Malines.--Its Collection of Pictures.--Antwerp.--The Cathedral.--A
Flemish Quack.--Flemish Names.--The Picture Gallery at Antwerp.--Mr.
Wapper's Carvings in Wood.--Mr. Van Lankeren's Pictures.--The Boulevards
at Brussels.--Royal Abodes.--Palace of the Prince of Orange.--Prince
Auguste d'Ahremberg's Gallery of Pictures.--English Ridicule of America.
Dear ----,
After a consultation with François, I sent the carriage to get a set of
entirely new wheels, Brussels being a coach-making town, and taking a
_voiture de remise_, we drove down to Antwerp. While the horses rested,
we looked at the pictures in Malines. The "Miraculous Draught of Fishes"
is thought by many to be the chef-d'oeuvre of Rubens, but, after
conceding it a hardy conception and magnificent colouring, I think one
finds too much of the coarse mannerism of the artist, even for such a
subject. The most curious part of the study of the different schools is
to observe how much all have been influenced by external objects, and
how completely conventional, after all, the _beau idéal_ of an artist
necessarily becomes. It would be impossible, for one who knew the
several countries, to mistake the works of Murillo, Rubens, or Raphael,
for the works of artists of different schools, and this without
reference to their peculiar manners, but simply as Flemings, Spaniards,
and Italians. Rubens, however, is, I think, a little apt to out-Dutch
the Dutch. He appears to me to have delighted in the coarse, while
Raphael revelled in the pretty. But Raphael could and often did step out
of himself and rise to the grand; and then he was perfect, because his
grandeur was chastened.
We reached Antwerp some time before dinner. The situation of the town
was singular, the Dutch holding the citadel; the place, which was
peopled by their enemies, as a matter of course, lying quite at their
mercy. The road from Brussels is partly commanded by them, and we saw
their flag rising out of the low mounds--for in Flanders the art of
fortifying consists in burrowing as deep as possible--as we approached
the town. Several Dutch gun-boats were in the river, off the town, and,
in the reaches of the Scheldt below, we got glimpses of divers frigates
and corvettes, riding at anchor. As an offset to the works of their
enemies, the Belgians had made a sort of entrenched camp, by enclosing
the docks with temporary ramparts, the defences of the town aiding them,
in part, in effecting their object.
One of our first visits was to the cathedral. This beautiful edifice had
escaped without material damage from the recent conflicts, though the
garrison of the citadel have thrown a few shots at its tower, most
probably with a view to drive curious eyes out of it, the great height
enabling one to get a complete bird's-eye view of what is going on
within their walls. The celebrated Rubenses were cased in massive timber
to render them bomb-proof, and, of course, were invisible.
Processions of peasants were passing from church to church, the whole
day, to implore succour against the cholera, which, by the way, and
contrary to all rule for a low and moist country, is said to be very
light here. The Flemings have the reputation of being among the most
bigoted Catholics, and the most ignorant population of Europe. This
accounts, in some measure, for the existence of the latter quality
among the first inhabitants of New York, most of whom were from
Flanders, rather than from Holland. I have found many of our names in
Antwerp, but scarcely one in Holland. The language at home, too, is much
nearer the Flemish than the Dutch; though it is to be presumed that
there must have been some colonists from Holland, in a province
belonging to that nation. I listened to-day to a fellow vending quack
medicines and vilely printed legends, to a song which, tune and all, I
am quite sure to have heard in Albany, when a schoolboy. The undeviating
character and habits of the people, too, appear to be very much like
those which existed among ourselves, before the influx of eastern
emigration swallowed up everything even to the _suppan_. I remember to
have heard this same quack singing this same song, in the very same
place in June, 1828, when we first visited Antwerp. The effect was
exceedingly ludicrous, for it seemed to me, that the fellow had been
occupying the same spot, employed in the same pursuits, for the last
five years, although the country had been revolutionized. This is also a
little characteristic, for some of our own Communipaws are said to
believe we are still the property of the United Provinces.
The Flemish language has many words that are French in the spelling, but
which have entirely different meanings, representing totally different
things or ideas. _De_ is one. In French this word, pronounced _der_,
without dwelling on the last letter, is a preposition generally meaning
"of." Before a name, without being incorporated with it, it is an
invariable sign of nobility, being even frequently affixed, like the
German _von_, to the family name, on attaining that rank. In Flemish it
is an article, and is pronounced precisely as a Dutchman is apt to
pronounced _the_, meaning the same. Thus De Witt, means _the_ White, or
White; the Flemings using the article to express things or qualities in
the abstract, like the French. Myn Heer De Witt is just the same as
Monsieur le Blanc, or Monsieur Du Bois, in French; one of which means
Monsieur White, and the other Monsieur Wood. So nearly does this
language resemble the English, that I have repeatedly comprehended whole
sentences, in passing through the streets. Now in New York, we used to
think the Dutch had become corrupted by the English, but I fancy that
the corruption has been just the other way.
We had made the acquaintance of a Flemish artist of extraordinary merit,
at Paris; and this gentleman (Mr. Wappers) kindly called this morning to
take us to see the gallery. The collection is not particularly large,
nor is it rich in cabinet pictures, being chiefly composed of
altar-pieces taken from churches. The works are principally those of
Rubens, Vandyke, and a few of the older masters. The Vandykes, I think,
are the best. On the whole, it struck me there were more curious than
pleasing pictures in this gallery, although they are all valuable as
belonging to a school. The study of the "Descent from the Cross" is
among them, and it gave me more pleasure than anything else. Vandyke
certainly rose in our estimation, after this close comparison with his
great rival: he is altogether more human than Rubens, who is a sort of
Dutch giant in the art; out of the natural proportions, and always a
giant.
Mr. Wappers permitted us to see his own painting-room. He is of the
school of the great Flemish masters, and, I think, quite at the head of
his profession, in many of its leading points. It was curious to trace
in the works of this young artist the effects of having Rubens and
Vandyke constantly before him, corrected by the suggestions of his own
genius. His style is something between the two; broader and bolder than
Vandyke, and less robust than Rubens.
We went the round of the churches, for, if Italy be the land of marbles,
Belgium is, or rather has been, the very paradise of those who carved in
wood. I have seen more delicate and highly-finished works of this sort,
in a small way, in other countries; as in the high reliefs of Santa
Maria della Salute, at Venice; but nowhere else is so much attempted,
or, indeed, so much achieved in this branch of art, as here. Many of the
churches are quite surrounded by oak confessionals that are highly and
allegorically ornamented; though, in general, the pulpits contain the
most elaborate designs, and the greatest efforts of this curious work.
One at Brussels has the Conversion of St. Paul, horse, rider and all,
larger than life. The whole is well wrought, even to the expression. But
the best specimens of carving in wood that I remember, were a few
figures over the door of an hospital that we saw in 1828, though I now
forget whether it was at Gorcum or at Breda. One often sees statuary of
great pretension and a wide-spread reputation, that is wanting in the
nature, simplicity, and repose of these figures.
We went to see a collection of pictures owned by Mr. Van Lankeren. It is
a very fine gallery, but there are few paintings by very great artists.
A Van der Heyden (an old New York name, by the way), surpassed anything
I know, in its atmosphere. Poussin, and our own artist Cole, excel in
this high merit, but this picture of Van der Heyden has a cold, gray
transparency that seems actually to have transferred a Dutch atmosphere
to the canvass.
We returned to Brussels in time to dine. At Malines I stood with
admiration beneath the great tower, which possesses a rare majesty. Had
it been completed according to the original plan, I believe it would
have been the highest church-tower in Europe. In the evening we had a
call from Mr. and Mrs. ----, and made an appointment to visit the palace
of the Prince of Orange in the morning.
I was up betimes next day, and took a walk round the park, and on the
upper boulevards. The injuries done in the fight have been, in some
measure, repaired, but the place was deserted and melancholy. The houses
line one side of the boulevards, the other being open to the fields,
which are highly cultivated and unenclosed. This practice of cutting
off a town like a cheese-paring is very common on the continent of
Europe, and the effect is odd to those who are accustomed to straggling
suburbs, as in America and England.
At ten we went to the palace, according to appointment. The royal abodes
at Brussels are very plain edifices, being nothing more than long
unbroken buildings, with very few external ornaments. This of the Prince
of Orange stands in the park, near that of the King, and is a simple
parallelogram with two gates. The principal apartments are in the same
form, being an entire suite that are entered on one side and left on the
other. There is great good taste and elegance in the disposition of the
rooms. A few are rich, especially the _salle de bal_, which is really
magnificent. The place was kept just as it had been left by its last
occupants, Leopold, with good taste, not to say good feeling,
religiously respecting their rights. A pair of gloves belonging to the
princess were shown us, precisely on the spot where she had left them;
and her shawls and toys were lying carelessly about, as if her return
were momentarily expected. This is true royal courtesy, which takes
thrones without remorse, while it respects the baubles.
This palace had many good pictures, and among others a Raphael. There
was a Paul Potter or two, and a couple of pictures, in the same stile,
as pendants, by a living artist of the name of Verboeckhoven, whose
works sustained the comparison wonderfully well.
We were shown the window at which the robber entered who stole the
jewels of the princess; an event that has given room to the enemies of
the house of Nassau to torture into an accusation of low guilt against
her husband.[18] I have never met a gentleman here, who appeared to
think the accusation worthy of any credit, or who treated it as more
than the gossip of underlings, exaggerated by the agents of the press.
[Footnote 18: This affair of the jewels of the Princess of Orange is one
proof, among many others, of the influence of the vilest portion of
mankind over their fellow-creatures. It suited the convenience and views
of some miscreant who pandered for the press (and the world is full of
them), to throw out a hint that the Prince of Orange had been guilty of
purloining the jewels to pay his gambling debts, and the ignorant, the
credulous, and the wonder-mongers, believed a charge of this nature,
against a frank and generous soldier! It was a charge, that, in the
nature of things, could only be disproved by detecting the robber, and
one that a prince and a gentleman would scarcely stoop to deny. Accident
favoured the truth. The jewels have, oddly enough, been discovered in
New York, and the robber punished. Now, the wretch who first started
this groundless calumny against the Prince of Orange, belongs exactly to
that school whose members impart to America more than half her notions
of the distinguished men of Europe.]
From the palace of the Prince of Orange we went to the house of Prince
Auguste d'Ahremberg, to see his collection. This is one of the best
private galleries in Europe, though not particularly large. It is rich
in the works of Teniers,[19] Woovermans, Both, Cuyp, Potter, Rembrandt,
and the other masters of the country. Among others is a first-rate
Gerard Douw (another New York name).
[Footnote 19: One hears of occasionally discovering good pictures in the
streets, an event that actually once occurred to the writer. Shortly
after the revolution of 1830, in passing through the Carrousel, he
bought a female portrait, that was covered with dirt, but not materially
injured. Finding it beautifully painted, curiosity led him to question
the man who had sold it. This person affirmed that it was a portrait of
the wife of David Teniers painted by himself. He was not believed, of
course, and the thing was forgotten, until two picture-dealers, who
accidentally saw it, at different times, affirmed that it was by
Teniers, though neither knew the original of the likeness. On examining
the catalogues, the writer found that such a picture had existed in
Paris, before the revolution, and that it was now lost. But this picture
was square, while that was oval and much larger. The dealer was
questioned again, on the appearance of the picture, without giving him
any clue to the object, and he explained the matter at once, by saying
that it had once been oval, but the canvass getting an injury, he had
reduced it to its present form. Since then, an engraving has been
discovered that scarce leaves a doubt as to the originality of the
portrait.]
I passed the evening at the house of an English gentleman, where the
master of the last-named gallery was one of the company. A guest, a Sir
----, amused me by the peculiarly _British_ manner in which he conveyed
a few remarks on America. Speaking of a countrywoman of ours, who had
lately been at Brussels, he said that she called standing up to dance,
"taking the floor," and he was curious to know if it were a usual form
of expression with us. I had to tell him, we said a horse "took the
track," in racing, and as this lady came from a racing region, she might
have used it, _con amore_, especially in the gallopade. Capt. ----, of
the navy, once called out to the ladies of a quadrille to "shove off,"
when he thought the music had got the start of them; and it is lucky
that this Sir ---- did not hear him, or he would have set it down at
once as an Americanism. These people are constantly on the hunt for
something peculiar and ridiculous in Americans, and make no allowance
for difference in station, provincialisms, or traits of character.
Heaven knows that we are not so very original as to be thus ruthlessly
robbed of any little individuality we may happen to possess.