CHAPTER VII.

READER,perhapsyouwereneverinBelgium?Haplyyoudon’tknowthephysiognomyofthecountry?Youhavenotitslineamentsdefineduponyourmemory,asIhavethemonmine? Three—nayfour—pictureslinethefour-walledcellwherearestoredformetherecordsofthepast.First,Eton.Allinthatpictureisinfarperspective,receding,diminutivebutfreshlycoloured,green,dewy,withaspringsky,piledwithglitteringyetshowerycloudsformychildhoodwasnotallsunshine—ithaditsovercast,itscold,itsstormyhours.Second,X——,huge,dingythecanvascrackedandsmokedayellowsky,sootycloudsnosun,noazuretheverdureofthesuburbsblightedandsullied—averydrearyscene. Third,BelgiumandIwillpausebeforethislandscape.Astothefourth,acurtaincoversit,whichImayhereafterwithdraw,ormaynot,assuitsmyconvenienceandcapacity.Atanyrate,forthepresentitmusthangundisturbed.Belgium!nameunromanticandunpoetic,yetnamethatwheneverutteredhasinmyearasound,inmyheartanecho,suchasnootherassemblageofsyllables,howeversweetorclassic,canproduce.Belgium!Irepeattheword,nowasIsitalonenearmidnight.Itstirsmyworldofthepastlikeasummonstoresurrectionthegravesunclose,thedeadareraisedthoughts,feelings,memoriesthatslept,areseenbymeascendingfromtheclouds—haloedmostofthem—butwhileIgazeontheirvapouryforms,andstrivetoascertaindefinitelytheiroutline,thesoundwhichwakenedthemdies,andtheysink,eachandall,likealightwreathofmist,absorbedinthemould,recalledtourns,resealedinmonuments.Farewell,luminousphantoms! ThisisBelgium,reader.Look!don’tcallthepictureaflatoradullone—itwasneitherflatnordulltomewhenIfirstbeheldit.WhenIleftOstendonamildFebruarymorning,andfoundmyselfontheroadtoBrussels,nothingcouldlookvapidtome.Mysenseofenjoymentpossessedanedgewhettedtothefinest,untouched,keen,exquisite.IwasyoungIhadgoodhealthpleasureandIhadnevermetnoindulgenceofhershadenervatedorsatedonefacultyofmynature.LibertyIclaspedinmyarmsforthefirsttime,andtheinfluenceofhersmileandembracerevivedmylifelikethesunandthewestwind.Yes,atthatepochIfeltlikeamorningtravellerwhodoubtsnotthatfromthehillheisascendingheshallbeholdaglorioussunrisewhatifthetrackbestrait,steep,andstony?heseesitnothiseyesarefixedonthatsummit,flushedalready,flushedandgilded,andhavinggaineditheiscertainofthescenebeyond.Heknowsthatthesunwillfacehim,thathischariotisevennowcomingovertheeasternhorizon,andthattheheraldbreezehefeelsonhischeekisopeningforthegod’scareeraclear,vastpathofazure,amidstcloudssoftaspearlandwarmasflame.Difficultyandtoilweretobemylot,butsustainedbyenergy,drawnonbyhopesasbrightasvague,Ideemedsuchalotnohardship.Imountednowthehillinshadetherewerepebbles,inequalities,briarsinmypath,butmyeyeswerefixedonthecrimsonpeakabovemyimaginationwaswiththerefulgentfirmamentbeyond,andIthoughtnothingofthestonesturningundermyfeet,orofthethornsscratchingmyfaceandhands. Igazedoften,andalwayswithdelight,fromthewindowofthediligence(these,beitremembered,werenotthedaysoftrainsandrailroads).Well!andwhatdidIsee?Iwilltellyoufaithfully.Green,reedyswampsfieldsfertilebutflat,cultivatedinpatchesthatmadethemlooklikemagnifiedkitchen-gardensbeltsofcuttrees,formalaspollardwillows,skirtingthehorizonnarrowcanals,glidingslowbytheroad-sidepaintedFlemishfarmhousessomeverydirtyhovelsagray,deadskywetroad,wetfields,wethouse-tops:notabeautiful,scarcelyapicturesqueobjectmetmyeyealongthewholerouteyettome,allwasbeautiful,allwasmorethanpicturesque.Itcontinuedfairsolongasdaylightlasted,thoughthemoistureofmanyprecedingdampdayshadsoddenthewholecountryasitgrewdark,however,therainrecommenced,anditwasthroughstreamingandstarlessdarknessmyeyecaughtthefirstgleamofthelightsofBrussels.Isawlittleofthecitybutitslightsthatnight.Havingalightedfromthediligence,afiacreconveyedmetotheHotelde——,whereIhadbeenadvisedbyafellow-travellertoputuphavingeatenatraveller’ssupper,Iretiredtobed,andsleptatraveller’ssleep. NextmorningIawokefromprolongedandsoundreposewiththeimpressionthatIwasyetinX——,andperceivingittobebroaddaylightIstartedup,imaginingthatIhadoversleptmyselfandshouldbebehindtimeatthecounting-house.Themomentaryandpainfulsenseofrestraintvanishedbeforetherevivedandrevivingconsciousnessoffreedom,as,throwingbackthewhitecurtainsofmybed,Ilookedforthintoawide,loftyforeignchamberhowdifferentfromthesmallanddingy,thoughnotuncomfortable,apartmentIhadoccupiedforanightortwoatarespectableinninLondonwhilewaitingforthesailingofthepacket!Yetfarbeitfrommetoprofanethememoryofthatlittledingyroom!It,too,isdeartomysoulforthere,asIlayinquietanddarkness,IfirstheardthegreatbellofSt.Paul’stellingLondonitwasmidnight,andwelldoIrecallthedeep,deliberatetones,sofullchargedwithcolossalphlegmandforce.Fromthesmall,narrowwindowofthatroom,IfirstsawTHEdome,loomingthroughaLond