A VERY OLD SOLDIER.

The following is a chip from a block whence we have already taken a few shavings:—“Kohl’s Travels in the Netherlands.” It describes the National Hospital for the Aged at Brussels. Some of the inmates whom he found in it, though still alive, belong to history. It must have been with a sort of archaic emotion that our inquisitive friend found himself speaking to a man who had escorted Marie Antoinette from Vienna to Paris, on the occasion of her marriage!

“The magnitude of the Hospice des Vieillards in Brussels,” says Mr. Kohl, “fully realises the idea of a National establishment. The building itself fulfils all the required conditions of extent, solidity, and convenience. The gardens, court-yards, and apartments are spacious and well arranged. The sleeping and eating rooms are large, and well furnished; and it is pleasing to observe, here and there, the walls adorned with pictures painted in oil-colours. The inmates of this Hospice pass their latter days in the enjoyment of a degree of happiness and comfort which would be unattainable in their own homes. The 563chapel is situated only at the distance of a few paces from the main building, and is connected with it by means of a roofed corridor; thus obviating the difficulties which prevent old people from attending places of public worship when, as it frequently happens, they are situated at long and inaccessible distances from their dwellings. In winter the Chapel of the Hospice is carefully warmed and secured against damp.

“At the time of my visit to the Hospice des Vieillards in Brussels, the establishment contained about seven hundred inmates, of both sexes, between the ages of seventy and eighty. Of this number six hundred and fifteen were maintained at the charge of the establishment, and seventy-five, being in competent circumstances, defrayed their own expenses. That the number of those able to maintain themselves should bear so considerable a relative proportion to the rest, is a fact which bears strong testimony in favour of the merits of the establishment. Those who support themselves live in a style more or less costly, according to the amount of their respective payments. Some of the apartments into which I was conducted certainly presented such an air of comfort that persons, even of a superior condition of life, could scarcely have desired better.

“I learned from the Governor of the Hospice that the average cost of the maintenance of each individual was about seventy-five centimes per day, making a total diurnal expenditure of six hundred francs, or of two hundred thousand francs per annum. But as this estimate includes the wages of attendants and the expenses consequent on repairs of the building, it may fairly be calculated that each individual costs about three hundred francs per annum. The Hospice frequently receives liberal donations and bequests from opulent private persons.

“For such of the pensioners as are able to work, employment is provided: others are appointed to fill official posts in the veteran Republic. Now and then a little task-work is imposed; but the Hospice being rich, this duty is not exacted with the precision requisite in establishments for the young, where the inmates having a long worldly career before them, it is desirable that they should be trained in habits of regularity and industry. The pensioners of the Brussels Hospice des Vieillards, enjoy much freedom; and they are even allowed some amusements and indulgences, which it might not be proper to concede to young persons. For example, they are permitted to play at cards; but it will scarcely be said there is anything objectionable in such an indulgence to old persons who have run out their worldly course; for even were they fated once more to enter into society, their example could neither be very useful nor very dangerous. Here and there I observed groups of the pensioners, male and female, seated at cards, staking their pocket-money, of which each has a small allowance, on the hazard of the game. The penalties assigned for misdemeanours are very mild, consisting merely in the offending party being prohibited from going out, or, as it is called, la privée de la sortie. In extreme cases the delinquent is confined to his or her own apartment.

“It has seldom been my lot to visit a charitable institution, which created in my mind so many pleasing impressions as those I experienced in the Hospital for the Old in Brussels. It was gratifying to observe in the spacious court-yards the cheerful and happy groups of grey-haired men and women, sunning themselves in the open air. Some were playing at cards, whilst here and there the females were seated at work, and men sauntering about smoking their pipes and gossiping. Every now and then I met an old man whistling or singing whilst he paced to and fro. More than one of these veterans had been eye-witnesses of interesting historical events, which now belong to a past age. Several of them had served as soldiers during the Austrian dominion in Belgium. Of these the porter of the Hospital was one.

“The most remarkable character in the whole establishment was an old Dutchman, named Jan Hermann Jankens, who was born at Leyden in the year 1735. At the time when I saw him, he was one hundred and nine years of age; or, to quote his own description of himself, he was ‘leste, vaillant, et sain.’”

“Il nous rapelle en vain

Apres un siècle de séjour,

Ses plaisirs ainsi que ses amertumes.”

“These lines were inscribed beneath his portrait, which hung in his own apartment. I remarked that the painter had not flattered him. ‘You are right, Sir,’ replied he; ‘the fact is, I am much younger than my portrait,’ and to prove that he was making no vain boast, he sprang up, and cut several capers, with surprising agility. His faculties were unimpaired, and he was a remarkable example of that vigorous organisation which sometimes manifests itself in the human frame; and which excites our wonder when we find that such delicate structures as the nerves of sight and hearing may be used for the space of a century without wearing out. Until within two years of the time when I saw Jankens, he had been able to work well and actively. His hand was firm and steady, and he frequently wrote letters to his distant friends. When in his one hundred and seventh year, he thought, very reasonably, that he might give up work. ‘And what do you do now?’ I enquired. ‘I enjoy my life,’ replied he; ‘I saunter about the whole day long, singing, smoking, and amusing myself. I spend my time very gaily!’

“‘Yes, Sir; he dances, drinks, and sings all day long!’ exclaimed, in a half-jeering, half-envious tone, another veteran, named 564Watermans, who had joined us, and who, though only ninety years of age, was much more feeble than Jankens.

“I learned from the latter that he had had fifteen children; but that of all his large family, only one survived, though most of them had lived to a goodly age. His memory was stored with recollections of events connected with the marriage of Louis the Sixteenth; for, when a soldier in the Austrian service, he had formed one of the military escort which conducted Marie Antoinette into France. He sang me an old song, which had been composed in honour of the Royal nuptials, and which he said was very popular at the time. It was in the usual style of such effusions; a mere string of hyperbolic compliments, in praise of the ‘beauteous Princess,’ and the ‘illustrious Prince.’ It sounded like an echo from the grave of old French loyalty. Jankens sang this song in a remarkably clear, strong voice; but nevertheless, the performance did not give satisfaction to old Watermans, who, thrusting his fingers into his ears, said peevishly, ‘What a croaking noise!’

“Heedless of this discouraging remark, the venerable centenarian was preparing to favour me with another specimen of his vocal ability, when the great bell in the court-yard rang for supper. ‘Pardon, Sir,’ said Jankens, with an apologetic bow, ‘but—supper.’ Whereupon he hurried off in the direction of the refectory, with that sort of eager yearning with which it might be imagined he turned to his mother’s breast one hundred and nine years before.

“‘It is amazing that that old fellow should have so sharp an appetite,’ observed the petulant Watermans, hobbling after him in a way which showed that he too was not altogether unprepared to do honour to the evening meal.”

This Hospital for the Aged is a sort of National Almshouse not solely peculiar to Belgium. Private munificence does in England what is done abroad by Governments; but it is to be deplored that a more general provision for the superannuated does not exist in this country. Workhouses are indeed asylums for the old; but for those who are also decayed in worldly circumstances, they cannot afford those comforts which old age requires. Except Greenwich Hospital for sailors, and Chelsea Hospital for soldiers, we have no national institution for old people.