little travels and roadside sketches-第7节

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heaven　that　monk　has　gone　out　of　sight！　　It　is　pleasant　to　look　at

the　smiling；　cheerful　old　Beguine；　and　think　no　more　of　yonder

livid　face。



One　of　the　many　convents　in　this　little　religious　city　seems　to　be

the　specimen…house；　which　is　shown　to　strangers；　for　all　the　guides

conduct　you　thither；　and　I　saw　in　a　book　kept　for　the　purpose　the

names　of　innumerable　Smiths　and　Joneses　registered。



A　very　kind；　sweet…voiced；　smiling　nun　（I　wonder；　do　they　always

choose　the　most　agreeable　and　best…humored　sister　of　the　house　to

show　it　to　strangers？）　came　tripping　down　the　steps　and　across　the

flags　of　the　little　garden…court；　and　welcomed　us　with　much

courtesy　into　the　neat　little　old…fashioned；　red…bricked；　gable…

ended；　shining…windowed　Convent　of　the　Angels。　　First　she　showed　us

a　whitewashed　parlor；　decorated　with　a　grim　picture　or　two　and　some

crucifixes　and　other　religious　emblems；　where；　upon　stiff　old

chairs；　the　sisters　sit　and　work。　　Three　or　four　of　them　were　still

there；　pattering　over　their　laces　and　bobbins；　but　the　chief　part

of　the　sisterhood　were　engaged　in　an　apartment　hard　by；　from　which

issued　a　certain　odor　which　I　must　say　resembled　onions：　it　was　in

fact　the　kitchen　of　the　establishment。



Every　Beguine　cooks　her　own　little　dinner　in　her　own　little　pipkin；

and　there　was　half　a　score　of　them；　sure　enough；　busy　over　their

pots　and　crockery；　cooking　a　repast　which；　when　ready；　was　carried

off　to　a　neighboring　room；　the　refectory；　where；　at　a　ledge…table

which　is　drawn　out　from　under　her　own　particular　cupboard；　each　nun

sits　down　and　eats　her　meal　in　silence。　　More　religious　emblems

ornamented　the　carved　cupboard…doors；　and　within；　everything　was

as　neat　as　neat　could　be：　shining　pewter…ewers　and　glasses；　snug

baskets　of　eggs　and　pats　of　butter；　and　little　bowls　with　about　a

farthing's…worth　of　green　tea　in　themfor　some　great　day　of　fete；

doubtless。　　The　old　ladies　sat　round　as　we　examined　these　things；

each　eating　soberly　at　her　ledge　and　never　looking　round。　　There

was　a　bell　ringing　in　the　chapel　hard　by。　　〃Hark！〃　said　our　guide；

〃that　is　one　of　the　sisters　dying。　　Will　you　come　up　and　see　the

cells？〃



The　cells；　it　need　not　be　said；　are　the　snuggest　little　nests　in

the　world；　with　serge…curtained　beds　and　snowy　linen；　and　saints

and　martyrs　pinned　against　the　wall。　　〃We　may　sit　up　till　twelve

o'clock；　if　we　like；〃　said　the　nun；　〃but　we　have　no　fire　and

candle；　and　so　what's　the　use　of　sitting　up？　　When　we　have　said　our

prayers　we　are　glad　enough　to　go　to　sleep。〃



I　forget；　although　the　good　soul　told　us；　how　many　times　in　the

day；　in　public　and　in　private；　these　devotions　are　made；　but　fancy

that　the　morning　service　in　the　chapel　takes　place　at　too　early　an

hour　for　most　easy　travellers。　　We　did　not　fail　to　attend　in　the

evening；　when　likewise　is　a　general　muster　of　the　seven　hundred；

minus　the　absent　and　sick；　and　the　sight　is　not　a　little　curious

and　striking　to　a　stranger。



The　chapel　is　a　very　big　whitewashed　place　of　worship；　supported　by

half　a　dozen　columns　on　either　side；　over　each　of　which　stands　the

statue　of　an　Apostle；　with　his　emblem　of　martyrdom。　　Nobody　was　as

yet　at　the　distant　altar；　which　was　too　far　off　to　see　very

distinctly；　but　I　could　perceive　two　statues　over　it；　one　of　which

（St。　Laurence；　no　doubt）　was　leaning　upon　a　huge　gilt　gridiron　that

the　sun　lighted　up　in　a　blazea　painful　but　not　a　romantic

instrument　of　death。　　A　couple　of　old　ladies　in　white　hoods　were

tugging　and　swaying　about　at　two　bell…ropes　that　came　down　into　the

middle　of　the　church；　and　at　least　five　hundred　others　in　white

veils　were　seated　all　round　about　us　in　mute　contemplation　until

the　service　began；　looking　very　solemn；　and　white；　and　ghastly；

like　an　army　of　tombstones　by　moonlight。



The　service　commenced　as　the　clock　finished　striking　seven：　the

organ　pealed　out；　a　very　cracked　and　old　one；　and　presently　some

weak　old　voice　from　the　choir　overhead　quavered　out　a　canticle；

which　done；　a　thin　old　voice　of　a　priest　at　the　altar　far　off　（and

which　had　now　become　quite　gloomy　in　the　sunset）　chanted　feebly

another　part　of　the　service；　then　the　nuns　warbled　once　more

overhead；　and　it　was　curious　to　hear；　in　the　intervals　of　the　most

lugubrious　chants；　how　the　organ　went　off　with　some　extremely

cheerful　military　or　profane　air。　　At　one　time　was　a　march；　at

another　a　quick　tune；　which　ceasing；　the　old　nuns　began　again；　and

so　sung　until　the　service　was　ended。



In　the　midst　of　it　one　of　the　white…veiled　sisters　approached　us

with　a　very　mysterious　air；　and　put　down　her　white　veil　close　to

our　ears　and　whispered。　　Were　we　doing　anything　wrong；　I　wondered？

Were　they　come　to　that　part　of　the　service　where　heretics　and

infidels　ought　to　quit　the　church？　　What　have　you　to　ask；　O　sacred；

white…veiled　maid？



All　she　said　was；　〃Deux　centiemes　pour　les　suisses；〃　which　sum　was

paid；　and　presently　the　old　ladies；　rising　from　their　chairs　one　by

one；　came　in　face　of　the　altar；　where　they　knelt　down　and　said　a

short　prayer；　then；　rising；　unpinned　their　veils；　and　folded　them

up　all　exactly　in　the　same　folds　and　fashion；　and　laid　them　square

like　napkins　on　their　heads；　and　tucked　up　their　long　black　outer

dresses；　and　trudged　off　to　their　convents。



The　novices　wear　black　veils；　under　one　of　which　I　saw　a　young；

sad；　handsome　face；　it　was　the　only　thing　in　the　establishment　that

was　the　least　romantic　or　gloomy：　and；　for　the　sake　of　any　reader

of　a　sentimental　turn；　let　us　hope　that　the　poor　soul　has　been

crossed　in　love；　and　that　over　some　soul…stirring　tragedy　that

black　curtain　has　fallen。



Ghent　has；　I　believe；　been　called　a　vulgar　Venice。　　It　contains

dirty　canals　and　old　houses　that　must　satisfy　the　most　eager

antiquary；　though　the　buildings　are　not　quite　in　so　good

preservation　as　others　that　may　be　seen　in　the　Netherlands。　　The

commercial　bustle　of　the　place　seems　considerable；　and　it　contains

more　beer…shops　than　any　city　I　ever　saw。



These　beer…shops　seem　the　only　amusement　of　the　inhabitants；　until；

at　least；　the　theatre　shall　be　built；　of　which　the　elevation　is　now

complete；　a　very　handsome　and　extensive　pile。　　There　are　beer…shops

in　the　cellars　of　the　houses；　which　are　frequented；　it　is　to　be

presumed；　by　the　lower　sort；　there　are　beer…shops　at　the　barriers；

where　the　citizens　and　their　families　repair；　and　beer…shops　in　the

town；　glaring　with　gas；　with　long　gauze　blinds；　however；　to　hide

what　I　hear　is　a　rather　questionable　reputation。



Our　inn；　the　〃Hotel　of　the　Post；〃　a　spacious　and　comfortable

residence；　is　on　a　little　place　planted　round　with　trees；　and　that

seems　to　be　the　Palais　Royal　of　the　town。　　Three　clubs；　which　look

from　without　to　be　very　comfortable；　ornament　this　square　with

their　gas…lamps。　　Here　stands；　too；　the　theatre　that　is　to　be；

there　is　a　cafe；　and　on　evenings　a　military　band　plays　the　very

worst　music　I　ever　remember　to　have　heard。　　I　went　out　to…night　to

take　a　quiet　walk　upon　this　place；　and　the　horrid　brazen　discord　of

these　trumpeters　set　me　half　mad。



I　went　to　the　cafe　for　refuge；　passing　on　the　way　a　subterraneous

beer…shop；　where　men　and　women　were　drinking　to　the　sweet　music　of

a　cracked　barrel…organ。　　They　take　in　a　couple　of　French　papers　at

this　cafe；　and　the　same　number　of　Belgian　journals。　　You　may

imagine　how　well　the　latter　are　informed；　when　you　hear　that　the

battle　of　Boulogne；　fought　by　the　immortal　Louis　Napoleon；　was　not

known　here　until　some　gentlemen　out　of　Norfolk　brought　the　news

from　London；　and　until　it　had　travelled　to　Paris；　and　from　Paris　to

Brussels。　　For　a　whole　hour　I　could　not　get　a　newspaper　at　the

cafe。　　The　horrible　brass　band　in　the　meantime　had　quitted　the

place；　and　now；　to　amuse　the　Ghent　citizens；　a　couple　of　little

boys　came　to　the　cafe　and　set　up　a　small　concert：　one　played　ill　on

the　guitar；　but　sang；　very　sweetly；　plaintive　French　ballads；　the

other　was　the　comic　singer；　he　carried　about　with　him　a　queer；

long；　damp…looking；　mouldy　white　hat；　with　no　brim。　　〃Ecoutez；〃

said　the　waiter　to　me；　〃il　va　faire　l'Anglais；　c'est　tres　drole！〃

The　little　rogue　mounted　his　immense　brimless　hat；　and；　thrusting

his　thumbs　into　the　armholes　of　his　waistcoat；　began　to　faire

l'Anglais；　with　a　song　in　which　swearing　was　the　principal　joke。

We　all　laughed　at　this；　and　indeed　the　little　rascal　seemed　to　have

a　good　deal　of　humor。



How　they　hate　us；　these　foreigners；　in　Belgium　as　much　as　in

France！　　What　lies　they　tell　of　us；　how　gladly　they　would　see　us

humiliated！　　Honest　folks　at　home　over　their　port…wine　say；　〃Ay；

ay；　and　very　good　reason　they　have　too。　　National　vanity；　sir；

woundedwe　have　beaten　them　so　often。〃　　My　dear　sir；　there　is　not

a　greater　error　in　the　world　than　this。　　They　hate　you　because　you

are　stupid；　hard　to　please；　and　intolerably　insolent　and　air…

giving。　　I　walked　with　an　Englishman　yesterd