CHAPTER XXII. BRUSSELS—ROYAL CHILDREN—THE GREAT EXHIBITION IN LONDON—HOME AGAIN: A PREACHER—UNLUCKY RIOTERS—VISIT TO PARIS—MICHEL PERRIN.
On my way home from the Rhineland, I stopped for two days in Brussels, the second of which happened to be the day on which the anniversary of the attainment of Belgian independence was celebrated. I recollect seeing a monument which had been erected to the memory of those who had been killed in the ranks of the Belgian revolutionists, and amongst the names inscribed on it I observed "Corcoran, Irlandais," so that the Emerald Isle was not totally unrepresented on the occasion. Brussels was very full at the time of the fête, and in its crowded streets and squares a tolerable idea might be obtained of the confusion of tongues incident to the abortive attempt to erect the Tower of Babel. German, French, Flemish, English, Italian, Spanish, and the various languages of the more northern countries were abundantly ventilated, and with an effect which I thought extremely amusing. The city presented a very martial appearance, for not only the regular troops but the national guards also of the kingdom were made available for a grand review by their sovereign, Leopold the First. Each regiment had its "vivandieres," and I was informed that those of the national guards were women of the same social rank as the members of the regiment to which they were attached. Their costume was as much assimilated to the uniforms of their respective regiments as female attire would permit. The grenadiers had vivandieres of a height proportionally tall; the other regiments were accompanied by women, perhaps I should say ladies, of lesser stature, but all of them were, in my opinion, unexceptionally beautiful, and of most graceful and decorous demeanor.
At the time to which I refer, 1851, I was impressed with the conviction that no people could be more attached to a sovereign than the Belgians were to Leopold, and to his family. I did not form that opinion from the loud and spontaneous acclamations which greeted him and his children in the streets and at the review, but from the joyous expression which irradiated the countenances of all ranks and conditions, and impressed me with the belief that their loyalty was not merely respectful, but thoroughly sincere and affectionate. Regal splendor may dazzle its beholders, and popular demonstrations may excite and perhaps enlist many of those who witness their display; but I venture to assert that human nature can produce no spectacle more worthy of being admired and remembered than the cordial and enthusiastic reception of a benign and beloved monarch, by contented, happy, and loyal subjects.