EARLY the following morning I recommenced my journey, another stage of twenty-four miles, and I entered the sombre old city of Bruges. Never shall I forget what a strange indefinable air of romance and mystery seemed to invest almost every object on which my eye rested. I remembered, too, and not without interest, how important a part it had played in Flemish history, having been several times besieged and retaken in the wars between France and Flanders. It was hardly noon when I entered the city. The sun was shining brightly, and a golden glory rested alike on dark gabled roofs, deserted palaces, and the tall spires of its many stately churches. It seemed to me like a vision of almost perfect beauty. My heart beat high with hope and expectation when the sound of a bell reminded me it was the hour at which high mass would be said in the cathedral. So wishing to return thanks for my safe journey, I entered. I have only a confused recollection of its interior. Sculpture, painting, gilding, had each given of their best, and altogether the scene was a grand and imposing one. Strangely sweet and solemn music pealed forth from the organ, and I knelt before an image of the Virgin Mary and tried to pray. But the exhaustion of my body and the emotion of my mind combined were too much for me and I fainted away.
My swoon did not last long, and after hearing mass I set out on foot for the monastery to whose superior I had been commended before leaving England. It was, I had been told, about nine miles distant from Bruges. The day was one of rare loveliness. It was early in February, and ice crystals on every tree and hedge shone and sparkled like gems in the sun shine.
The roads were good, and I pressed on mile after mile without meeting any one. Still I could not, even had I wished it, have forgotten that I was in a Roman Catholic country. Sometimes a simple stone cross placed where two or more roads met served as a guide-post. While at every mile or two I came upon what seemed to have been intended as a wayside chapel, as in each a shrine or canopy covered an image of Mary holding the infant Savior in her arms.
I enjoyed that walk greatly, for though I was at the time without any saving knowledge of Christ, legends and incidents in the lives of Romish saints, many of which I had heard from the lips of my much loved mother, filled my mind. More than once I paused to repeat the litany of the Virgin or call upon some of the many mediators by whose aid I had been taught I could obtain favor with God.
But fast gathering shadows warned me I must not linger. I was very tired, still I quickened my pace, and just before sunset saw at some distance the towers of the abbey church, and hardly less welcome sight, I could trace in dim outline the walls of the monastery so soon to be my home.
Another hour's quick walking, and having entered the abbey grounds by climbing a low stone wall, I stood before the gates of the monastery. The silence had become almost oppressive. I rang the visitors'
bell, and started at the echoes it awoke.
Some birds disturbed by the noise flew out from the ivy branches overhead and flapped their wings almost in my face.
My summons not having brought any one to the gate, I rang a second time, and then feeling very tired sunk down on the bench which runs on either side of the principal entrance. I do not know how long I waited, but at last I heard the sound of approaching footsteps. A key turned in the lock, and the door was opened by a gentle, kindly faced old monk who was, as I afterward learned, a lay brother.
Monks, I may explain for the information of any of my readers who do not understand the details of monastic life, are divided into two classes, lay and choir brethren. The former do all the cooking, household work, &c., of the establishment. The latter pass their time in chanting psalms, saying masses, and in various branches of study.
Having presented my letters of introduction, I followed my guide into a small room, the windows of which were neatly curtained, and the walls adorned with framed prints of the saints. There I was left to await the arrival of the guest master, who welcomed me to my new home in very broken English, but with much kindness and many expressions of pleasure.
He then took my hand, it being quite dark, and led me across a paved court-yard to the lady chapel, where kneeling before a large and richly adorned image of Mary, whom I then addressed as Queen of Heaven and Mediatrix of the New Covenant I again said we Marias and Paternosters for my safe journey.