CHAPTER III.

Right glad were we to find ourselves at last _en route_ from this dismal place. In passing through the streets towards the barrier, soon after leaving the quays, we found that we had likewise left all the bustle, crowd, and confusion behind us. Few people were moving about in any of them, and some were totally deserted. The prospect which presented itself on issuing from the gates was as _triste_ and repulsive as can well be conceived. In front and to the left marsh! marsh! for miles, and looking black, dreary, and pestilential; the distance obscured by a red haze, occasioned by the clouds of sand blown inland by the gale from a range of sand and sand-hills (the _dûnes_) extending all along the coast. A straight, ill-paved, and muddy road, running away in long perspective between two wide ditches filled with stagnant, stinking water, bordered here and there by a few stunted willows bending to the blast, and their usual cold colour rendered still more cold by thus exposing the whitish backs of their young leaves. Such was the scene, in which our column (men, horses, and carriages, soiled, and looking miserable; the mounted gunners leaning to windward, with one hand generally upraised holding on their helmets; the limber-gunners sitting sideways, turning their backs to the gale) formed an appropriate accompaniment, as it proceeded slowly along the causeway. About half-way to Ghystelles,[2] at a barrier, we were rejoiced at finding the horses that had escaped from us on the sands. The man said they had been there all night.

After traversing these marshes for about five or six miles, we entered on a country almost as flat, but of a very different character, highly cultivated and well wooded. The road became an avenue, whilst the adjoining fields were interspersed everywhere with patches of copsewood, and rows of tufted bushes serving here and there as boundaries in place of hedges; the scenery, of course, much more pleasing, although not seen to advantage under the still gloomy, overcast sky.

It was late when we reached Ghistel, the appearance of which, however, was consolatory, and promised some comfort.

Before we could seek that, a troublesome task still remained to be performed. Our men could not understand their billets, some of which were on isolated farms a mile or two from the village; neither could they inquire their way. It therefore became necessary for us to accompany and see them safely housed ere we could resign ourselves to the enjoyments of our auberge. In the village itself they were soon put up, for many of the people spoke or understood a little English.

At length, as night set in, our business was finished, and we all assembled at our auberge, which, though humble, was delightfully clean, and to us, after last night’s adventure, appeared luxurious. No less so was the excellent dinner to which we soon sat down; whilst doing justice to which we could not help laughing at its spread, for it was composed, not of solid joints, &c. &c., but of an immense multitude and variety of little dishes of stews and all sorts of nameless (to us) things. A bottle of good port would have rendered us superlatively happy, but that was not to be thought of in Ghistel; so having amused ourselves, and puzzled the neat, pretty, black-eyed girl who officiated as _garçon_ by our inquiries for this our national, but by her unheard-of, beverage, we were fain to make ourselves comfortable, and pass the evening in social chat over the poor, thin, though well-flavoured liquor that the house afforded. Some of our number, to be sure, were unreasonable enough to grumble, and one actually got the stomach-ache, but whether from the wine or last night’s wetting it is difficult to say, though he swore it was the former.

I shall not easily forget my delight on retiring, when I found a most clean, enticing bed prepared for me, in a pretty little room, the window of which looked into a quiet well-kept garden. The enormous pillow at first took me aback. Such a thing! It seemed to occupy half the bed. I, however, soon made acquaintance with it, and enjoyed a most delicious sleep. The first steps in a new country are to me always a source of pleasurable sensations. Everything one sees is striking, interesting, and makes a lasting impression. This evening and its enjoyments will long remain a bright spot in my memory.

_15th._ A fine, mild, grey morning. Our people paraded in much better order, and very much higher spirits, than yesterday, and all seemed pleased with their entertainment. The novelty amused them, and every one had some tale to relate of last night’s adventures. Their hosts had generally been very kind to them, and allowed them to take as much forage for their horses as they chose. The poor animals, therefore, had passed the night equally well. In marching out of Ghistel, I noticed many houses of a superior description to the rustic dwellings which alone I saw last night. Some of these had much the appearance of stage scenery, having façades painted to represent pilasters, urns, wreaths, festoons, &c. &c., all in very childish taste. These, no doubt, were the villas or _lusthausen_ of the Ostend citizens.

Our march to Bruges (about twelve miles) was through a country perfectly flat, but rich and highly cultivated; and from the numerous little woods, farms, and substantial villages--added, again, to the charm of novelty--it was far from uninteresting.

About noon we entered the city by a fine, broad, airy street, rendered pleasing by the intermixture of foliage with its picturesque buildings, and swarming with people. By-and-by we came to narrower streets and more antiquated-looking houses; winding our way amongst which, we at last reached the cavalry barrack, situated in a narrow, dirty back lane at the further extremity of the town--a large, heavy, inelegant mass of masonry, more like some old storehouse than a barrack. Here, in the extensive yard, we parked our guns, and put our men into the barrack, the rooms of which were large, lofty, and vaulted, but extremely filthy, so that our people had to regret the clean comfortable billets and kind hospitality which they would have enjoyed amongst the inhabitants. A range of ruinous wooden sheds, extending along two sides of the yard, served as stabling, and received all our horses.

Having arranged affairs at the barrack, and called on Sir F. Lyons, the British commandant, we betook ourselves to our billet at the Hôtel de Commerce, which, however, we had some difficulty in finding. As this was the first large hotel we had been in, it had the recommendation of novelty, and everything in it became subject of curiosity. The large dreary hall; the comfortless bar adjoining, and separated from it by an immense window or glazed partition, so unlike the cheerful snug-looking bar of an English inn; the equally comfortless and gloomy saloon behind it, into which we were shown; the squalid, dirty appearance of the domestics (men or boys), in filthy cotton jackets and _bonnets de nuit_,--all served to chill one on first entering. Our arrival, followed by orderlies and servants carrying portmanteaus, &c. &c., caused a sensation in the establishment, every member of which, not excepting the _chêf_, was assembled to greet us in the hall. For some minutes a scene of bustle ensued, which ended in mounting the stairs to inspect our dormitories. These contrasted strangely with the vast apartments below. From the head of the staircase a long corridor ran right and left the whole length of the house, off which a number of doors opened into as many little cells, each barely large enough to contain bed, chair, and a small table. The beds (without curtains) were very homely, but quite clean, the furniture and utensils of the commonest kind. The attendants, having shown us our rooms, withdrew, and with the sound of their departing footsteps ended the bustle of the day. When I again stepped out on the gallery, the stillness of the place astonished me--hall, staircase, bar, all deserted; not a soul to be seen, nor a sound heard except that of my own tread over the creaking floor; no ringing of bells; no calls for chambermaid, boots, or waiter; no running to and fro;--in short, the place appeared altogether abandoned, and I hastened into the street to lounge away the time until dinner, of which, however, I had my misgivings.

Bruges is a highly interesting town at all times; but after being shut out from the Continent so many years, the novelty of everything one saw enhanced this interest amazingly. My ramble led me through streets of lofty, whimsically constructed houses, the upper parts of which sometimes projected in the manner one frequently sees in our old midland towns, the projections decorated with drop-balls on fretwork; immense windows sometimes occupied the whole front of each floor; ample portals, the lofty folding-doors of which were occasionally studded with iron, like those of a fortress or dungeon; gables, with high pointed roofs, presented almost everywhere to the street; chimneys of bizarre and fantastic forms, and surmounted by a finish of semicircular tiles rising pyramidally over each other; here and there towers or turrets with high conical roofs;--such were the architectural peculiarities that attracted my attention. The long streets running in wavy lines, and of unequal breadth, between these grotesque buildings, exhibited specimens of costume as novel, and frequently not less grotesque, which, intermingling with the scarlet and blue uniforms of our soldiers, very much heightened the picturesque effect. It was only in the principal thoroughfares and business parts of the town that all this animation was met with. In those quarters principally inhabited by the richer citizens the streets were as dull, solitary, and scrupulously clean as it is possible to conceive. In these I frequently found myself the only animated being visible--not a loiterer at a door, not even a head at a window. Many of even the best houses appeared absolutely uninhabited. Could this have always been the case? Was this the state of things when Bruges was the central mart for the whole Pays Bas, and saw merchants from every nation in Europe crowding to its fairs in search of its linen and woollen cloth, and of the naval stores and rich productions of India continually arriving from the north, the Venetian and other Italian States, when the splendid dress and magnificent palaces of its citizens were sufficient to excite the indignation and envy of a queen? Surely not. These grass-grown streets, now so solitary, then exhibited very different scenes. Many a plumed and portly burgher then trod their pavement, and many a fair bejewelled dame graced the numerous windows of its palaces, now so silent. This decay and depopulation dates from the moment when these wealthy merchants arrogantly resisted their sovereign, Maximilian, who, aided by Antwerp and Amsterdam, shut up its port of Sluys, and thus, diverting its commerce into other channels, inflicted on it that punishment the effects of which are so perceptible even after a lapse of more than 300 years. From these melancholy monuments of fallen grandeur, and the death-like silence of these deserted streets, I suddenly emerged into the midst of bustle in the Grand Place, where crowds of peasantry were assembled apparently for the sole purpose of buying and selling little earthen pots of a peculiar form (_terrines_), the number of which, disposed in long rows on the ground, really surprised me. The Stadthouse stands in this place. It has a lofty square tower, surmounted by another of nearly equal height of an octagonal form. This certainly possesses no beauty, but the singularity of the construction attracts notice. From the Place I wandered to the _Cathédrale_,[3] the very lofty spire of which, I am told, serves as a landmark for vessels approaching Ostend, though certainly I do not recollect having seen it there. It is even _said_ by some to be visible from the _banks of the Thames_--a pretty long view! Entering the temple, I found the garish light of broad day exchanged for a mysterious twilight, and the busy hum of high market for a solemn silence, scarcely interrupted by the light step of some veiled female (of males only a few, very old men, were there) as she glided to the spot chosen for her devotions, where, rapidly crossing herself, she sank on her knees before a shrine in some side chapel. At the high altar, priests in embroidered robes were celebrating mass with a solemnity which rendered still more ridiculous their repeated genuflexions, the extinction from time to time of a taper, and the removal of a crucifix from one end of the altar to another, only to bring it back the next moment, whilst ever and anon they would bow, cross themselves, and bow again.

The nave of the church was not spoilt, as ours are, by pews. A number of plain chairs were assembled round the pillars, and these served the worshippers to kneel upon--that is, the men, for the women invariably sank on the pavement in most picturesque attitudes. Of the latter, most seemed in earnest; but with the former, a duty was hurried through, in which the heart had evidently little or no concern. Some certainly placed both knees on the chairs, and, leaning over the backs with clasped hands, kept their eyes steadily on the altar, whilst the rapid motion of their lips betrayed the hurried manner in which they prayed. Others, however, with one knee only on the chair, and the body half-turned, gazed about them whilst mumbling over their daily portion of prayer. People were continually coming in and going out, which seemed to disturb no one, but rather served as amusement to the gazers just mentioned. However lukewarm the frequenters of the temple might evince themselves, yet was there something very impressive in the scene. In a pictorial point of view it was most interesting, for the building is a fine Gothic structure, and the interior of these always affords picturesque scenery, even without such accessories as those furnished by the various kneeling groups, more particularly of females. Some good pictures I saw, but did not like to stop and examine them. A striking feature in this church are the colossal statues of the Apostles perched upon shelves, one to each column of the nave: the effect is not good. The pulpit, and staircase leading up to it, are a most elaborate and ingenious example of sculpture in wood. The impression on me was one of wonder at the inexhaustible patience of the artist. Sauntering about the church, near the great door I stumbled upon something not unlike a sentry-box; it was a confessional! In this sat a sleek-looking priest, head resting on his left hand, and the ear inclined to a little grated aperture in one side, through which a female on her knees, and shrouded in a black veil, poured out her heart in a loud whisper. The holy man received the communication with becoming gravity, though it was easy to divine, by a short perusal of his countenance, that he was receiving nothing but commonplace, or at best no very important, intelligence. Everything in this religion appears most childish mummery;--what more so than this? Leaving Notre Dame, I sought the ramparts. These no longer exist in a military sense, but the high grassy mounds which remain, being planted with trees, serve at once as a pretty promenade, and diversify the views of the city from without. The moat in most places still remains green--almost as the meadows--with aquatic plants. Some of the ancient gateways, also, are still there to tell a tale of other times. These, with their sombre grey towers, roofed with tile, are eminently picturesque, and harmonise well with the other buildings of the town. These towers, with high conical roofs, which one meets almost everywhere throughout the Continent, particularly in this country, form a characteristic feature, distinguishing its scenery from that of the British Islands, where the ruins of ancient castles have almost invariably their round or square towers terminated by a castellated parapet and flat roof. True it is that the Irish round-towers have such roofs; but they are low, and form a very small portion in the general aspect of the building: as also those solitary square towers seen along the Scottish Border, and sprinkled here and there over the soil of Ireland--the dwellings or keeps of petty chieftains--were also surmounted by high, but not conical roofs.

Tired of rambling about the streets, I returned to our hotel, where, to my surprise, an excellent dinner awaited me, exceedingly well served, and the attendants (who had made themselves clean) very active and obliging. Among these a boy of fifteen or sixteen was a perfect beauty--so much so as to excite universal admiration. Nor must I forget another beauty of a far different kind--some very old and genuine cognac. It was quite a liqueur; and we were so pleased with it, that each secured a small stock to carry forward with him. In short, we went to bed in better humour with the Hôtel de Commerce.