THE CARILLONS. "Ask for what end the Heavenly bodies shine? 357 ESSAY ON MAN. What thinks the coronetted Dame about the bevy of overworked and fevered damsels in their lamplit Attic whose cheeks have been robbed of their bloom, whose eyes of slumber, and whose limbs of rest by that night-long toil demanded for the forced production of her Gala Robe? what deems the Gourmand of tempestuous seas, and shattered barks, of the peril and perhaps the loss of human life by which that unctuous piece of the Turbot fin embalmed in Lobster sauce attained his watery palate?-and how little did I reflect (when yesterday enchanted with the Carillons of Saint Rombaud's, I listened as to some first rate performer on the plastic keys of the pianoforte)-how little did I reflect that every note of that Aerial Harmony which, floating from the Cathedral Belfroy over the streets of Malines, converted the whole City into one vast Concertroom, was the result of painful-aye agonizing human Labour! How little did I think that 358 PAINS OF MUSIC. those "Corals for grown Gentlemen,”—(as Dr. Burney so happily terms them)—were literally produced under that dread primal curse upon all Human Effort,—“ In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread till thou return unto the ground." Nothing important, or beautiful, or admirable, to be achieved without Pain !— The erudite Historian of Music thus mentions the labours of a Carilloneur, whose distinguished genius would seem to have merited a less toilsome, or at least a more honourable employment. "If M. Pothoff had been put into Dr. Dominecetti's hottest human caldron for an hour, he could not have perspired more violently than he did after a quarter of an hour of this furious exercise. He stripped to his shirt, put on his nightcap, and trussed up his sleeves for this execution; and he said he was forced to go to bed the instant it was over, in order to prevent his catching cold, as well as to recover himself; he being usually so much exhausted as to be utterly unable to speak!" Ostend, 18th November, 1844. WE should have quitted our very comfortable quarters, in the Hotel de Flandres, at Ostend, with considerable reluctance, but for the nearing prospect of our long abandoned but ever beloved Home. The day was most propitious, the passage THE CATHEDRAL CITY. 359 expeditious; and any little ennui or anxiety we might chance to experience, while on board, was pleasantly mitigated, if not thoroughly relieved, by the interesting amusement we derived from a most excellent round of cold boiled Beef, and a tankard of unimpeachable Porter. How different was my situation, when, five years back, I approached, from a similar Tour, and in the very same direction, the gay, hospitable, picturesque Harbour which is now my Home! I was then not only a Pilgrim, but a Stranger; I am now a Neighbour and a Citizen. I was then perfectly new to the "Sea Change," which I was destined to suffer, but now I am as thoroughly habituated to its romantic character and exciting incidents as if I had resided beneath these Silvery Rampires all my life-time ;-for I was born in a mighty old Minster Town,- Where the old Rooks cawed, and the Jackdaws chicked, And enormous Trees, in their Druid array, Wrapt up the deep Aisles from the dazzle of Day; As the Sunlight or Moonlight glittered thereon ;- Resembled a hagridden Ogre's snore, While the Weathercocks whirled, in the azure sky, And the midnight Owl, from the TANTHONY TOWER, 360 THE SEA-CHANGE. Welcomed the moonshiney hunting hour;— And Ghosts, that gibbered and squealed, (poor Souls!—) Bewildered my head to my heart's content. But now I have set up my Staff by the Sea; When calm with a snivel, when rough with a shout: The Brandy at Sea, and the Sharks on shore,— Your Dreams turn fishey; you see, when you nod, The Mackarel Woman's your Faerie Queen;— And T. H. W. |