The Clio messenger. (Clio, Mich.) 1907-current, 1922-03-09

4 "a lore, I stand blinded and hest
tate. What shall l choose in
this bouquet, over rich in its mlngling
Of brilliant colors and tender hues?
Shall il he pearls Of sacred mistletoe
fallen beneath the Druid's knife; lilies
grown in the shadow of converts and
monasteries; roses REDEEMED with the
blood of Journeys and the carnage of
battle; or, perchance, pale daisies of
the fields sprung up unheeded amid
the COW pasture? All equally are
precious, writes Louis Lagasse de
Locht in the London Times. Daugh-
tiers of a fertile land scared in the
course of ages by storms let loose
from the four corners of the earth,
are they not the expression, the poet
~, the sap of love and hate, the very
soul, in a word, of people fashioned
by martial blows and bathed In the
sunshine Of idealism?
Every Belgian is thrilled by the
past. 1t is his staff and bread of
life. Hence his love of cavalcades,
joyous entries and professions, the
ever recurring delight of most of our
villages. Great taste is often display
ed in the ordering of these parades, in
the building of the triumph-to which
Rubens and Jordaens did not scorn to
devote their talent. And 1t is as If
the figures of legend and history which
pass through our streets had stepped
down from the canvas of old master
pieces 10 be closer to the cmesses of
the crowds.
Sometimes the ceremony represents
but an episode, a scene of chivalry or
of mystery from the middle ages. In
Bruges, suddenly awakened from it's
melancholy miracle of the holy blood,
the triumphal escort of prince con-
secrated TO the conquest of the holy
land moves in rolling stream of
glistening steel amid the glamor of
rich silks and precious broideries, the
clashing of arms and the embrazen
| peal of trumpets.
Supreme Drama Of All Time.
At Fumes, on the last Sunday in
| July, the procession of ''penitents" re-
enacts the supreme drama of all time.
For weeks the city prepares for it.
! The actors parts are more coveted
| than public honors; some are jealous
| L. guarded as hereditary rights.
Through the dense crowd, pressing
ever closer and closer, the revered fig
ures pass in procession. And the
Christ appears, weighted down by his
cross, a living and staggering Christ,
scourged till the blood runs from him.
A shives of religious fervor passes
over the faithful Mercy a penitent
cries aloud in pain. Every window is
a garden of tapers, candles and lights
whose flames flicker in the wind blow
ing from the sea. Sacred chants min
| gle with the piping of reeds, the noise
| OF rattles and the winding of horns.
| The crowd sobs and sways and wrings
| It's hands and falls into prayer as,
following the Crucified one, the peni.
| tents pass. The men in sackcloth and
the women closely yelled do penance
and their naked. torn feet bleed on the
stones Of the road. Perchance beneath
| their cloaks of burlap noble ladies,
whose flaxen hair and white bodies
are the love treasures of this sensu-
Gus and mystic Flanders, are paying
the ransom of kiss
Mons, the home of the guardian
saint OF the British army, is the the
alter every year of the famous Lume-
con display which ends the procession
Of Ste. Waudru. At midday TO the
tolllng of the great bell, otherwise
heard only as war alarm, st. George
gives battle to the dragon. After a
deadly combat, the dragon, according
to rite, crashes down In the dust. shot
through the nostrlls. and the devils
are chastised by the brave followers
Of the victorious knight. Before en-
tering the lists the tabled beast"
fnys the crowd with teighty blows Of
hIsstalI. The people Of Mons believe
that a blow from the tail brings