Passage to Ostend.--The Capuchin church.--Ghent.--Quiet and
Content, the presiding deities of Flanders.--Antwerp.--The Place de
Meir.--Silence and solitude of the town, contrasted with the tumult
and uproar of London.
Ostend, 21st June, 1780.
We had a rough passage, and arrived at this imperial haven in a piteous
condition. Notwithstanding its renown and importance, it is but a scurvy
place--preposterous Flemish roofs disgust your eyes when cast
upwards--swaggering Dutch skippers and mongrel smugglers are the
principal objects they meet with below; and then the whole atmosphere is
impregnated with the fumes of tobacco, burnt peat, and garlick. I
should esteem myself in luck, were the nuisances of this seaport
confined only to two senses; but, alas! the apartment above my head
proves a squalling brattery, and the sounds which proceed from it are so
loud and frequent, that a person might think himself in limbo, without
any extravagance.
In hope of some relief, I went to the Capuchin church, a large solemn
building, in search of silence and solitude; but here again was I
disappointed. There happened to be an exposition of the holy wafer with
ten thousand candles; and whilst half-a-dozen squeaking fiddles fugued
and flourished away in the galleries, and as many paralytic monks
gabbled before the altars, a whole posse of devotees, in long white
hoods and flannels, were sweltering on either side.
This papal piety, in warm weather, was no very fragrant circumstance; so
I sought the open air again as fast as I was able. The serenity of the
evening--for the black huddle of clouds, which the late storms had
accumulated, were all melted away--tempted me to the ramparts. There, at
least, thought I to myself, I may range undisturbed, and talk with my
old friends the breezes, and address my discourse to the waves, and be
as romantic and fanciful as I please; but I had scarcely begun a poetic
apostrophe, before out flaunted a whole rank of officers, with ladies
and abbés and puppy dogs, singing, and flirting, and making such a
hubbub, that I had not one peaceful moment to observe the bright tints
of the western horizon, or enjoy those ideas of classic antiquity which
a calm sunset never fails to bring before my imagination.
Finding, therefore, no quiet abroad, I returned to my inn, and should
have gone immediately to bed, in hopes of relapsing into the bosom of
dreams and delusions; but the limbo I mentioned before grew so very
outrageous, that I was obliged to postpone my rest till sugarplums and
nursery eloquence had hushed it to repose. At length peace was restored,
and about eleven o’clock I fell into a slumber. My dreams anticipated
the classic scenes of Italy, the proposed term of my excursion.
Next morning I arose refreshed with these agreeable impressions. No
ideas, but such as Nemi and Albano suggested, haunted me whilst
travelling to Ghent. I neither heard the coarse dialect which was
talking around me, nor noticed the formal avenues and marshy country
which we passed. When we stopped to change horses, I closed my eyes upon
the dull prospect, and was transported immediately to those Grecian
solitudes which Theocritus so enchantingly describes.
To one so far gone in the poetic lore of ancient days, Ghent is not the
most likely place to recall his attention; and I know nothing more about
it, than that it is a large, ill-paved, plethoric, pompous-looking city,
with a decent proportion of convents and chapels, monuments, brazen
gates, and gilded marbles. In the great church were several pictures by
Rubens, so striking, so masterly, as to hold me broad awake; though, I
must own, there are moments when I could contentedly fall asleep in a
Flemish cathedral, for the mere chance of beholding in vision the temple
of Olympian Jupiter.
But I think I hear, at this moment, some grave and respectable personage
chiding my enthusiasm--“Really, sir, you had better stay at home, and
dream in your great chair, than give yourself the trouble of going post
through Europe, in search of places where to fall asleep. If Flanders
and Holland are to be dreamed over at this rate, you had better take
ship at once, and doze all the way to Italy.” Upon my word, I should not
have much objection to that scheme; and, if some enchanter would but
transport me in an instant to the summit of Ætna, anybody might slop
through the Low Countries that pleased.
Being, however, so far advanced, there is no retracting; and I am
resolved to journey along with Quiet and Content for my companions.
These two comfortable deities have, I believe, taken Flanders under
their especial protection; every step one advances discovering some new
proof of their influence. The neatness of the houses, and the universal
cleanliness of the villages, show plainly that their inhabitants live in
ease and good humour. All is still and peaceful in these fertile
lowlands: the eye meets nothing but round unmeaning faces at every door,
and harmless stupidity smiling at every window. The beasts, as placid as
their masters, graze on without any disturbance; and I scarcely
recollect to have heard one grunting swine or snarling mastiff during
my whole progress. Before every village is a wealthy dunghill, not at
all offensive, because but seldom disturbed; and there sows and porkers
bask in the sun, and wallow at their ease, till the hour of death and
bacon arrives.
But it is high time to lead you towards Antwerp. More rich pastures,
more ample fields of grain, more flourishing willows! A boundless plain
lies before this city, dotted with cows, and speckled with flowers; a
level whence its spires and quaint roofs are seen to advantage! The pale
colours of the sky, and a few gleams of watery sunshine, gave a true
Flemish cast to the scenery, and everything appeared so consistent, that
I had not a shadow of pretence to think myself asleep.
After crossing a broad expanse of river, edged on one side by beds of
osiers beautifully green, and on the other by gates and turrets
preposterously ugly, we came through several streets of lofty houses to
our inn. Its situation in the “Place de Meir,” a vast open space
surrounded by buildings above buildings, and roof above roof, has
something striking and singular. A tall gilt crucifix of bronze,
sculptured by Cortels of Malines,[1] adds to its splendour; and the
tops of some tufted trees, seen above a line of magnificent hotels, add
greatly to the effect of the perspective.
It was almost dusk when we arrived; and as I am very partial to new
objects discovered by this dubious, visionary light, I went immediately
a rambling. Not a sound disturbed my meditations: there were no groups
of squabbling children or talkative old women. The whole town seemed
retired into their inmost chambers; and I kept winding and turning
about, from street to street, and from alley to alley, without meeting a
single inhabitant. Now and then, indeed, one or two women in long cloaks
and mantles glided by at a distance; but their dress was so shroud-like,
and their whole appearance so ghostly, that I should have been afraid to
accost them. As night approached, the ranges of buildings grew more and
more dim, and the silence which reigned amongst them more awful. The
canals, which in some places intersect the streets, were likewise in
perfect solitude, and there was just light sufficient for me to observe
on the still waters the reflection of the structures above them. Except
two or three tapers glimmering through the casements, no one
circumstance indicated human existence. I might, without being thought
very romantic, have imagined myself in the city of petrified people
which Arabian fabulists are so fond of describing. Were any one to ask
my advice upon the subject of retirement, I should tell him--By all
means repair to Antwerp. No village amongst the Alps, or hermitage upon
Mount Lebanon, is less disturbed: you may pass your days in this great
city without being the least conscious of its sixty thousand
inhabitants, unless you visit the churches. There, indeed, are to be
heard a few devout whispers, and sometimes, to be sure, the bells make a
little chiming; but, walk about, as I do, in the twilights of midsummer,
and be assured your ears will be free from all molestation.
You can have no idea how many strange, amusing fancies played around me
whilst I wandered along; nor how delighted I was with the novelty of my
situation. But a few days ago, thought I within myself, I was in the
midst of all the tumult and uproar of London: now, as if by some magic
influence, I am transported to a city equally remarkable indeed for
streets and edifices, but whose inhabitants seem cast into a profound
repose. What a pity that we cannot borrow some small share of this
soporific disposition! It would temper that restless spirit which throws
us sometimes into such dreadful convulsions. However, let us not be too
precipitate in desiring so dead a calm; the time may arrive when, like
Antwerp, we may sink into the arms of forgetfulness; when a fine verdure
may carpet our Exchange, and passengers traverse the Strand without any
danger of being smothered in crowds or crushed by carriages.
Reflecting, in this manner, upon the silence of the place, contrasted
with the important bustle which formerly rendered it so famous, I
insensibly drew near to the cathedral, and found myself, before I was
aware, under its stupendous tower. It is difficult to conceive an object
more solemn or more imposing than this edifice at the hour I first
beheld it. Dark shades hindered my examining the lower galleries; their
elaborate carved work was invisible; nothing but huge masses of building
met my sight, and the tower, shooting up four hundred and sixty-six feet
in the air, received an additional importance from the gloom which
prevailed below. The sky being perfectly clear, several stars twinkled
through the mosaic of the pinnacles, and increased the charm of their
effect.
Whilst I was indulging my reveries, a ponderous bell struck ten, and
such a peal of chimes succeeded, as shook the whole edifice,
notwithstanding its bulk, and drove me away in a hurry. I need not say,
no mob obstructed my passage. I ran through a succession of streets,
free and unmolested, as if I had been skimming along over the downs of
Wiltshire. The voices of my servants conversing before the hotel were
the only sounds which the great “Place de Meir” echoed.
This characteristic stillness was the more pleasing, when I looked back
upon those scenes of outcry and horror which filled London but a week or
two ago, when danger was not confined to night only, and to the environs
of the capital, but haunted our streets at mid-day. Here, I could
wander over an entire city; stray by the port, and venture through the
most obscure alleys, without a single apprehension; without beholding a
sky red and portentous with the light of houses on fire, or hearing the
confusion of shouts and groans mingled with the reports of artillery. I
can assure you, I think myself very fortunate to have escaped the
possibility of another such week of desolation, and to be peaceably
lulled at Antwerp.