At one side were stored some rather dilapidated and dirty wax figures which reclined in various postures, somewhat too lifelike in the gloom of the chamber, and entirely ludicrous, so much so that it was with much difficulty that we controlled our smiles. The roving eye of the surly _custode_, however, warned us against levity of any sort. These wax figures, he explained, gruffly enough, were those of the most sacred religious personages, and the attendant saints and martyrs, used in the great procession and ceremony of the "Sodalite," which is a sort of Passion Play, shown during the last Sunday in July of each year in the streets of the town. The story relates an adventure of a Count of Flanders, who brought to Furnes, during the first years of the Holy Crusades, a fragment of the True Cross. Assailed by a tempest in the Channel off the coast, he vowed the precious object to the first church he came to, if his prayers for succor were answered. "Immediately the storm abated, and the Count, bearing the fragment of the Cross aloft, was miraculously transported over the waves to dry land." This land proved to be the sand dunes of Flanders, and the church tower was that of St. Walburga. After a conference with his followers, who also were saved, he founded the solemn annual procession in honor of the True Cross, in which was also introduced the representation of the "Mysteries of the Passion."[2] This procession was suppressed during the religious troubles of the Reform, but afterwards was revived by the church authorities, and now all of the episodes of the life of Christ pass yearly through the great Grand' Place--the stable in Bethlehem; the flight into Egypt; down to the grand drama of the Calvary and the Resurrection, all are shown and witnessed with great reverence by the crowds of devout peasants from the surrounding country. And these pathetic waxen figures were those of Prophets, Apostles, Jews, Angels, Cavaliers and Roman Soldiers, lying all about the dim dusty chamber in disorder. Afterwards, from the window of the quaint Hotel of the "Nobele Rose," we saw this procession passing through the crowded streets of Furnes, and almost held our breaths with awe at the long line of black cloaked, hooded penitents, bare-footed, the faces covered so that one could hardly tell whether they were men or women, save for the occasional delicate small white foot thrust forward beneath the black shapeless gown. And finally _One Figure_, likewise black gowned and with concealed face, staggering along painfully--feebly--and bearing a heavy wooden cross, the end of which dragged along on the stones of the street.[3]