The city of Maastricht is about as far south as you can go in the Netherlands. In fact, you can practically walk to Belgium from the west of Maastricht, and it would be a very quick train ride to Germany on the east. The city has been a stronghold on the Maas River since antiquity, and in the fourth century, St. Servatius brought Christianity to southern Holland and established the center of his bishopric in Maastricht. St. Servatius still looms over the art and culture of the city. This is a photograph of Bishop Servatius flanked by angels. They adorn one end of the twelfth-century golden shrine that once contained his remains.
From Noord-Holland province it takes about three hours to get to Maastricht, and so I had to leave around 7:00 in the morning. This is St. Servatius' Bridge, leading from the train station across the green-gray Maas to the old city.
With such long travel time both ways, I had to force myself to stay on a strict schedule so that I could see everything I wanted to and not find myself once again sprinting to catch a train or to slip into a church before they locked the doors. This is the Vrijthof market square.
On the other side of the square stands the spectacular Basilica of the Savior and St. Peter, better known as St.-Servaas. To the left is the red tower of St.-Janskerk, built in the Gothic period and then taken over during the Reformation.
Construction began on the present church of St.-Servaas 1000 years ago. It is one of the oldest churches in the Netherlands, and it reminded me a little of Italian Romanesque churches with their severe stone walls, heavy towers, and rounded arches.
The city still feels very medieval--much more so than any other city I've visited in the Netherlands. I walked around the back of the basilica and through an archway in a massive Romanesque wall. Behind a metal grill, a carving of the Madonna and Child sat in a shrine, the stone badly deteriorated from centuries of rain. I said hello (in Dutch!) to a nun who was also walking through the gateway, probably just leaving the adjoining Convent of St. Charles Borromeo.
Here is the fifteenth-century entrance to St.-Servaas, guarded by gargoyles and saints.
The basilica today uses the vaulted corridors of its cloister as a museum to display the church's treasure--gold and silver liturgical objects for the altar, embroidered silks for wrapping relics, St. Servatius' crucifix and silver key, and lots and lots and lots of fragments of bone, teeth, and clothing enclosed in precious reliquaries.
This gold and silver bust contains relics of St. Servatius, and every few years the people of Maastricht carry it through the streets in an elaborate procession.
Nineteenth-century restorers painted the statues of prophets and saints on of the portals to the basilica in the colors they thought were original. Although it probably isn't very accurate, I really liked getting a sense for how the entrance to the church may have looked in the Middle Ages.
The tympanum over the door has scenes from the legend of the Madonna's death. The apostles gather around her deathbed in the lower left, in the lower right angels help her rise to everlasting life, and at the top Christ crowns her Queen of Heaven.
Here is the interior of the basilica.
Steps to the left of the high altar lead down to the crypt and St. Servatius's tomb. There were two candles burning before the iron grate which separated his sepulcher from the crowds of pilgrims who once came to ask the ancient bishop of Maastricht to work miracles.
There isn't evidence of much devotion at the tomb today, but the deeply worn stone of the entrance bears witness to an important cult that thrived for hundreds of years.
Leaving St.-Servaas, I walked through the gardens growing alongside the old city walls.
This impressive gate is part of the thirteenth-century fortification for the city.
The Basilica of Our Dear Lady, or Onze Lieve Vrouwebasiliek, also looks like like a fortress. It towers over the narrow square where it stands, and its heavy walls are as old as St.-Servaas. Photography was not allowed inside, but I don't think I could have taken a successful picture anyway because it was very dark. Romanesque churches did not have the technology to create huge Gothic windows, and the dust and grime on the stones in this church made it even darker. Inside, the air even smelled "old"--heavy and musty.
Fortunately I didn't see the "no photography" sign until after I had taken some pictures of the famous cult image housed in the church! This is a fifteenth-century statue of the Virgin known as Our Lady of Maastricht, "Star of the Sea." Believed to work miracles, the Madonna and Child wear metal crowns and often a brocade veil. The Virgin holds a potted lily and carries a long rosary over one arm.
While I was standing there people from the street came into the church to pray and add a candle to the rack of burning tapers in front of the "Star of the Sea"--flickering symbols for their petition to the Virgin and Child. There is a gift shop in part of the crypt, and as I walked around inside, I could hear the Bach-Gounod "Ave Maria" being played on a CD for sale in the store.
These are silver votive offerings--gifts to the Our Lady of Maastricht in thanks for answered prayers. Many are shaped like hearts, but others take a form appropriate for the blessing received--for example, a silver head in gratitude for a cured head injury or a silver anchor to commemorate a ship that made it safely on its voyage.
Photography was allowed in the cloister of the church, and you can see that heavy, dusty air as the rays of light shine in through the windows.
Here is a view looking back at the church from the cloister.
I went back across St. Servatius's Bridge to visit the art collection in the Bonnefantenmuseum. The building is an old ceramic factory, well lit with huge windows. The medieval holdings are not too big but very high quality. I especially liked the wood carvings. They are very expressive--the grief of the Lord's mourning disciples, the complicated folds of the cloth, and the crowded compositions surrounding crucifixion scenes.
To finish off the day, I went to TEFAF, a major art fair held every year in Maastricht. A friend from school had given me a spare ticket. Art dealers and galleries from all over the world set up "stands" in a huge community center. I put "stands" in quotation marks because they were more like individual living rooms, what with fine oil paintings hanging on the walls and statues in the corners. The numbers on all the price tags were very long with many zeros, as you might imagine, and so potential buyers were treated with great hospitality. For museum curators and rich collectors who have come to buy, the vendors are stocked with bottles of wine, boxes of chocolate truffles, and comfortable easy chairs to sit in while discussing the details of how best to transport your new Ming Dynasty porcelain pot back home.
Anticipating guests who would be spending a fortune, TEFAF also spent a fortune on flowers. There were barrels of fresh tulips and dogwood blossoms everywhere, and they had even embedded thousands of red carnations in the walls. You may ask, "How many chocolate truffles were you offered?" The answer is none. Not even one. The vendors sized me up pretty quickly, and knowing that I wouldn't be purchasing that fourteenth-century Italian panel painting I was looking at, they decided not to waste a chocolate on me!
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