_16th._ Marched through a country very similar to that of
yesterday--that is, flat rich soil, highly cultivated, very populous,
and diversified with patches of wood, &c.--to Eccloo (_chêf lieu
du canton_), a neat little village consisting of two broad streets
forming a sort of place at the point of union, where we parked our
guns, despite the objections of the inhabitants, who were woefully
afraid of an explosion. The Duke of Wellington, _en route_ to Ostend,
passed as we were forming up, and scrutinised us pretty closely, but
said nothing, although I afterwards learned that it was positively
against orders to park ammunition of any kind in a village.
The landlord of the only auberge was so very insolent that we formed
a mess for the day in one of our billets, our own servants cooking
for us. The fare was not sumptuous, but, _en revanche_, very cheap,
consisting entirely of our rations. My own billet here was in the
house of a widow, who kept a hardware shop--humble, but, as usual in
this country, a pattern of cleanliness. Returning from the mess, I
joined the old lady and her daughter in their little parlour behind
the shop, and two or three neighbours coming in, the conversation
became animated. The subject was the return of Napoleon and the
probable consequences. According to their ideas, our cause was
hopeless. Last year our hostess had lodged an officer of Cossacks,
whom she described as a most gentlemanly man.
_17th._ The same description of country accompanied us to Ghent. At
the large village of Lovendeghem the road joined the canal; and here
we obtained the first view of this celebrated city, the birthplace
of Charles V., and the scene of so many interesting events in the
history of the middle ages, forming, with its numerous towers, a fine
termination to the long vista of the canal.
Nearer the coast the trees had been small and somewhat stunted;
indeed, most of the woods we had seen were merely coppice. Here,
however, they assumed a different character, being of large size and
great luxuriance, giving a much higher interest to the landscape as
they bordered the fine meadows lying along either side of the canal,
on the bank of which our road lay. The scenery now became further
enriched and enlivened by the frequent occurrence of country-seats,
generally of brick, and embowered in foliage; a lawn stretching down
to the canal, and terminated by a terrace with a low parapet-wall and
a summer-house at one end of it. The only boat, however, we met, was
the packet going to Bruges; and the road itself was so solitary that,
had not our eyes convinced us to the contrary, we should never have
imagined ourselves approaching so rich and populous a city.
About two P.M. we reached the canal harbour, separated from the city
by a handsome _barrière_ (_grille_) or iron railing in imitation of
spears, the shafts painted light blue, with gilded blades. A small
building, with the word “_Octroi_” in large letters over the door,
stood on one side of the gate by which we now entered the capital of
Flanders, and immediately found ourselves in a fine broad street,
with large and stately houses on either side. Yet the very first
impression was that of disappointment. The street was lonely, almost
deserted, and nearly every second house exhibited a board bearing a
notice in French and Flemish that it was to sell or let--“Maison à
louer,” “Huys zu heuer,” or “Maison à vendre,” &c. &c. Curious it
is that two languages should be indispensably necessary; but such
seems to be the case here, for I observed that all proclamations and
public notices of any kind were invariably in French and Flemish. We
proceeded some way through the same sort of quiet and (apparently)
depopulated region; but at last, crossing a broad canal, or, may
be, one of the several rivers which here unite, we came at once
into the very heart of bustle, business, fine shops, and crowds of
people, continuing on nearly a mile, through all which we at last
reached the cavalry barracks (our destination), quite at the further
extremity of the town, near the Barrière de Bruxelles, where we
parked our guns and put up our horses; but there was no room for
the men, consequently they were billeted.[4] Nothing could be more
inconvenient than this arrangement, though I believe it could not
be helped, the place being already crowded with troops, English and
French--for this was the headquarters of Louis XVIII.’s phantom of
an army. Upon ascertaining the situation of our billets, too, we
found things still worse, these being generally in the Quartier de
Bruge, a distance of nearly one and a half miles from the barrack,
and some still farther off--one detachment being billeted at La
Barqué, a cabaret on the canal harbour, and another at some village
still farther off. A serious inconvenience this for horse-soldiers,
whose duties required them to be so continually at the barrack, and
most harassing when it is recollected that the distance from barrier
to barrier is reckoned three miles--the whole distance over an
execrable pavement. It was not without some trouble that I succeeded
in finding my own billet in Bruge Straet, a respectable house, but
nowise remarkable either for size or architecture. My host, a stout
cheerful-looking old gentleman, whose bearing and dress bespoke the
opulent citizen, met me in the gateway, and with great cordiality
(recognising my billet) ushered me into a large room by the side
of the brick-paved entry, announcing it as mine during my stay,
at the same time offering me the use of his whole establishment,
particularly of his cook. This last I accepted with pleasure, having
arranged with my officers that our mess should be in my quarter,
wherever that might be. Meantime, my baggage-cart having been
drawn up the narrow yard and the horses dismissed, the great gates
reclosed, and the bustle of arrival subsided, everything sank into
silence--a silence as predominating in the street without as within
the house.
My apartment was a large, lofty, long room, running back from the
street, towards which two high windows admitted such insufficient
light that even in fine weather it was particularly gloomy. At the
farther end two folding-doors cut off a portion of its length, and
this was fitted up as a bed-chamber--dark enough. The furniture
of the _salle_ consisted of a few common chairs and a large table
covered with oil-cloth. The floor was without carpet, as the windows
were without either blinds or curtains. How the rest of the house
might have been fitted up I am ignorant, having seen no more of its
interior than the kitchen, which opened into the yard, and that was
certainly the neatest and cleanest I ever saw, with its red floor
and red stoves and highly-polished brass pans, &c. &c. Nor did I
ever see much more of the inhabitants; for, with the exception of
two females in the kitchen, the house seemed deserted. A man-servant
certainly assisted at our dinner, but we rarely saw even him at any
other time. Not a voice--not a foot-fall--not a sound of any kind,
unless emanating from ourselves, ever disturbed the death-like
silence that reigned through this establishment. Mine host was, I
believe, a merchant, and went out every morning to his business,
whence he returned not until the evening, at least as far as I
could ascertain. I saw nothing more of him from my first reception
until I called to take leave and thank him for his attentions and
hospitality. These consisted in the assistance of his servants and
the use of his beer-cask, on which we drew for our daily supply.
During the seven days we remained in Ghent, our time was so occupied
by duties that there was little leisure to look about us. Twice every
day it was necessary to be at the barracks, so that a very great
portion of my time was spent in walking backward and forward between
them and Bruge Straet.
Amongst other duties it fell to our lot to furnish a guard of honour
to Louis XVIII., then residing in Ghent, his own troops having been
sent to Alost to make room for the British, which were continually
passing through. Our subalterns were very well pleased with this
arrangement, for the duty was nothing. They found an excellent table,
and passed their time very agreeably with the young men of the _garde
du corps_, some of whom were always in attendance. Many of these were
mere boys, and the anteroom of his most Christian Majesty frequently
exhibited bolstering matches and other amusements, savouring strongly
of the boarding-school; however, they were good-natured, and always
most attentive to the comforts of the officer on guard. The royal
stud was in the barrack stables, and consisted principally of grey
horses, eighteen or twenty of which had been purchased in England at
a sale of _cast horses_ from the Scots Greys.
We frequently met French officers of all ranks, and formed
acquaintance with many gentlemanly, well-informed men. At the Lion
d’Or and Hôtel de Flandre we found there was a table-d’hôte every
night at 8 o’clock, and, by way of passing the evening, usually
resorted to one or the other for supper. Here we were sure of meeting
many Frenchmen, and as the same people were generally constant
attendants, we became intimate, and discussed the merits of our
national troops respectively over our wine or _ponche_. It was the
first time most of them had had an opportunity of inspecting British
troops closely, though many had often met them in the field; and
they were very curious in their inquiries into the organisation,
government, and equipment of our army. Although allowing all due
credit to the bravery displayed by our troops in the Peninsula, and
the talents of our General (the Duke), yet were they unanimous in
their belief that neither would avail in the approaching conflict,
and that we must succumb before their idol and his grand army; for
though these gentlemen had deserted Napoleon to follow the fortunes
of Louis XVIII., it was evident they still revered the former. Their
admiration of our troops, particularly of the cavalry, was very
great; but they expressed astonishment at seeing so few decorations.
It was in vain we asserted that medals were rarely given in the
British army, and then only to commanding officers, &c. They shook
their heads, appeared incredulous, and asked, “Where are the troops
that fought in Spain?” There might have been something more than
mere curiosity in all this. There might have been an anxiety to
ascertain whether their countrymen were about to cope with veterans
or young soldiers. It might have been thrown out as a lure, to
provoke information relative to the present employment of those
veteran bands. Moreover, I shrewdly suspected many of these gentlemen
were actually spies. Amongst others who had followed Louis XVIII.
was Marmont. I think it was the day after our arrival, passing over
the open space near the Place d’Armes, by the river, I saw a French
general officer exercising a horse in the _manège_, and learnt with
astonishment that this was Marmont; for the man in question had
_two_ good arms--whereas, for years past, I had, in common with
most people in England, looked upon it as a fact that he had left
one at Salamanca. French deserters, both officers and privates,
were daily coming in; it was said they deserted by hundreds. Be
that as it may, I one day saw a column of thirty march up to the
Bureau des Logements. They were in a most miserable plight--all in
rags--and apparently half-starved. All these deserters, as well as
the rest, were forwarded without delay to Alost. The Commissaire des
Logements told me that, after the departure of the French troops to
Alost, there still remained more than 300 of his Majesty’s immediate
followers for whom it was necessary to provide in Ghent.
The huzzars of the K. G. Legion, stationed about Detto, and toward
the frontier, frequently sent intelligence of hostile movements; but
except this, we were in perfect ignorance of the positions either of
our own or the French army. Regiments arrived from England, halted a
night, and were off again we knew not where.
Meantime we lived well, and saw as much of the place as our scanty
time would permit. The markets were most abundantly supplied with
everything, and very cheap; so that with the assistance of our
_bourgmestre’s_ cook we kept an excellent table at a moderate rate.
As for our horses, although they had exhibited symptoms of having
felt their exposure on the sands at Ostend when we first arrived, yet
rest and good forage soon restored their original appearance, and we
began to get tired of Ghent and long for a forward move.
I cannot, however, bid adieu to Ghent without recording a few notes,
which my confined means of observation enabled me to preserve; and
be it remembered that, at that period, the continent of Europe
was almost a _terra incognita_ to Englishmen, to whom everything,
therefore, even trifles, bore a degree of interest, which our present
intimate acquaintance may cause to appear puerile at the present day.
I need not say that Ghent is a large and populous city, standing
upon ground generally flat, intersected and divided into numerous
islands by three or four rivers, besides canals, which hold their
course through it, nor that it is the birthplace of the Emperor
Charles V.; but I may add that Ghent, independent of its historical
recollections, is, and ever must be, a most interesting place,
particularly to the artist; for where can we see such picturesque
street-scenes as are exhibited here? The streets, bordered by lofty
houses generally of a quaint style of architecture, wind their
devious way--now narrow, now spreading out to an ample breadth--with
an irregularity that certainly leaves no room to complain of
sameness. This irregularity attaches as much to the houses as to the
streets. These are of every variety--high stepped gables towards
the street, little turrets with pointed roofs, others with large
French windows, and, again, others all window, as at Bruges. These,
intermingled with, and partially seen through, the foliage of the
trees, which in many places border the canals, &c., offer most
picturesque morsels, precisely such as one sees in the pictures of
the old Flemish painters, so that they appeared quite familiar.
This effect is considerably heightened by the deep embrasures of
the windows, lofty grotesquely ornamented portals, and, above all,
the rich deep tone of colouring that pervaded the whole. Chapels
and churches, too--some in the Gothic, others Italian, or still
more modern styles--intervened continually, the whole forming rich
perspectives, animated by the varied and bustling crowds of citizens,
peasants, soldiers, &c. One peculiarity struck me as savouring much
of indolence and curiosity combined: almost every house, at one or
more windows of the first floor, had small square mirrors, sometimes
single, sometimes double, so arranged that persons seated within
the room could see the passengers on the _trottoir_ below without
stirring from their seats. In English towns one constantly sees heads
peeping over the blinds; here, no one is seen at the windows.
Near the centre of the city is the Place d’Armes, a large
square, having the area ornamented by rows of well-grown linden
trees, and its houses of a superior character to those in the
adjoining quarters. This is the focus of business, and in this
neighbourhood one sees all the best shops, some of which astonished
us by the profuse display of Indian goods, particularly silk
pocket-handkerchiefs, which we found of the very finest quality, and
at about half the price they sold at in England. The Place d’Armes
is, however, spoiled in a great measure by the shabby wooden railing
enclosing the promenade.
In this square was a magnificent hotel, at least as far as outward
appearance went. The Duc de Berri had his quarters in it; and one
day, as I returned from the barrack, I saw him set off for Alost.
This was the first travelling equipage I had seen in the country;
and consequently I was much amused with the coxcombry and costume
of the postilions--their glazed hats stuck on one side; queues, each
with the side-hair neatly plaited in; short, very short jackets;
and, above all, the enormous jack-boots. But if the costume amused,
the dexterity with which they handled their whips astonished
me--“klang-klang-klang,”--between them they almost made music. The
rapid and dexterous manner in which, flourishing their whips over
their heads, they crack them--before, behind, right, and left--is of
a piece with that manual dexterity with which our laboratory-boys
make ball-cartridges, and our drummers, by quickly-repeated but
distinct taps, produce a rolling sound in which the most delicate ear
cannot detect a break. But to return from this digression.
The very little time I had to myself did not admit of seeing half
the place, and my wanderings were pretty much confined to the
neighbourhood of the line between Bruges Straet and the barrack.
Sometimes, however, I did extend a little to the right and left,
and in one of these excursions got a glimpse, but no more, of some
pleasant gardens--public, I suppose--in which numerous walks,
overarched with verdure, intersected each other, and presented,
as the weather was hot, most inviting retreats. At another time
I wandered as far as the Citadel,--I suppose the one built by
William III. of England, not that of Charles V., of which not a
vestige remains. It must have been but an insignificant work;--the
plan, I think, a parallelogram. The mounds of the ramparts remain
entire, and the wet ditch. At present it is completely overlooked
by the neighbouring houses. From this work, which is situated just
without the _barrière_ of the road to Thermonde, one commands a
prospect, perhaps, of its kind unrivalled. Here are no picturesque
or romantic features, but the eye wanders unimpeded over a region
as flat as the ocean, and, like it, only terminating in the distant
horizon. This region is amongst the richest in the world, and, spite
of its flatness, offers to our view a scene at once pleasing and
astonishing. Verdant meadows, enameled with myriads of yellow and
white flowers, amidst which graze innumerable herds of the finest
cattle, extend for miles from the city, and then, intermingled with
corn-fields, groves, and thickets, amidst which are seen everywhere
villages, farms, and scattered houses, melt gradually away into the
blue distance. In the immediate foreground, a singular hillock,
crowned by a little chapel and environed by trees, rears its form
and enhances the picture by variety of feature and the interesting
peeps admitted between the openings of the foliage. The road from
Thermonde passes through this grove, and, covered as it generally
is (or was, when I saw it) with groups of market-people, carts,
and cattle, &c., throws a charming animation into the scene. The
lengthened perspective, too, of this road running away in a straight
line bordered by trees, and gradually diminishing until lost in the
distance, breaks the unvaried flatness of the meadows, and prevents
one feeling them monotonous. Returning from the Citadel, I joined
the rustic crowd pouring in through the _barrière_, and, following
the stream, was brought by it into an extensive square surrounded
by lofty and antique-looking houses, apparently the exclusive abode
of the humbler classes of merchants or artisans. The crowd here was
immense; and it was not without difficulty that I made my way through
it. I think this is the Marché aux Grains. Not far from thence I
stumbled on the great gun, called the Basilisc,[5] said to have been
cast by order of Charles V., to overawe the Ghentois. As far as I
could see, this enormous piece, which reposes on a mass of brickwork
in an open space at the turn of the street, is a plain unornamented
cylinder of iron (wrought). It was too high for minute inspection.
The pedestal upon which it rests serves also as a public fountain,
about which are usually groups of gossiping women with their pitchers
under their arms, or noisy boys.
Amongst the buildings of Ghent, interesting from their style, the
ancient Gothic Hôtel de Ville stands pre-eminent, with its rich and
elaborately-ornamented façades. This venerable pile is said to have
been built, at least the older part of it, in the beginning of the
seventh century. Another remnant of antiquity, perhaps still more
old, I discovered in my own neighbourhood--this was the ancient
castle, Castrum Ganda(?), a small open space, in the corner of which
are the remains of thick walls and one tower still nearly entire--its
different storeys affording lodgment to several poor families, from
whom, however, I sought in vain for any information respecting these
ruins. From the direction of the patches of wall, I conjectured that
the open space was once the inner court of the castle.
In the same quarter was one of the markets, through which I passed
every day in going to and coming from the barrack; it was for meat
and vegetables, &c. The latter were exposed for sale in the open air
in baskets, as with us; and here, as everywhere else, one could not
but be struck with the great abundance and fine quality of every
produce of this rich country. One vegetable seemingly in great
request was the tender root of the hop plant. This, when peeled and
stewed in milk, is really delicious. We had it every day on our
table, and it was a general favourite. A principal occupation of the
market-women was peeling these roots, which were then thrown into a
basin of cold water to keep them fresh, and thus exposed for sale.
The meat-market adjoining was under cover and closed in, like the
central avenue of Covent Garden, forming a long street of stalls,
each full of the finest meat imaginable, cut up into joints, &c.,
whilst overhead, suspended under the roof, were innumerable whole
carcasses of bullocks, sheep, and pigs. Nothing could exceed the
cleanliness of this place, or the neatness and propriety of dress of
the butchers, their wives, and daughters. Unlike our markets, there
was no loud talking, no confused gabbling of tongues; everything
seemed conducted with the utmost quiet, order, and decency. The
middle of the passage was thronged with well-dressed people of all
classes and both sexes. On entering I was struck with a singular dull
murmuring sound that pervaded the building, somewhat resembling the
sound of a distant mill, which I soon perceived to be produced by the
active industry of the women, who, instead of sitting idly waiting
for custom, were all busily employed pounding sausage-meat. If ever
I could relish a sausage it would be a Ghent one, for nothing can
exceed the cleanliness of the operators and their operations, or the
goodness of the materials of which they are made. One may form some
idea of the abundance of this fine country from the fact that, having
been all last year the seat of war, and now everywhere occupied by
numerous foreign troops, still there appeared no diminution in the
supplies, and the markets of every town exhibit as great a profusion
as ever.
With the exception of a slight sandy eminence at Eccloo, the
first undulations of the country we had yet seen were at Ghent.
On the southern side of the town I ascended with pleasure a
hill, which apparently was the commencement of a sort of rolling
country extending towards Deynse. From its summit is an excellent
view of the city and the fine country around it. Meadows of
the liveliest green, intersected by numerous streams, exhibited
everywhere immense quantities of linen exposed for bleaching--such
was the scene immediately below. In the distance, as the plain
became foreshortened, it seemed to be bounded by woods. The city
itself was rendered a more pleasing object by having its sombre
masses broken and relieved by large plots of garden-ground and the
frequent intervention of foliage. On this hill stood a large square
building, once a monastery, but suppressed during the Revolution,
like many others. To what use it is now turned I could not guess,
as not a living soul was to be seen in or about it of whom to make
inquiry. The massive pile, with its numerous windows, high roof, and
yawning portal, was not an unpicturesque object. I sauntered into
its solitary court; grass had almost overgrown the pavement, and
desolation was stamped on every feature. I could not look on all this
without indulging in a dream, and in my mind’s eye embodying fat and
lazy monks strolling about the court, or lounging in idle converse on
the stone benches against the sunny wall; again, some more venerable
figure passing the corridors in silent meditation. On the road from
the town, too, I conjured up groups of ascending and descending
brothers, and though not approving of their vocation, could not but
regret the absence of their picturesque costume. The only convent I
saw besides this in Ghent was an inhabited one, and it is to be hoped
always will be. This is the Beguinage, to which I hardly know whether
the term “convent” should be applied, for it rather resembles a small
town. Each of the sisters has a separate dwelling, with a little
flower-garden in front of it, much in the style of some of our better
kind of alms-houses in England. It appears an old building, and is
surrounded by a moat.
The Cathedral of St Bavon being in our neighbourhood, and not much
out of the way of my daily walks, I frequently went in to see what
was going on; for one goes to these Catholic ceremonies as to any
other show. This church makes no great appearance from without, but
the interior is imposing and beautiful, as all Gothic interiors are.
The panels of the choir over the stalls are a series of paintings
exceedingly well executed, representing the acts of St Paul, I
believe. The curiosities of the church are the crypt, the tombs,
and the pulpit. The former of these probably originated in the
unsoundness of the ground rendering such a foundation necessary.
Its arches are semicircular, and spring from low but very massive
pillars. Mass is sometimes performed here, but only often enough,
I should imagine, to prevent its desecration. Of the tombs, there
are two of very admirable sculpture--the one in white, the other in
black marble--both, I think, of bishops. The pulpit is like that of
Bruges--an elaborate piece of carving in wood--notable monument of
patience and perseverance. One evening, attracted by the chanting, I
walked in, just as a procession wound slowly from behind the choir,
and advanced with banners and lighted tapers down the side aisle.
The approaching twilight had thrown every part of the church into
a mysterious obscurity, harmonising well with such a scene. Two
boys in scarlet surplices, with shaven heads, but beautiful faces,
came first, swinging about large handsome censers of silver. The
atmosphere was soon impregnated with the smoking frankincense, whose
odour was well calculated to aid the imposing effect. Two banners,
in form resembling the labarum, followed. To these succeeded a train
of priests, in variously-coloured, rich, and picturesque dresses,
some bearing other banners of different shapes and devices; and
a number of boys, all habited like those already mentioned, and
equally fair, flanked the procession, and enveloped it in a light
haze by the fumes of their incessantly swinging censers. The chant
had just died away as I entered the nave, and the procession, with
solemn, silent tread, moved slowly down the aisle--the only sound
that broke upon the ear being the grating rattle of the censer-lids
as they were drawn rapidly up and down the chains. Then again the
full impressive harmony of the chant filled the vaulted roof with its
sweet and solemn notes, died away, and after another pause was again
and again resumed; and thus, having made the circuit of the nave, the
procession became gradually lost in the obscurity of the aisle as it
slowly retired behind the choir, whence at intervals, softened by
distance, the chant still rose over the dividing screen behind the
high altar.
Puerile as these exhibitions may be, the effect on me was exciting;
and as the last notes were faintly re-echoed through the building,
I left it in a frame of mind far different from that in which I had
entered.
On the Sunday we passed in Ghent a mass was celebrated expressly
for Monsieur (le Comte d’Artois). Expecting something grand, I
repaired to the cathedral in company with several other officers.
We were received with great civility by the functionaries of the
establishment, and provided with seats in the stalls and organ-loft.
Our party formed the whole congregation, for there were none of
the inhabitants. We had not been long seated ere a slight movement
and the shuffling of feet in the direction of the grand entrance
announced the approach of the illustrious communicant; and Monsieur
entered the choir, followed at a little distance by the gentlemen of
his suite: a small man of good figure, but of no very distinguished
appearance. He was dressed in a blue uniform coat with silver
embroidery, white breeches, and silk stockings. He advanced with a
quick pace to the steps of the high altar, where a single chair had
been placed for him, bowed very low, crossed himself most devoutly,
bowed again, and, kneeling on the chair with his arms resting on the
back, buried his face in his hands, and in this attitude remained
throughout the ceremony. His suite, military and civil, ranged
themselves across the choir behind him. A few found chairs, and knelt
on them, but the greater part remained standing, and seemed little
interested in the service. At length, to my great joy, the last taper
was extinguished, and, tired to death, I made my escape, resolved
never again to attend a royal mass.
With the interior of the houses in Ghent I had little acquaintance,
having seen no more of them than the rooms inhabited by our own
officers. In our Quartier de Bruges were many very large and even
magnificent ones--some of them in the modern style, with French
windows, of three or four stories, or occasionally only one, with
a basement entirely blank; others, again, in the heavy antique
Flemish style, with large windows in deep embrasures (perhaps with
little panes of glass set in lead, and divided by heavy stone
mullions)--those on the ground-floor defended by an iron cage, as
in Spain; lofty folding-doors, full of iron studs, surmounted by a
cumbrous, tasteless pediment, or an equally cumbrous escutcheon,
looking gloomily magnificent. In all cases, however, the most
scrupulous cleanliness and neatness were general characteristics; and
as the street-doors usually stood wide open throughout the day, the
eye of the passenger, as it glanced through the darkened perspective
of the entrance-hall, was sure to be refreshed by the vivid verdure
of vines and acacias decorating the interior court--a never-failing
accompaniment, particularly to the older houses.
One of my officers, with whom I had established a breakfast mess, was
billeted in a house (or rather palace) of the latter description
in the Rue de Poivre (Pepper Straet). The rooms in this were of
magnificent dimensions, wainscoted with some dark wood, the doorways
and ceilings ornamented with arabesques. They were scrupulously
clean, but very bare of furniture, the little there was (merely
chairs and tables) clumsy and antique--folding-doors with their
ornamented encasements reaching to the ceiling--neither door nor
window frames painted. The whole house was as deserted and silent as
I have described my own to be--gloomily obscure; but this, as the
weather was hot, formed a recommendation, for it was deliciously
cool. The only inhabitants ever seen either by my companion or myself
were the lord of the mansion--a most precise, polite, frigid little
sexagenarian, and an old domestic in cotton jacket and _bonnet
de nuit_, who sometimes assisted Q.’s servant. The old gentleman
was, however, most civil in going through the ceremony of offering
everything his house afforded, but what that might be there were no
means of ascertaining, for we never either saw or smelt his kitchen.
The garden, an irregular area of no great dimensions, presented a
grove of trees with thickets of underwood, threaded in all directions
by narrow serpentine walks; and to prevent a sense of confinement,
I suppose, the high boundary-wall was painted from top to bottom
in distemper, with the representation of a distant country sky and
all. The effect of this, in my opinion, was vastly inferior to
that which would have been produced by covering it with vines or
flowering creepers. Another of our people dwelt in a house of quite
a different description--it was one of those already mentioned
as having a blank basement, and giving but a single row of large
French windows to the street. My friend’s apartments were truly
luxurious. The walls were covered with French paper representing
the scenery of some tropical region, the furniture (of which there
was even a superfluity) all elegant; the large windows, adorned by
ample draperies, looked out upon a lovely and luxuriant garden,
and the light that entered through them was broken and tempered by
festoons of vine leaves that hung across them, whilst the air came
redolent of delicious odours from the ocean of flowers below, and
the ear was entertained with the sweet warbling of birds suspended
in pretty cages of brass wire in all parts of the house. The family
consisted of several females--handsome, elegant, and simple in their
dress; women--servants, scrupulously neat and clean, but not a man.
These ladies must have been people of some consequence, if we may
judge from the number and respectability of their visitors. The
general aspect of the population of Ghent, as seen in the streets,
&c., did not strike me as having anything very peculiar in it to
attract the attention of a foreigner; the numbers, however, and to
him novel appearance, of the secular clergy form a feature not to
be omitted. An Englishman is totally unused to having the Church
and its accessories so constantly in his presence as he here finds
it. Both eyes and ears remind him perpetually of one and the other.
The _carillons_, and the irregular unmeaning jingle-jangle of the
bells from the numerous churches, continuing more or less throughout
the day--the monotonous nasal chant issuing from every church one
passes (and they constantly recur)--the occasional rencontre of some
procession, and the number of priests to be seen everywhere in black
cassocks and bands, with very small three-cornered cocked-hats stuck
formally on their well-powdered heads--never allow one to forget Holy
Mother Church as a leading member of the commonwealth. These priests
all look sleek and in good case--they are evidently well fed; and
it is amusing to see some of them (very young men) gliding along
with downcast eyes (_vultus dejectu_) and demure steps, whilst ever
and anon a stealthy sidelong glance announces that their thoughts
are not entirely abstracted in devotional meditation--that they are
not insensible to the excitement of the busy scene around them. To
these maybe added the dowdy, homely figures of the Beguines in their
inelegant black dresses, as inelegant and truly _bizarre_ caps of
snow-white linen floating like enormous wings on either side of their
heads. The remainder of the population, as I have said, offered
nothing very striking in the way of costume, at least as far as
regarded the higher classes. People everywhere now have adopted, it
may be said, a common uniform. All the male world wear round hats,
tail or frock coats of sober colours, and trousers. The rich old
_bourgmestres_, for instance, are precisely what one would figure to
himself a _bourgmestre_ to be--fat, portly, aldermanly men, often in
cocked-hats and powdered wigs, a sober or sad-coloured suit of good
broad-cloth, amply cut, breeches ditto, silver knee-buckles, white
or striped silk stockings, clumsy, square-toed, but well-polished,
high-quartered shoes, with enormous silver buckles--quite antiques;
the finish, a handsome cane with golden knob, sometimes ruffles,
figured silk waistcoats, &c. &c. The peasantry frequenting the
markets differed from our people of the same class in the prevalence
of short striped cotton jackets, caps, and _sabots_. Many of them,
like our rustics, wore smock-frocks, much ornamented about the
back, breast, and shoulders by embroidery in coloured worsteds;
these frocks, however, are generally dark-blue. The street groups
of the middle and lower classes were principally characterised
by the frequency of short jackets, generally nankin or striped
cotton, breeches of velveteen, with silver knee-buckles and striped
stockings; cloth, nankin, or a sort of grey linen, foraging-caps of
all shapes--some trimmed with wool or fur, generally having long
pendant tassels from the top, and almost all having immense broad
shades either of leather, or of the same material as the cap.
Of the manners of a people it would be presumption to speak on so
short an acquaintance. The little intercourse we had with them,
however, made a favourable impression on us. We found those of the
upper classes obliging and polite; the tradesmen civil and attentive;
the labouring classes quiet, orderly, and extremely respectful.
In point of religion, the men of the upper classes appeared
indifferent or lukewarm, the women very assiduous in the performance
of ceremonies, in which it was obvious the heart frequently had
little concern. The lower orders were superstitious, priest-ridden,
and extremely punctual in the performance of their duties. The
peasantry alone seemed quite in earnest. I may characterise the
whole population, high and low, as priest-ridden; for, however
indifferent the men of the former may be, they are not a whit the
less subservient to these their spiritual, and generally temporal,
masters.
It would be unjust to condemn as immoral a whole people for the vices
found in their cities. We ought not, therefore, to pass unqualified
censure on the Flemings because this was exhibited to us openly in
the streets of their great cities. I allude to the barefaced manner
in which we were tormented incessantly by a number of boys making the
most impudent and depraved propositions, and that with a pertinacity
not readily repulsed. An instance of moral and religious degradation,
I am happy to say, we rarely met with afterwards until our arrival at
that hotbed of vice--Paris.
Our last transaction in Ghent was the taking over a number of
baggage-mules from Captain Clive’s Brigade of the German Legion
Artillery. These beautiful animals they had brought with them from
Spain, and I shall never forget the grief and indignation with which
they parted with them. Affection for, and care of, his horse, is the
trait, _par excellence_, which distinguishes the German dragoon from
the English. The former would sell everything to feed his horse;
the latter would sell his horse itself for spirits, or the means of
obtaining them. The one never thinks of himself until his horse is
provided for; the other looks upon the animal as a curse and a source
of perpetual drudgery to himself, and gives himself no concern about
it when once away from under his officer’s eye. The German accustoms
his horse to partake of his own fare. I remember a beautiful mare,
belonging to a sergeant of the 3d Hussars, K.G.L., which would even
eat onions. She was one of the very few that escaped after the
disastrous retreat of Corunna, and had been saved and smuggled on
board ship by the sergeant himself. In the Peninsula the only means
of enforcing some attention to their horses amongst our English
regiments was to make every man walk and carry his saddle-bags whose
horse died or was ill.