BRUSSELS.
The railroad--Confusion at Malines--Country between Ghent and
Dendermonde--_Vilvorde_--_The palace of Laeken_--First view
of Brussels--The Grand Place in the old town--The Hôtel de
Ville and Maison Communale--The new town--The churches of
Brussels--_The carved oak pulpits of the Netherlands_--ST. GUDULE
monuments--Statue of Count F. Merode--Geefs, the sculptor--Notre
Dame de la Chapelle--_The museum_--Palais de l’Industrie--The
gallery of paintings--THE LIBRARY--Its history--_Remarkable
MSS._--Curiosities in the museum of antiquities--Private
collections--Rue Montagne de la Cour--The theatre--Historical
associations with the Hôtel de Ville--Counts Egmont and Horn--The
civil commotions of Philip II--_The fountains of Brussels_--The
Cracheur--_The mannekin_, his memoirs--Fountain of Lord
Aylesbury--Dubos’ restaurant--The hotels of Brussels--Secret to
find the cheapest hotels in travelling.
WE again availed ourselves of the railroad from Ghent to Brussels,
starting from the Monk’s Meadow at eight o’clock in the morning,
and made the journey in about three hours and a half. The route is
considerably increased in length, owing to the line making an angle
in order to traverse Malines, which has been made a centre at which
every branch of the entire system converges and take a fresh departure.
This arrangement may be a convenience to the directory, but it is an
annoyance to the public, not only by the extension of the distance they
have to travel, but by the scene of bustle, confusion, and risk created
by the concourse of so many trains at the same point, the nuisance and
danger of which can hardly be exaggerated; engines bellowing, horns
sounding, luggage moving, and crowds rushing to secure their places in
the departing train, or to escape from being run over by the one coming
in.
The aspect of the country was, in all directions, the same--tame, but
rich and luxuriant, with vessels toiling along its tributary canals,
and here and there the Scheldt making its tortuous windings through
long lines of pines and alders. One thing strikes a stranger as
singular in this province, the almost total absence of pasture land,
and the appearance of no cattle whatsoever in the fields, the ground
being found to be more valuable under cultivation, and cattle more
economically fed within doors. The railroad passes by some pretty but
unimportant villages, such as Wetteren and Auderghem, before arriving at
Termonde, more familiarly known to us as the Dendermonde of my Uncle
Toby’s military commentaries. At Auderghem, a road turns to the right
to Alost, one of the most flourishing towns of East Flanders, and a
prosperous seat of the flax and linen trade.
After passing Dendermonde, we entered the province of Brabant, at the
little village of Hombech, and the train, after traversing Lehendael
(the Valley of Lillies), stopped at Mechlin, whose towers had been
visible long before reaching the station. One of the most conspicuous
objects here, is an immense brick building, erected in 1837 or 38,
for the purpose of spinning linen yarn, but never having been applied
by its proprietors to that purpose, has lately been purchased by an
English gentleman, Mr. Fairburne, to be converted into a manufactory of
machinery, a department of manufacture which, in the present state of
of Belgium, I much fear is not likely to prove more encouraging.
From Malines to Brussels, the distance is fifteen miles, and was
performed in something less than half an hour, the road lying through
broad meadows and more extensive pastures than any I have yet seen
in Belgium. On the left, these plains swell into a gentle hill of
some miles in length, on which the towers and steeples of Brussels
are discernible long before we approach them. Within a few miles of
Malines, we passed Vilvorde, an ancient place, but now only remarkable
for its vast prisons, which are seen at a considerable distance. It
was at Vilvorde that Tindal, the first translator of the Bible into
English, was burned for heresy in 1536.
Before arriving at the termination of the journey, the road sweeps
along between two gentle elevations, that on the left being covered
with the villas and pleasure-grounds of Schaerbeek, the Hampstead of
Brussels, and to the right, with the woods and palace of Schoenberg,
near the village of Laeken, a favourite residence of King Leopold.
It was built in 1782, by the Archduke Albert, for the sister of the
unhappy Marie Antoinette, and to serve for the future residence of the
Austrian governor of the Netherlands. It suffered during the saturnalia
of the French revolution, when a lofty tower, which rose above the
woods that surround it, was torn down and sold for the price of the
materials. Napoleon was partial to the palace as a summer retreat,
and it was whilst lingering here with Marie Louise, that he completed
the final and fatal arrangements for the invasion of Russia. It is
handsomely, rather than magnificently furnished, but the grounds and
gardens, which have all been re-modelled in the English style, are
amongst the most beautiful in Europe, and command extensive views of
the broad wooded campagne of Brabant, and the cheerful heights and
gothic towers of Brussels.
The first sight of Brussels, on approaching it from the side of
Malines, is well calculated to give a favourable impression of its
beauty and extent, the long planted line of the Allée Vert, terminating
at the handsome gate d’Anvers, (formerly the Porte Guillaume, before
the change of dynasty), with its dark iron balustrade and gilded
capitals, and in front, the steep acclivity covered with streets and
buildings of the modern and more elegant town, whilst the turrets
of the Hôtel de Ville and the towers of St. Gudule are equally
conspicuous, rising above the roofs of the ancient city which nestles
at its base. The city itself, though of remote antiquity, has nothing
very antique in its first appearance, and, in fact, it is only in the
narrow alleys and passages of the lower quarter that the mansions
and municipal buildings of the former nobles and burghers of Brabant
are to be discerned. Even here there are fewer architectural traces
of the magnificence of the middle ages than in almost any other of
the great cities of Belgium. The Grand Place is a splendid exception
to this observation, as it is surrounded on all sides with lofty old
Spanish-looking houses, in the style, at least, if not of the date of
the palmy days of Brabant, its high peaked roofs bristling with tiers
of little grim windows, its pointed gables covered with bas-reliefs and
carvings, and the ample fronts of its mansions richly decorated with
arabesques in stone, which had once been gaudily coloured, and here and
there tipped with gold. On one side starts up to a surprising height
the gothic tower of the Hôtel de Ville, by far the most beautiful in
the Low Countries, and on the opposite one is a vast gloomy-looking
building, now converted into shops, which was once the _Maison
Communale_ of the city; and being rebuilt by the Infanta Isabella, in
the early part of the seventeenth century, was, in commemoration of the
deliverance of Brussels from the plague, dedicated to Notre Dame de la
Paix, with an inscription, which is still legible, though much defaced:
“_A peste, fame et bello libera nos Maria pacis_.”
It is in the narrow and dingy passages of this lower town, that a
stranger feels all the associations of the olden time around him;
but on ascending by the steep and precipitous streets to the modern
quarter, with its light and beautiful houses, its open squares and
gardens, with their fountains and statues, and all that is French and
fashionable, the charm of association is gone, and one feels something
like coming suddenly into the daylight from the dim scenery of a
melodrame. To the stranger in Brussels there are, therefore, two
distinct sets of objects of attraction. In the new town there are the
palaces of the King and the nobles, the park, the public promenades,
the chambers of the Senate and the Commons, the splendid hotels of the
Place Royal, and the libraries and museums that occupy the château
which was once the residence of the Austrian viceroys; whilst in the
old town, there are the churches of the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries, with their superb oak carvings, stained windows and
statuary, the Hôtel de Ville, the gloomy old mansions of the past race
of nobles, and all the characteristic memorials of the ancient capital.
The first are speedily disposed of by the tourist, as there is nothing
unique in any of the lions of Brussels, its inhabitants are, in fact,
anxious to have their city considered a miniature Paris, and it seems
to have been laid out altogether on the model of the French capital,
with its boulevards and its palace gardens, its opera, its restaurants
and its “café des milles colonnes.”
The churches, are, as usual, splendid specimens of gorgeous altars,
(with their ponderous candelabra and Madonnas in embroidered
petticoats,) solemn aisles, marble columns, painted ceilings, Flemish
pictures and carved pulpits, so flowing and graceful in their
execution, that they look as if the Van Hools and Van Bruggens of
former times, possessed some secret for fusing the knotted oak and
pouring it into moulds to form their statues and their wreathes of
flowers. Their Pulpits are, in reality, one of the wonders of the
Netherlands, they are of immense dimensions, some of them reaching
almost as high as the gothic arches which separate the nave from the
side aisles. The lower department usually represents some appropriate
scene from the events of sacred history, the expulsion of Adam and
Eve from Paradise, Elijah fed by ravens, the conversion of St. Paul,
with the frightened horse most vigorously introduced, or Christ
calling Peter and Andrew, who are represented in their boat by the
sea-shore, with their nets and fish, all exquisite specimens of the
art; and, occasionally, the designs are allegorical, with figures
of Time, Truth and Christianity. Above these, usually rises a rock,
or a mass of foliage and flowers, on which are perched birds and
other accompaniments, and on this rests the shell of the pulpit, the
whole is then surmounted, either by a canopy sustained by angels and
cherubims, or by the spreading branches of a palm tree, so arranged
as to overshadow the whole. Almost every great church and cathedral
in Belgium contains one of these unique productions of an art which
is now almost extinct, or, at least, possessed of no practitioners
at all qualified to cope in excellence with these ancient masters.
The confessionals, altars and organs are likewise elaborately covered
with these almost unique decorations, and even the doors and windows
sometimes exhibit specimens of extraordinary beauty and value.
The _church of St. Gudule_, which is the most remarkable at Brussels,
has two huge gothic towers, each nearly the same height with St.
Pauls, and from their solid and massy construction looking even more
stupendous; but the effect is seriously injured by a number of ordinary
houses, which have been permitted to be erected against the very walls
of the building!--a curious instance of the absence of all taste in
the ecclesiastical body, who can thus permit, for money, the actual
defacement of their finest building. The pillars which sustain the
roof within, bear each in front a colossal statue, of which there are
fourteen or sixteen representing the various saints and apostles, some
of them by Duquesnoy and Quellyn, but the generality of inferior merit.
The pulpit was carved by Van Bruggen in 1699, and was presented to the
cathedral by the Empress Maria Theresa.
The windows which are of dimensions proportioned to the huge scale of
the church are all of rich stained glass, partly antique and partly
of modern execution, but of great brilliancy of tint and high talent
in design. The high altar is so composed by some ingenious machinery
within, that the sacred wafer descends apparently of itself, at the
moment when the host is about to be elevated by the officiating priest.
Around the choir are the monuments of some of the ancient Dukes of
Brabant, surmounted by their effigies in armour, with swords and
helmets disposed by their side; that of John II, who married Margaret
of England, and died in 1318, bears a figure of the Belgic lion in
gilded bronze, which weighs nearly three tons. Opposite this is another
to the memory of the Archduke Ernest of Austria, on which rests a
figure clad in mail. Close by it a marble slab in the floor covers the
vault in which are interred some members of the imperial family who
died during their vice-royalty at Brussels.
One statue in St. Gudule is remarkable as a favourable specimen of
modern art in Belgium, it is that of the Count Frederick de Merode, a
young nobleman of most amiable personal character, whose father was
of one of the ancient families of Brabant, and his mother a Grammont.
On the outburst of the revolution in 1830, he returned from France,
where he was residing, enrolled himself as a volunteer in a corps of
sharpshooters raised by the Marquis de Chasteler, and was killed whilst
leading a charge against the Dutch rear-guard, under the command of
Duke Bernard of Saxe Weimar. This monument is by Geefs of Brussels,
who has evinced equal judgment and ability in retaining the national
blouse as the costume of his statue, and yet so disposing it as to
render it perfectly classical by his arrangement. Geefs is by far the
most distinguished artist, as a sculptor, in Belgium, and has recently
erected a spirited statue of General Belliard in the Park overlooking
the Rue Royale, and the grand monument over the remains of the
revolutionary partisans, who fell in the three glorious days “of 1830,”
and are interred in the centre of the _Place des Martyrs_.
The other churches of Brussels contain little that is worth a visit. In
that of Notre Dame de la Chapelle, there is a high altar from a design
by Rubens, one of those works in which he has so profusely exhibited
his astonishing command of arabesque and allegorical devices. The
pulpit is another specimen of wood carving, representing Elijah fed by
ravens. It is remarkable that in all the churches of Brussels, there is
not a single painting of more than common place ability, nor a single
specimen of either Vandyck or Rubens--painters, it would seem, like
prophets, are to seek for their patrons at some distance from home.
The municipal collections of art are deposited in the museum and
picture gallery in the Palais des Beaux Arts, formerly the vice-regal
residence of the Austrian governors. In one wing of the building,
called the Palais d’Industrie, are deposited models of machinery,
agricultural instruments, and inventions of all kinds applicable to
manufactures. The collection is costly and extensive, and cannot fail
to exercise a beneficial influence in the education of mechanics. The
main galleries of the palace are filled with the national pictures,
which amount to between three and four hundred. The description of
a painting is scarcely more intelligible or satisfactory than the
description of an overture. Amongst the collection are a few of
considerable merit, but the vast majority are of the most ordinary
description. There are a few by Rubens and Vandyck, not of the first
order, some by Breughel, Cuyp, Gerard Dow, and the chiefs of that
school; a multitude by the Crayers and Van Oorts and Vander Weydes,
whose works one meets in every Flemish chapel, and a number of the
early painters of the Netherlands, in which, I confess, I am not
connoisseur enough to discover anything very attractive beyond their
antiquity and curiosity as specimens of the feeble efforts of art in
its infancy.
Under the same roof is the magnificent Library, begun by the Dukes of
Burgundy so far back as the fourteenth century, and enriched by every
subsequent sovereign of the Netherlands, till its treasures now amount
to 150,000 volumes of printed books and 15,000 manuscripts; amongst
which are numbers whose pedigree through their various possessors is
full of historical interest, and some which belonged to the library
of Philip the Hardy, in 1404, and described in the “_Inventoire des
livres et roumans de feu Monseigneur_ (_Philip le Hardi_), _a qui
Dieu pardonne, que maistre Richart le Conte, barbier de feu le dict
Seigneur, a euzen garde_.” Its chief treasures it owes, however,
to Philip the Good, the Lorenzo de Medicis of the Low Countries,
who attracted to his court such geniuses as Oliver de la March,
Monstrelet, Philip de Commines, the chroniclers and men of learning
of his time, and kept constantly in his employment the most able
“clerks,” “_escripvains_” and illuminators, engaged in the preparation
of volumes for his “librarie,” and having united all the provinces
of the Netherlands under his dominion, he collected at Brussels the
manuscripts of the Counts of Flanders, in addition to his own. The
identical copy of the Cyropedia of Xenophon, which he had transcribed
for the study of his impetuous son, Charles le Téméraire, and which
accompanied him to the disastrous field of Morat, is still amongst the
deposits in this superb collection.
Another of its illustrious founders was Margaret of Austria, _la
gente demoiselle_, daughter to the gentle-spirited Mary of Burgundy,
and friend of Erasmus and Cornelius Agrippa, who amassed for it the
invaluable collection of “_Princeps_” editions, which were then issuing
from the early press of Venice and the North. The Library still
contains the common-place book of this interesting Princess, with her
verses in her own handwriting, and music of her own composition.
Another equally charming guardian of literature was her niece, Mary
of Austria, the sister of Charles V and Queen Dowager of Hungary,
who transferred to the library of Brussels the manuscripts which
her husband, Louis II, had inherited from his grandfather, Mathias
Corvinus. Amongst these, is a missal, one of the wonders of the
collection, painted at Florence in 1485, and abounding in the most
exquisite miniatures, arabesques and illuminated cyphers. From the
period of its deposit in Brussels, the Dukes of Brabant took their oath
of inauguration by kissing the leaves of this priceless volume, and two
pages which had been opened for this purpose at the accession of Albert
and Isabella, in November 1599, are spotted with the flakes of snow
which fell upon the book during the solemnity.
In the vicissitudes of Brussels, the contents of her Library has always
been an object of cupidity for her invaders. In 1746, Marshal Saxe sent
a selection of its treasures to Paris, which were restored in 1770,
and again seized by the revolutionary army of Dumourier in 1794, and
though recovered in 1815, it was with the loss of many of its precious
deposits. But even the disappearance of these was less exasperating
than the insensate vandalism of the savants of the revolution, who
actually rubbed out with their wetted fingers, the portraits of the
ancient emperors and kings, and even of the saints who happened to wear
a crown, in order to evince their inexpressible hatred of monarchy.
Amongst the manuscripts, are some few which escaped from the sack
of Constantinople in 1453, and bear the names and handwriting of
Chalcondylas, Chrysolaras, and the restorers of Grecian literature,
who, on the overturn of the Eastern Empire, found a refuge at Rome and
at the court of the Medicis. The bindings of numbers of them, bear the
imperial cypher of Napoleon, but the majority have still their ancient
velvet covers, the richness of which, with their clasps of gilded
silver which secure them, attest the value which was placed upon their
contents by their illustrious owners.
An adjoining apartment is devoted to some interesting antiquities,
among which, are a court-dress of Charles II, a souvenir of his sojourn
at Brussels during the ascendancy of Cromwell; a cloak of feathers,
which belonged to Montezuma; the cradle in which Charles V. was rocked;
and two stuffed horses which bore Albert and Isabella at the battle
of Nieuport, one an Andalusian barb which had accompanied the Infanta
from Spain, the other a Moravian which afterwards saved the life of the
Archduke at the siege of Ostend in 1604.
In the private mansions of Brussels there are numerous collections of
pictures and objects of vertu, much more valuable than those which
are the property of the nation. Those of the Duke d’Aremberg, the
Prince de Ligne, M. Maleck de Werthenfels, and the Count Vilain XIV,
contain several masterpieces of the Dutch and Flemish masters, and
some few by Raphael Leonardo de Vinci, and the chiefs of the Italian
school. The name of this latter gentleman is somewhat remarkable; his
ancestor, who was ennobled by Louis XIV, being permitted to append
the cypher of the monarch to his name and that of his descendants.
The collection of the Duke d’Aremberg, besides a number of paintings
of great excellence, contains a remarkable marble, which has excited
much curious investigation amongst the dilettanti; it is a head, the
fragment of a statue, which _is said_ to have originally belonged to
the main figure in the group of the Laocoon in the Vatican, the present
head being only a restoration. The truth of this is questioned, but the
connoisseurs attached to Napoleon were so satisfied of its truth, that
the Emperor, by their advice, offered the possessor, weight for weight,
gold for marble, if he would allow the head to resume its ancient
position on the shoulders of the statue which was then in the gallery
of the Louvre. The Duke, unwilling to part with it, declined, but aware
of the determined nature of Napoleon’s caprices, sent it privately out
of the country, and had it concealed at Dresden till the fall of the
Emperor, when it was restored to its old place in the library of the
Palais d’Aremberg. That the head of the central figure in the group of
the Vatican is a restoration, there can be no doubt; it was copied,
it is said, from an antique gem. The head at Brussels, was found by
some Venetian explorers, and sold to the father or grandfather of the
present Duke d’Aremberg. Whether it be the genuine original or not, no
possible doubt can be entertained of its masterly execution, and the
vigour and fire of expression with which it glows, justify any opinion
in favour of its origin.
An almost precipitous street, appropriately called “Rue Montagne de la
Cour,” rises in a straight line from the lowest level of the ancient
town to the hill on which the new one is situated, which is filled with
the best and most showy shops in Brussels; jewellers, printsellers,
confectioners and modistes, and crowded at all hours of the day with
carriages and fashionable loungers. At the bottom of this steep
acclivity, is the Place de la Monnaie, where stands the theatre, in
which the actual insurrection commenced in 1830, when the audience,
inflamed by the music and declamation of the Muette de Portici, and
inspired by the estro of Masaniello, rushed into the street and
proceeded at once to demolish the residence of the minister, M. van
Maanen. Turning a corner from this, one finds himself suddenly in the
midst of the antique square in which stands the Hôtel de Ville, and
the other principal municipal edifices of the past age--the _forum_
of ancient Brabant, as the Place de Monnaie is of the modern. It was
in this and in the sombre old mansions that are to be found in the
precincts around it, that the pride of democracy appears to have
delighted in “recording in lofty stone” its own magnificence, and
lavished their public wealth upon the towers of the Town Hall, the most
imposing monument of the popular power.
But, independently of its democratic associations, the Hôtel de Ville
of Brussels was the scene of the most extraordinary episode that has
ever been recorded in the chronicles of kings;--it was in the grand
hall of the Hôtel de Ville that Charles V. wearied with the crown of
a monarch, laid it aside to assume the cowl of a monk, and took his
departure from the throne of an empire to die, a maniac, in the cell of
a monastery. It was from one of the windows of the same building that
the ferocious Duke of Alva looked on, in person, at the execution of
two of the purest patriots of their own or any subsequent age--Lamoral,
Count Egmont, and Philip de Montmorency, Count Horn--the first and
most illustrious martyrs of the Reformation in the Netherlands. During
the reign of terror under Philip II., Brussels was the grand scene of
Alva’s atrocities and of his successors’ incapacity. It was in the
little square of the Petit Sablon, that the protestant confederates
assembled to draw up their famous remonstrance to Margaret of Parma,
the sister and vice-queen of the bigotted tyrant, on the occasion of
presenting which, by the hands of de Bredérode, the unlucky exclamation
of “the beggars,” (_Gueux_) escaped from the incautious lips of the
Count de Berlayment, in whispering his counsel to the grand-duchess
to reject their prayer, a word which fell like a blister, and was
adopted, at once, as the title and the sting of the protestant
conjuration.
The square of the Hôtel de Ville was the scene of every popular
commotion that has agitated Brabant, from the origin of the ducal
dynasty, to the halcyon days of Albert and Isabella: it resounded with
the insane riots of the Iconoclasts in 1566, and it was illuminated
by the flames of the Inquisition, in which the same infuriated
fanatics made a final expiation for their violence. It ran red with
the blood of the protestants under Philip II.; and, in 1581, it rang
with the acclamations of the followers of the Prince of Orange over
the temporary abolition of the worship of Rome. So little is its
architectural aspect altered since these thrilling scenes, that, with
the Hôtel de Ville on one side, and on the other the old communal
house, in which Egmont and Horn spent the night previous to their
execution; and around them the venerable gothic fronts and fretted
gables of its ancient dwellings, one might almost imagine it the ready
scenery, and half expect the appearance of the dramatis personæ to
re-enact the tragedy.
The ornamental monuments of Brussels are neither very numerous,
nor remarkable for their refinement of taste. The public fountain
called “le Cracheur,” is the statue of a man, with his arms folded,
and vomiting the stream for the accommodation of the public; and
the famous little fountain of the _mannekin_, in the Rue de Chene,
supplies her customers with water in a style perfectly unique, at
least, in a statue. This eccentric little absurdity is the darling
of the bourgeoisie, and the popular palladium of Brussels, and its
memoirs are amongst the most ridiculous records of national trifling.
The original which was of great antiquity, made of carved stone was
replaced by one of iron. The present one is in bronze on the same
model, and was cast by Duquesnoy in 1648. One story to account for its
extreme popularity, is that it is a likeness of Godfrey, one of the
Dukes of Brabant, who, when an infant, having escaped from his nurse,
was discovered at the spot in the attitude immortalized by the little
statue. By the mob, the mannekin is perfectly worshipped--he is called
“le plus ancien bourgeois de la ville,” has the freedom of the city,
and a feast day in July regularly appointed in his honour. On this
occasion, he is clothed in a suit which was given him by Louis XV.,
consisting of a cocked hat and feathers, a sword and costume complete,
the King, at the same time, creating him a Chevalier de St. Louis.
Charles V. was equally beneficent to the mannekin, and Maximilian of
Bavaria assigned him a valet-de-chambre. He has also been left legacies
by more than one of the citizens; at the present moment his income is
upwards of four hundred francs, paid to his valet for his services upon
state occasions, and to a treasurer for the management of his estates.
Brussels has, more than once, been thrown into dismay by the mannekin
being carried off, and the utmost exertion has been made for his
recovery. The last violence offered to him was his being carried off
a few years since; but he was discovered in the house of a liberated
felon, and speedily restored to his old place and functions amidst the
delight of the Brussellois.
In the Place du Grand Sablon, another fountain, surmounted by a marble
statue of Minerva, between figures, representing Fame and the river
Scheldt, and holding a medallion with the heads of Francis I. and Maria
Theresa was erected, as its inscription imports in 1711, by Thomas
Bruce, Earl of Aylesbury, in recognition of the enjoyments he had
experienced during a residence of forty years in Brussels.
We dined to day with the gentlemen who formed the Commission of Inquiry
which had lately visited the linen districts of Great Britain. The
entertainment was at du Bos’, Rue Fossé-aux-Loups, the favourite
restaurant of Brussels, and the dinner was altogether French, and equal
to the best cuisine of the Palais Royale. The hotels of Brussels,
those, I mean, in its upper town, are on an immense scale, especially
the Bellevue, which overlooks the park, and was in the very focus of
the fight during the “glorious three days” of 1830. Beside it is the
Hôtel de Flandres, said to have the most recherché table-d’hôte of
the entire, and such is its popularity, that we could neither obtain
apartments in the hotel on our arrival, nor seats at the table on a
subsequent occasion. In this dilemma, we took up our residence at a
house on the opposite side of the same square, the Hôtel Brittanique,
where we found the arrangements as execrable, in every respect, as the
charges were monstrous. As usual, however, a stranger with his foot
on the step of his carriage, has no resource but to submit; but, as a
general rule, the traveller who is in search of the _cheapest_ hotel,
should invariably address himself to that which has the reputation
of being the _best_; where there is no temptation, as in the less
frequented establishments, to make those who visit the house pay for
the loss occasioned by the absence of those who avoid it, and where,
even if the bill be occasionally something more than is equitable, he
has, at least, the satisfaction of feeling that he has had _comfort_ in
exchange for extortion.