LETTER III.
THE DUCHESS OF TYRCONNEL TO MRS. CARTWRIGHT.
Dated, Antwerp, June, 169—
My dear Madam,
"Here we are at length arrived; we have been in this city a week, and keep our head quarters at the Golden Lion, one of their principal inns, where we are most agreeably and comfortably accommodated.
"Long since, indeed, had we planned and intended visiting this former capital of Flanders, 'the Merchant City,' whose wealth once resembled ancient Tyre, 'whose merchants were princes, whose traffickers were the honourable of the earth!'[46] But alas, how fallen is this even still magnificent city from its pristine state of grandeur, opulence, and population! that I should be inclined to apostrophize it in the words of Jeremiah, 'How doth the city sit solitary, that was full of people! How is she become a widow!—she that was great among the nations, and princess among the provinces!'
"We had indeed long intended and projected a visit to this ancient, interesting, and magnificent city; but that which is of easy performance, what is in our daily power to execute, how often do we delay and procrastinate to perform? So that too frequently in human life such intentions are rarely or never accomplished!
"Our mode of travelling from Brussels to this city was by the Trëkschuit, (literally draw-boat,) or passage boat, which is drawn by two horses; it was, in sooth, a most stately and magnificent barge which conveyed us, with a handsomely furnished cabin beneath; the upper part of the deck, appropriated for the gens de condition, was ornamented with a tasteful awning of white and gold trellice work; the canopy which surrounded it intended alike to keep aloof rain or sunshine. The whole of this splendid barge was gilt, and most tastefully decorated; while at the prow the Belgic lion (the armorial bearing of Flanders) blazed forth in burnished gold, flinging its splendid image upon the bosom of the waters as majestically it moved along its watery way. I must indeed say that it strongly reminded me of the beautiful passage in our immortal bard of Avon, where he describes, with so much poetic force and fire, the progress of Cleopatra sailing down the river Cydnus. But pray, I beseech you, do not think that I conceive the duke to be Marc Antony, no more than I compare myself to Cleopatra, although our stately barge reminded me of hers!
'The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Burn'd on the water; the poop was beaten gold! &c.'
At the further end of the vessel, from the awning of the Trëkschuit, were stationed a band of minstrels, who, upon the bell having been rung to announce our departure, right merrily commenced the harmony of sweet sounds, repeating songs and glees, accompanied by musical instruments, every half hour, which fully broke the monotony of our voyage, rendered so agreeable by such sweet melody as to shorten apparently the distance from Brussels to Antwerp. And as to our dinner, which we had piping hot and excellent, in the cabin below, Sir Patricius Placebo, who is quite au fait on such occasions, loudly exclaimed, (and he is indeed, accredit me, my good friend, by no means an indifferent judge,) 'I vow, 'fore Jove,' said he, 'the dinner was excellent, every thing in its kind was good, the wines excellent, and saving and except at the duke's mansion in the Rue Ducale, he had,' he avowed, 'not partaken of so delicious a dinner since his sejoùr in Flanders!'
"This he concluded, of course, with his never failing favourite Greek quotation—
'DOSS MOI, TANE STIGMEN!'
and his accustomed chorus: 'Ha, humph!—Ha, hum!'
"Although diminished in her population, and depressed in her commerce, Antwerp is still a noble city. You need not, however, my dear friend, apprehend that I shall enter into a critical detail, which fault I am rather apprehensive (although your kindness expresses the contrary) I have already committed in my two former letters, which have engrossed too much of your time and attention, by my elaborate description of other cities; but believe me truly that in what now I write, I shall be both brief and sententious in this rapid sketch which I am about to undertake:—
"The view of Antwerp, seen by the intervention of the river Scheldt, is extremely imposing and magnificent, its numerous domes, cupolas, palaces, and spires, and towering above all, over town and tide, the exalted spire of Notre Dame, the finest in the world, strikes the spectator with awe and admiration. This venerable city was once the emporium and the envy of all Europe; but now, alas! solemn, gloomy silence, pervades her splendid, spacious, but unfrequented streets; the busy hum of men no more is heard amid her deserted stately palaces, and silent and solitary that noble exchange,[47] where once were congregated the most wealthy merchants of the world!
"You may possibly have heard of the well known and authenticated fact of a wealthy merchant of this city, by name Jean Deans, who nobly supplied the emperor Charles V. with the immense loan of two millions of money; the merchant then prepared a magnificent banquet, which he gave upon the emperor's self-invitation; when the magnificent merchant, at the termination of the repast, flinging the bond into a spicy conflagration of cinnamon, exclaimed the meanwhile—'I feel, Sire, sufficiently repaid by the honour which your Majesty has so graciously this day conferred upon me; fire has cancelled the imperial obligation. However, Sire, I am your debtor now, which I ever shall remain, for the honour which your Majesty has this day conferred on me!'
"Antwerp has produced such an host of illustrious men, that to enumerate all would truly prove a tiresome task. The names of Bomberg, Plantin, and Moretus, are identified with the art of printing. Antwerp also gave birth to Grammaye, the historian; to Teniers, the Proteus of his art; to Sneyders; and likewise to Jordaens; while the mighty names of Rubens[48] and Vandyke fling a halo of glory around the ancient city of Antwerp.
"Already we have visited every place worthy of been seen, have viewed every object of curiosity: museums, libraries, cabinets, galleries, and collections of paintings: have inspected palaces, monasteries, churches, and cathedrals, where are to be seen many fine paintings of the first class of excellence. Yesterday we visited the royal academy of paintings, and in the chamber where the professors assemble, is placed the memorable chair that had once belonged to 'the prince of painters,' to the great and unequalled Rubens; it is formed of carved wood, surmounted with lions' heads, and covered with red Morocco leather, with the initials of his illustrious name, and his armorial bearings placed on the back of it. My enthusiastic Adelaide fairly enthroned herself therein, and there she sat, and would still have sat, and how long the genii of poesy and painting can only tell, until I had to give my dear daughter a most maternal tap upon the shoulder to admonish that we were waiting for her.
"Next we visited the altar and tomb of Rubens, which is placed in the church of Saint James; here my enwrapt enthusiastic Adelaide was so delighted, that I really expected every moment to see her doff her sandals, and, bare-kneed, advance a pilgrim of genius to do homage at the shrine of this mighty man. The tomb and altar are highly and richly decorated with marble. A splendid painting from his own inimitable pencil adorns the altar, which forms the central compartment; it represents the infant Saviour placed on the knees of his mother; Saint Jerome is stationed on the right of the Virgin; two female figures, which are portraits of the two wives of Rubens, Elizabeth Brants and Helena Forman, are placed before the principal figure, which represents the painter himself in armour, personifying Saint George; the dragon, pierced to death, lies at his feet, while, with much dignity and the triumph of victory, he holds erect to heaven his triumphant banner. In a niche, crowning the monument, is placed a marble statue of the Virgin, looking up in the ardent act of devotion, and holding with fervour to her breast a crucifix. This famous statue was sculptured by Francis Flamand, and brought from Rome by Rubens himself; it is a work of great excellence, but placed quite too high for the eye sufficiently to appreciate its superior merit.
"But, my dear friend, were I to dwell upon and detail all the various and excellent specimens of the works of art to be witnessed in this ancient and venerable city, I should fill volumes, and weary you to death. A few more 'last words' concerning Rubens, and I have done.
"To-day we visited the site of the palace which had belonged to this most distinguished and accomplished character. The palace no more exists, but some few shattered arches and architectural remains in his garden are still to be seen, and upon these we gazed, as on holy relics, with awe and respect.
"This prince of painters was a learned scholar, artist, politician, and a finished gentleman; ennobled by genius, birth, and rank, this distinguished man was selected as the ambassador of renowned kings, and decorated by them with honours, well and deservedly bestowed; he returned at the conclusion of his embassy to his native land. His education had been liberal, and his erudition was great, he could fluently speak six different languages; his manners, habits, and modes of life, were those of a prince. His admiration of men of talent was as unbounded as was his generosity manifested to them;—his friendship for the great Vandyke is well known.
"This poor tribute I could not but pay to the illustrious Rubens, whose virtues and whose genius must ever elicit the praise and the admiration of this and every succeeding age!
"I had the pleasure to receive your very kind and friendly letter from Bath, but grieve to find that the good bishop has had so severe a visitation from his old inveterate tormentor, the gout; however, I trust that the healing waters and springs of Baiæ may fully aid his recovery, and renovate his health.
"You must know that my Adelaide has received proposals in marriage from no less than three personages: from the eldest son of the Earl of Aylesbury, which she instantly very properly declined, for he was a prating coxcomb, a painted popinjay. The next matrimonial proposition came from the Duke d'Aremberg, a most amiable young nobleman, an alliance, in every respect, 'most devoutly' to be wished for, and gladly accepted. But so thought not Adelaide. Her father and I, without forcing her inclinations, were most desirous that this union should take place; we considered his elevated rank, the first duke in Brabant, his lordly fortune, his great personal worth, added to his numerous accomplishments. But strange and unaccountable to relate, without hesitation, my Adelaide refused him! The third matrimonial proposal came from 'the knight of Chester walls,' 'le chevalier inconnu,' but now well known as Sir David Bruce, a baronet of Nova-Scotia; and which offer, it appears, was most graciously accepted by Adelaide, but under correction and approbation of her parents. Which said match is most likely never to be accomplished, inasmuch that the Duke of Tyrconnel has solemnly declared, that until his attainder is rescinded, and a free and unqualified permission given him by the higher powers to return to his native country and his paternal towers, he is determined never to give his assent to the union of Sir David Bruce with the Lady Adelaide. Thus I fear that the lovers have placed themselves in a very awkward and distressing predicament, as no two events can possibly be more distant, and hardly ever expected to be attainable!
"It is impossible that I should not look up with the highest respect to the character and the noble qualities of the Duke of Tyrconnel, the unshaken friend of his sovereign, whether seated on his throne, or an exile from his realms; uncorrupted by prosperity, unshaken and unchanged by adversity; comporting himself with that equanimity of temper, that what Horace[49] says of Aristippus would apply to him—one whom every change, whom every station, and every event became!
"How days, and months, and years, my friend, advance, proceed, and are gone like the track of an arrow through the buoyant air, or a keel cutting its foaming course through the vasty deep! Alas, my dear,
'We take no note of time but by its loss.'
Seven years have passed by since our sojourn in Brabant—sad and solitary;—oh no, I cannot be so wicked—so ungrateful, as to assert it has been; that portion of time having fled in the happy home of my beloved Lord, and along with my alter idem, my second self, as Cicero expresses it, my adored Adelaide. Oh, unjust indeed I should be to complain; however, I may confess, en passant, that the climate of Brussels is somewhat humid, especially during the autumnal months; and the society somewhat tristé, with a notable lack of public amusements; but believe me I truly feel no loss in the deprivation of the latter. Oh, my friend, once more freely to breathe my native mountain air!—once more to reach the verdant isle, and again to inhabit the towers of Tyrconnel! then were my Adelaide suitably mated and matched, my sum of human happiness would be consummated. We purpose staying here a few days longer, and then set out on our return, by land, to our mansion in the Rue Ducale at Brussels.
"I know well, my dear and kind friend, how warmly interested you and the good bishop are in every thing regarding or connected with our interest and happiness, and whenever I can write to you upon the subject, although poor exiles as we are, I feel not very sanguine in my hopes of having cause of speedily so doing; yet should a change in our fortunes occur, write I shall assuredly—you may depend upon it!
"Having now, I fear, fairly tormented you with this long and tiresome epistle, I shall not add another word but what I know you will readily believe, which is, that wherever I am, wherever I go, be assured that I remain
Your constant and truly
Affectionate Friend,
(Signed) Katherine Tyrconnel."
"P.S.—The duke, Adelaide, and my sisters, desire their kindest remembrance to you and your excellent prelate."
CHAPTER XII.
Sweet are the uses of adversity;
Which, like the toad, ugly and venemous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head:
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,