the use of images in branding the Belgian seaside resorts

The story of an orientalist daydream:
the use of images in branding the Belgian seaside resorts as exotic playgrounds for
the 19th and early 20th century bourgeoisie, and its importance as a historical
evidence for the present day.
Davy Depelchin, Ghent University (Belgium)
During the 19th and early 20th century, the leading Belgian bathing resorts identified
themselves as exotic playgrounds for the wealthy. The oriental idiom, extremely popular
at the time, combined stylistic extractions of the Islamic world with contemporary
political and socio-cultural points of view on the East. Permeated by escapism and by
the idea of political supremacy of the European Superpowers, the aim was to rebuild an
idealised version of the Orient. And thus, several visual media (model books, illustrated
periodicals, posters, postcards, etc.) were brought into action for -on the one hand- the
spread of the style, and -on the other hand- for branding the seaside resorts as utopian
microcosms where hedonism ruled.
Along the Belgian coastline, few references to the pre-war tourist exploitation survived.
The hostilities of both World Wars and the suffocating pressure of the real estate
business did not only erase the existing infrastructure, but also ended a total experience
in which exotic tendencies such as orientalism were omnipresent. All indications to the
orientalist fashion have vanished in the physical world. Moreover, written sources are
few and far between.
Visual media have showed that the gap in our perception of the past can be filled in.
Literally ten thousands of images depict the architectural and cultural design of the late
19th and early 20th century seaside resorts. That enormous amount of pictures, which
formed initially promotional material for the respective sea resorts, is nowadays a
unique source for visualising the past. A past which would hardly exist without the
historical iconographic material.
A brief history of the Belgian coastline in modern times.
The current architectural outline of the major Belgian seaside resorts does not exactly
correspond with potential definitions of aestheticism. The most severe critics do not
hesitate to label it as the Atlantikwall, referring to the defensive belt of the Third Reich.
Though it is not our aim to subscribe to this stigmatising viewpoint, the comparison
with iconographic material of a century ago is shocking. The Belle Époque eclecticism,
once giving form to an architectural and cultural program, has totally disappeared
nowadays.
Until the nineteenth century the coastline was determined by its natural features. The
few attestations of the human presence were implanted in the landscape, trying to resist
the harsh atmospheric conditions to the best. Burgeoning coast tourism however, had
totally different demands.
1
Since the eighteenth century, health tourism had been a common practice among the
European aristocrats. The healing powers of mineral water sources conducted thousands
of wealthy men and women to places that are still renowned today. Bath (Great-Britain),
Spa (Belgium), Vichy (France), or Baden-Baden (Germany) are essentially all products
of that time. In the beginning, those places attracted people with sanitary or medical
motives, but as a result of the exposure of the exclusive character, presence in health
resorts even became a goal in itself. This way, the initial pursuit of health was
frequently reduced to a welcome justification for extravagancies. Sea bathing was not
an issue at that particular time. Certain theoretical publications, such as John Floyer’s
History of cold bathing1 (1702) had already pointed out the potential of saltwater, but it
had not caught on. When physician Richard Russell released his A dissertation on the
use of sea-water in the diseases of the glands2 in 1752, conditions were more
favourable. Russell opened a therapeutic practice on the English south coast in Brighton
and thus the foundations of the first sea resort were laid. Because meanwhile, through
modifications in the socio-economic structures, the interior health/leisure resorts had
reached their saturation point, the coast places appeared extremely suitable to relieve
those over-populated British thermal cities.3
The insular phenomenon knew a humble imitation on the Continent from the 1780’s
onwards. Especially continental harbours were particularly receptive for this trend. The
city of Ostend for example, was an important gate to the mainland, where many British
travelled through or even stayed for a short or longer period.4 The result was that
Ostend turned out to be very susceptible for the British way of life, and sea bathing was
a trend which became successful.5
During the first decades of the nineteenth century, trips to the sea became popular on a
larger scale.6 Existing coast villages, which economies were almost totally based on
fishing, embraced tourism as a welcome new income. While tourism initially grafted
onto the existing facilities, the urge of a new infrastructure became unbearable. The
nineteenth-century bourgeoisie wanted to breathe fresh sea air and enjoy the view as
much as possible, and so embedded villages in the hollow of the dunes were not very
convenient. As they did not frequent the area except for summer holiday, stormy winter
weather was not a big problem for these temporal residents. Moreover, their financial
input made it possible to erect vast buildings that were constructively far more decent
than the existing vernacular architecture. Traditional building plots were strategically
left behind, and a new infrastructure rose along the seafront from the 1850’s onwards.
1
J. FLOYER, Psychrolousia, or the History of Cold Bathing: both Ancient and Modern, London, s.n.,
1702.
2
R. RUSSELL, A dissertation on the use of sea-water in the diseases of the glands, London, s.n., 1752.
3
R. GOBYN, Kuuroorden en badplaatsen in België, 16de-20ste eeuw, in: R. GOBYN (ed.), Te kust en te
kuur: badplaatsen en kuuroorden in België 16de-20ste eeuw, Brussels, ASLK, 1987, pp. 9-25.
K. VELLE, Water en medisch toerisme: een socio-culturele analyse van het thermalisme aan de
Belgische kust (19de-20ste eeuw), in: R. GOBYN (ed.), Te kust en te kuur: badplaatsen en kuuroorden in
België 16de-20ste eeuw, Brussels, ASLK, 1987, pp. 103-109.
4
The explanation why several Britons stayed temporally or definitely in Ostend, was twofold. On the one
hand, Ostend was a neutral port in the aftermath of the American War of Independence (1775-1783),
which benefitted its international commercial activities. On the other hand, the Battle of Waterloo (1815)
and especially its remembrance, brought many Brits via the port of Ostend to the battlefield near Brussels.
5
R. GOBYN, op. cit., pp. 28-33.
6
At the same time, the military importance of the seashore declined slowly but surely. Eventually, in
1865, the Belgian government decided to concentrate the northern national defence on the fortification
belt around the city of Antwerp. Consequently, the coast area was liberated from its military corset.
2
Nevertheless, the first tourist constructions were still merely located in the perimeter of
existing towns or villages.
The newly developed building program consisted of kursaals7, casinos, luxurious grand
hotels, richly decorated villa’s and all kinds of pavilions. Ostend and Blankenberghe,
which were among the first continental coast towns to exploit tourism, grew to be
amongst the world’s most popular holiday destinations, visited by Europe’s high class,
including aristocratic and royal families, government members and industrials. Even the
Sjah of Persia and the greatest contemporary artists, such as Enrico Caruso, were
familiar with the Belgian watering places. And of course, parallel to what occurred to
the eighteenth-century health resorts, after a while, socio-moral reasons took over the
main intention for that kind of journeys. The seaside resorts had become places-to-be,
where every self-respecting family had to spend their holiday. Only from the interwar
period onwards, when the democratisation of tourism started, this argument waned. And
as a result of that the-sea-is-for-everybody-ideal, massive apartment blocks were built
side by side, to this very day.
Branding coastal resorts: the iconographic display of exotic coast architecture.
“We don’t quarrel less about the choice of a watering place, than we quarrel about
taste.”8
In the bid against rival sea resorts, stressing the own distinctive features was vital for
success. Constructing a self-image was a way to stand out and most of the
representative Belgian coast cities were well aware of this fact. But with a target group
that was inherently international, this goal was not easy to fulfil. Still, branding seaside
resorts was a must to attract and to maintain visitors. For that purpose a broad range of
complementary media were put into action: travel guides and travelogues were
published, articles and advertisements appeared in newspapers, poster campaigns were
launched.
To give a concrete example; in the period 1887-1897 the commune of Blankenberghe
spent yearly amounts which fluctuated between 4 416,5 (1889) and 9 673,71 Belgian
franc for their marketing. Thirty-four external newspapers and magazines, of which 15
were French, 7 German, 4 Austrian, 3 Russian, 2 English, 2 Dutch and 1 Swiss,
contained promotion material for the city on a regular base.9 And as a written source
testifies, those campaigns were not limited to the Western world. The Middle-Eastern
countries, where more and more Europeans stayed permanently or temporarily during
the winter months, were seen as a potential to bring in people.
7
A public room or building accommodated for visitors of health or sea resorts. Etymological derived
from German, ‘Kur’ means ‘cure’ and ‘Saal’ signifies ‘room’. Often contracted with the function of a
casino.
8
“On ne dispute pas plus du choix d’une ville de bains, qu’on ne dispute des goûts.”
DIABLORA, Grains de sable, in: Le Phare de Blankenberghe, vol. 9, 1863, nr. 12, September 20th, p. 3.
9
R. BOTERBERGE, Van zeebad tot badstad. Oorsprong en ontwikkeling van het toerisme in
Blankenberge. Deel 1: tot aan de Eerste Wereldoorlog, Brussels, Dexia Bank, 2003, pp. 139-146.
3
“What Ostend concerns, if I was allowed to give an advise to those responsible for the
publicity for the Queen of all beaches [the epithet name for Ostend], I would advise
them not to neglect Cairo which is the outstanding cosmopolite city… We could be able
to lead a productive propaganda, and for the coming winter, I will make myself
available for the organisers.”10
There is no doubt that this type of marketing was fruitful and determining for the flows
of people heading towards the Belgian coast every season, but it still required a
considerable financial effort from the local authorities. True, those costs could be
recovered indirectly via local economy, but an innovation that appeared around the turn
of the century did not even demand that initial investment, namely the picture postcards.
In a few years time this medium developed into a massively popular way of
communicating. It is not strange that those image containing cards turned out to be the
ideal promotional material. As they were produced by private companies and bought by
individuals, economically this was a marketing product which paid itself back without
costs to the community. Moreover, it was a very effective way of proliferating fame on
an international scale. Strangers sending postcards to relatives or friends in their
homeland, spread -mostly unconscious- the brand and fame of their holiday residences.
Of course, the influence of postcards rested also upon the capacity to multiply the
image. Literally ten thousands of images depicted the different seaside resorts, each of
them throwing their most attractive sides into the fray. The contemporary newish resorts
with an urbanism based on the garden city concept for example, stressed the quietness
and picturesqueness of the place, while the older towns, Ostend and Blankenberghe in
particular, emphasised their luxurious building programs with exotic influences.
Especially the orientalist style was well represented.
“In the age of Louis XIV we were Hellenists, now we are Orientalists.”11
(Victor Hugo, 1829)
The marriage between orientalism and coast architecture was no coincidence. Some
background about the intrusion of Islamic styles in the West is however needed to fully
understand this liaison.
Already from the eighteenth century, Western Europe contained several examples of
oriental influences in aristocratic circles. Fashionable “tent rooms”, Turkish cabinets
and oriental garden pavilions offered a reflection on the unknown East.
Although these constructions were frequently entitled as ‘Moorish’, ‘Indian’ or
‘Turkish’, stylistically these architectural manifestations were determined by Western
building traditions. Sometimes crescents or suggestions of minarets were the only
visible evidence for their orientalness. Together with classical temples, Chinese
10
“A propos d'Ostende, s'il m'était permis de donner un avis à ceux qui sont chargés de faire la réclame
pour la Reine des plages, je leur conseillerais de ne pas négliger le Caire qui est la ville cosmopolite par
excellence... On pourrait y faire une fructueuse propagande et je me mets entièrement, pour l'hiver
prochain, à la disposition des organisateurs.”
MABÉLOUJA, Lettres du Caire, in: Le Carillon, vol. 15, 1910, April 30th, p. 1.
11
“Au siècle de Louis XIV on était helléniste, maintenant on est orientaliste.”
V. HUGO, Les Orientales, s.l., Editions Paleo, 1829, 2007, p. 9.
4
pagodas, and Egyptian pyramids their role was to express and to visualise the nature of
distant countries. However, it is quite obvious that this encyclopaedic purpose was often
abused to function as a background for masked parties, where the fulfilling of erotic
fantasies, inspired by one of the numerous editions of the popular frame story Thousand
and One Nights, was made possible. This sensual connotation would keep on to shine
through orientalist buildings in later times as well.12
Paradigmatic for the architectural style however, was the military expedition towards
Egypt, led by general Napoleon Bonaparte in 1798-1801.13 In his wake a small army of
intellectuals, scientists and artists were covering the journey in word and image and
studying the foreign culture in all its aspects. This analytical study of Islamic Egypt led
up to the publication Description of Egypt,14 the material evidence of the (alleged)
physical and intellectual domination of the Orient by the West. On the architectural
level, the expedition was first of all responsible for a truly European Egypt-mania,
which resulted in applying the classical (Pharaonic) style to all kind of mystic and
educational building types: tombs, freemason temples, libraries, museums, et cetera.
Pharaonic Egypt grew to be a symbol of wisdom, whereas Islamic-based orientalism got
associated with the absolute antithesis: hedonism. The latter was often blamed for its
lack of architectonic solemnity. A late 18th-century source formulated this as follows:
“The character of the style can best be compared with opium, of which the Oriental
frequently make use of.”15 Architectural styles were more than a pure layout issue.
Each of them represented ideological aspects concerning both the building and its
exploitation. This correlation between theory and praxis gave the oriental style the label
of architecture parlante, in other words: the appearance betrayed the content. The
typology to which the style was applied, speaks volumes: cafés, theatres, grand hotels,
casinos, fumoirs, zoological gardens, kiosks, pavilions at world exhibitions, etc. In other
words, orientalism became the favourite for leisure architecture and so, many examples
can/could be found in watering places. To quote some of the most famous cases: the
Royal Pavilion in Brighton (Great-Britain), the pier of Nice (France), the Excelsior
Hotel at the Venetian Lido (Italy).
Oriental architecture was associated with earthly delights. By opposing themselves to
common life and morality, those pieces of architecture became utopian worlds where
fantasy and reality converged. The information which can be deduced from oriental
architecture reveals more about the West than about the East. The way Alain de Botton
typified architecture in his The architecture of happiness makes the man worthy to be
quoted in this context. “We look to our buildings to hold us, like a kind of psychological
mould, to a helpful vision of ourselves.”16 And that is exactly what orientalism did. The
12
S. KOPPELKAMM, Der imaginäre Orient: exotische Bauten des achtzehnten und neunzehnten
Jahrhunderts in Europa, Berlin, Wilhelm Ernst & Sohn Verlag für Architektur und technische
Wissenschaften, 1987, pp. 28-40.
13
See recent exhibition: J.M. HUMBERT (ed.), Bonaparte et l’Egypte, feu et lumières (exh. cat.), Paris,
Hazan/Institut du Monde Arabe, 2008.
14
Original full title: Description de l’Égypte, ou recueil des observations et des recherches qui ont été
faite en Égypte pendant l’expédition de l’armée française, Paris, Imprimerie Impériale, 1809-1818.
15
“Der Charakter dieser Manier lässet sich am richtigsten mit dem Opium, dessen sich die
Morgenländer so häufig bedienen, vergleichen” .J.F. FREIHERR ZU RACKNITZ, Darstellung und
Geschichte des Geschmacks der vorzüglichsten Völker in Beziehung auf die innere Auszierung der
Zimmer und auf die Baukunst, Leipzig, s.n., 1796, as mentioned in: S. KOPPELKAMM, Der imaginäre
Orient: exotische Bauten des achtzehnten und neunzehnten Jahrhunderts in Europa, Berlin, Wilhelm
Ernst & Sohn Verlag für Architektur und technische Wissenschaften, 1987, p. 25.
16
A. DE BOTTON, The architecture of happiness, London, Penguin Books, 2007, p. 107.
5
orientalist buildings on European soil illustrate the vision of the West upon the Islamic
world in the nineteenth century. A vision that was permeated by a romantic escapism,
the scientific positivism, the growing human mobility and the political supremacy of the
European Superpowers.
Reconstructing the seafront: case-studies.
In a historical perspective the mass spread of postcards and other visual promotion
material, cannot only be seen as a correspondence type or a branding mechanism, but it
is a way of maintaining a vision on the past as well. While the suffocating grasp of the
real estate business and both World Wars had a huge impact on the physical Belgian
coast line, visual imagery has proved to be less fragile. Mainly because of the fact that
thousands of images had been produced, the odds have favoured quite some remaining
to this day. The importance of that visual canon for history writing is demonstrated by
the discrepancy between the current layout of the seafront and the one portrayed on
ancient images.
Profane cultural aspects demand an adjusted approach, which is based on popular
media. Whereas traditionally in history writing, pictures are used to illustrate theories
based on written material, our research worked out vice versa, with visual information
forming the bottom line. The triviality of exotic architecture in nineteenth-century
culture makes this particular chapter of our past hardly detectible in contemporary texts.
With imagery as a privileged source, our aim was to reconstruct the oriental plate which
the major Belgian watering places identified themselves with and to analyse the role of
visual processes. Therefore, two cases which are exemplary for the Western sea resorts
of the nineteenth century will be discussed, respectively Blankenberghe and Ostend.
Blankenberghe: an evolutionary sketch of the Kursaal and the Casino (1859-1900).
The Blankenberghe Kursaal was exemplary for the flourishing orientalist style at coastal
resorts. Something which in this particular case can be deduced from the building
campaigns perceptible through photographs and the rare remaining blueprints.
In 1859, seven years after Ostend inaugurated its (first) Kursaal which turned out to be a
huge success (cf. sub), private investors built a counterpart in the city of Blankenberghe.
The initiator was engineer Léon Malécot (died in 1866), who aspired turning the
fishermen’s village into a state-of-the-art sea resort based on the English model. 17
Amongst the conservative population of Blankenberghe, the support for Malécot’s
intentions was rather scarce and his Kursaal was the only building that had been
realised. Nevertheless, the Kursaal managed quite well to catch up with the rival city of
Ostend, since it was not a wooden pavilion construction (cf. sub), but an impressive
17
In Dominique Rouillard’s words, this kind of rather widespread processes can be interpreted as follows:
“l’image de départ” or the incorporated model containing concrete and ideological references, becomes
“l’image minimale” or the transposition from the model onto the specific context of the site in progression
and finally turns into “l’image de la ville” or the achieved townscape as perceived by the public.
D. ROUILLARD, Le site balnéaire, Brussels/Liège, Ed. P. Mardaga, 1984, p. 10.
6
oriental palace erected out off sustainable materials. The complex consisted of two
building layers slightly raised in relation to the seafront, rhythmed by coloured bands
and perforated by horseshoe arches, repeating the bicolour aspect. The middle bay was
emphasised by its width, by the slight changes in the ornamental layout and by the small
tower on top of the roof. The first floor was exteriorised as a gallery, and so a subtle
transition between interior and exterior was created, which enabled visitors to enjoy the
delights of the panorama and the sea breeze without being exposed to sunshine.
On the earliest -N.B. undated- photographs a fourth and a fifth level appear. As
construction applications were not required in Blankenberghe at that time, dating those
transformations had to be done in a different way. A miniature in a letterhead, going
back to August 3th 1863, attests to a one level transformation in the period between
1859, the initial building date, and 1863.18 A fourth level must have appeared around
1884, when the hotel activities became increasingly important. Of course, these
evolutions were linked to the urban densification and the resulting high-rise building
tendency, forcing the Kursaal owners to act in order to maintain their status. The added
layers fitted in with the orientalist style of the original construction. In spite of that, the
changes to the dimensions of the building volume made the orientalness less manifest.
A crisis of confidence between the Kursaal operator on the one hand and the city
council on the other, inspired the latter to commission a building with similar facilities
on the seafront. The 1886 casino, designed by Emile Hellemans (1853-1926) and
Octave Van Rysselberghe (1855-1927), was given an eclectic face, though amply
provided with orientalist features (see the coloured layers and tower volumes). In their
attempt to overtake the leading role of the Kursaal, the local authorities apparently held
on to the orientalist style. If one considers the initial project design for the casino (1873)
of Josef Hoste (1833-1899), a magnificent fancy palace apparently derived from fairy
tales, this becomes even more clear.19
Despite this quarrel, the Kursaal continued its activities and adjusted them to the
changing needs. In 1898, plans were drawn for the extension of the complex by the
local architect Marcel Hoste (1868-1929), Josef Hoste’s nephew. In the west, a newly
bought plot of land was integrated in the concept and the building was enhanced in
height by another extra level. This information can be extracted from the application
form, but the enclosed blueprint gives a better view on the conversion.20 The actual
changes which the architect implemented were minimal compared to the effect he
became, as it appears on picture postcards. The disproportions and stylistic melting pot
which were the result of the earlier transformations, were solved at once. Newly added
elements created inexperienced relations between the different architectural components
and levels. The emphasis on the corner changed the rigid frontal point of view and reestablished the orientalist integrity. The exotic interior with Moorish columns
subscribed this makeover.
18
Lettre on Kursaal writing paper, dated August 3th 1863, private collection J. GITS, Bruges.
Hoste’s project turned out to be to expensive and political lingering immobilised and finally buried the
initiative.
20
BLANKENBERGHE, CITY ARCHIVES, number 32: construction dossier Grand Hôtel du Kursaal,
(1898).
19
7
Ostend: from Le Pavillon Royal (1834) to the successive (Casino-)Kursaals (18521907).
In 1833, when the city of Ostend still functioned as a military bulwark, a group of local
notables got the authorisation to build a wooden pavilion on the fortifications to
accommodate the bathing tourists. The 1834 establishment, called Le Pavillon Royal
and ran by Jacobus Hamers, would provide a conference room, a café, a restaurant and
warm and cold baths. The existing literature on the subject describes the initial concept
as a simple, classical building consisting of two octagonal wings, connected by a
rectangular volume. And indeed, most of the pen drawings that came down to us
support that image.
A more secure prospection for iconographic material, led nevertheless to two documents
which gave a deviated picture. On a share of the public limited company Société du
Pavillon & des Bains de Mer d’Ostende, dated 1833, the pavilion was presented with
onion roofs and crescents on top of it. Characteristics which returned on a lithograph by
Sturm from about 1834-1835, where even vertical strips were appended to the design.
We cannot be sure that this architectural face was ever a reality, but the differences in
function and content detail between both pictures incline that possibility. Why else
would a lithographer whose known oeuvre21 consists of true-to-life depictions draw a
non-existing edifice different from the conceptual portrayal? The most probable these is
that the building sketched on the share was a rudimentary project view, which was
partially followed in reality, as shown by Sturm. The lithographs without trace of the
orientalist decoration are all from later dates, so the rapid disappearance of the theme -in
reality and thus in drawings- could be explained by renovations that were accelerated by
the atmospheric conditions.
Ottoman domed roofs and crescents; it is beyond doubt that the (anonymous) designer
saw his creation in the light of the eighteenth-century orientalist tradition of Turkish
park pavilions. Just a few years before, the French architect Urbain Vitry (1802-1863)
had refreshed the theme in his Le propriétaire architecte (1827).22 The ‘maison turque’
presented in his model book, was a synthesis of the first wave of orientalist buildings. 23
The link with Le Pavillon Royal was manifest, since the threefold constructions with
Turkish domes and typical windows were fundamentally identical.
Apart from Vitry’s prototype, another visual source of inspiration can be denoted. On a
prospectus for the foundation of the public limited company, two of the appearing
names are intriguing. First of all, there was the involvement of the British consul G.A.
Fauche, the only stranger in a list of 17 founding members of the Société. Secondly,
there was Leopold I, King of Belgium, under whose wings the project developed and
who was affiliated to the British Crown by his wedding to Charlotte, daughter of the
Prince Regent/George IV. Both men were a clear-cut link with Britain, where during the
period 1815-1821 the Brighton Royal Pavilion arose. The correspondence between the
English and the Belgian Pavilion was striking, especially by considering the image on
21
In fact, very little is known about the man. However, his lithographs frequently turn up in archives or
historical studies.
22
U. VITRY, Le propriétaire architecte, contenant des modèles de maisons de ville et de campagne, de
fermes, orangeries, portes, puits, fontaines, etc.; ainsi qu’un traité d’architecture et de construction,
renfermant le résumé des nouvelles découvertes relatives aux constructions., Brussels, Tarlier, 1827.
23
Ibid., pl. 24.
8
the share. With this knowledge, the choice for a name for the Ostend pavilion Le
Pavillon Royal do not seem to be arbitrary either.
Two decades later, in 1852 more precisely, the young Henri Beyaert (1823-1894), a
major figure in the Belgian architectural context of the nineteenth century, designed a
kursaal for Louis Vanden Abeele, the concessionary of the local casino. The
requirements of the bathing tourists had changed and primitive constructions as Le
Pavillon Royal were out-of-date. Though the Kursaal still was a wooden structure with
a rather classical elevation, the interior surprised the visitors in a positive way. As
Lauwers described in an article in the local newspaper La Flandre Maritime on August
15th 1855:
“The room is treated in the purest Moorish style. We could imagine being in a room of
the Alhambra or some other palace of Murcia or Grenade. Its thousands of gildings, its
thousands of colours, its mosaics, without number blind you by their splendour, so rich
and marvellous is it. Everything in the space possesses a luxury and comfort which
leaves nothing else to desire, and its divans with their splendid Algerian broad stripped
cloths have the nicest effect.” 24
This written source does contribute to our vision of het building. Yet, by analysing the
content of those few lines, it turns out that the author was overwhelmed in the first place
and that an objective description of the room was not his main goal. This becomes even
more clear by confronting it to the only known visual depiction of the room, a coloured
litho by Vander Hecht, edited by B. Van der Kolk somewhere between 1852 and 1868.
Indeed, the exotic, orientalist character is confirmed, but the differences between word
and image are striking. Of course, due to its uniqueness -and therefore lack of
comparable material-, one cannot be certain about the realism of the representation by
Vander Hecht. Although, similarly to Sturm his known pen drawings are in general
true-to-life. Moreover the way he characterises the interior, fits completely into the
contemporary oriental canon, which was still largely dominated by a classical air.
This confrontation between text and picture denotes perfectly the image of western
viewers onto the Islamic world and culture. The words which stand out are highly
expressive adjectives (thousands, marvellous, splendid, nicest) and nouns (gildings,
colours, splendour, luxury, comfort). Though describing an existing room, these terms
in the fist place refer to undefined spatial and emotional senses, or otherwise: to the
effect. The direct references to Moorish Spain and its palaces amplifies this, because
stylistically only the coupled pillars, the sealing and the frieze showed Moorish features.
But most of all, the Kursaal was a unique orientalist creation, combining such real
oriental elements with presumed oriental ingredients like the brace arches.
Even if visual references to probable examples are less apparent in this case, through the
catalogue of the personal library of the architect, inspiring books can be traced. Beyaert
24
“Cette salle est traitée dans le style mauresque le plus pur. On croirait se trouver dans une salle de
l’Alhambra ou de quelqu’autre palais de Murcie ou de Grenade. Ces mille dorures, ces milles [sic]
couleurs, ces mosaïques, sans nombre vous éblouissent de leur éclat, tant c’est riche et merveilleux. Tous
dans la salle est d’un luxe et d’un confortable qui ne laissent rien à désirer, et ces divans avec leurs
splendides étoffes algériennes à grandes raies sont du plus bel effet.”
J.B. LAUWERS, Description de la ville d’Ostende, de son origine et son histoire, in: La Flandre
Maritime, vol. 6, 1855, August 15th, p. 1.
9
owned several publications with the Orient as a main or a minor subject, a brief
overview: Arab Architecture or Monuments of Cairo, measured and drawn between
1818 and 1825 (Pascal Coste, 1839);25 Plans, elevations, sections and details of the
Alhambra (Owen Jones, 1842-1845);26 The grammar of ornament (Owen Jones, 1856)
and finally Central Syria - Civil and religious architecture from the Ist till the VIIthcentury (Comte de Vogüé, 1865-1877).27 Needless to say that those last two works
could not possibly be influential for the 1852 Kursaal.
Whereas Beyaerts Kursaal contained unambiguous allusions to Islamic architecture and
thus subscribed itself in the orientalist canon, other constructions considered to be
oriental by contemporary viewers, showed to be less easy to define. The second
(Casino-)Kursaal of Ostend, designed by John Joseph Naert (1838-1910) and Felix
Laureys (1820-1897) and built between 1875 and 1878, is a magnificent example of it.
Although the building breathed out an unmistakable exotic atmosphere (the domes, the
cascade of volumes, the levitation of the building on account of the material
polychromy, etc.), stylistically the total image as well as the constituent parts, were
difficult to assign to a specific non-European architectural tradition. Nevertheless,
contemporary commentators illustrate the ‘Moorish’ labeling of the building:
“This new Kursaal will be a very beautiful thing, for it is allowed to judge; its
dimensions are vast and elegant; the Moorish style dominates, small towers,
ornaments of all sorts. A real caravansarai.”28
“Everything twinkles, everything reflects. The seafront and its superb palaces
with marble caryatids; the little towers of the villas; the Moorish palace of the
Kursaal […]” 29
“[…] the Kursaal. That beautiful building in Moorish style […]”30
As the complementary use of visual and textual sources shows, the orientalist style
cannot be limited to an accumulation of architectural elements, borrowed from one or
more Islamic movements. The blend of language and architecture seemed to be a nonunimportant trigger for the introduction of the building in a universe of Thousand and
One Night. The Kursaal was labelled Moorish, so Moorish it was. The building
presented itself as a canvas, sensible to associations and projections of the spectators.
25
Original title: Architecture Arabe, ou Monuments du Kaire: mesurés et dessinés, de 1818 à 1825.
In full: Plans, Elevations, Sections, and Details of the Alhambra, from drawings taken on the spot in
1834 and 1837 by Owen Jones, Archt. with a complete translation of the Arabic inscriptions, and an
Historical Notice of the Kings of Granada, from the Conquest of that City by the Arabs to the Expulsion
of the Moors, by Mr. Pasqual de Gayangos. (C. A. HRVOL FLORES, Owen Jones: design, ornament,
architecture, and theory in an age in transition, New York, Rizzoli, 2006, p. 19.)
27
Original title: Syrie Centrale - L’Architecture civile et religieuse du Ier au VIIe siècle.
28
“Ce nouveau Kursaal sera, autant qu’il est permis d’en juger, une très belle chose; les dimensions en
sont vastes et élégantes; le style mauresque domine, des tourelles, des ornements de toutes sortes. Un
véritable caravansérail”
Chronique locale, in: L’Echo d’Ostende, vol. 13, 1877, August 12th, p. 2.
29
“Tout flamboie, tout miroite. La digue et ses superbes palais aux cariatides de marbre; les clochetons
des villas; le palais mauresque du Kursaal, […]”
Chronique, in: La Saison d’Ostende, vol. 9, 1886, August 7th, p. 1.
30
“[…] le Kursaal. Ce beau bâtiment de style mauresque […]”
La Saison à Ostende, in: Le Carillon, vol. 3, 1898, February 19th-20th, pp. 1-2.
26
10
A partial explanation can be found in the function of the Casino-Kursaal, essentially a
big event hall, where concerts, balls, exhibitions and other activities happened in quick
succession. The interior was thereby subjected to transformations corresponding to the
required atmosphere. For the 19th-century bathing guests such temporary decorations
formed a real part of the spatial perception of the building. As following newspaper
extract indicates, the Orient was evoked as well:
“Over there, are the houses and boutiques of the Spanish road which line up and form
little by little a picturesque vain apparently extracted from the abdomen of Seville, like
formerly the unfortunate rib of father Adam. By crossing the venue of the toreros, here
you have the Egyptian road, where very pretty facades gleaming of fresh colour line up,
flanked by a pyramid - yes, sir! The “chic” will be complete with those exotic fragments
of the vast cosmopolitan city which the rotunda will represent. Indeed, the ladies, the
young people who will be occupying the boxes, the stalls, will be dressed in Holland,
Spanish, Egyptian and other costumes. With electric lighting, which, at this moment,
leaves nothing more to desire, the aspect will be absolutely enchanting.”31
In other words, the Kursaal was a dynamic entity, adapting to the nature of the events.
Costumed balls required a setting that escaped from daily life, a background against
which a colourful group of invitees, including “Moors” and “Egyptians”, stood out well.
With or without help of alcoholic drinks, that night undoubtedly many of them will have
imagined being in the Orient.
Despite the enthusiasm about the 1870’s Kursaal, in 1899 the city council decided to
reorganise, enlarge and restyle the complex. The man who was responsible for those
changes was Alban Chambon (1847-1928), an internationally active architect-decorator
with French roots. Eventually, eight years were needed to fulfil his architectural fantasy,
but the result was impressive.
“[…] this Babylonian concept is possibly not misplaced on our seafront, the worldly
promenade where all nationalities and races of the earth gather and cross each other,
where the most diverse tastes and sometimes the worst find their more or less
enthusiastic representatives.”32
Chambon’s Casino-Kursaal (1899-1907) was perceived as a resurrection of the
cosmopolitan setting of Babel and turned out to be a rich display of stylistic trends. His
eclectic piece of architecture combined elements out of totally different cultures. Neo31
“Là ce sont les maisons, les boutiques de la rue d'Espagne qui s'alignent et forment petit à petit une
pittoresque artère semblant avoir été extraite de l'abdomen de Séville, comme jadis la malencontreuse
côte du père Adam. Croisant l'allée des toreros, voici la rue d'Egypte, où s'échelonnent de forts jolies
façades rutilantes de fraîche couleur claire, le tout flanqué d'une pyramide — oui, monsieur ! Complet
sera le « chic » de ces fragments exotiques de la grande cité cosmopolite que figurera la rotonde. En effet
les dames, les jeunes gens qui en occuperont les loges, les éventaires, seront vêtus de costumes
hollandais, espagnols, égyptiens, etc. Avec l'éclairage électrique, qui, à présent, ne laisse plus rien à
désirer, l'aspect sera absolument féerique.”
E. MATHY, Grande Kermesse Universelle, in: La Saison d’Ostende, vol. 17, 1894, August 25th, p. 1.
32
“[…] cette conception babelesque n'est peut-être pas déplacée sur notre digue, promenoir du monde où
tous les peuples et toutes les races de la terre se coudoient et se croisent, où les goûts les plus divers et
parfois les pires trouvent des représentants plus ou moins enthousiastes.”
Voici la Saison, in: Le Carillon, vol. 10, 1905, June 15th, p. 1.
11
Byzantine alleys were alternated by rooms in the style of the Indian Mughals, all
housing a large number of tropic plants.
In a photo-reportage led by the architect himself during the building process, the
orientalness of the building was underlined by presenting the constituent architectural
elements against a background of Persian carpets. Oriental or not, again, the associative
context actually made the elements exotic.
The kursaals were at the centre of elite communities which were not determined by
locality but by temporality. Their unifying character made them to focal points in the
townscape, which resulted in a large number of depictions in advertisements. The
kursaals were not just buildings as such. As images of the city, they were identified
with it and so, they actually were the city. For that reason the stylistic choice and its
impact of these pagan cathedrals cannot be minimised. The evocations of Thousand and
One Night branded the kursaals and thus the sea resorts as utopian worlds where fragile
dreams and a certain timelessness became reality.
Conclusions
It is impossible to study modern times apart from the visual culture, which, as a
fundamental part of the human culture, and mainly thanks to the technical advances,
grew in importance during the last two centuries. With our case-study on the
architectural outline of the Belgian coastline during the nineteenth and early twentieth
century, we tried to underline the potential of visual media as a solid base for historical
study. All to often, images are only used to illustrate theses uniquely based on written
sources. Visual funds although, are far from being secondary in importance. Yet, the
richness of those media may not lead us to a reactionary act, in which roles are inversed
and textual sources become illustrative for visual information. Images, their verbal
descriptions (ekphrasis), and their meanings, are highly dependent on context. Onesided approaches increase the distance between the present-day contemplator and the
subject. As shown in the concrete examples, the complementary use of both sources has
a power equal to the one-and-one-is-three-ideal. Studying visual sources proves out the
possibility of a partial reconstruction of the past, but allows an insight in processes
related to specific imagery types, such as model or marketing applications as well.
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BOTERBERGE, R., Van zeebad tot badstad. Oorsprong en ontwikkeling van het toerisme in
Blankenberge. Deel 1: tot aan de Eerste Wereldoorlog, Brussels, Dexia Bank, 2003.
DE BOTTON, A., The architecture of happiness, London, Penguin Books, 2007.
12
DEPELCHIN, D., Het ontheemde Morgenland: islamitische elementen in de Belgische litorale
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FLOYER, J., Psychrolousia, or the History of Cold Bathing: both Ancient and Modern, London, s.n.,
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ASLK, 1987.
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Contemporary articles in newspapers:
Chronique, in: La Saison d’Ostende, vol. 9, 1886, August 7th, p. 1.
Chronique locale, in: L’Echo d’Ostende, vol. 13, 1877, August 12th, p. 2.
DIABLORA, Grains de sable, in: Le Phare de Blankenberghe, vol. 9, 1863, nr. 12, September 20th, p. 3.
LAUWERS, J.B., Description de la ville d’Ostende, de son origine et son histoire, in: La Flandre
Maritime, vol. 6, 1855, August 15th, p. 1.
MABÉLOUJA, Lettres du Caire, in: Le Carillon, vol. 15, 1910, April 30th, p. 1.
MATHY, E., Grande Kermesse Universelle, in: La Saison d’Ostende, vol. 17, 1894, August 25th, p. 1.
La Saison à Ostende, in: Le Carillon, vol. 3, 1898, February 19th-20th, pp. 1-2.
Voici la Saison, in: Le Carillon, vol. 10, 1905, June 15th, p. 1.
13
Figure 1. The Kursaal of
Blankenberghe (arch.
Malécot), engraving by
Canelle, 1859-1863.
(Private collection)
Figure 2. The Kursaal of Blankenberghe
after transformation, photo, 1863-1884.
(Private collection)
Figure 3. The
(Grand Hotel du)
Kursaal in
Blankenberghe,
picture postcard,
1900-1914.
(Collection City
of
Blankenberghe)
Figure 4. Share of the public limited
company Société du Pavillon & des Bains de
Mer d’Ostende, 1833. (Original lost)
Figure 5. The
Pavillon Royal
in Ostend,
engraving by
Sturm, edited
by Konen
(Brussels),
1834-1835.
(Collection City
of Ostend)
Figure 6.
Interior of the
Kursaal in
Ostend (arch.
Beyaert),
engraving by
Vander Hecht,
edited by Van
der Kolk, 18521868.
(Collection City
of Ostend)
Figure 7. The
Casino-Kursaal in
Ostend (archs.
Naert and
Laureys), photo,
1878-1899.
(Collection City
of Ostend)
Figure 8. Interior
of the CasinoKursaal in Ostend
(arch. Chambon),
picture postcard,
1900-1907.
(Collection
Province of West
Flanders)