the country about to be the theatre of war. Though I had never before visited the Continent (except with the British army in the invasion of Holland in 1799, when I began my military career), yet I was not wholly unprepared for travelling, having united to a classical, as well as military education, a tolerable knowledge of history, and a partial acquirement of the principal modern European languages, which I had begun to learn when very young and which I kept up during my leisure hours in India, which, like those of Don Quixote, were many. I preferred this study infinitely to that of the Asiatic languages, for which I never felt any taste, as I dislike bombast, hyperbole and exaggeration; and though an ardent admirer of the Muses, I never could find pleasure in what Voltaire terms "le bon style oriental, ou l'on fait danser les montagnes et les collines," and I prefer the amatory effusions of Ovid to those of the great King Solomon himself.
The war will no doubt commence in Belgium, and of course the Emperor Napoleon will be the assailant, for it cannot be supposed that after the act of ban passed against him by the Amphictyons of Vienna he will remain tranquil, and not strike the first blow, which may render him master of Belgium and its resources.
We embarked at Ramsgate on the first of May for Ostend on board of a small vessel bound thither. Our fellow passengers were two officers of dragoons, several commissaries with their servants, horses, etc. After a passage of twenty-four hours, we entered the harbour of Ostend at one o'clock the following day. Ostend, once so flourishing and opulent, has long since fallen into decay; its usual dullness is however just now interrupted by the bustle of troops landing to join the allied army. Cavalry, infantry, artillery, horses, guns, stores, etc., are landed every minute. The quays are the only parts of this city which can boast of handsome buildings; the fortifications seem to be much out of repair; in fact, the aggrandizement of Antwerp occasioned necessarily the deterioration of Ostend.
The General and myself went to put up at the Tête d'Or, the only inn where we could procure beds; and we embarked early next morning at the embouchure of the canal on board of a treckschuyt which conveyed us in three hours to Bruges.
The landscape between Ostend and Bruges is extremely monotonous, it being a uniformly flat country; yet it is pleasing to the eye at this season of the year from the verdure of the plains, which are all appropriated to pasturage, and from the appearance of the different villages and towns, of which the eye can embrace a considerable number. There is a good road on the banks of the canal, and the troops, on their line of march, enlivened much the scene. Bruges, formerly the grand mart and emporium of the commerce of the East, not only for the Low Countries, but for all the North of Europe, seems, if we may judge from the state of the buildings and the stillness that prevails, to be also in a state of decline. We however had only time to visit the Hotel de Ville and to remark the immense height of the steeple on the Grande Place. We observed a number of pretty women in the streets and in the shops employed in lace making. Bruges has been at all times renowned for the beauty of the female sex, and this brought to my recollection a passage in Schiller's tragedy of the Maid of Orleans, wherein the Duke of Burgundy says that the greatest boast of Bruges is the beauty of its women.
Another treckschuyt was to start at twelve o'clock for Ghent; but we preferred going by land and General Wilson hired a carriage for that purpose. The distance is about thirty miles. The road from Bruges to Ghent or Gand is perfectly straight, lined with trees and paved like a street. The country is quite flat, and though there is nothing to bound the horizon, the trees on each side of the road intercept the view.
We arrived at Ghent about six in the afternoon of the 4th and had some difficulty in finding room, as the different hotels were filled with officers of the allied army; but at length, after many ineffectual applications at several, we obtained admission at the Hotel de Flandre, where we took possession of a double-bedded room, the only one unoccupied.
Gand seems to be a very neat, clean and handsome city, with an air of magnificence about it. The Grande Place is very striking, and the promenades are aligned with trees. We inspected the exterior of several public buildings and visited the interior of several churches. In the cathedral we had the honour of seeing at High Mass his most Christian Majesty, Monsieur and the Comte de Blacas, Vicomte de Chateaubriand and others, composing the Court of notre Père de Gand, as Louis XVIII is humorously termed by the French, from his having fixed his head-quarters here. A great many French officers who have followed his fortunes are also here, but they seem principally to belong to the Gardes du Corps. A number of military attended the service in the cathedral in order to witness the devotions of the Bourbon family. Monsieur has all the appearance of a worn out debauchee, and to see him with a missal in his hand and the strange contrite face he assumes, is truly ridiculous. These princes, instigated no doubt by the priests, make a great parade of their sanctity, for which however those who are acquainted with their character will not give them much credit. But religious cant is the order of the day intra et extra Iliacos muros, abroad as well as in England. The King of France takes the lead, having in view no doubt the advice of Buckingham to Richard III:
A pray'r book in your hand, my Lord, were well,
For on that ground I'll make an holy descant.
and M. de Chateaubriand will no doubt trumpet forth the devotion and Christian humility of his master. Those, however, who are at all acquainted with this prince's habits, and are not interested in palliating or concealing them, insinuate that his devotions at the table are more sincere than at the altar and that, like the Giant Margutte in the Morgante Maggiore of Pulci, he places more faith and reliance on a cappone lesso ossia arrosto than on the consecrated but less substantial wafer.[2]
After contemplating this edifying spectacle, we returned to our inn, and the next morning after breakfast we set out on our journey to Bruxelles. The road is exactly similar to that between Bruges and Gand, but the country appears to be richer and more diversified, and many country houses were observable on the road side. We passed thus several neat villages. At one o'clock we stopped at Alost to refresh our horses and dine. At the table d'hôte were a number of French officers belonging to the Gardes du Corps. On entering into conversation with one of them, I found that he as well as several others of them had served under Napoleon, and had even been patronised and promoted by him; but I suppose that being the sons of the ancient noblesse they thought that gratitude to a parvenu like him was rather too plebeian a virtue. Some of them, however, with whom I conversed after dinner seemed to regret the step they had taken. "If we are successful," said they, "it can only be by means of the Allied Armies, and who knows what conditions they may impose on France? If we should be unsuccessful, we are exiled probably for life from our country." During dinner, two pretty looking girls with musical instruments entered the hall, and regaled our ears with singing some romances, among which were Dunois le Troubadour and La Sentinelle. They sang with much taste and feeling. I surmise this is not the only profession they exercise, if I might judge from the doux yeux they occasionally directed to some of the officers. These girls did not at least seem by their demeanour as if likely to incur the anathema of Rinaldo in the Orlando Furioso:
meritamente muoro Una crudele,
but rather more disposed to
dar vita all'amator fidele.[3]
Alost is a neat, clean town or large village, and the same description will serve for all the towns and villages in Brabant and Flanders, as they are built on the same plan. We arrived at Bruxelles late in the evening and put up at the Hotel d'Angleterre.
This morning, the General and myself went to pay our respects to the Gran Capitano of the Holy League, and we left our cards. He is, I hear, very confident of the result of the campaign, and no doubt he has for him the prayers of all the pious in England against those atheistical fellows the French; and these prayers will surely elicit a "host of angels" to come down to aid in the destruction of the Pandemonium of Paris where Satan's lieutenant sits enthroned. The reflecting
