THE JACOBINS OF BRUSSELS--VISIT OF NAPOLEON--THE HUNDRED DAYS
'C'est la Belgique,' said Danton, 'qui comblera le déficit de la
Révolution.' The Convention at Paris saw in the riches of the Austrian
Netherlands a means of filling its treasury, and supporting the failing
credit of France; and its emissaries knew how to work upon the people
of Brabant and Flanders. 'Nous avons évangélisé partout,' was the
report sent to Paris by one of them, 'in the streets, in the clubs,
in the drinking-shops, in the theatres.... We have covered the walls
with placards, and made the highways resound with our hymns of liberty.
We have dallied with their fanaticism, and tried to stir up the lower
ranks of the clergy against the higher, and so kill priestcraft by
priestcraft.'
Meantime the army of the Republic had been at work, and on the field of
Fleurus Jourdan completed the conquest which Dumouriez had begun at
Jemappes.
Dumouriez, who understood the character of the people he was dealing
with, was all for conciliation. He did not wish to bring the Jacobins
of Paris to Brussels, and raise up men like Chabot and Marat. He
proclaimed that the French came as friends and brothers, and promised
to secure the independence of the country. Above all things, he wanted
to conciliate the Church. But most of the Revolutionists sneered at the
Catholicism of the Austrian Netherlands. 'What a pity,' said Camille
Desmoulins, 'that the priests spoil the Belgians so much. One cannot
but wonder at the way in which these people, while wishing to preserve
their liberty, try also to preserve the cowls of their monks;' and
Marat, who had no patience with the moderation of Dumouriez, declared
that nothing would come of the war 'till a true _sans-culotte_ commands
our army.' So after Fleurus the Austrian Netherlands were made part of
France.
The moderate democrats of Brabant had been swamped in the early days
of the French Revolution by the extreme men who corresponded with the
Jacobins at Paris; and some strange scenes had taken place in the
venerable Grande Place of Brussels. A Tree of Liberty was set up
there, round which men, women, and children danced the carmagnole; and
a mob went up to the Place Royale chanting the '_Ça ira_' and roaring
out the 'Marseillaise,' fastened ropes to the statue of Charles of
Lorraine and pulled it down. And it must have been a curious sight when
Dumouriez gave receptions of an evening, and artisans rubbed shoulders
with men like the Duc d'Ursel and the Duc d'Arenberg, who at first,
like others of the noblesse, mingled with the red-caps and joined the
Jacobin clubs, which seem to have been quite the fashion.
Ridiculous things were done at the meetings of the Jacobin clubs.
The advocate Charles burns his diploma, and says he wants no title
but _sans-culotte_, and then goes on to propose that the names of
all the squares and streets of Brussels be changed. There should, he
told his friends, be Places d'Athènes, de Rome, de France, and Rues
de Jean-Jacques Rousseau, de Brutus, de Voltaire, de l'Opinion, de la
Philosophie, du Divorce.
One wiseacre demands that the ancient constitution of Brabant be burned
on the following Sunday during the ceremony of 'The Benediction of the
Flag of the _sans-culottes_.' 'Let the bust of Van der Noot be also
burned,' he added; on which another statesman rises, and exclaims: 'Je
demande, moi, qu'on promène le Manneken de Van der Noot avec celui de
la Pinaud, sa bonne amie.' Clearly the _sans-culotte_ of Brussels was
a mere tinsel imitation of the genuine article at Paris. At Paris all
was tragedy; Brussels amused itself with a burlesque. But as time went
on, and it dawned upon these would-be Jacobins and _sans-culottes_
that the Revolution meant fighting in the armies of France, and that
everything in Church and State was to be turned upside-down, they
began to lose their tempers, and long before October, 1795, when the
formal incorporation with France took place, they were quite tired of
masquerading as Jacobins.
Five years later they were as weary of the Directory as they had been
of the Convention; but when, in 1803, Napoleon came to Brussels, he
was well received. There was, however, a good deal of sham enthusiasm
on that occasion, and his most successful visit was in 1811, when
he brought the Empress Marie Louise with him. Brussels then showed
that, in spite of the Brabant Revolution, the House of Austria had a
strong hold on the affections of the citizens. 'Voilà Marie Louise
d'Autriche!' was heard in the streets. The town gave fêtes in her
honour; and one evening, when the Empress was at the Monnaie, and had
brought with her a bouquet of tulips from Harlem, which fell over the
edge of her box, gentlemen ran from all parts of the theatre and picked
up the fragments, which they made into button-holes. 'L'Impératrice
parut charmée de cette galanterie Bruxelloise,' says the local account
of this incident.
Napoleon was at Laeken with Marie Louise when the campaign in Russia
was resolved on. The story goes that on receiving the news that the
Tsar refused to carry out the Continental System, he began at once to
whistle the air of 'Marlborough s'en va-t-en guerre,' and ran out into
the grounds of the palace in such a rage that he nearly knocked the
Empress down. It was at Laeken that the fatal declaration of war was
signed.
As soon as the Allies entered the Netherlands after the French reverses
of 1812 and 1813, they were made welcome. Between four and five o'clock
on the evening of February 1, 1814, the French rearguard left Brussels;
and about an hour later the first Cossacks, a party of half a dozen,
rode in by the Porte de Louvain, passed quickly through the city, and
went on after the French army. These scouts were followed by a large
force of cavalry and infantry. The Prussian infantry found billets, and
the Cossacks lay down and slept beside their horses on the snow in the
Rue des Fripiers,[41] the townsfolk standing near, and wondering at
their strange dress and language. Soon the town was full of soldiers,
some of whom remained there, while others pressed on to France.
The news that Paris had capitulated reached Brussels on March 3. The
bells were rung, cannon were fired, and the houses were illuminated.
Then, one after another, the towns which still held out surrendered.
Carnot alone, who was in command of Antwerp, gave no sign of yielding;
but in the middle of April, while the last arrangements were being made
for the departure of Napoleon to Elba, he pulled down the tricolor, and
the great stronghold on the Scheldt fell, with the rest of Belgium,
into the hands of the Allies.
It was almost a fixed rule of international politics in Europe, when
some great war was finished and some treaty of peace was on the
boards, that people should ask each other what was to be done next with
the Catholic Netherlands. The rich inheritance of the House of Burgundy
was passed from hand to hand by Austrians, Spaniards, and Frenchmen,
without any statesman ever considering what might be the wishes of the
inhabitants; and now, in 1814, the Great Powers, at first in secret,
resolved to set up a new State, consisting of Holland and Belgium
united, and call it the Kingdom of the Netherlands, with William of
Orange-Nassau on the throne. He came to Brussels in July, 1814, not yet
as King, for the Congress of Vienna was to settle the map of Europe and
parcel out the spoils, but as Governor on behalf of the Allies; and
at the end of the year his son, the Prince Royal, took command of the
allied army in Belgium.
They had a gay time in Brussels during that winter of 1814-15, as
everyone knows. But on March 1 the Great Man landed in France; and a
fortnight later the Orange flag was hoisted in Brussels, and the new
King announced that he had not intended to assume the royal authority
till the work of the Congress at Vienna was finished, and all their
decisions could be executed together, but that the recent event in
France had made him resolve to wait no longer.
On April 5 the Duke of Wellington came post-haste from Vienna, and went
to live in a house next door to the Hôtel de France, at the corner of
the Rue de la Montagne du Pare and the Rue Royale.
And now during these wonderful Hundred Days, about which so much
has been written, the eyes of all Europe were fixed on Paris and
Brussels. But there were some good folk living at Ghent, who considered
themselves as the most important people in the world, as well they
might, considering what pains were being taken, and what oceans of
blood were to be shed, in order to make it safe for them to depart from
East Flanders and go back again to France, whence they had lately fled
in a great hurry.
Louis XVIII. was lying on a sofa at the Tuileries, suffering
excruciating agonies from the gout, when a despatch was brought to him
with the news that Napoleon had been in France for the last five days,
and was at that moment on the road to Paris. Instantly preparations
were made for flight, with as much secrecy as they had been made for
that terrible trip in the _Berline_ on which another Bourbon had set
out so many years before. Everything was kept quiet, and no one whom
it was possible to hoodwink was trusted. On the night fixed for the
departure one of the Ministers was at the palace. The King gave him
no hint; but as he was leaving the captain of the guard whispered:
'We're off in an hour; the relays are ordered; meet us at Lille.' They
started, and had a most uncomfortable journey. It was pouring rain.
The roads were deep in mud. The royal portmanteau was stolen with all
the royal wardrobe. The royal gout was most painful; and at Lille the
garrison was sullen. There were tricolor badges on all sides. Eagles
were pulled out of knapsacks, and the fleur-de-lis was nowhere to be
seen. This was evidently no place to stay at long; and so the King
crossed the frontier and made for Ghent, where he had been offered a
home in the splendid mansion of the Comte d'Hane-Steenhuyse.[42] He
remained there comfortably until after the Battle of Waterloo.
People who came to Brussels in the first week of June were surprised
to find how peaceful the town was, and how gay. Everyone has read the
narratives of what went on, and the story has been told over and over
again, and nowhere better than in _Vanity Fair_, which is history in
disguise in the chapters where Amelia invades the Low Countries. On
June 14 Napoleon, having crossed the frontier, was at Charleroi, on the
road to Brussels, and all Brussels was talking about the dance which
the Duke and Duchess of Richmond were giving next day at their house
in the Rue de la Blanchisserie, in the ballroom with the paper of 'a
trellis pattern with roses.'[43]
It was a strange night in Brussels, that night of June 15, 1815. By
eight o'clock the Duke has given orders for the troops to march at
daybreak, for he knows that Napoleon has crossed the frontier. Then he
goes to the ball to wait for another despatch. At eleven o'clock, when
the dancing is in full swing, the message reaches him. He hastens the
march by two hours, and the bugles begin to sound all over the town.
'One could hear,' says General Brialmont, 'in the ballroom the rolling
of cannon and the steady tramp of the regiments marching towards the
forest of Soignies.' The Duke is in bed and asleep by two o'clock; but
many of his officers dance on till it is time to rush off to their
regiments.
It would be useless to repeat the story of the next three days. It has
been told a hundred times. The clear, refreshing dawn; the soldiers
gathering from their billets; the partings; the regiments marching off,
the Black Watch and the 92nd Highlanders with the bagpipes playing
before them, through the park and the Place Royale, and passing away
up the Rue de Namur and along the road beyond, to where the soft light
of early morning is beginning to shine among the glades of Soignies;
the sound of heavy firing on the 16th; the silence on the 17th, with
the news that Blucher has lost the day at Ligny, and that Wellington
is falling back from Quatre Bras; the carts and material of the army
moving slowly up the Rue de Namur all day long; the awful suspense of
the 18th, when no one can rest.
'We walked about nearly all the morning,' says Lady de Ros, 'being
unable to sit still, hearing the firing, and not knowing what was
happening.' About three o'clock the observant Mr. Creevy went for a
stroll beyond the ramparts. 'I walked about two miles out of the
town,' he writes, 'towards the army, and a most curious, busy scene it
was, with every kind of thing upon the road, the Sunday population of
Brussels being all out in the suburbs of the Porte Namur, sitting about
tables drinking beer and making merry, as if races or other sports were
going on, instead of the great pitched battle which was then fighting.'
It was an hour or so after this that the Cumberland Hussars came
galloping through the Porte de Namur, down the street and across the
Place Royale, shouting that the French were coming, and raised such a
panic. It was not till late at night that the truth was known.
And at Ghent? They had got on there very well on the whole. The gout
was troublesome, but Louis XVIII. had the enormous appetite of the
Bourbons, and ate a great deal. The Comte d'Hane gave a big dinner
one day, at which the King managed to consume a hundred oysters for
dessert. Some of the courtiers used to go to a tavern in the suburbs
and eat a small white fish, a dainty much esteemed at Ghent, which was
caught in the river there. Chateaubriand, who was one of this Court
in exile, was at a dinner where they sat at table from one o'clock
till eight. 'They began,' he says, 'with sweets and finished with
cutlets. The French alone know how to dine with method.' They played
whist, and went to the theatre. Catalani sang for them at concerts, and
also in private to please the King. When the royal gout allowed it, the
King went to Mass at the Church of St. Bavon. But during the last three
days His Majesty was very nervous, and kept his carriage secretly ready
for another flight.
[Illustration: BRUSSELS
RUE de Namur.]
On the 18th, Chateaubriand was taking a walk outside the town near the
Brussels gate, when a courier from Alost rode up with a despatch from
the Duc de Berri. 'Bonaparte,' it said, 'entered Brussels yesterday,
17 June, after a bloody battle. The battle was to begin again to-day.
The Allies are said to have been completely defeated, and the order for
retreat given.' All Ghent was in dismay. The Comte d'Artois arrived
and confirmed the bad news. Many Belgians who had been in the French
army immediately started to take service once more under Napoleon.
Preparations were made for starting at once; but at one o'clock next
morning a despatch came with the news of the victory. On June 22 the
King left Ghent, to mount once more the throne which had been retained
for him at such a cost.
The scene of the great battle is wonderfully little changed since
then. The level of the ground at the centre of the ridge occupied by
the Allies has been lowered by the removal of earth to make the Mound
of the Belgian Lion; the tree under which the Duke of Wellington and
his staff stood at intervals during the day is gone long since; a
tramway runs past the farm of La Haye Sainte towards Quatre Bras and
Charleroi; and a number of houses have been built on the road between
Waterloo and Mont St. Jean. But the general aspect of the fields on
which the fight took place remains the same. Down to the right, looking
from Mont St. Jean, the château of Hougoumont, half destroyed by shot
and fire, still remains as it was left after the battle, with its
orchard walls and tall, dark trees. The farmhouse of La Haye Sainte,
that scene of carnage, is still where it was, at the side of the road
which leads down the incline, and then up from the narrow valley to La
Belle Alliance, near which is now the monument of the Wounded Eagle, a
memorial to the last combatants of the army which fought and lost with
such matchless valour. Every yard of the ground is sacred. There is,
in all the world, no spot where a Briton and a Frenchman can meet with
more profound emotions of mutual respect than on the slopes near Mont
St. Jean.
[Illustration: WATERLOO
THE farm of La Belle Alliance and the mound surmounted by the Belgian
lion.]
FOOTNOTES.
[Footnote 41: The street which leads from the Place de la Monnaie
towards the Bourse.]
[Footnote 42: This fine house is now No. 63, Rue des Champs, the
residence of the Comte de Bouisies, who married the daughter of Madame
Borluut, a direct descendant of the Comte d'Hane of 1815.]
[Footnote 43: _Reminiscences of Lady de Ros_ (Lady Georgina Lennox).]