THE ruins of the cloisters of the Abbey of St. Bavon.]
In the first quarter of the fifteenth century Hubert van Eyck and his brother Jan were living at Ghent. Here Hubert began to paint the celebrated altar-piece, 'The Adoration of the Immaculate Lamb,' which his brother finished after his death. This great painting, having survived the greed of Philip II., the fanaticism of the Puritan iconoclasts, and the rapacity of the French revolutionary army, now hangs in the Cathedral of St. Bavon; and every year hundreds of travellers visit Ghent in order to see what is, beyond doubt, the finest production of the Early Flemish School. In the choir, too, of the Cathedral are four huge candlesticks of copper, which were originally made as ornaments for the grave of Henry VIII. at Windsor, but were sold during the Commonwealth.
In 1500 the infant who afterwards became the Emperor Charles V. was carried from the Cour des Princes to the Cathedral. 'His baptism,' we read in local history, 'was celebrated with right royal pomp in the Church of St. Bavon. Great rejoicings signalized the event. The fountains lavishly sent up streams of purple wine from their fantastic jets, "mysteries" and mummeries, masks and merry-makings, usurped for a time the place of commerce and earnest speculation. The brave and steady citizens of Ghent ran riot from the house, and never was Venice herself more wild in the days of her maddest carnival. We are told that a magic gallery, 200 feet long, which was maintained during this temporary jubilee in a state of sufficient security to insure the safety of the thousands who thronged it, was erected at a giddy height across the streets, connecting the tower of the great Belfry with that of the Church of St. Nicholas. This was, for three consecutive nights, profusely illuminated, and threw a brilliant glow over the gay scene, in which all Ghent was revelling below.'
In the time of Charles V., Ghent was not only the most powerful city in the rich Netherlands, but one of the most opulent in all Europe. And what the Belfry, whose chimes ring out with such sweet melody by night and day, was to Bruges, that was to the more warlike men of Ghent the 'iron tongue' of Roland, the mighty bell which hung in the lofty watch-tower. It called them to arms. It sent them forth to battle. It welcomed them home victorious, or bade them meet and defend their privileges in the market-place. 'It seemed, as it were, a living historical personage, endowed with the human powers and passions which it had so long directed and inflamed.'