On entering I saw many pictures. None that I saw seemed particularly
good. The church was pretty full of people, who really seemed devout.
They were not the old and weak, but there was of every age. The young
maiden was seen by the side of decrepit age, beauty by deformity,
childhood by manhood. The effect on the mind is contagious. Many masses
were going on at the same time. A woman went round for money for the
chairs. Here I saw the first Christian caryatides.
We soon set off for Brussels. Between V. and that town the road is
beautiful; a canal on one side, fine trees forming a long avenue
diversified with glimpses of a rich country. We passed the Castle of
Lac, the former residence of Buonaparte. It has a fine front upon an
eminence, but the dome stands forth in glaring ugliness. We entered
Brussels by the Allée Verte, a fine promenade.
Brussels, the old town, is not so fine as Antwerp, Ghent, or Bruges. The
Grand Marché is very beautiful, only the buildings seem to be neglected.
Fine public offices, with a tall spire, on one side—the Mairie opposite.
The Place Royale is very fine; the fronts of the houses and hotels
around seeming together to form parts of one great palace; and the
church on one side, with the housy wings, has a fine effect in spite of
the ugly tower at the top. The gardens are beautiful with green, and
well laid out in walks, with groups and termites—the Palace opposite.
The entrance from the Place Royale presents a fine front, and the
suburbs round it are also good. We are at the Hôtel d'Angleterre. Saw
_Morning Chronicles_, which are again dutysied.
Brussels was not at all fortified in the Waterloo time. The Germans at
one time had retreated as far as the gates, which were obliged to be
shut against them. In case of a retreat there would have been a pleasant
rush, almost as great as at a fashionable rout, as they must all have
passed through Brussels. The carriage was put under hand. Crowds of
English.
_May 2._—We have seen many, many soldiers. No wonder they were light of
foot when not more heavy of age, for none have beards yet except some
few cavalry.
The English women are the only good-looking women in Brussels; though,
with true English Bullism, they vest _here_ a complete Anglomanian
costume, preserving their French fashions for the English winds to waft.
The women of Brabant and the Netherlands are all ugly to the eye after
the piquant begins to pall, for there are no regular beauties or beauty
of expression, except that levity which tells of lightness of cares and
youth.
It is not for a foreigner to call a thing absurd because it does not
tally with his ideas, or the ladies' costume, except the black mantle,
should be put down as such by me. The men also are short and
bad-looking, either consummate impudence or complete insignificance—no
individuality. The indelicacy of these Belgians is gross; all kinds of
disgusting books publicly sold, and exposed to the eyes of all young
damsels—beastliness publicly exhibited on the public monuments—fountains
with men vomiting with effort a stream of water—and still worse. The
town (Brussels) is situated on an eminence, and is really poor in
comparison of the other Belgic towns by us seen.
After dinner, having dressed, I went, having written two letters, to the
theatre. Mounting a voiture, I was soon there. Ascending some stairs, I
came to a door where, after some knocking, a man took my money, and gave
me tickets, which, changed twice, brought me to the first row of boxes.
The first look at the lobbies was sufficient to give me an idea of all
the rest—misery, misery, misery, wherever one turned—to the floor, to
the ceiling, to the wall, to the box-wall, all garret of the St. Giles
style. Most of the doors had _Abonnement_ written on them. I got into
one, and what a sight! boxes dirty with filth. One chandelier was
sufficient for the pockets of a Brussels manager, hung from the middle.
Pit divided into two parts of different prices, boxes into three, and a
gallery. Chairs, not benches, in the boxes. Ladies came and sat and
talked, and talked and sat and stood, and went away. Many English
ladies. Orchestra began—all violins, seven in all. Curtain up—a farce:
no—it did not make me laugh. How call that a theatrical amusement which
only seems fitted to excite the pleasurable sensation of yawning? It was
French. An actress, the best amongst them, spoke French like a base pig;
another contorted the fine lady into one with a paralytic stroke after
sitting up at cards; the gentlemen like purlieu-bullies; and high life
was copied from the waiting-maids of butchers' ladies. I was a little
surprised at the applause that a lady actress gained. It moved me
astonishingly: not her acting, but the lookers-on acting pleasure. At
last came the wind whistling through the reeds, the thunder-hurling
cheeks, and lashing hands, to my great admiration. It moved phlegm.
One who was to act Blondel was vomiting at home. I went behind the
scenes, and saw dismay in every face, and terror in every limb. The
curtain drew up, and the play began. Hisses, hisses, hisses. It fell,
and fear increased. Some time was spent in cogitation. The venturous
gold-decked hero advanced, retired, was rebuked by the police and forced
to advance. Hisses. He said to the audience he was forced to advance.
They listened, and quiproquos commenced between the players and the
audience, with the sonorous hiss of anger. The police saw all was in
vain, and ordered the actors off the boards. I in the meantime was
chatting with two apparent goddesses, who very concisely explained the
trembling of the actors, etc., by telling me of real showers of eggs,
etc. As I left the house I heard groans and hollow sounds, and cries of
"Give me back my money: I am an _abonné_, and have seen nothing." I
ran—I and the police pushing on, the mob pushing us back, etc. Going
along the lobbies, what was my wonder to stumble on a bookseller's shop,
where was an assemblage of delicacies fit for the modest, and wondrous
delicate!
_May 3._—I saw in the street three dogs, of the bulldog race, dragging
up a hill at a good pace what I am sure two men would not have strength
to drag. I saw also a goat fastened to a child's car. I went all over
the town for a calèche—bought one for 75 louis. In the evening, having
procured redingotes (which I did not use), we mounted a coach and drove
to ——. Returned home, ate, and slept.
_May 4._—Having risen, foolishly paid 40 naps. to the coachmaker. My
Lord and servant stepped into the calèche. I and a servant got on
horseback, and went to Waterloo. We soon entered Soignies, which on both
sides formed a beautiful wood (not forest, for it was not wild on either
side) for several miles. The avenue it formed varied in length:
sometimes the end was formed by a turn of the road, sometimes by the
mere perspective effect of narrowing. The trees are all young—none of
above thirty years' growth. We then reached Waterloo, where were the
head-quarters of Napoleon. An officious host pressed us to order dinner.
We ran from his pressing, and advancing came to St. Jean, where the boys
continued the offerings we first had at Waterloo of buttons, books, etc.
This was the village which gave the French name to the battle, I
believe, as it was the spot which Napoleon tried to gain. The view of
the plain, as we advanced to the right, struck us as fields formed
almost with the hopes that spirit and war would make their havoc here.
Gentle risings, sufficient to give advantage to the attacked—few
hedges—few trees. There was no sign of desolation to attract the
passer-by; if it were not for the importunity of boys, and the glitter
of buttons in their hands, there would be no sign of war. The peasant
whistled as blithely, the green of Nature was as deep, and the trees
waved their branches as softly, as before the battle. The houses were
repaired. Only a few spots with white plaster between the bricks pointed
out the cannon's ruin; and in ruins there was only Hougoumont, which was
attacked so bravely and defended so easily—at least so I should imagine
from the few killed in the garden and the appearance of the whole, while
so many French lay dead in the field. In the garden were only 25 English
killed, while in the field 1500; and on the other side 600 French, not
counting the wounded, were slain. Indeed, the gallantry, the resolution
and courage, which the French displayed in attacking this place, guarded
from the heights by our cannon, and by our soldiers through the
loop-holes, would alone ennoble the cause in which they fought. Before
arriving at Hougoumont, the spots where Hill, Picton, and the Scotch
Greys did their several deeds, were pointed out to us. The spot which
bore the dreadful charge of cavalry is only marked by a hedge. The
cuirassiers advancing, the Scots divided—showed a masked battery, which
fired grape into the adverse party's ranks—then it was the Scots
attacked. I do not now so much wonder at their victory. The cuirasses
which we saw were almost all marked with bullets, lance- and sabre-cuts.
Buonaparte and the French, our guide said, much admired the good
discipline and undaunted courage of the short-kilted Scot. Going
forward, the spot at which the Prussians, the lucky gainers of the
battle, emerged, was pointed out to us—and, a little farther on, we were
shown the spot where Colonel Howard, my friend's cousin, was buried
before being carried to England. Three trees, of which one is cut down,
mark the spot, now ploughed over. At Hougoumont we saw the untouched
chapel where our wounded lay, and where the fire consumed the toes of a
crucifix. We there inscribed our names amongst cits and lords. We found
here a gardener who pointed out the garden—the gate where the French
were all burnt—the gap in the hedge where the French attempted, after
the loss of 1500 men, to storm the place—the field, quarter of an acre,
in which were heaps of Gallic corpses. The gardener and the dog, which
we saw, had been detained at Hougoumont by General Maitland in case of a
retreat. The peasants declare that from 4 to 5 the affair was very, very
doubtful, and that at the last charge of the Imperial Guards Napoleon
was certain of being in Brussels in _quatre heures_. Wellington, after
the defeat of the Prussians etc., on the 17th went to Waterloo, and
determined where he would place each corps. This was a great advantage:
but, in spite of the excellence of his position, he would certainly have
been defeated had it not been for the fortunate advance of the
Prussians. From Hougoumont we went to the red-tiled house which is the
rebuilding of the house where was Buonaparte's last station and
head-quarters. It was from this spot that he viewed the arrival of the
Prussians, under the idea of their being the corps of Grouchy. It was
here he felt first the certainty of defeat, just after he had led the
old Imperial Guard, in the certainty of victory, to his last attack. La
Belle Alliance next appeared along the road, here where Wellington and
Blücher met. The name is derived from a marriage in the time of peace:
it is now applicable to a war-meeting. Thence we returned to St. Jean,
after going again to Hougoumont. There we were shown cuirasses, helms,
buttons, swords, eagles, and regiment-books. We bought the helms,
cuirasses, swords, etc., of an officer and soldier of cuirassiers,
besides eagles, cockades, etc. Beggars, the result of English profusion.
A dinner, measured by some hungry John Bull's hungry stomach. We rode
off the field, my companion singing a Turkish song—myself silent, full
gallop cantering over the field, the finest one imaginable for a battle.
The guide told us that the account Buonaparte's guide gave of him after
the battle was that he only asked the road to Paris, not saying anything
else.
At Hougoumont various spots were pointed out: amongst the rest the one
where Maitland stood watching a telegraph on the neighbouring rise,
which told him what was going on on both sides.
We rode home together through Soignies forest—black. The twilight made
the whole length of the road more pleasing. On reaching home, we found
the coach was jogged; so much so that it would not allow us to put
confidence in it, etc. At last we gave it into Mr. Gordon's hands. My
friend has written twenty-six stanzas (?) to-day—some on Waterloo.
There are a few points in this narrative of May 4 which call for a
little comment.
1. As to "the spot where Colonel Howard, my friend's cousin, was buried
before being carried to England." Few passages in the 3rd canto of
_Childe Harold_, which in its opening deals with Byron's experiences in
these days, are better known than the stanzas (29 to 31) where he
celebrates the death of "young gallant Howard." Stanza 30 is the one
most germane to our immediate purpose—
"There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee,
And mine were nothing, had I such to give.
But, when I stood beneath the fresh green tree
Which living waves where thou didst cease to live,
And saw around me the wide field revive
With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring
Come forth her work of gladness to contrive,
With all her reckless birds upon the wing,
I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not bring."
2. The statement that "the coach was jogged" refers to that calèche
which had been just bought in Brussels for the servants—not to the
elaborate travelling-carriage. Some trouble ensued over the calèche. The
coachmaker who had sold it tried to make Lord Byron pay up the balance
of the price. Not carrying his point, he got a warrant-officer to seize
a different vehicle, a chaise, belonging to the poet. The latter, so far
as appears, took no further steps.
3. To write twenty-six stanzas in one day is no small feat; especially
if these are the nine-line stanzas of _Childe Harold_, and if the
substantial work of the day consisted in riding from Brussels to
Waterloo and back, and deliberately inspecting the field of battle. The
entry, as written by Charlotte Polidori, stands thus—"26 st.," which I
apprehend can only mean "stanzas." If one were to suppose that the
stanzas thus written on May 4 were the first twenty-six stanzas of
_Childe Harold_, canto 3 (but this of course is not a necessary
inference), Byron now got up to the stanza which begins
"And wild and high the 'Camerons' gathering' rose."
I made up my accounts, and was not a little startled by a deficit of 10
napoleons, which I at last found was a mere miscalculation. Rode about
thirty miles in all.
Forgot to say I saw Sir Nath[aniel] Wraxall at Dover, who, having
introduced himself to Lord Byron as a friend _de famille_, began
talking, knocking his feet in rattattat, still all the while oppressed
by feeling very awkward.
[I do not find in Byron's correspondence any reference to this
interview, on April 25 or 26, with Sir Nathaniel Wraxall. But, in his
letter of April 25 to his half-sister, he mentions that he met on the
24th with Colonel Wildman, an old school-fellow, and later on the
purchaser of Newstead Abbey, who gave him some details concerning the
death of Colonel Howard at Waterloo.]
At Brussels, the people were in a great stew, the night of the battle of
Waterloo—their servants and others waking them every minute to tell them
the French were at the gates. Some Germans went there with mighty great
courage, in flight. Lord W[ellington?] sent to a colonel to enquire
whether he was going to fly from or to the battle, giving him his choice
to act in either way. On hearing this, the said colonel boldly faced
about, and trotted to Brussels with his troop. A supernumerary
aide-de-camp, the brother of N., with two others, was riding between the
ranks while the French were firing; when, ours crying out "They aim at
you," all three were struck in the jaw, much in the same place, dead.
After the battle, a friend asking what was become of N., the serjeant
pointed to his feet, saying "There," which was fact. Dacosta, the guide,
says that Buonaparte was cool and collected till the Prussians arrived;
that then he said to Bertrand, "That appears to be the Prussian eagle";
and, upon Bertrand's assenting, his face became momentarily pale. He
says that, when he led up the Imperial Guard, on arriving at the
red-tiled house, he went behind a hillock, so as not to be seen, and so
gave them the slip. Wellington acted the soldier when he should have
acted the general, and the light-limbed dancer when he should have been
the soldier. I cannot, after viewing the ground, and bearing in mind the
men's superior courage, give Wellington the palm of generalship that has
been snatched for him by so many of his admirers. Napoleon only took one
glass of wine from the beginning of the battle to the end of his flight.
_May 5._—Got up at ten from fatigue. Whilst at breakfast, there came a
Mr. Pryse Gordon for L[ord] B[yron]. I entertained him. He has been to
Italy, and travelled a great deal—a good-natured gentleman. Took him to
see the carriage: there he introduced me to his son by means of a
trumpet. After his departure we set off for the Château du Lac, where we
found the hind front much finer than the other for want of the startling
(?) dome and low windows. It has all its master-apartments on the
ground-floor: they are extremely well laid out both with regard to
comfort and magnificence—they were furnished by Nap[oleon]. We saw the
bed where Josephine, Marie Louise, and the Queen of Holland, have been
treading fast on one another's heels. The hall for concerts divides the
Emperor's from the Empress' rooms—it has a rich appearance, and is
Corinthian. The flooring of the Emperor's is all wood of different
colours—checked—having to my eye a more pleasing appearance than the
carpeted ones of the Empress. I sat down on two chairs on which had sat
he who ruled the world at one time. Some of his eagles were yet
remaining on the chairs. The servant seemed a little astonished at our
bowing before them.
We returned, it raining all the while. After dinner Mr. G[ordon] came
for us to go to coffee. We went, and were graciously received; Lord
B[yron] as himself, I as a tassel to the purse of merit. I there saw a
painting of Rembrandt's wife or mother by himself, which was full of
life, and some verses by Walter Scott written in the hostess' album,
where he says Waterloo will last longer than Cressy and Agincourt. How
different! They only agree in one thing—that they were both in the cause
of injustice. The novels of Casti were presented to me by Mr. Gordon,
which I was rather surprised at. We came over. Scott writes in M[rs].
G[ordon's] book—
"For one brief hour of deathless fame" [Scott].
"Oh Walter Scott, for shame, for shame" [Byron].
[The novels of the Abate Casti (who died in 1803) are notoriously
licentious: hence, I suppose, Polidori's surprise at the presentation of
them by Mr. Gordon. Byron, it is stated by this gentleman, was asked by
Mrs. Gordon on May 5 to write some lines in her album. He took the
volume away with him, and on the following day brought it back, having
inserted in it the two opening stanzas on Waterloo forming part of canto
3 of _Childe Harold_—from
"Stop, for thy tread is on an empire's dust,"
to
"He wears the shattered links of the world's broken chain"]
_May 6._—Mr. G[ordon] and son came while at breakfast; gave us letters,
etc. Saw the little child again; B[yron] gave it a doll.
It may be excusable to suppose that this trifling incident is not wholly
foreign to a stanza, 54, in the 3rd canto of _Childe Harold_. This
stanza comes immediately after Byron has begun to speak of the Rhine,
and incidentally of the affection which his half-sister bore him. Then
he proceeds—
"And he had learn'd to love—I know not why,
For this in such as him seems strange of mood—
The helpless looks of blooming infancy,
Even in its earliest nurture. What subdued,
To change like this, a mind so far imbued
With scorn of man, it little boots to know:
But thus it was; and, though in solitude
Small power the nipp'd affections have to grow,
In him this glow'd when all beside had ceased to glow."
The _carrossier_ came. Set off at two, passing through a country
increasing in inequalities. We arrived first at Louvain, where we saw
the outside of a beautiful Town-hall, which is one of the prettiest
pieces of external fretwork I have seen. Thence we went to Tirlemont,
where was a Jubilee. Saints and sinners under the red canopy (the sky
dirty Indian-ink one) were alike in the streets. Every street had stuck
in it, at a few paces from the house-walls, fir-branches 16 or 17 feet
high, distant from one another 5 or 6 feet. Thence to St. Trond, where
we ate—and slept, I suppose. The country is highly cultivated, and the
trees older. The avenues have a more majestic appearance from the long
swells of ground and the straight roads, but there is more squalid
misery than I have seen anywhere. The houses are many of them mud, and
the only clean part about them is the white-wash on the external walls.
Dunghills before some must be trodden on before entering the houses. The
towns also fall off greatly in neat and comfortable looks. The walls
round them look ruined and desolate, and give a great idea of
insecurity. We put the servants on board-wages.
_May 7._—Set off from St. Trond at 11. The country is highly cultivated;
continual hill and dale; lower orders miserable in perfection; houses
built of mud, the upper storeys of which are only built of beams, the
mud having fallen off. Bridges thrown over the dirt they were too idle
to remove. Dunghills at their doors, and ditches with black fetid water
before their first step. Liège has a pretty neighbourhood, but the town
itself is filthy and disagreeable. They visited our passports here at
three different places. The hill above the town is enormously steep; and
from some way beyond it has a beautiful view of Liège with its towers
and domes—of the country with its many cots and villas—and of the Meuse.
The road now lies through a scene where cottages are spread like trees,
and hedges like furrows of corn, the fields are so minutely divided. A
little farther still we had a most splendid view through many miles.
From a valley we could see everything clearly, crowded in a blue tint,
and in a river through it we could see the shadows of the trees. The
cottages are improving, and the roads becoming the worst ever seen;
paved still, but so horridly hilled and vallied that the rolling of the
carriage is like the rolling of a ship.
We came at last to Battice; but before entering we passed by a village
where beggar little cherubs came to the carriage-side, and running cried
out, "Donnez-nous quelque chose, Monsieur le chef de bataillon";
another, "Monsieur le général." And a third little urchin, who
gesticulated as well as cried, perceiving the others had exhausted the
army, cried, "Un sou, Messieurs les rois des Hanovériens!" We arrived at
Battice, where beggars, beggars. There we found horses just come in.
After debate (wherein I was for Aix-la-Chapelle, L[ord] B[yron] for
stopping) we set off; and such a jolting, rolling, knocking, and
half-a-dozen etc., as our carriage went through, I never saw, which put
L[ord] B[yron] to accusing me of bad advice; clearing however as the
road mended. The rain fell into a pond, to be illuminated by sunshine
before we reached Aix-la-Chapelle at half-past twelve.
_May 8._—Got up late. Went to see the Cathedral: full of people, lower
ranks, hearing mass. Miserable painting, architecture, etc. Saw also a
church wherein was no particular picture or anything. At Liège the
revolutionists had destroyed the fine Cathedral.
A German boy who led me about Aix-la-Chapelle, on my asking him in
broken German about the baths, led me to a very different place. I was
astonished to find myself in certain company. The baths are hot
sulphuretted-hydrogen-impregnated water. The sulphur-beds are only shown
to dukes and kings: so a kingdom is good for something. I saw the baths
themselves: like others, not very clean-looking.