When he set forth next morning he saw plainly in the distance the magnificent spire of the great cathedral in the marquisate of Antwerp, reddened by the dun morning sun, standing like a slender pillar of flame, above the vast extent of level pastures which border the Scheldt, and rising far above the dense white motionless mist which the heat of the August morning was exhaling, from the fens and marshes, through which the river flowed so turgidly and slowly towards Zealand and the German Sea.
After a twenty miles' ride through a green and fertile but most monotonous country, he found himself in busy Antwerp, and under the shadow of that colossal spire, which was then one of the wonders of the world, and which was visible alike from the laceworks of Mechlin, the ramparts of Ghent; the plains of Louvain; and the sandy shores of the distant Zealand isles.
CHAPTER XXIII
OUR LADY OF ANTWERP
In her did beauty, youth, and bounty dwell,
A virgin port and features feminine;
Far better than my feeble tongue can tell,
Did meek-eyed wisdom in her features shine;
She seemed perfay, a thing almost divine.
Antwerp was then in the zenith of its commercial glory, and to a traveller like Sir Patrick Gray, who had never seen a larger city than the little Edinburgh of James II. clustering on its rocky ridge, surrounded by forests of oak and pathless hills, the great Flemish town, in the splendour of its mercantile prosperity, with a population of more than two hundred thousand souls, presented a scene of varying wonders, amid which he was almost disposed to forget his embassy, and to linger for a time.
Nor was this desire lessened, when Maître Baudoin, a garrulous little Frenchman, who was keeper of the hostelry at which he lodged – the "Grille of St. Laurence" – informed him that, "by recent rains, all the roads between the Scheldt and Maese were impassable; that the sluices of several of the barrier fortresses had given way; that the rivers had overflowed their banks; and that the Peel Morass, which lies between Brabant and Gueldreland, was, for the time, an actual sea. Moreover," he added, "it is but a few days until the 15th of the month, when the Feast of the Assumption will be held in the cathedral of our Lady of Antwerp, with a splendour never before witnessed in the city; people are arriving from all quarters, and Monseigneur l'Evêque de Mechlin has found a young lady of great beauty and high rank, to appear as our patroness in the procession."
"Though this may be no inducement to a lover, it may be one to a storm-stayed traveller," replied Gray; "but who is this lady, Maître Baudoin?"
"Ah – who indeed, messire!" replied the hosteller shrugging his shoulders; "who indeed!"
"What – is she the Princess Mary of Gueldres?"
"Pardieu! no one can tell who the lady may be, save herself and Monseigneur l'Evêque; it is always kept secret."
"Why – how?"
"You see, messire, secrecy and mystery enhance the charm of her appearance. It is very droll."
"And she is sure to be beautiful?"
"Superbe, messire!"
While the master of the hostel ran on thus, and then proceeded to enumerate all the great personages, such as Monseigneur the prince of Ravenstein, MM. the marquises of Berg and Anvers, the count of Nassau, and others who were sure to be present with their ladies, esquires, and men-at-arms, Gray mentally resolved to tarry for a day or two and witness the spectacle, prior to which he could see all the marvels of this great Flemish capital.
A vast city it was, with its long and quaint streets of old and steep-roofed houses, built of painted brick and carved wood, with a stork's nest on every chimney; the pavement full of life and bustle, and swarming with ruddy-cheeked young fraus, each having a dozen petticoats; and bulbous-shaped Flemings wearing the old proverbial big red or brown trunk-hose, bombasted with sawdust or tow, and bedecked with rows of shiny buttons at the side; its booths, its shops and stores, crammed with treasures and merchandise from all parts of Christendom and the East – the mysterious realms of Prester John; while boats and barges, all glittering with brown varnish paint and gilding, plied to and fro under the bridges of the Scheldt or its canals, laden with boxes, barrels, and bales, or with ruddy fruit, green vegetables, or ponderous cattle, or with men, women, and children, long-robed priests, and mail-clad soldiers, all gabbling and laughing in the guttural patois of the old Lotheringian kingdom. Then there were the long and stately rows of linden trees and the ramparts of the citadel; while, with scores of little shops nestling between its countless buttresses, high over all towered the mighty cathedral, the glory of Antwerp, with its sixty-six chapels, its roof that springs from one hundred and twenty-five pillars – its altars, statues, and pictures, with that gorgeous steeple which seems to pierce the sky, and the carvings of which are so exquisite that Charles V. said, "it should be put into a case and shown only on holidays."
On its summit, four hundred and fifty feet above the busy streets, there hung, in those days, four great copper pans, in which the burghers were wont to kindle fires on the approach of an enemy; for the Gueldrians, Lorainers, Burgundians, and even the Frieslanders from beyond Utrecht and the waveless Zuider Zee, worked the wealthy Antwerpers sore mischief in time of war and tumult.
In this vast city Gray resided unnoticed and unknown, and spent several days pleasantly enough; so the great festival came to pass before the waters subsided on the frontiers.
On the night of the 15th August, after vespers, when the brilliant procession was to issue from the cathedral, Gray armed himself, and, guided by Maître Baudoin, of the Grille de Ste. Laurence, obtained a good place near the porch of the cathedral; within, without, and all around which were assembled the thousands of Antwerp to witness the procession, in which so much of a religious pageant with civic mummery were to mingle. The excitement was increased by the wide-spread rumour that a young foreign girl of high rank – a princess at least – had been chosen on this occasion to represent our Lady of Antwerp; thus all the city were on tiptoe in honour of the occasion, the patroness of their cathedral, of the city, and of all Christian women.
The armed vassals of the powerful and wealthy bishop of Mechlin formed a lane, with their partisans parting the crowd before the cathedral gate. Each soldier bore a torch, and the lurid glow of these fell fitfully on their bearded visages, their steel caps and breastplates, or tipped with seeming fire the points of their partisans. Beyond, the wavering gleam lighted partially the sombre and dusky masses of the people, who crowded all the thoroughfares like a human sea.
The thirty-three bells of the cathedral were tolling, and from the depths of its long-drawn aisles and echoing arches strains of the sacred music within came forth and floated over the bowed heads of the hushed and expectant multitude.
At last the bells rang out a merrier peal; the gilded gates revolved, and, when more torches were lighted, a glow of sudden splendour seemed to fill the great portico of the church, and all the white marble statues of saints, kings, and warriors seemed to start from their canopied niches into life.
There was a palpable vibration among the people – a heaving to and fro of the human tide – as the glitter of the coming pageant appeared in the arched depths of the church; but the heaving was steadily repressed by the steel points of the levelled partisans, while here and there a half-stifled shriek from a woman, or a gruff Flemish oath from a man, announced that the pressure was greater than their patience could endure. But now the procession was seen slowly descending the steps of the portico, and exclamations of pleasure and astonishment burst from time to time in front of the masses; and these, as usual, served but to excite the curiosity and irritate the temper of the less fortunate who were too far off in the rear, or were hopelessly crushed against the adjacent houses.