SPA, _July_ 6_th_.
From Utrecht to Bois le Duc nothing but sand and heath; no inspiration,
no whispering foliage, not even a grasshopper, to put one in mind of
Eclogues and Theocritus. “But why did you not fall into one of your
beloved slumbers, and dream of poetic mountains? This was the very
country to shut one’s eyes upon without disparagement.” Why so I did,
but the postillions and boatmen obliged me to open them, as soon as they
were closed. Four times was I shoved, out of my visions, into leaky
boats, and towed across as many idle rivers. I thought there was no end
of these tiresome transits; and, when I reached my journey’s end, was so
completely jaded that I almost believed Charon would be the next aquatic
I should have to deal with. The fair light of the morning (Tuesday, July
4th) was scarcely sufficient to raise my spirits, and I had left Bois le
Duc a good way in arrears before I was thoroughly convinced of my
existence; when I looked through the blinds of the carriage, and saw
nothing but barren plains and mournful willows, banks clad with rushes,
and heifers so black and dismal that Proserpine herself would have given
them up to Hecate. I was near believing myself in the neighbourhood of a
certain evil place, where I should be punished for all my croakings. We
travelled at this rate, I dare say, fifteen miles, without seeing a
single shed: at last, one or two miserable cottages appeared, darkened by
heath, and stuck in a sand-pit; from whence issued a half-starved
generation, that pursued us a long while with their piteous wailings.
The heavy roads and ugly prospects, together with the petulant clamours
of my petitioners, made me quite uncharitable. I was in a dark,
remorseless mood, which lasted me till we reached Brée, a shabby decayed
town, encompassed by walls and ruined turrets. Having nothing to do, I
straggled about them, till night shaded the dreary prospects, and gave me
an opportunity of imagining them, if I pleased, noble and majestic.
Several of these waning edifices were invested with thick ivy: the
evening was chill, and I crept under their covert. Two or three brother
owls were before me, but politely gave up their pretensions to the spot,
and, as soon as I appeared, with a rueful whoop flitted away to some
deeper retirement. I had scarcely begun to mope in tranquillity, before
a rapid shower trickled amongst the clusters above me, and forced me to
abandon my haunt. Returning in the midst of it to my inn, I hurried to
bed, and was soon lulled asleep by the storm. A dream bore me off to
Persepolis; and led me thro’ vast subterraneous treasures to a hall,
where Solomon, methought, was holding forth upon their vanity. I was
upon the very point of securing a part of this immense wealth, and
fancied myself writing down the sage prophet’s advice how to make use of
it, when a loud vociferation in the street, and the bell of a
neighbouring chapel, dispersed the vision. Starting up, I threw open the
windows, and found it was eight o’clock (Wednesday, July 5th), and had
hardly rubbed my eyes, before beggars came limping from every quarter. I
knew their plaguy voices but too well; and that the same hubbub had
broken my slumbers, and driven me from wisdom and riches to the regions
of ignorance and poverty. The halt, the lame, and the blind, being
restored, by the miracle of a few stivers, to their functions, we
breakfasted in peace, and, gaining the carriage, waded through sandy
deserts to Maestricht: our view, however, was considerably improved, for
a league round the town, and presented some hills and pleasant valleys,
smiling with crops of grain: here and there, green meadows, spread over
with hay, varied the prospect, which the chirping of birds (the first I
had heard for many a tedious day) amongst the barley, rendered so
cheerful, that I began, like them, my exultations, and was equally
thoughtless and serene. I need scarcely tell you, that, leaving the
coach, I pursued a deep furrow between two extensive corn-fields, and
reposed upon a bank of flowers, the golden ears waving above my head, and
entirely bounding my prospect. Here I lay, in peace and sunshine, a few
happy moments; contemplating the blue sky, and fancying myself restored
to the valley at F., where I have passed so many happy hours, shut out
from the world, and concealed in the bosom of harvests. It was then I
first grew so fond of dreaming; and no wonder, since I have frequently
imagined that Ceres did not disdain to inspire my slumbers; but, half
concealed, half visible, would tell me amusing stories of her reapers;
and, sometimes more seriously inclined, recite the affecting tale of her
misfortunes. At midday, when all was still, and a warm haze seemed to
repose on the face of the landscape, I have often fancied this celestial
voice bewailing Proserpine, in the most pathetic accents. From these
sacred moments I resolved to offer sacrifice in the fields of Enna; to
explore their fragrant recesses, and experience whether the Divinity
would not manifest herself to me in her favourite domain. It was this
vow, which tempted me from my native valleys. Its execution, therefore,
being my principal aim, I deserted my solitary bank and proceeded on my
journey. Maestricht abounds in Gothic churches, but contains no temple
to Ceres. I was not sorry to quit it, after spending an hour unavoidably
within its walls. Our road was conducted up a considerable eminence,
from the summit of which we discovered a range of woody steeps, extending
for leagues; beneath lay a winding valley, richly variegated and lighted
up by the Maese. The evening sun, scarcely gleaming through hazy clouds,
cast a pale, tender hue upon the landscape, and the copses, still dewy
with a shower that had lately fallen, diffused the most grateful
fragrance. Flocks of sheep hung browsing on the acclivities, whilst a
numerous herd were dispersed along the river’s side. I stayed so long,
enjoying this pastoral scene, that we did not arrive at Liège till the
night was advanced, and the moon risen. Her interesting gleams were
thrown away upon this ill-built, crowded city; and I grieved that gates
and fortifications prevented my breathing the fresh air of the
surrounding mountains.
Next morning (July 6th) a zigzag road brought us, after many descents and
rises, to Spa. The approach, through a rocky vale, is not totally devoid
of picturesque merit, and as I met no cabriolets or tituppings on the
chaufée, I concluded that the waters were not as yet much visited; and
that I should have their romantic environs pretty much to myself. But,
alas, how rudely was I deceived! The moment we entered up flew a dozen
sashes. Chevaliers de St. Louis, meagre Marquises, and ladies of the
scarlet order of Babylon, all poked their heads out. In a few minutes
half the town was in motion; tailors, confectioners, and barbers
thrusting bills into our hands with manifold grimaces and contortions.
Then succeeded a grand _entré_ of _valets de place_, who were hardly
dismissed before the lodging letters arrived, followed by somebody with a
list of _les seigneurs_ and _dames_ as long as a Welsh pedigree.
Half-an-hour was wasted in speeches and recommendations; another passed
before we could snatch a morsel of refreshment; they then finding I was
neither inclined to go to the ball, nor enter the land where Pharaoh
reigneth, peace was restored, a few feeble bows were scraped, and I found
myself in perfect solitude. Taking advantage of this quiet moment, I
stole out of town, and followed a path cut in the rocks, which brought me
to a young wood of oaks on their summits. Luckily I met no saunterer:
the gay vagabonds, it seemed, were all at the assembly, as happy as
billiards and chit-chat could make them. It was not an evening to tempt
such folks abroad. The air was cool, and the sky lowering; a melancholy
cloud shaded the wild hills and irregular woods at a distance. There was
something so importunate in their appearance, that I could not help
asking their name, and was told they were skirts of the forest of
Ardenne, amongst whose enchanted labyrinths the heroes of Boyardo and
Ariosto roved formerly in quest of adventures. I felt myself singularly
affected whilst gazing upon a wood so celebrated in romance for feats of
the highest chivalry; and, Don Quixote-like, would have explored its
recesses in search of that memorable fountain of hatred, which (if you
recollect the story) was raised by Merlin to free illustrious knights and
damsels from the torments of rejected love. So far was I advanced in
these romantic fancies, that, forgetting the lateness of the hour, I
wandered on, expecting to reach the fountain at every step; but at length
it grew so dusky that, unable to trace back my way amongst the thickets,
in vain I strayed through intricate copses, till the clouds began to
disperse and the moon appeared. Being so placed as to receive the full
play of silver radiance, to my no small surprise, I beheld a precipice
immediately beneath my feet. The chasm was deep and awful; something
like the entrance to a grot discovered itself below, and if I had not
already been disappointed on the score of the fount, I won’t answer but
that I should have flung myself adventurously down, and tried whether I
might not have seen such wonders as appeared to Bradamante, when cast by
Pinnabel, rather impolitely, into Merlin’s cave. But no propitious light
beaming from the cavity, I concluded times were changed; and searching
about me, found at last a shelving steep, which it was just possible to
descend without goat’s heels, and that’s all.
In my way home, I passed the redoute, and seeing a vast glare of lustres
in its apartments, I ran upstairs and found the gamblers all eager in
storming the Pharaoh Bank: a young Englishman of distinction seemed the
most likely to raise the siege, which increased every instant in
turbulence; but not feeling the least inclination to protract or to
shorten its fate, I left the knights to their adventures, and returned
ingloriously to my inn.
[Picture: The canal, Ghent, and Aix la Chapelle Cathedral]
All languages are chattering at the Table d’Hôte, and all sorts of
business transacted under my very windows. The racket and perfume of
this place make me resolve to get out of it to-morrow; as that is the
case, you won’t hear from me till I reach Munich. Adieu! May we meet in
our dreams by the fountain of Merlin, and from thence take our flight
with Astolpho to the moon; for I shrewdly suspect the best part of our
senses are bottled up there; and then, you know, it will be a delightful
novelty to wake up with a clear understanding.
“Indeed, Sir, no Monsieur _comme il faut_, ever left Spa in such dudgeon
before, unless jilted by a Polish princess, or stripped by an itinerant
Count! You have neither breakfasted at the Vauxhall, nor attended the
Spectacle, nor tasted the waters. Had you but taken one sip, your
ill-humour would have all trickled away, and you would have felt both
your heels and your elbows quite alive in the evening.”—Granted; but pray
tell your postillions to drive off as fast as their horses will carry
them.
Away we went to Aix-la-Chapelle about ten at night, and saw the
mouldering turrets of that once illustrious capital by the help of a
candle and lantern. An old woman asked our names (for not a single
soldier appeared); and traversing a number of superannuated streets
without perceiving the least trace of Charlemagne or his Paladins, we
procured comfortable though not magnificent apartments, and slept most
unheroically sound, till it was time to set forward for Dusseldorf.
_July_ 8_th_.—As we were driven out of the town, I caught a glimpse of a
grove, hemmed in by dingy buildings, where a few water-drinkers were
sauntering along to the sound of some rueful French horns; the wan
greenish light admitted through the foliage made them look like unhappy
souls condemned to an eternal lounge for having trifled away their
existence. It was not with much regret that I left such a party behind;
and, after experiencing the vicissitudes of good roads and rumbling
pavements, found myself, towards the close of evening, upon the banks of
the Rhine.
Many wild ideas thronged into my mind, the moment I beheld this
celebrated river. I thought of the vast regions through which it flows,
and suffered my imagination to expatiate as far as its source. A red,
variegated sky, reflected from the stream, the woods trembling on its
banks, and the spires of Nuys rising beyond them, helped to amuse my
fancy. Not being able to brook the confinement of the carriage, I left
it to come over at its leisure; and, stepping into a boat, rowed along,
at first, by the quivering osiers; then, launching out into the midst of
the waters, I glided a few moments with the current, and resting on my
oars, listened to the hum of voices afar off, while several little
skiffs, like canoes, glanced before my sight, concerning which distance
and the twilight allowed me to make a thousand fantastic conjectures.
When I had sufficiently indulged these extravagant reveries, I began to
cross over the river in good earnest; and being landed on its opposite
margin, travelled forwards to the town.
Nothing but the famous gallery of paintings could invite strangers to
stay a moment within its walls; more crooked streets, more indifferent
houses, one seldom meets with; except soldiers, not a living creature
moving about them; and at night a complete regiment of bugs “marked me
for their own.” Thus I lay, at once both the seat of war and the victim
of these detestable animals, till early in the morning (Sunday, July
9th), when Morpheus, compassionating my sufferings, opened the ivory
gates of his empire, and freed his votary from the most unconscionable
vermin that ever nastiness engendered. In humble prose, I fell fast
asleep; and remained quiet, in defiance of my adversaries, till it was
time to survey the cabinet.
This collection is displayed in five large galleries, and contains some
valuable productions of the Italian school; but the room most boasted of
is that which Rubens has filled with no less than three enormous
representations of the last day, where an innumerable host of sinners are
exhibited as striving in vain to avoid the tangles of the devil’s tail.
The woes of several fat luxurious souls are rendered in the highest
gusto. Satan’s dispute with some brawny concubines, whom he is lugging
off in spite of all their resistance, cannot be too much admired by those
who approve this class of subject, and think such strange imbroglios in
the least calculated to raise a sublime or a religious idea.
For my own part, I turned from them with disgust, and hastened to
contemplate a Holy Family by Camillo Procaccini, in another apartment.
The brightest imagination can never conceive any figure more graceful
than that of the young Jesus; and if ever I beheld an inspired
countenance or celestial features, it was here: but to attempt conveying
in words what colours alone can express, would be only reversing the
absurdity of many a master in the gallery, who aims to represent those
ideas by colours which language alone is able to describe. Should you
admit this opinion, you won’t be surprised at my passing such a multitude
of renowned pictures unnoticed; nor at my bringing you out of the cabinet
without deluging ten pages with criticisms in the style of the ingenious
Lady M—.
As I had spent so much time in gazing at Camillo’s divinity, the day was
too far advanced to think of travelling to Cologne; I was therefore
obliged to put myself once more under the dominion of the most inveterate
bugs in the universe. This government, like many others, made but an
indifferent use of its power, and the subject suffering accordingly was
extremely rejoiced at flying from his persecutors to Cologne.
_July_ 10_th_.—Clouds of dust hindered my making any remarks on the
exterior of this celebrated city; but if its appearance be not more
beautiful from without than within, I defy Mr. Salmon himself to launch
forth very warmly in its praise. But of what avail are stately palaces,
broad streets, or airy markets, to a town which can boast of such a
treasure as the bodies of those three wise sovereigns who were star-led
to Bethlehem? Is not this circumstance enough to procure it every
respect? I really believe so, from the pious and dignified contentment
of its inhabitants. They care not a hair of an ass’s ear whether their
houses be gloomy and ill-contrived, their pavements overgrown with weeds,
and their shops with filthiness, provided the carcasses of Gaspar,
Melchior, and Balthazar might be preserved with proper decorum. Nothing,
to be sure, can be richer than the shrine which contains these precious
relics. I paid my devotions before it the moment I arrived; this step
was inevitable: had I omitted it, not a soul in Cologne but would have
cursed me for a Pagan.
Do you not wonder at hearing of these venerable bodies so far from their
native country? I thought them snug in some Arabian pyramid ten feet
deep in spice; but you see one can never tell what is to become of one a
few ages hence. Who knows but the Emperor of Morocco may be canonized
some future day in Lapland? I asked, of course, how in the name of
miracles they came hither; but found no story of a supernatural
conveyance. It seems the holy Empress Helena, as great a collectress of
relics as the D—s of P. is of profane curiosities, first routed them out:
then they were packed off to Rome. King Alaric, having no grace, bundled
them down to Milan; where they remained till it pleased God to inspire an
ancient archbishop with the fervent wish of depositing them at Cologne.
There these skeletons were taken into the most especial consideration,
crowned with jewels and filigreed with gold. Never were skulls more
elegantly mounted; and I doubt whether Odin’s buffet could exhibit so
fine an assortment. The chapel containing these beatified bones is
placed in a dark extremity of the cathedral. Several golden lamps gleam
along the polished marbles with which it is adorned, and afford just
light enough to read the following monkish inscription:—
“CORPORA SANCTORUM RECUBANT HIC TERNA MAGORUM;
EX HIS SUBLATUM NIHIL EST ALIBIVE LOCATUM.”
After I had satisfied my curiosity with respect to the peregrinations of
the consecrated skeletons, I examined their shrine; and was rather
surprised to find it not only enriched with barbaric gold and pearl, but
covered with cameos and intaglios of the best antique sculpture. Many an
impious emperor and gross Silenus, many a wanton nymph and frantic
bacchanal, figure in the same range with the statues of saints and
evangelists. How St. Helena could tolerate such a mixed assembly (for
the shrine was formed under her auspices) surpasses my comprehension.
Perhaps you will say it is no great matter, and give me a hint to move
out of the chapel, lest the three kings and their star should lead me
quite out of my way. Very well; I think I had better stop in time, to
tell you, without further excursion, that we set off after dinner for
Bonn.
Our road-side was lined with beggarly children, high convent walls, and
scarecrow crucifixes, lubberly monks, dejected peasants, and all the
delights of Catholicism. Such scenery not engaging a share of my
attention, I kept gazing at the azure irregular mountains which bounded
our view, and in thought was already transported to their summits.
Various are the prospects I surveyed from this imaginary exaltation, and
innumerable the chimeras which trotted in my brain. Mounted on these
fantastic quadrupeds, I shot swiftly from rock to rock, and built castles
in the style of Piranesi upon most of their pinnacles. The magnificence
and variety of my aërial towers hindered my thinking the way long. I was
still walking with a crowd of phantoms upon their terraces, when the
carriage made a halt. Immediately descending the innumerable flights of
steps which divide such lofty edifices from the lower world, I entered
the inn at Bonn, and was shown into an apartment which commands the chief
front of the Elector’s palace. You may guess how contemptible it
appeared to one just returned from the court of fancy.
In other respects, I saw it in a very favourable moment; for the
twilight, shading the whole façade, concealed its plaistered walls and
painted pillars; their pediments and capitals being tolerably well
proportioned, and the range of windows beneath considerable, I gave the
architect more credit than he deserved, and paced to and fro beneath the
arcade, as pompously as if arrived at the Vatican; but the circumstance
which rendered my walk in reality agreeable, was the prevalence of a
delicious perfume. It was so dusky, that I was a minute or two seeking
in vain the entrance of an orangery, from whence this reviving scent
proceeded. At length I discovered it; and, passing under an arch, found
myself in the midst of lemon and orange trees, now in the fullest blow,
which form a continued grove before the palace, and extend, on each side
of its grand portal, out of sight. A few steps separate this extensive
terrace from a lawn, bordered by stately rows of beeches. Beyond, in the
centre of this striking theatre, rises a romantic assemblage of distant
mountains, crowned with the ruins of castles, whose turrets, but faintly
seen, were just such as you have created to complete a prospect. I was
the only human being in the misty extent of the gardens, and was happier
in my solitude than I can describe. No noise disturbed its silence,
except the flutter of moths and trickling of fountains. These undecided
sounds, corresponding with the dimness and haze of the scenery, threw me
into a pensive state of mind, neither gay nor dismal. I recapitulated
the wayward adventures of my childhood, and traced back each moment of a
period, which had seen me happy. Then, turning my thoughts towards
future days, my heart beat at the idea of that awful veil which covers
the time to come. One moment, ’twas the brightest hope that glittered
behind it; the next, a series of melancholy images clouded the
perspective. Thus, alternately swayed by fears and exultation, I passed
an interesting hour in the twilight, ranging amongst the orange trees, or
reclined by the fountain. I could not boast of being perfectly
satisfied, since those were absent, without whom not even the fields of
Enna could be charming. However, I was far from displeased with the
clear streams that bubbled around, and could willingly have dropped
asleep by their margin. Had I reposed in so romantic a situation, the
murmurs of trees and waters would doubtless have invited “some strange
mysterious dream” to hover over me, and perhaps futurity might have been
unveiled.