HOTEL DE L’EUROPE,
ANTWERP, BELGIUM, _August 9, 1888_.
WE reached here last night in time to take a look at this old city and
to hear the ringing of ‘bells, bells, bells.’ We thought at first they
were ringing on account of our arrival, or for some other unusual
occasion, but find we were mistaken. The bells of Antwerp are ringing
always. We find at our hotel the M.’s, our pleasant Chamouni friends,
and it was a pleasant surprise indeed to have them meet and greet us;
also Rev. Mr. G., of Boston.
Immediately after breakfast this morning we started for Brussels. We
made every effort to have an early breakfast and have it quickly
served, but the people of this land never hurry; they do not know the
meaning of the word. At eight A.M. we were seated at our table in the
dining-room ready to eat, and had ordered our breakfast prepared one
hour before, but there was nothing ready for us. ‘Will you hurry up our
breakfast?’ said E. to our sleepy-looking waiter. Slowly he answered,
‘It is cooking,’ in his own lingo. Ten minutes go by. Another nod to the
stolid waiter; and in tones of entreaty, accompanied with a piece of
money, E. said, ‘Will you not bring us something to eat?’ The man, still
standing as stiff as a post, replied, ‘It is coming.’ ‘But we leave at
eleven o’clock,’ said E. in the man’s own language. But the stupid
Belgian did not see the joke, and did not relax a muscle.
We have had a delightful day in Brussels, and modern Brussels is a
beautiful city and in many ways much like Paris. It has broad, handsome
streets and boulevards, beautiful parks, squares and gardens, with many
rich statues, monuments, artificial lakes and fountains. The city is
built on and up and down a hill--the new and elegant part of Brussels
on top, and the old and poorer part at the foot. The royal family of
Belgium live here, and have several handsome palaces. The Capitol is a
magnificent structure, and there are many noted churches; we went into
several of them, but of all these things I shall not now tell you very
much.
Service is always going on in some one part of these European
cathedrals. In one that we stepped into to-day they were celebrating
funeral rites, and before us were placed some painful paintings of
Christ, showing his bleeding wounds. The Cathedral of St. Gudule is the
largest and finest, and contains a great numbex of perfectly magnificent
tapestries.
We went into the largest art gallery in the city, where are many choice
works, and we greatly enjoyed them; but here too are more of Rubens’
plump angels, of anything but angelic proportions, and I am sure if our
Sunday-school children at home should see some of them they would never
sing, ‘I want to be an angel,’ any more. Here are more of Tennier’s
beautiful productions, and fine pictures by Vander Weyden, Rhemi, Vander
Meulen, and other noted Flemish artists, and the collections give good
opportunities for studying the Flemish schools.
But the laces! These laces are the most tempting of all things. We go
into houses that on the outside look like private homes, and are
politely asked to be seated at tables, when the women in attendance take
from boxes and drawers their stores of rich fabrics and spread them out
for our eyes to feast upon: flounces, handkerchiefs, fichus, capes,
collars, all of the finest make and of most exquisite designs. In the
Royal Lace Manufactory we saw the bridal trousseau of some noble lady,
so called, which was just completed, and the dress, made entirely of the
finest duchesse lace, was a marvel of loveliness. We were taken into the
rooms where the women were making the ‘dentelles,’ and after seeing
their methods we shall never again wonder that duchesse and point laces
are such costly fabrics. Nearly all the most valuable laces of the world
are made here, and many women spend their entire lives in making a piece
of lace to ornament some other woman made of the same perishable dust
as themselves and of whom they are the equals. Ah me! We spent a short
time in the Belgium Exposition, now open, and never before did I see in
any one collection such a wilderness of rich, beautiful objects. A drive
about the charming city, a short stop in the Botanical Gardens, and we
are soon on the road back to Antwerp, with mingled thoughts of the
paintings, gems, and laces back of us, and of Bonaparte and Waterloo,
and the historic ground we are travelling over. We will save more time,
and more money too, for Brussels in our next trip.
_Antwerp, Friday, August 10th._--This has been a rainy day, but we ought
not to complain, for we have had but few of them. We have been out all
the day, and have seen this old city pretty thoroughly, although many
parts of it now have a modern look. Yet numerous old historic landmarks
remain. I hope you will not get weary of hearing about art and artists,
for we are in the land of Rubens and in the very cradle of art here. We
saw to-day the house Rubens lived and died in. He is buried in the
church of St. Jacques, as are also his two wives. In this church is the
picture of his ‘Virgin and Child,’ with several other figures on the
canvas, all said to be likenesses of members of his family. In the
museum are many works of all the noted old masters of the Dutch and
Flemish school--for Antwerp gave birth to a long list of them--and here
their works are treasured. Here is the noted ‘Le Christ à la
Paille’--Christ dead, lying on a stone strewed with straw; and here too
is Vandyk’s ‘Saviour on the Cross,’ which tells the whole sublime story.
Of the more modern pictures, Lady Godiva is worthy of mention. The flesh
tints are exquisite. She is represented as just letting drop a curtain,
which is of a bright, warm color, and her attitude is so graceful that
one looks at her again and again. Of the many exquisite paintings we
have seen here, I will tell you when I see you, which will not be long
now, God willing.
At noon it held up a little, so we took a drive about the town. Antwerp
is the stronghold of Belgium, and there are immense fortifications about
the city. The town has known great vicissitudes, and in old times
terrible religious persecutions, but it is now in a most prosperous
condition, and trades with all the large mercantile cities of the world,
as the piles of all kinds of merchandise we saw at the wharves proved to
us. The beautiful double-width black silks are manufactured here, and
can be purchased at low prices. The shops are fine, and present a
tempting display of articles.
I must tell you of a laughable incident that occurred to-day. E. and F.
were walking in front of me, I lingering to look in the store windows,
and carrying not only my own wrap, but one for F. also, over my arm. Two
fine-looking ladies paused to look at us, for you must remember we are
known as foreigners everywhere. One turned to the other and said, ‘Look,
two foreign travellers and the lady’s-maid!’ I carry no more wraps!
Now, of only one more joy shall I tell you. The cathedral and its
contents! We had looked again and again at its tall, graceful, delicate
spire, rising high above the houses, and we had heard its sweet, soft
bells before going in. But now we have seen its inside walls and the
glories they hold. The interior of the edifice is comparatively cold and
barren, but the paintings within are delightful and surprise enough for
a life-time. I forgive Rubens for his unangel-like angels, that I have
not liked, for these wonderful works here of his surpass anything on
canvas I have ever seen. I was expecting to behold something unusual in
‘The Descent from the Cross,’ but not prepared for anything so
miraculously beautiful and sublime. I could not tell to mortal my
sensations upon first beholding this painting. I wonder now if it was a
painting! There was Christ dead! His beautiful, pathetic face looked as
if he had suffered, but it is now full of spiritualized peace and rest.
Mary’s sorrowful face, at his feet, is wet with her falling tears. The
loving and beloved John is near, and Magdalen extends her arms to take
the body of her dead Master. These faces are all exquisite, sadly so,
and yet one seems to see in them an expression of trustfulness, a
spiritual hope, as if they saw something beyond the unspeakable sadness
of the hour. The figure of our Saviour is touchingly real. The drooping
of the precious head--the muscles relaxed--it is all Death; and never,
before or since has the great, sad tragedy been so sublimely told. The
colors are wonderful--rich, mellow, and harmonious; and we leave the
cathedral with tears in our eyes, thinking only of Christ crucified, and
for us.
_Antwerp, August 11th._--My dear ----: My last words to you from a
foreign land! We are shopping, packing, speaking our adieux, for to-day
at three P.M. the Nordland sails, and we turn our faces toward our
native land. We are glad to go, and we are sorry to leave.
[Illustration: decorative bar]