Paris, 19 March 1815: shortly before midnight a procession of carriages secretly leaves the Palais des Tuileries in the pouring rain. At the head of the procession is a carriage containing the crown jewels of France, anxiously guarded by the king’s personal valet; in the second carriage sits Louis XVIII, King of France and Navarre, with two of his loyal followers, the Comte d’Artois and the Duc de Berry.
It is not the first time that Louis Stanislas Xavier, brother of the unfortunate Louis XVI, has been forced to leave his beloved country. On 20 June 1791 he managed to escape from the Tuileries through a back door, armed with a fake English passport and disguised in a black wig and a hat with a cockade. It was a clever trick, but this time the monarch, nicknamed Le Désiré by royalists, is not fleeing from the fury of the revolutionary mob or the dreaded guillotine, but from the revenge of his nemesis, the dethroned and exiled former emperor Napoleon, who has escaped from his closely guarded residence on Elba. On 24 February, with his ship moored in the harbour of Golfe Juan-Vallauris, and together with 600 faithful soldiers, he embarked on a triumphant march towards the capital. Bad news for Louis, who is distressed because he has had to leave in a hurry and forgotten his comfortable velvet slippers.
For the moment, though, Louis’s main concern is to head north, hoping to be hospitably received in Brussels by the king of the Netherlands, but when he crosses the border, he changes his mind and heads for Flanders, where Count d’Hane-Steenhuyse eagerly awaits his very special guest in Ghent.
When the royal party finally reaches the port city in Flanders, they have covered a distance of 100 kilometres in just ten days – a record for the time. Unsurprisingly, when Count d’Hane greets his distinguished guest, he is shocked by the sight of the obese monarch, who has to be extricated from his carriage and, exhausted by the journey, is unable to put one foot in front of the other – not least because he also suffers from gout. During the coming months in Ghent he will live up to his reputation as an insatiable glutton. The spoiled monarch’s temporary quarters cannot compare to a royal palace, but the Hôtel d’Hane-Steenhuyse is one of the most beautiful buildings in the city and has everything to satisfy a king’s wishes.
Built between 1768 and 1773 to plans by the Flemish architect Jan Baptist Simoens and embellished by three successive scions of the aristocratic D’Hane family, the imposing building can be described as a successful combination of rocaille, Louis Seize and Neoclassicism. Famous for the impressive seven-metre-high ballroom à l’Italienne – decorated with a painted ceiling, fluted columns and a breathtaking marquetry floor (a masterpiece by Henri Feylt) inlaid with over 200 rare woods – the Hôtel d’Hane-Steenhuyse also boasts the presence of a baroque staircase and numerous elegant salons en enfilade. Comte d’Hane is rightly proud to have entertained high-ranking visitors like Talleyrand, Jérôme Bonaparte (brother of Napoleon), Alexander I of Russia and John Quincy Adams. The official language of the local aristocracy is French, as is the etiquette and the cuisine; Louis is very pleased that the poet, writer and politician François-René de Chateaubriand finds himself in his entourage. Reason enough for Le Désiré to feel at home…
Unfortunately there is an unsurmountable problem thanks to the immobility of the honoured guest. His host has committed the error of refurbishing a suite of rooms on the first floor and has commissioned a peintre-décorateur to paint the walls royal blue and embellish them with parcel-gilt lys de France motifs. But Louis bluntly refuses to be hauled up the stairs by staff and demands that a suite of rooms on the ground floor, overlooking the walled garden, be made available to him.
On the first night of his stay, Louis dines on 100 oysters and enjoys the company of his generous host, who does everything to please his royal guest. The king is duly impressed by the magnificence of the ballroom, the exquisite, intimate dining room decorated with scènes galantes by Petrus Johannes van Reyschoot, and the grand salon, tastefully furnished with Louis Seize-style sofas and comfortable bergères. Admittedly, the décor is slightly démodé – there is no trace of modern furniture – but the Ancien Régime style suits the king perfectly, and it won’t be long before he begins holding court and receiving visitors from France, who keep him informed of the doings of Le Petit Caporal.
The people of Ghent react enthusiastically to news about Louis XVIII’s presence in the city; when he insists that supper be served in the grand salon and has no objection to be stared at by passers-by on the Rue des Champs, he becomes their favourite, daily attraction. Weather permitting, the windows are opened wide and the curious can marvel at the sight of a puffy-faced, red-cheeked king, perspiring profusely and devouring his usual portion of oysters. The rumour spreads that Louis sweats when he gobbles up his gargantuan meals, and to this day the inhabitants of Ghent fondly remember Louis-die-Zwiet – ‘Louis who sweats’ – in their local dialect.
All’s well that ends well, if we believe Shakespeare, and Louis’s carefree 100 days in the heart of Flanders come to an end with the death blow to his archenemy at Waterloo. When he receives the message that the throne of France awaits his return, he is in a frenzy to get back to Paris and takes leave of his host at once.
Adieu Count d’Hane, adieu Ghent, and goodbye to the curvy mistress who brightened his days and allowed him to enjoy his daily dose of snuff on her luscious cleavage. Louis is in such a hurry to return to the Tuileries that he forgets his golden snuff box, but that is of no importance. The French are waiting for their king, and Le Désiré is on his way.
The exile of Louis XVIII will forever be linked to the history of the house in the Rue des Champs. I was born and raised in Ghent, and I remember the house when it was still owned by the D’Hanes and partly inhabited by them. It was renamed the Musée des Cent Jours and was open to visitors on Thursday afternoons. I remember the carriages in the carriage gate, the bedrooms with their alcove beds and the eerie silence in the grand salon. Rumour spread that an American billionaire wanted to buy the house, dismantle it and rebuild it in California, but it was eventually bought by the city authorities, which succeeded in awakening the house from its slumber. Today visitors can roam the rooms undisturbed, marvel at the magnificence of the ballroom and soak up the singular atmosphere of the time when an exiled French king took refuge in faraway Flanders.
Hôtel d’Hane-Steenhuyse, 55 Veldstraat, 9000 Ghent, Belgium. Visit historischehuizen.stad.gent
