Right glad were we to find ourselves at last _en route_ from this
dismal place. In passing through the streets towards the barrier,
soon after leaving the quays, we found that we had likewise left all
the bustle, crowd, and confusion behind us. Few people were moving
about in any of them, and some were totally deserted. The prospect
which presented itself on issuing from the gates was as _triste_ and
repulsive as can well be conceived. In front and to the left marsh!
marsh! for miles, and looking black, dreary, and pestilential; the
distance obscured by a red haze, occasioned by the clouds of sand
blown inland by the gale from a range of sand and sand-hills (the
_dûnes_) extending all along the coast. A straight, ill-paved, and
muddy road, running away in long perspective between two wide ditches
filled with stagnant, stinking water, bordered here and there by
a few stunted willows bending to the blast, and their usual cold
colour rendered still more cold by thus exposing the whitish backs
of their young leaves. Such was the scene, in which our column (men,
horses, and carriages, soiled, and looking miserable; the mounted
gunners leaning to windward, with one hand generally upraised holding
on their helmets; the limber-gunners sitting sideways, turning
their backs to the gale) formed an appropriate accompaniment, as it
proceeded slowly along the causeway. About half-way to Ghystelles,[2]
at a barrier, we were rejoiced at finding the horses that had escaped
from us on the sands. The man said they had been there all night.
After traversing these marshes for about five or six miles, we
entered on a country almost as flat, but of a very different
character, highly cultivated and well wooded. The road became an
avenue, whilst the adjoining fields were interspersed everywhere with
patches of copsewood, and rows of tufted bushes serving here and
there as boundaries in place of hedges; the scenery, of course, much
more pleasing, although not seen to advantage under the still gloomy,
overcast sky.
It was late when we reached Ghistel, the appearance of which,
however, was consolatory, and promised some comfort.
Before we could seek that, a troublesome task still remained to be
performed. Our men could not understand their billets, some of which
were on isolated farms a mile or two from the village; neither could
they inquire their way. It therefore became necessary for us to
accompany and see them safely housed ere we could resign ourselves to
the enjoyments of our auberge. In the village itself they were soon
put up, for many of the people spoke or understood a little English.
At length, as night set in, our business was finished, and we all
assembled at our auberge, which, though humble, was delightfully
clean, and to us, after last night’s adventure, appeared luxurious.
No less so was the excellent dinner to which we soon sat down;
whilst doing justice to which we could not help laughing at its
spread, for it was composed, not of solid joints, &c. &c., but of
an immense multitude and variety of little dishes of stews and all
sorts of nameless (to us) things. A bottle of good port would have
rendered us superlatively happy, but that was not to be thought of in
Ghistel; so having amused ourselves, and puzzled the neat, pretty,
black-eyed girl who officiated as _garçon_ by our inquiries for this
our national, but by her unheard-of, beverage, we were fain to make
ourselves comfortable, and pass the evening in social chat over the
poor, thin, though well-flavoured liquor that the house afforded.
Some of our number, to be sure, were unreasonable enough to grumble,
and one actually got the stomach-ache, but whether from the wine or
last night’s wetting it is difficult to say, though he swore it was
the former.
I shall not easily forget my delight on retiring, when I found a most
clean, enticing bed prepared for me, in a pretty little room, the
window of which looked into a quiet well-kept garden. The enormous
pillow at first took me aback. Such a thing! It seemed to occupy half
the bed. I, however, soon made acquaintance with it, and enjoyed a
most delicious sleep. The first steps in a new country are to me
always a source of pleasurable sensations. Everything one sees is
striking, interesting, and makes a lasting impression. This evening
and its enjoyments will long remain a bright spot in my memory.
_15th._ A fine, mild, grey morning. Our people paraded in much
better order, and very much higher spirits, than yesterday, and all
seemed pleased with their entertainment. The novelty amused them,
and every one had some tale to relate of last night’s adventures.
Their hosts had generally been very kind to them, and allowed them to
take as much forage for their horses as they chose. The poor animals,
therefore, had passed the night equally well. In marching out of
Ghistel, I noticed many houses of a superior description to the
rustic dwellings which alone I saw last night. Some of these had much
the appearance of stage scenery, having façades painted to represent
pilasters, urns, wreaths, festoons, &c. &c., all in very childish
taste. These, no doubt, were the villas or _lusthausen_ of the Ostend
citizens.
Our march to Bruges (about twelve miles) was through a country
perfectly flat, but rich and highly cultivated; and from the numerous
little woods, farms, and substantial villages--added, again, to the
charm of novelty--it was far from uninteresting.
About noon we entered the city by a fine, broad, airy street,
rendered pleasing by the intermixture of foliage with its picturesque
buildings, and swarming with people. By-and-by we came to narrower
streets and more antiquated-looking houses; winding our way amongst
which, we at last reached the cavalry barrack, situated in a narrow,
dirty back lane at the further extremity of the town--a large,
heavy, inelegant mass of masonry, more like some old storehouse than
a barrack. Here, in the extensive yard, we parked our guns, and put
our men into the barrack, the rooms of which were large, lofty, and
vaulted, but extremely filthy, so that our people had to regret the
clean comfortable billets and kind hospitality which they would have
enjoyed amongst the inhabitants. A range of ruinous wooden sheds,
extending along two sides of the yard, served as stabling, and
received all our horses.
Having arranged affairs at the barrack, and called on Sir F. Lyons,
the British commandant, we betook ourselves to our billet at the
Hôtel de Commerce, which, however, we had some difficulty in
finding. As this was the first large hotel we had been in, it had
the recommendation of novelty, and everything in it became subject
of curiosity. The large dreary hall; the comfortless bar adjoining,
and separated from it by an immense window or glazed partition, so
unlike the cheerful snug-looking bar of an English inn; the equally
comfortless and gloomy saloon behind it, into which we were shown;
the squalid, dirty appearance of the domestics (men or boys), in
filthy cotton jackets and _bonnets de nuit_,--all served to chill
one on first entering. Our arrival, followed by orderlies and
servants carrying portmanteaus, &c. &c., caused a sensation in the
establishment, every member of which, not excepting the _chêf_,
was assembled to greet us in the hall. For some minutes a scene of
bustle ensued, which ended in mounting the stairs to inspect our
dormitories. These contrasted strangely with the vast apartments
below. From the head of the staircase a long corridor ran right and
left the whole length of the house, off which a number of doors
opened into as many little cells, each barely large enough to contain
bed, chair, and a small table. The beds (without curtains) were very
homely, but quite clean, the furniture and utensils of the commonest
kind. The attendants, having shown us our rooms, withdrew, and with
the sound of their departing footsteps ended the bustle of the day.
When I again stepped out on the gallery, the stillness of the place
astonished me--hall, staircase, bar, all deserted; not a soul to
be seen, nor a sound heard except that of my own tread over the
creaking floor; no ringing of bells; no calls for chambermaid, boots,
or waiter; no running to and fro;--in short, the place appeared
altogether abandoned, and I hastened into the street to lounge away
the time until dinner, of which, however, I had my misgivings.
Bruges is a highly interesting town at all times; but after being
shut out from the Continent so many years, the novelty of everything
one saw enhanced this interest amazingly. My ramble led me through
streets of lofty, whimsically constructed houses, the upper parts
of which sometimes projected in the manner one frequently sees in
our old midland towns, the projections decorated with drop-balls
on fretwork; immense windows sometimes occupied the whole front of
each floor; ample portals, the lofty folding-doors of which were
occasionally studded with iron, like those of a fortress or dungeon;
gables, with high pointed roofs, presented almost everywhere to the
street; chimneys of bizarre and fantastic forms, and surmounted by
a finish of semicircular tiles rising pyramidally over each other;
here and there towers or turrets with high conical roofs;--such were
the architectural peculiarities that attracted my attention. The
long streets running in wavy lines, and of unequal breadth, between
these grotesque buildings, exhibited specimens of costume as novel,
and frequently not less grotesque, which, intermingling with the
scarlet and blue uniforms of our soldiers, very much heightened the
picturesque effect. It was only in the principal thoroughfares and
business parts of the town that all this animation was met with.
In those quarters principally inhabited by the richer citizens
the streets were as dull, solitary, and scrupulously clean as it
is possible to conceive. In these I frequently found myself the
only animated being visible--not a loiterer at a door, not even a
head at a window. Many of even the best houses appeared absolutely
uninhabited. Could this have always been the case? Was this the
state of things when Bruges was the central mart for the whole Pays
Bas, and saw merchants from every nation in Europe crowding to its
fairs in search of its linen and woollen cloth, and of the naval
stores and rich productions of India continually arriving from the
north, the Venetian and other Italian States, when the splendid dress
and magnificent palaces of its citizens were sufficient to excite
the indignation and envy of a queen? Surely not. These grass-grown
streets, now so solitary, then exhibited very different scenes. Many
a plumed and portly burgher then trod their pavement, and many a fair
bejewelled dame graced the numerous windows of its palaces, now so
silent. This decay and depopulation dates from the moment when these
wealthy merchants arrogantly resisted their sovereign, Maximilian,
who, aided by Antwerp and Amsterdam, shut up its port of Sluys, and
thus, diverting its commerce into other channels, inflicted on it
that punishment the effects of which are so perceptible even after
a lapse of more than 300 years. From these melancholy monuments
of fallen grandeur, and the death-like silence of these deserted
streets, I suddenly emerged into the midst of bustle in the Grand
Place, where crowds of peasantry were assembled apparently for the
sole purpose of buying and selling little earthen pots of a peculiar
form (_terrines_), the number of which, disposed in long rows on the
ground, really surprised me. The Stadthouse stands in this place.
It has a lofty square tower, surmounted by another of nearly equal
height of an octagonal form. This certainly possesses no beauty, but
the singularity of the construction attracts notice. From the Place
I wandered to the _Cathédrale_,[3] the very lofty spire of which, I
am told, serves as a landmark for vessels approaching Ostend, though
certainly I do not recollect having seen it there. It is even _said_
by some to be visible from the _banks of the Thames_--a pretty long
view! Entering the temple, I found the garish light of broad day
exchanged for a mysterious twilight, and the busy hum of high market
for a solemn silence, scarcely interrupted by the light step of some
veiled female (of males only a few, very old men, were there) as she
glided to the spot chosen for her devotions, where, rapidly crossing
herself, she sank on her knees before a shrine in some side chapel.
At the high altar, priests in embroidered robes were celebrating mass
with a solemnity which rendered still more ridiculous their repeated
genuflexions, the extinction from time to time of a taper, and the
removal of a crucifix from one end of the altar to another, only to
bring it back the next moment, whilst ever and anon they would bow,
cross themselves, and bow again.
The nave of the church was not spoilt, as ours are, by pews. A
number of plain chairs were assembled round the pillars, and these
served the worshippers to kneel upon--that is, the men, for the
women invariably sank on the pavement in most picturesque attitudes.
Of the latter, most seemed in earnest; but with the former, a duty
was hurried through, in which the heart had evidently little or
no concern. Some certainly placed both knees on the chairs, and,
leaning over the backs with clasped hands, kept their eyes steadily
on the altar, whilst the rapid motion of their lips betrayed the
hurried manner in which they prayed. Others, however, with one knee
only on the chair, and the body half-turned, gazed about them whilst
mumbling over their daily portion of prayer. People were continually
coming in and going out, which seemed to disturb no one, but rather
served as amusement to the gazers just mentioned. However lukewarm
the frequenters of the temple might evince themselves, yet was there
something very impressive in the scene. In a pictorial point of view
it was most interesting, for the building is a fine Gothic structure,
and the interior of these always affords picturesque scenery, even
without such accessories as those furnished by the various kneeling
groups, more particularly of females. Some good pictures I saw, but
did not like to stop and examine them. A striking feature in this
church are the colossal statues of the Apostles perched upon shelves,
one to each column of the nave: the effect is not good. The pulpit,
and staircase leading up to it, are a most elaborate and ingenious
example of sculpture in wood. The impression on me was one of wonder
at the inexhaustible patience of the artist. Sauntering about the
church, near the great door I stumbled upon something not unlike
a sentry-box; it was a confessional! In this sat a sleek-looking
priest, head resting on his left hand, and the ear inclined to a
little grated aperture in one side, through which a female on her
knees, and shrouded in a black veil, poured out her heart in a loud
whisper. The holy man received the communication with becoming
gravity, though it was easy to divine, by a short perusal of his
countenance, that he was receiving nothing but commonplace, or at
best no very important, intelligence. Everything in this religion
appears most childish mummery;--what more so than this? Leaving Notre
Dame, I sought the ramparts. These no longer exist in a military
sense, but the high grassy mounds which remain, being planted with
trees, serve at once as a pretty promenade, and diversify the views
of the city from without. The moat in most places still remains
green--almost as the meadows--with aquatic plants. Some of the
ancient gateways, also, are still there to tell a tale of other
times. These, with their sombre grey towers, roofed with tile, are
eminently picturesque, and harmonise well with the other buildings
of the town. These towers, with high conical roofs, which one meets
almost everywhere throughout the Continent, particularly in this
country, form a characteristic feature, distinguishing its scenery
from that of the British Islands, where the ruins of ancient castles
have almost invariably their round or square towers terminated by
a castellated parapet and flat roof. True it is that the Irish
round-towers have such roofs; but they are low, and form a very small
portion in the general aspect of the building: as also those solitary
square towers seen along the Scottish Border, and sprinkled here
and there over the soil of Ireland--the dwellings or keeps of petty
chieftains--were also surmounted by high, but not conical roofs.
Tired of rambling about the streets, I returned to our hotel, where,
to my surprise, an excellent dinner awaited me, exceedingly well
served, and the attendants (who had made themselves clean) very
active and obliging. Among these a boy of fifteen or sixteen was a
perfect beauty--so much so as to excite universal admiration. Nor
must I forget another beauty of a far different kind--some very old
and genuine cognac. It was quite a liqueur; and we were so pleased
with it, that each secured a small stock to carry forward with him.
In short, we went to bed in better humour with the Hôtel de Commerce.