits to this, as there are to kissing under the mistletoe in England.
In the country parts of South Belgium it is the custom to try to be the first to call out "Good New Year" when you meet a friend. If you say it first you have something given you. The children try to surprise their fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, and all the friends of the family in this way. They get up early, and hide themselves, so as to be able to jump out suddenly, and say "Een Zalig Nieuwjahr," which means "A Good New Year." All day long they go on doing it, and are never tired of telling each other about the tricks they have thought of toverassen, as it is called, the older people, who must give them gingerbread or sugar-plums as the penalty for being surprised in this way.
On New Year's Day in Belgium it is not only your friends who stop you in the street or call at your house. Every man, woman, boy, or girl who has done any work for you, and often those who have done nothing, expect to get something. They are very greedy. Railway-porters who have once brought a box to your house, ring your bell and beg. Telegraph-boys, scavengers paid by the town, bell-ringers, policemen,shop-boys, everyone comes bowing and scraping, and men who in England would be ashamed to take a "tip" will touch their hats, and hold out their hands for a few pence. They don't wait to be offered money; they ask for it, like common street-beggars asking alms.
January 6, the Feast of the Epiphany, is known in Flanders asGroot Nieuwjahr("Great New Year"), and is kept to some extent by the working-people in the same way as the first day of the year. Mondays are always idle days with working-men in Belgium, and the first Monday after Epiphany is the idlest of them all. It is calledVerloren Maandag, or, in French,Lundi Perdu, which means "Lost Monday," because no one does any work. The day is spent going about asking for money, and at night there is a great deal of drinking. On one of these Mondays not long ago some drunken troopers of a cavalry regiment stabbed the keeper of a village public-house near Bruges, broke his furniture to pieces, and kept the villagers in a state of terror for some hours.
One very bad thing about the lower-class Belgians is that when they drink, and begin to quarrel, they use knives, and wound or kill those who have offended them. By a curious superstition it is thought unlucky to work on Lost Monday, so the people get drunk, and more crimes of violence are committed on that day than at any other time of the year.
The Belgians are very fond of pageants and processions. In each town there are several, and in all villages at least one, every year. It has been so for hundreds of years, and these spectacles must have been magnificent in the Middle Ages, when the narrow streets were full of knights in glittering armour riding on their strong Flemish war-horses decked with embroidered saddle-cloths, bishops and priests in gorgeous vestments, standard-bearers, trumpeters, heralds in their robes of office, images of saints borne high above the crowd, mingled with jesters and the enormous giants with grotesque faces which were carried along on these occasions. The tall houses with their projecting wooden gables were gay with flags. The windows and balconies were hung with rich tapestry, and from them the wives and daughters of nobles and wealthy merchants looked down upon the scene below. A Queen of France once rode in a procession through the streets of Bruges, and was moved to jealousy by the sight of so many ladies decked in jewels as rich as her own. "I thought," she said, "thatI alone was Queen, but here I have hundreds of rivals."
AT THE KERMESSE.AT THE KERMESSE.PAGE 8.
One of the most splendid of these pageants was in the summer of the year 1468, when an English Princess, Margaret of York, married a Prince called Charles the Bold, who was Duke of Burgundy. On that occasion there was a famous tournament in the market-place of Bruges, in which many valiant knights took part. It was called the "Tournament of the Golden Tree." Two years ago, in the summer of 1907, there was a pageant at Bruges, when the marriage festivities of Charles the Bold and Margaret of York were represented. A young Belgian lady took the part of the English Princess, and a Belgian gentleman appeared as Charles the Bold. There were knights in armour, ladies of the Court of Burgundy, heralds, men-at-arms, and pages, all dressed in the picturesque costumes of the Middle Ages. There was tilting in the lists, when lances were broken, and, in short, everything was done very nearly as it was 440 years ago. This spectacle, which was produced on three days, was attended by thousands of people, who came from all parts of Belgium to see it. It was a very good example of how well the Belgians can manage a pageant, and how popular these shows are with the people.
A very celebrated pageant takes place every year at Bruges, the "Procession of the Holy Blood," which devout Catholics from every country in Europe attend. There is a small chapel in that town, where they keep,in a crystal tube, what is said to be some of the blood of our Lord. It has been there for more than 700 years. The tube is preserved in a beautiful case adorned with precious stones, which is carried through the town on the first Monday after May 2. The houses are decorated with flags, and candles burn in almost every window. Through the streets, between crowds of people standing on the pavements or looking down from the windows—while the church bells ring, and wreaths of incense fill the air, bands of music, squadrons of cavalry, crucifixes, shrines, images, the banners of the parishes, heralds in their varied dresses, bareheaded pilgrims from England, France, and other countries, maidens in white, bearing palms or crowns of thorn or garlands—priests and chanting choristers, move slowly along, and, when the relic of the Holy Blood passes, all the people sink to the ground. Bruges, usually so empty, is always crowded on that day.
Seven or eight years ago at Lierre, a town near Antwerp, I saw three processions in one month, each of which showed the Belgian fondness for such things. One was the procession of St. Gommarius, the patron saint of the town, when a golden shrine, said to contain his bones, was carried through the streets, just as the relic of the Holy Blood is carried through Bruges. There were a great many little children in that procession, dressed as angels and saints—in white, pale green, blue, crimson, and other colours. Some had wreaths offlowers on their heads, and some carried lighted tapers. They all seemed proud of taking part in the procession. The smallest, who were tiny mites, with their mothers walking with them to take care of them, were very tired at the end, for they had to walk slowly for hours on the hard stones, stopping often before sacred images, when the priests burned incense, and all the people went down on their knees. This, like that at Bruges, is a religious procession, and there are many others of the same kind all over Belgium.
Another procession was in honour of an old couple, who had been married for fifty years. They were poor people, and the parish was celebrating their "golden wedding." There was a service in the Cathedral of St. Gommarius, and when that was finished the old man and his wife were put in a carriage and four. They were neatly dressed, and each had a large bouquet of yellow flowers. At the head of each horse walked a young man, leading it by a long yellow ribbon. In front of the carriage a band of musicians played, and behind it came a number of peasants, all in their best clothes. They wore white cotton gloves and yellow wedding-favours. The man and his wife, who were evidently feeble as well as very old, seemed rather bored, but all the people in the procession were in high spirits, for they were on their way to a good dinner paid for by the parish.
A few nights after that there was a tremendous noiseof music in the market-place, and another procession was formed, which marched off round the town, and at last stopped before the door of a house. Here they remained for a long time. There was a great deal of cheering, and the band played tune after tune, finishing up with the Belgian National Anthem. And what do you think it was all about? A boy whose parents lived in the house had gained a prize at school. That was all; but it was an excuse for a procession, music, and drinking healths.
Not long ago a young man won a prize at a great School of Music in Brussels called theConservatoire, and so his native town must needs have a procession. There were two bands, a number of flags, and several carriages, in one of which the young fellow sat, bowing from side to side as he was driven through the streets to a café, at which what they call thevin d'honneur, or cup of honour, was served.
In the same town two years ago the football team of a regiment quartered there won a cup, and there was a long procession of soldiers and townsmen in honour of the event. The cup was carried in triumph on a platform adorned with wreaths, and the crowd shouted as if the soldiers were returning victorious from war.
The Belgians have always been the same in their love of such displays. Long ago their country was oppressed by the Spaniards, who killed and tortured manyof them without mercy. But that made no difference, and their sorrows were soon forgotten if their conquerors provided some pageant to amuse them. A circus procession of buffoons, with dromedaries, elephants, sham giants, and pasteboard whales and dragons, seems to have consoled them for all their misery.
Once upon a time there was a good man called St. Evermaire, who went on a pilgrimage to a part of Belgium called the Hesbaye, which is near the River Meuse. As he and his companions were journeying along, they came, when it was growing dark one evening, to a great wood. Being afraid of losing their way, they went to a village to ask for shelter. This village belonged to a fierce robber, called Hacco, and it was at his door that the pilgrims knocked. The door was opened by Hacco's wife, who received them kindly, but told them that her husband was a robber, and that, though he was away from home, it would not be safe for them to remain there long. So very early next morning, as soon as it was light, they went into the wood, and lay down to sleep beside a fountain among the trees.
They had scarcely gone when Hacco, who had been out all night looking for people to rob, came home. When he heard about the strangers who had just left, he flew into a terrible rage, and went to look for them. He soon found them fast asleep in the wood,and killed them. Then he tore off their clothes, and left their bodies lying on the ground.
A CHÂTEAU IN THE LESSE VALLEY.A CHÂTEAU IN THE LESSE VALLEY.PAGE 27.
After a little time some huntsmen found the dead pilgrims, and dug a grave for them. But these people, noticing that the face of one dead man shone brightly, and feeling sure that he must be some very holy person, buried him in a grave by himself. This was St. Evermaire.
The wood was many years later cut down, and a village called Russon was built near the place where Hacco murdered the pilgrims. The first priest of this village discovered the grave of St. Evermaire, whose bones were placed in a tomb in the church of Russon; but they were afterwards laid to rest in a chapel which was built on purpose to receive them. This chapel stands in a grove of beech-trees, on a meadow surrounded by a hedge, in one corner of which there is a fountain whose water is said to be a cure for ague. It is supposed to be on the very spot where the pilgrims were killed. Over the altar in the chapel is a painting of the murder. There are also statues of the Virgin Mary and of St. Evermaire, and a gilded case, which contains the bones of the saint.
On May Day there is a procession from Russon to this chapel. First two vergers come out of the village church, dressed in "tights," and covered from their ankles to their necks with ivy-leaves. They wear pointed caps on their heads, and brandish hugeclubs, with which they threaten the country people, who roar with laughter at the faces they make. Seven men are dressed up to represent St. Evermaire and his companions. The saint himself wears a tunic of coarse brown cloth, girt about with a leather belt, from which hang a string of beads and a pilgrim's bottle, a short cloak of ox-hide, and a round hat; but the other pilgrims have just black coats and breeches, with white stockings. They are followed by about fifty men on horseback, dressed up as Hacco and his band of robbers.
This strange-looking procession goes to the chapel, where there is service, the vergers in their ivy-leaves assisting at the altar; and the moment the Benediction has been said, the whole congregation rushes out to the meadow. The pilgrims stand in a circle near the fountain, where they sing a quaint old country hymn.
In the meantime Hacco and his band gallop about outside the meadow; but when the pilgrims have done singing, they enter it, and ride round and round several times. Then the pilgrims go near the chapel, and a short conversation is sung between them and Hacco, they imploring mercy, and he abusing them for trespassing on his lands. At last Hacco becomes impatient, draws his sword, and advances upon the pilgrims, declaring in a voice of thunder that he is about to kill them.
At this point the spectators are expected to weep;but all of a sudden the youngest pilgrim takes to his heels, and scampers away as fast as ever he can. Hacco and the robbers run after him, scrambling about among bushes and trees, as if they were playing at hide-and-seek. The spectators laugh and clap their hands, and the village children scream with delight. Hacco fires a pistol at the runaway, but misses, on which everybody cheers. Then he fires again, and the pilgrim tumbles down, and is killed with an arrow by one of the robbers, who picks him up, throws him across the back of a horse and brings him back to the meadow.
During this chase the other pilgrims have thrown themselves, as if in despair, on the grass, where presently Hacco and his followers proceed to kill them. But by this time all the actors are tired and thirsty; so St. Evermaire and his friends rise up, and the whole company of robbers and pilgrims walk off, and swill beer together for the rest of the day. So ends the rustic pageant of Russon.
The week before Lent begins is called in FlandersDuivelsweek, which means "The Devil's Week"; and on the Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday before Ash Wednesday there is the Carnival, so called from the Latin wordscarni vale(which mean, as every school-boy knows, "farewell to the flesh"), because during Lent good Catholics should abjure "the world, the flesh, and the devil," and refrain from eating meat. In Ghent the Monday of that week is calledZotten-Maanday, or Fools' Monday, and all over Belgium the next day (Shrove Tuesday in England) is calledMardi Gras—that is, Fat Tuesday—the day on which people can eat and drink as much as they like before beginning to fast.
During the Carnival people go about the streets in fancy dress, sometimes with their faces hidden by masks. Often they are dressed as clowns, and make a great noise, blowing horns, dancing, singing, and making fools of themselves in every possible way. In the shops bags of confetti are sold—little bits of coloured paper, like what you see in England too—which you may throw at other people, whether you know them or not. The children have often great fun, covering each other with these bits of paper, which stick in the hair and are very difficult to shake off. In some of the streets at Brussels the pavements are carpeted all the time of the Carnival with thousands of these small pink, yellow, and white fragments, which the people have been throwing about. Then there are false noses, wigs, and other disguises, so that you may pass people you know quite well without an idea who they are. A person may speak to you; you fancy you know the voice, but a beard, and perhaps a long blue nose, hide the face, and you are in doubt. A handful of confetti is thrown in your face, and in a moment the figure is gone and lost in the crowd.
A few years ago there was a Carnival procession in most of the towns, and then all the huge wickerwork giants were carried about. They all have names. The Brussels giant is Ommegan. In another town there is, or was, one called Goliath. There is a very old giant called Lange Man, or Long Man. He is probably still to be seen at Hasselt, in the South of Belgium, which was his native place. A good many years ago he was carried through the streets on a car drawn by four horses, and all the poor people got soup, which he was supposed to give them in memory of a famine from which the town had suffered at one time. A good deal of money is collected for the poor during the Carnival by people who go about withboxes, into which everyone is expected to put something.
There are not so many Carnival processions as there used to be, and within the last two or three years they have been entirely given up in some places. But the Carnival goes on, with more or less gaiety, everywhere. There are few towns where masked balls do not take place, and these usually last all night, so that some of the dancers never go to bed. During the Carnival most of the public-houses remain open all night, and there is dancing in them, and a great deal of noise.
The fourth Sunday in Lent is called Mi-Carême, or, in Flemish,Half-Vasten, when the fun of the Carnival is renewed; and on that day a person like Santa Claus, whom you know in England, makes his appearance. He is calledDe Greef van Half-Fasten—that is, the Count of Mi-Carême—and comes to give presents to all good children. But he is so like Santa Claus that we shall leave him alone in the meantime, for I shall presently be telling you what Santa Claus does in Belgium.
There is, however, another Count who does not visit England—the Count of Nut Land, who rides along with a sack of nuts, which he throws about for anyone to pick up. Strange to say, cracking these nuts is supposed to be a cure for toothache! Is not that a funny idea?
Very young children in Belgium look forward to the evening before November 11, which is the Day of St. Martin, because they have heard that something very exciting is going to happen.
Their parents make them stand in a corner, with their faces to the wall. They must not look round, for if they do nothing will happen. But if they are not inquisitive, ask no questions, and stand quite still, a shower of nuts and apples suddenly falls on the floor behind them. They are told that these have been thrown down from heaven by St. Martin, and they at once turn round and scramble for them.
There is another thing which is sometimes done on St. Martin's Eve. The father, or some big boy, comes into the younger children's bedroom, dressed up as the saint, with a beard and robes, and asks how the children have been behaving. If he is told they have been good, he gives them apples or sweetmeats; but if he hears they have been naughty, he pulls out a whip, throws it down, and leaves the room.
At Malines, and perhaps elsewhere, the childrenof poor people have a little procession of their own on St. Martin's Day, when they dress up and go about singing from house to house. One of them, who is dressed as St. Martin, carries a large basket, into which the people at whose doors they ring put apples or money. At another town, called Furnes, there is also a procession of children, who carry paper lanterns, with lighted candles in them, and march singing through the streets. The same thing is done in the country round Bruges, where the children visit the farm-houses at night, singing and asking for apples and nuts.
There are cakes, calledgauffres, which are often eaten on St. Martin's Day, and are therefore sometimes called St. Martin's cakes. That favourite saint is so much spoken of in connection with eating good things that in the Valley of the Meuse they call himle bon vivant, which means the person who lives well.
Just as in England bonfires are lighted on Guy Fawkes' Day, November 5, so in Belgium they light them on the evening of St. Martin's Day. Indeed, they are known as St. Martin's fires, and the children call lighting a bonfire "warming the good St. Martin."
About a month after St. Martin's comes the Day of St. Nicholas—December 6. During the night before this saint is supposed to ride through the sky, over the fields and above the housetops, mounted on a donkey or a white horse, with a great basket stuffedfull of toys, fruit, sweetmeats, and other nice things. Down the chimney of every house where there are children sleeping he drops some of these things, if the children have been good, or a whip if they have been naughty.
So on the Eve of St. Nicholas Belgian children, before they go to bed, fill their shoes, or sometimes a basket, with hay or carrots, and place them near the chimney of their sleeping-room, so that when St. Nicholas comes to the house he may find something for his donkey or horse to eat, and in return leave presents for them.
Having made these preparations, the children ought to sing or repeat verses addressed to the saint. Here is one of them—the one they sing at Lierre:
"Sinte Niklaes,Nobele Sinte Niklaes!Werpiet in myn SchoentjenEen Appeltjen of een limoentjen!"
"Sinte Niklaes,Nobele Sinte Niklaes!Werpiet in myn SchoentjenEen Appeltjen of een limoentjen!"
This means in English: "Noble Saint Nicholas, please throw into my little shoe just a small apple or lemon."
There is another of these rhymes which is not so polite, in which the saint is told that if he gives something, the child will serve him for life, but if he doesn't, the child will not serve him at all!
Next morning the children wake early, and jump out of bed to see what has happened during the night. They expect to find, if St. Nicholas is pleased withthem, that the hay and carrots have disappeared, and that their shoes are full of presents; but that if they have not been good enough, the shoes will just be as they were the night before, and a birch-rod stuck into the hay. But, as you may suppose, it always turns out that St. Nicholas is pleased. The presents are there, and amongst them there is sure to be a gingerbread figure of the saint, which they may eat or not, as they please; so they are happy for the rest of the day.