CHAPTER IX.

Whilst our army thus revelled in luxury in this fine country, that of the enemy, we understood, was concentrating on our frontier, preparatory to the grand blow which was to drive us into the sea. To meet the threatened invasion, it was generally understood in the army that the Duke had made choice of two positions in the neighbourhood of Brussels--the one a little beyond the village of Waterloo, the other at Hal, the point where the roads from Ath and Mons unite. In one or the other of these, it was said, he intended to await the attack, according as the enemy might advance. Frequently, attended only by an orderly dragoon, he would visit these positions, studying them deeply, and most probably forming plans for their occupation and defence. In confirmation, too, of the reports that the French army would shortly advance, we about this time received an order to divest ourselves of all superfluous baggage, and were given to understand that, in case of passing the frontier, the army must be prepared to forego all shelter but what would be carried with it, since the operations were to be of the most active nature. Curious to see these positions, I one day rode over to Hal, which was the nearest to us. The country through which I passed for a long way was like that about Strytem; but on approaching Hal it became more open, free from wood, and without any kind of enclosures. This little town is situated on the Senne, here a good deal interrupted in its course by mill-dams, &c., so that it forms numerous ponds in and about the place, only to be crossed by the stone bridge over which the road from Braine le Leud and Braine le Château, &c., passes, and in the town unites with the two great roads from Ath and Mons, which have previously crossed a small rivulet descending from the north-west, and thus ascends the steep street in the direction of Brussels. On this side the ground rises to a considerable height, giving a great command over the valley and roads winding through it, which may be seen at a considerable distance descending from the opposite hills, which recede so much to the southward as to be of no avail against the positions, although considerably higher.

The town, as already stated, lies on a steep slope; the houses are of stone, many of them large and of most respectable appearance; street wide and airy; many mills, &c., in the lower part, and tan-yards.

I was obliged to content myself with a very superficial view of Hal; for, having miscalculated the distance from Strytem, I had no time for more than to ride through it and back again. The only thing I saw on the road worth notice was a very pretty villa, small, but exceedingly neat, standing in the midst of well-kept pleasure-grounds, quite unlike anything else in the country that I had hitherto seen.

I have as yet been so wrapped up in the country that I have passed over Brussels, to which, however, I had already made several visits, and to which I must now devote a page. So--to begin at the beginning--my first visit was about four or five days after our arrival at Strytem. The weather was particularly favourable. It was one of those lovely days of spring, succeeding rain, when all nature seems bursting into new life--when we are ourselves sensible of the renovating effects of the season, and the elasticity of our spirits is such, that everything appears beautiful to our sight--when all is exhilaration and delight, and we are disposed to be in good-humour with everything around us. The country through which my route lay, rich in the bounties of nature, and exhibiting a pleasing variety of feature, made this ride peculiarly agreeable. About half-way, at the villages of Itterbeke and Dilbeke, the appearance of several riflemen in grey or black uniforms, round hats having the brim looped up on one side, and decorated with pendant green plumes, scattered about the fields, the roads, and posted behind trees, somewhat surprised me. Near the roadside, too, on the point of a green knoll, stood one of those rude Rembrandt-like mills, so common in this country; and on the wooden stairs leading up to the door sat several men, with their rifles in hand or lying across their knees, whilst their attention seemed steadily fixed on the surrounding country, as if something interesting was transacting there. A dropping shot now and then re-echoing amongst the woods, seemed to confirm the truth of my apprehensions that the French army had advanced, and that I had no time to lose in regaining Strytem. The sergeant of the party on the mill-steps, however, dissipated my apprehensions. These people belonged to the Duke of Brunswick, and, being all young soldiers, he obliged them to live in their cantonments, as if in face of an enemy, with all their videttes and advanced-posts out. The firing, I found, proceeded from a party practising with their rifles at targets cut in the shape of, and painted to resemble, French soldiers. This was my first interview with men (_mere boys!_) with whom subsequently I had to stand shoulder to shoulder in the great struggle. My approach to the city was announced by the occurrence of several pretty country-houses or villas, much in the same style as that I had seen on the road to Hal, but no indication in the distance--no towers, spires, or lofty building towering over the trees--until, passing the summit of a hill, Brussels suddenly burst on my sight, covering the slope of the hills on the opposite side of the valley--a glorious picture, and one not readily to be erased from my memory. From this point, and under such a sky, she showed herself to the utmost advantage, and the atmosphere was so pure that even from this distance every detail was distinctly visible. The cathedral of St Gudule, standing upon a terrace, formed a striking feature. The tufted verdure of the trees on the ramparts enclosing the city enabled one easily to follow their outline along the summit of the heights, whilst on the face of the slope the ramparts themselves, with their venerable grey towers, gave additional interest to the scene; the houses, rising in terraces, as it were, tier above tier, and everywhere intermingled with foliage; innumerable churches and chapels; palaces, too, amongst which, most conspicuous, was that of Prince d’Aremberg and the Cour de Flandres, and in the lower town the beautiful Stadthuys;--all united to form the glorious picture.

In the vale below, the river Senne wound its way slowly along amidst green meadows, the surface of which was broken by long stripes of white linen, spread there to bleach. In the west and south it was closed by a belt of black forest--the ever-memorable Forest of Soigney. The Senne was ravishing--it seemed as if one could never tire of looking on it; and as I lingered to do so, the more prominent features in the history of that fair city came crowding on my mind, and, now that the scene of action lay before me, embodied themselves to my mind’s eye. At first the city seems to have been confined to the borders of the marsh, and thence gradually to have crept up the hillside, until at last it was circumscribed by a rampart--the lower part of the town being evidently the older, and of a different style entirely from the upper.

Descending the hill, I entered this lower town by the Barrière de Gand and a long winding narrow street, bordered on either side by houses of black stone, three storeys (generally) high, but of a mean appearance, without _trottoirs_ for the foot-passengers, and the mud above my horse’s fetlocks; a little farther on I passed the fish-market, and a fearful penance it was--for the strongest stomach, I should think, could hardly resist its noisome smell, arising from a fearful accumulation of garbage flung beneath the tables.

Passing along, I found the streets in this part of the town crowded with commissariat waggons, coming for or taking supplies to the neighbouring cantonments, so that between these and the multitude of Hanoverian soldiers it was not without difficulty that I made my way along and reached an expansion of the street where the Marché aux Herbes is held, much as it used to be in the fore street at Exeter ere the present market-place was built. The bustle, gaiety, groups of females, the colour and smell of flowers and herbs, &c., always make a vegetable-market an agreeable scene. This one was enhanced by the various uniforms of the British, Belgic, and Hanoverian soldiery, and the handsome shops surrounding it. These exhibited in their windows every variety of the choicest productions of India and Europe; and pre-eminent amongst them all were the jewellers and pipe-sellers, or tobacconists, with their splendid displays of meerschaums, Turkish pipes with amber mouth-pieces, rich tobacco-pouches, &c. &c. The Montagne de la Cour, though restricted after passing the market, still a broad street, ascended right in front; and at the foot of this a large hotel (d’Angleterre) occurred so opportunely that I rode into its court, and, leaving my orderly in charge of my horse, set off at once, eager to explore this new and interesting ground.

My first impulse was to seek the park, of which I had so often heard, and instinctively I ascended la Montagne de la Cour, which proved the direct road to it. At the top of the ascent I found myself in a pretty little square (Place Royale) surrounded by handsome houses, but having very much the appearance of pasteboard. Turning thence into a broad street, I found myself in a most magnificent square, far exceeding in beauty, if not in size, any of ours in London--pretty lawns and thick shrubberies, with fine trees, &c., enclosed by a handsome iron railing, and surrounded by fine houses, the façades ornamented by Ionic pilasters, and painted in delicate tints of buff, green, &c., or white, and the whole forming a splendid spectacle and delicious spot. The park is laid out in walks winding through shrubberies and dingles, affording varied and pleasing scenery, some part of the ground being broken and uneven. In the centre is a sort of pavilion where refreshments are sold, and near it is a sheet of water, &c. _Park_ is a misnomer; consider it a _square_, in our acceptation of the term, and it is one of the most beautiful in Europe. Its beauty is considerably increased by the old ramparts with their fine umbrageous trees overtopping by far those of the park, and completing one side instead of a row of houses. The glimpse I here got of those ramparts naturally attracted me thither, and I was delighted with the lovely, airy, and commanding promenade they afforded. This promenade round the ramparts is the most delightful imaginable, elevated as they are so much above the highest houses of the city (on the east and north-east sides), and overshadowed by stately elms, affording beautiful views over the city and neighbouring country, always having in the foreground some imposing and picturesque mass of ancient masonry, overrun with a rank vegetation of large-leaved weeds, &c.; some grey and venerable tower--a remnant of antiquity. Descending the hill on either hand, the height of these ramparts decreases to that of the ordinary fortifications of the middle ages; but here, in the lower part, the walls and towers in themselves are far more picturesque, and exhibit much greater antiquity. They are here, I suspect, the same that were built when the city was first fortified in 1044, whilst those above are the more modern fortifications of 1379. Above, as I have before mentioned, the ramparts present a stupendous mound, with large square towers, this elevation being there necessary to protect the city--lying as it does on a declivity--from the higher ground beyond; whilst here below they are only of moderate elevation and breadth, with round or octagonal towers, the masonry time-worn and sombre, almost to blackness, and eminently picturesque.

But this, my first visit, was too short, and there was too much to see to admit of lingering long on any one spot; so, reluctantly quitting the ramparts, I hurried with eager curiosity from street to street and square to square, catching a slight, and but a slight, glimpse of anything, yet delighted, and devouring all. There is a charm which I cannot describe in the contemplation of these heavy and old-fashioned yet picturesque structures, with their sculptures, pointed gables, and eccentric variety of windows, such as most of those (either Gothic, Flemish, or Spanish) with which La Grande Place is surrounded. Here, too, is that most beautiful building, the Hôtel de Ville, flanked by hexagonal towers, and surmounted by its celebrated belfry, rising to a height, it is said, of more than 360 feet; its construction is of open work, and it is impossible to imagine anything combining at once such majesty, grace, elegance, and lightness. One would scarcely imagine that a work so delicate could be enduring; and yet this lovely tower, even now in appearance fresh and perfect, has already stood more than three, nay, nearly four, centuries--having been built in 1445. The statue of St Michael which surmounts it would, in my opinion, be better away; yet this is a feature more vaunted than the elegant form of the building or its admirable workmanship. The saint stands upon one foot, and pirouettes with every breeze. The Hôtel de Ville was commenced in 1380. After a lapse of four centuries, and notwithstanding the boasted “march of intellect,” where is the man who could now sit down and conceive such a structure? Many there are, perhaps, who by help of books and existing examples, might compile something of the sort, but I doubt whether any modern architect be capable of the _original conception_; and I am sure that, spite of the ‘Mechanic’s Magazine’ and the present philosophical studies of our masons, none of them could produce more perfect or better work. Like painting, architecture has had its day. Sir Christopher Wren himself acknowledged his astonishment at the boldness of the arches of King’s College Chapel, Cambridge, and confessed his ignorance as to their construction and mode of placing the key-stones.

After all, the Hôtel de Ville is irregular in its construction, and the placing the tower at one extremity of the façade instead of the centre I have heard censured as a grievous fault;--I like it--there is originality even in that. The general effect is most imposing.

Nor is the varied throng frequenting this fine place on market-days unworthy of it,--their quaint and original costume harmonising well with the character of the architectural setting around. Many were my visits to Brussels, and always was I delighted. If I did not see all that I now speak of at that first one, _n’importe_. The effect of St Gudule’s (the cathedral) is in this respect very good, situated upon a terrace to which one ascends by a broad flight of stairs to the fine Gothic portal, flanked by two handsome towers, and looking out over the city on the country beyond. Up this flight of steps I did ascend with solemn pace and slow, and into its beautiful nave: but the celebrated sculptured pulpit obtained from me no more observation or admiration than those of Ghent and Bruges. The emotion I feel on entering a Gothic cathedral is of a nature too solemn to admit of dwelling upon, or even noticing, such things.

How strikingly Spanish are the charming Bruxellaises in their mantillas, gracefully crossed on the bosom! I have often heard and read that they are so, but had no recollection of the circumstance at the moment the fact struck me. The mantilla itself, so Spanish, has its testimony of their ancestry confirmed by the brilliant black eyes sparkling beneath it; and the prevalence of black dresses amongst the groups frequenting the park, or _allée-verte_, complete the illusion, and for a second we forget that these are not Andalusians. Never having been in company with any of the fair dames of Brussels, it would be presumption to say more than what I saw of them in public; my say, therefore, amounts to the having seen many lovely faces and graceful figures, though I had once foolishly fancied that all Flemish women must be of the same breed as Anne of Cleves, or the strapping wenches with whom Rubens and others have made us familiar--forgetting that, as the offspring of some of the finest men and handsomest women in Europe, the Austrians, Spaniards, and French, they ought to show well. From outward appearance it would be, perhaps, difficult to decide the origin; but in the ladies the Spanish blood generally seems to predominate.

In wandering about Brussels one is struck with the frequent occurrence of ecclesiastical ruins--these are generally the remains of monasteries suppressed at the Revolution in 1793. The extensive, and apparently once handsome, house of the Capucines exhibits now only a heap of rubbish, with about five or six feet of the massive walls here and there; another, of which the chapel remained pretty entire, was used by our commissariat as a magazine for hay, straw, &c. &c.

A more striking scene, perhaps, cannot be imagined than the _allée-verte_, with its long vista overarched by thickly-clothed branches of the stately elms lining it in double rows on either hand, the broad expanse of calm water covered by crowded and gaily-painted barges, ornamented with flags and streamers, and enlivened with music and singing. The spacious roads on each bank gay with carriages, equestrians, and numerous pedestrians--all apparently happy, consequently smiling and merry. I took this route one Sunday with the intention of visiting the Palace of Lavickens, but, alas! the luxury of lounging amidst the merry crowd under the shade of the elms, and amongst these joyous groups, detained one in such wise that, on arriving at the first lock, time no longer served, and my project was necessarily abandoned. As I turned homeward, the well-known overture to Lodoiska resounding from a neighbouring cabaret attracted me thither, and what was my surprise at finding the orchestra by which it was performed to consist of two pretty girls, each with a violin, whilst the old mother accompanied them on the violoncello. I afterwards heard these girls at a café near the Park, where, the audience being more refined, their performance was more careful. I thought their music exquisite, as well as their singing, which they sometimes mingled with it. Had their expressive black eyes and coquettish _cornettes_ of red-striped cotton anything to do with it? In my subsequent visits to Brussels, instead of continuing to frequent the Hôtel d’Angleterre, I found a brother officer whose horses were billeted on the Hôtel d’Aremberg, and who offered me stalls whenever I came to town--an arrangement so convenient that his Highness was patronised by me during the remainder of my sojourn at Strytem. I am not sure that I ever saw my princely host, but believe that a tall, thin, elderly man, with a powdered head, a most amiable countenance, and most gentlemanly bearing, who one day crossed the stable-yard whilst I was there, must have been the Prince. We looked at, but did not condescend to bow to, each other. His being on the wrong side of politics was the cause of his domain being thus invaded by strangers, and the billetmaster was careful to keep him full.

One of our lounges at Brussels now was the exhibition of paintings just opened--a pleasant thing enough, as all the world assembled, and there was a daily squeeze in the rooms. As for the articles we were supposed to come to look at, they were below mediocrity--mere daubs, mostly portraits, and many of British officers.

The 19th of May 1815 was with us a memorable day; our friend Sir Augustus Frazer gave a grand, and a very good, dinner to all the horse-artillery officers, English and German, on the occasion of his being appointed lieutenant-colonel of that arm. The dinner was at the Hôtel de la Paix, Place Royale; excellent claret, sauterne, and champagne flowed in abundance, and the utmost hilarity prevailed. Many of us then met for the first time, many after a separation of years, and many for the last time. My friend Bolton sat next to me. I had not seen him since we were cadets together, but a few weeks afterwards he was gathered to his fathers on the field of Waterloo. Frazer had promised me a bed at his friend’s (Lieutenant-Colonel Maxwell, 21st) lodgings; accordingly, slipping away from the party, I found my way thither somehow or other, and his servant showing me my room I was soon fast asleep. From this I was aroused some time after by persons coming into the room, and, to my infinite horror, found that I had occupied the bed intended for Bob Cairns. A long dialogue of regrets, &c. &c., ensued, but I continued obstinately to sleep, as indignant at having been deceived as they were at my usurpation; so in the morning I arose early, and left the house and explanation to Sir Augustus. A few days afterwards poor Bob also was gathered to his fathers. With an aching head I repaired to the beautiful promenade on the ramparts, and made the circuit of the city, lingering about in the fresh morning air until I thought people would be stirring, and then adjourned to my friend Bell’s, where, being renovated by an excellent breakfast, I mounted my horse and returned to Strytem--to see Brussels no more.

For some time past it had been generally understood that our army would advance into the French territory on or about the 20th June, in anticipation of which event I sometimes amused myself speculating on the probable events of the campaign. I drew out a written plan, in which we were to fight three battles and arrive in sixteen days at Paris, finishing by a grand _embrâsement_. This, as will be seen, was in some measure prophetic, since three battles were fought (Quatre Bras, Waterloo, and St Denis by the Prussians), and we did arrive in sixteen days, and the catastrophe was with difficulty prevented by the Duke.