Tales From Belgium

Once upon a time, there lived an innkeeper in the Belgian city of Geel. He was a happy man. His inn was popular and provided ample income for him to take care of his wife and young son. One cold autumn night, however, the innkeeper and his wife were suddenly awoken by the sound of their son crying like he had never done before. When they entered the young boy’s room, they found him writhing in pain, drenched in sweat, repeating these same words over and over again; ‘‘There’s a man on the chest! A man dressed in black!’’ The son pointed to a heavy wooden chest in the corner of the room, but there was nothing to see. ‘‘There’s a cat in my bed! A black cat in my bed!’’ As she did not see any cats, the wife thought it might be a fever dream, so she went to fetch something for the pain and fever. It seemed to help a little bit and the boy sank back into an uneasy sleep.

The following night, the same thing happened. Once again, the innkeeper and his wife woke up to their son’s cries and once again, the managed to pacify him just enough to go back to sleep, after searching his room for anything unusual. Night after night, this continued and night after night, the boy was terrorised by fever dreams. No doctor or priest managed to heal him, so as a final resort, the innkeeper visited the abbey of Tongerlo.

Even before his arrival, strange things happened. The walk, which usually took about half an hour, now took the innkeeper two hours. He became extremely wary and got lost twice. Once he finally arrived, a monk explained to him that his son had been cursed by a witch. He told the innkeeper the witch’s name but warned him never to speak to them. He gave him a talisman and the orders to spend the entirety of the first night in prayer.

That night, the innkeeper was praying in his empty inn when he suddenly heard a sound. At midnight exactly, the door of his inn creaked open and in came the black cat. The innkeeper froze in fear as he saw the slender feline approaching him, but then suddenly, it stopped. It could not get past the talisman! As soon as it looked down to see what lay in front of her, it sprinted out of the inn. Never again did the innkeeper and his wife see the cat. Their son was healed by the morning of the following day and grew up to be a strong and healthy man.

***

In Flemish folklore, the cat, especially the black cat, is known as a creature of mystery whose soft, padded paws tread the narrow line between good and evil. They are shapeshifters, tricksters with ties to hidden worlds unknown to us. Often, as in the story recounted above, they are not true cats, but something else in disguise. Witches supposedly shapeshifted as cats to go out and cause mayhem without being noticed, making people sick, stealing children or even killing people. The disguise was not foolproof, however, as injuries sustained in cat form carried over to the human form of the witch, so when people suspected a cat of being a witch and beat or burned it, the witch would be easily recognised by their injuries.

Other times, water devils and other spirits were said to appear to their prey as cute cats stuck in swamps, rivers or other treacherous locations. They were impossible to catch, so whoever tried to save them would get stuck in the swamp or fall into the river. At other times, they would hinder the paths of travellers or harass drunks. Although these stories are usually based on local ‘sightings’ and every region has its own tales, one trickster spirit named ‘Kludde’ is known in the entirety of Flanders. This spirit, one of whose many disguises is the form of a black cat, hides under bridges, ready to pounce at passers-by and climb on their shoulders, weighing them down for the rest of the journey.

Still, not all supernatural cats were viewed as evil. Some of them just wanted to be left alone, only bothering those who bothered them first. There are numerous tales of cats warning those with intentions to hurt them, not to test their powers, for they are not as helpless as they seem and this would only result in unnecessary damage. One could even view them as protectors of cat- and witchkind, as senseless violence against cats was often followed with brutal consequences for the perpetrators, including sickness, curses and even death.

Although it is difficult to pinpoint these tales in time and place exactly, certain recurring themes might give us a clue as to how they originated. Some were cautionary tales, warning people to not venture into swamps or go to close to the river, whilst others, like the story of the innkeeper, encourage piety and frequent prayer. Others appear a little less moralising and more so like the tales of a drunken journey home, during which getting lost or stumbling around as if carrying a weight on one’s back are not unlikely occurrences. Bespectacled with beer goggles, a cat could easily become something greater and of course, a bit of added sensation is always required when recounting stories. These tall tales formed a part of oral traditions that continued well into the 19 th century, but as superstitions died, fewer stories were told and those that were not recorded went lost.

Despite the fleeting nature of Flemish folk tales, one tradition continues that keeps some of the mystery alive. Every three years, on the second Sunday of May, the city of Ypres celebrates its Cat Festival. There are three main parts to this event, the first of which is a parade with floats, dancers, musicians, costumed characters and giants. It is divided into five ‘chapters’, the first of which addresses the worship of cats as supernatural creatures throughout history. Then follows a brief history of Ypres, as re-enacted by people in historical costume. This is followed by a show about cats in language and legends, which includes depictions of sayings and popular stories. After this comes a celebration of cats around the world. The parade is closed with a chapter devoted to ‘the cats of Ypres’, featuring recurring characters such as the giants ‘Minneke Poes’ (‘Minneke’ being a common pet name for cats), her husband ‘Cieper’ and most recently their five kittens.

The second main event, and perhaps the strange tradition for which the city is most known, is the throwing of cats. After the parade, the city jester climbs up the belfry of the Cloth Hall and throws stuffed toy cats into the crowd waiting below. The exact story behind this tradition remains unconfirmed, but the accepted version is that it was a way of getting rid of excessive mousers from the Cloth Hall after its goods were sold in spring. Mice did severe damage to the wool and broadcloth stored here, so cats were purchased to keep the mouse population in check. Of course, these cats reproduced rapidly and soon overcrowded the halls. When exactly the practice of throwing cats from city towers started is difficult to pinpoint, as different chroniclers give conflicting dates ranginganywhere between the 12 th and 15 th centuries, but it is certain thatit was a wellestablished tradition by the mid-16 th century. On ‘catWednesday’ of every year, the date for this day is unknown, cats wouldbe thrown from the belfry. The number of cats thrown was symbolic of thecity’s prosperity that year, with fewer cats symbolising a moreprosperous year. The exact reason for this is unknown, but perhaps ithad something to do with how many cats the city could afford to keep.

Another part of the origin story, which is strongly debated, that could potentially tie into the symbolic aspect, was that there was an element of superstition present. This is rather difficult to trace as there is no real record of such a thing, but it is completely plausible that superstitions associated with other cat-related activities bled into the cat throwing, which became an annual tradition that took place during city fairs linked to religious festivities. ‘Cat festivals’ were a common occurrence in medieval Western Europe and commonly featured the torture and killing of cats, particularly cat burning and possibly cat throwing as well. This was regarded partially as entertainment and a way to trim down large populations of stray cats, but mostly had strong superstitious significance. The church associated cats with witchcraft and heresy, and such festivals likely came into existence under the influence of such ideas. One supposed motivation for burning cats was that the devil could not stand to see his feline disciples suffer and could be compelled to stay away or perform favours. These superstitions did change over the years and the original intentions behind such traditions may have been lost completely, but it is plausible that the act of cat throwing in Ypres became linked to such festivities and so gained a folkloric significance. This is hinted at in the final act of the contemporary festival, which is the burning of a witch on the market square.

Today’s Cat Festival is not a direct continuation of these medieval traditions. The final throwing of living cats happened in 1817, the last victim of which actually survived and sprinted away from the crowd. Between that year and the First World War, no notable traditions continued, apart from the playing of the carillon on ‘cat Wednesday’. It was only on March 13 th of 1938 that the first version of what became today's Cat Festival took place. As is the tradition at Belgian village fairs, a cycling race was held in the morning. Later in the day, a small parade featuring a jester, some musicians and some other costumed participants carrying a stuffed cat made their way to the belfry, where children's games were played and plastic toy cats were thrown from the belfry. Small annual fairs were held every year until the Second World War. After the destruction brought onto the city by the war, the Cat Festival was redesigned to give Ypres a new cultural significance, and in the early 1950s, the festival became the large-scale celebration that it is today. Up until the 1980s, it drew in such large crowds from all over the world, that the city was more known for its Cat Festival than for its war tourism. Although the latter has taken over in popularity and the festival became a triennial event in 1991, Ypres still remains known as the ‘Cat City of Belgium.’

Ypres is not the only city with curious traditions featuring felines. If the tales are true, a runner-up for the title of the Cat City of Belgium would be the city of Liège, where cat racing was a sport and cats had a brief stint as postmen. Several newspaper articles from the late 19 th century describe cat racing tournaments, which took place during the January carnival. Much like in pigeon races, cats would be let loose at a certain distance from their homes. The first cat to return home was the winner and its owner would be rewarded with a hamper of sausages, ham and other gifts, sometimes cigars and even a silver spoon. This sport was briefly popular in the second half of the 19 th century, but its popularity declined as people began to see the cruelty of the sport.

During the height of its popularity, cat racing did inspire the Belgian Society for the Elevation of the Domestic Cat to try out a mail delivery system in which cats functioned somewhat similar to carrier pigeons. A report in the New York Times from 1876 describes how 37 trained cats were set loose outside of the city with waterproof bags tied to their collars. All of them supposedly returned in less than 24 hours and the Society was more than satisfied with the result. Still, a feline postal service was never truly set up, presumably because it was just not as reliable and efficient as the existing system.

It must be noted that the accounts of Liège’s cat homing habits come mostly from foreign newspapers and treat the subject as a curiosity, so whilst there is probably truth to the matters, the exact details remain unknown and everything needs to be taken with a grain of salt. Omitted in this article are the many conflicting details of which cats won races, their unbelievably fast record times and miraculous returns. There is little information on when the sport was truly at the height of its popularity and whether or not it was ever outlawed.

Thankfully, not all cats throughout Belgian history were treated cruelly. Cats have been beloved pets for centuries and are the most popular furry companion today. The last bits of superstition are dying out and cats are regarded as nothing other than friendly companions to young and old. Whilst some mourn the disappearance of tradition in the Cat Festival, where traditional majorettes and dancers are more and more being replaced by more thrilling acts, and folklorists desperately try to scrape together remaining stories in a futile attempt to preserve them, the cat as a cultural icon is going nowhere. The Cat Festival becomes more elaborate every year, never straying from its albeit strongly mystified origins, and the legacy of folk tales is visible in comics and other works of Belgian fiction, where they remain loyal companions of both good and evil characters – think of Gargamel and Azrael for an internationally known example. Superstitions may be a thing of the past, but the mystery and elegance of the feline never lose its ability to inspire.

Composed by,

Loki Anne Thompson, Postgraduate of Museum Studies at the University of Aberdeen