We rambled for a while through the covered way, over the glacis and along the counterscarp, and listened to the guide as he detailed to us, in already accustomed words, how the siege had gone. Then we got into the private apartments of the general, and, having dexterously shaken off our attendant, wandered at large among the deserted rooms.
“It is clear that no one ever comes here,” said I.
“No,” said the Rev. Augustus; “it seems not; and to tell the truth, I don’t know why any one should come. The chambers in themselves are not attractive.”
What he said was true. They were plain, ugly, square, unfurnished rooms, here a big one, and there a little one, as is usual in most houses;--unfurnished, that is, for the most part. In one place we did find a table and a few chairs, in another a bedstead, and so on. But to me it was pleasant to indulge in those ruminations which any traces of the great or unfortunate create in softly sympathising minds. For a time we communicated our thoughts to each other as we roamed free as air through the apartments; and then I lingered for a few moments behind, while Mr. Horne moved on with a quicker step.
At last I entered the bedchamber of the general, and there I overtook my friend. He was inspecting, with much attention, an article of the great man’s wardrobe which he held in his hand. It was precisely that virile habiliment to which a well-known gallant captain alludes in his conversation with the posthumous appearance of Miss Bailey, as containing a Bank of England £5 note.
“The general must have been a large man, George, or he would hardly have filled these,” said Mr. Horne, holding up to the light the respectable leathern articles in question. “He must have been a very large man,--the largest man in Antwerp, I should think; or else his tailor has done him more than justice.”
They were certainly large, and had about them a charming regimental military appearance. They were made of white leather, with bright metal buttons at the knees and bright metal buttons at the top. They owned no pockets, and were, with the exception of the legitimate outlet, continuous in the circumference of the waistband. No dangling strings gave them an appearance of senile imbecility. Were it not for a certain rigidity, sternness, and mental inflexibility,--we will call it military ardour,--with which they were imbued, they would have created envy in the bosom of a fox-hunter.