THE POOR GENTLEMAN.
by
HENDRIK CONSCIENCE
Author of _The Curse of the Village_, _The Happiness of Being Rich_,
_Veva_, _The Lion of Flanders_, _Count Hugo of Craenhove_, _Wooden
Clara_, _Ricketicketack_, _The Demon of Gold_, _The Village Inn-Keeper_,
_The Conscript_, _Blind Rosa_, _The Amulet_, _The Miser_, _The
Fisherman's Daughter_, etc.
Translated Expressly for this Edition.
Preface to the American Edition.
The story of "THE POOR GENTLEMAN," now given in our language for the
first time, is one of the series in which M. Conscience has delineated
various grades of female character in positions of trial. In "The
Village Innkeeper" he has shown the weaker traits of woman distracted
between an inborn sense of propriety and a foolish ambition for high,
life. In the "Conscript" his heroine displays the nobler virtues of
uncorrupted humble life; and, with few characters, taken from the lowest
walks, he shows the triumph of honest, straightforward earnestness and
pertinacious courage, even when they are brought in conflict with
authority. "The Poor Gentleman" closes the series; and, selecting a
heroine from the educated classes of his country-people M. Conscience
has demonstrated how superior a _genuine woman_ becomes to all the
mishaps of fortune, and how successfully she subdues that imaginary
_fate_ before which so many are seen to fall.
It would be difficult to describe this remarkable work without analyzing
the tale and criticizing its personages. This would anticipate the
author and mar the interest of his story. We must confine ourselves,
therefore, to general remarks on its structure and characteristics.
_Pontmartin_, the distinguished French _feuilletonist_, says, in one of
his "Literary Chats," that these simple stories are "pearls set in
Flemish gold,--a gold which alchemysts seek for in alembics and
furnaces, but which Conscience has found in the inexhaustible veins of
nature." "The Poor Gentleman," he remarks, "is a tale of not more than a
hundred and fifty pages; but I would not give its shortest chapter for
all the _romances_ I ever read. The perplexed De Vlierbeck--who ought to
have had Caleb Balderstone for a servant--is one of those characters
that engrave themselves indelibly on our memory." In every trait and
detail the author has attained a photographic minuteness; which, while
it is distinct and sharp, never interferes with that motion, breadth,
and picturesque effect that impart life and reality to a story. Nor can
we doubt that it will be read and re-read as long as there is a particle
of that feeling among us which installed the Vicar of Wakefield, Paul
and Virginia, the Crock of Gold, the Sketch-book, and the Tales of a
Traveller, among the heirlooms of every tasteful household. The "Tales
of Flemish Life" are additions to that rare stock of home-literature
which is at once amiable and gentle, simple and affectionate, familiar
and tender, and which meets a quick response from every honest heart and
earnest spirit.
If it be objected that the stories are too short and sketchy for the
praise that has been bestowed on them, it may be answered that in their
translation we have had the best opportunity to observe the skill,
power, and perception of character which constitute their real merit.
Simple as they seem, they are written with masterly art. In design,
elaborateness, tone, and finish, they resemble the works of the Flemish
School which have made us familiar with the Low Countries and their
people through the pictures of Ruysdael, Teniers, and Ostade. There is
scarcely a leaf that does not display some of those recondite or
evanescent secrets of human nature which either escape ordinary writers,
or, when found by them, are spread out over volume instead of being
condensed into a page.
Baltimore, August, 1856.
THE TRANSLATOR.
CHAPTER I.
Near the end of July, 1842, an open _calèche_ might have been seen
rolling along one of the three highways that lead from the frontiers of
Holland toward Antwerp. Although the vehicle had evidently been cleaned
with the utmost care, every thing about it betokened decay. Its joints
were open, discolored, and weather-beaten, and it swung from side to
side on its springs like a rickety skeleton. Its patched leathers shone
in the sunshine with the oil that had been used to freshen them, but the
borrowed lustre could not hide the cracks and repairs with which they
were defaced. The door-handles and other parts of the vehicle that were
made of copper had been carefully polished, and the vestiges of
silver-plating, still visible in the creases of the ornaments, denoted a
former richness which had been almost entirely worn out by time and use.
The _calèche_ was drawn by a stout, heavy horse, whose short and
lumbering gait intimated very clearly that he was oftener employed in
the plough and cart than in carrying his owner toward the capital.
A peasant-boy of seventeen or eighteen was perched on the driver's seat.
He was in livery; a tarnished gold band adorned his hat, and brass
buttons glistened on his coat; but the hat fell over his ears, and the
coat was so large that the driver seemed lost in it as in a bag. The
garments had been worn by many of the lackey's predecessors on the box,
and, in a long series of years, had doubtless passed from coachman to
coachman till they descended to their present possessor.
The only person in the vehicle was a man about fifty years old. He was
unquestionably the master of both servant and cabriolet, for his look
and deportment commanded respect and consideration. With head depressed
and moody air, he sat motionless and dreamy in his seat till he heard
the approach of other vehicles, when, suddenly lifting his eyes, he
would salute the strangers graciously and then instantly relapse into
his former attitude. A moment's glance at this person was sufficient to
excite an interest in him. His face, though hard and wrinkled, was so
regular and noble in its contour, his look so mild and yet so earnest
and penetrating, his broad brow so clear and lofty, that the most
careless observer could not doubt that he was endowed with the best
qualities of human nature. Besides this, there were unquestionable
indications that he had been a sufferer. If a simple glance at his
features did not impress one with a conviction of this fact, it was
confirmed by the fringe of silvery hair that straggled over his temples,
and the sombre, melancholy fire that glimmered in his eyes like the last
rays of expiring hope.
His dress was in perfect keeping with his physiognomy. It was of that
neat and simple style which always characterizes a man of the world who
is governed by refined and elegant tastes. His linen was spotlessly
white, his cloth extremely fine, and his well-brushed hat shone smartly
in the sunshine. Occasionally, as some one passed on the road, he might
be seen to draw forth a handsome gold snuff-box and inhale a pinch with
so graceful an air that an observer would be convinced he belonged to
the highest classes of society. A malicious eye, it is true, might have
discovered by close inspection that the brush had been too familiar with
his coat and worn it threadbare, that his silk hat had been doctored to
preserve its lustre and smoothness, and that his gloves were elaborately
darned. If an inquisitive critic could have pried into the bottom of the
vehicle, he would have detected a large crack in the side of the left
boot, beneath which a gray stocking had been carefully masked with ink.
Still, all these signs of poverty were so artfully concealed, and his
dress worn with so careless an air of opulence and ease, that every body
might have supposed the traveller did not put on better clothes only
because he had a whim for bad ones.
The _calèche_ had rolled along rapidly for about two hours, when the
driver suddenly drew up at a small inn on the dike outside of the city
of Antwerp. The landlady and groom instantly sallied forth, and by their
profound salutations and civility exhibited their marked respect for a
well-known stranger.
"It's a fine day, Monsieur Vlierbeck, isn't it?" said the dame; "yet
it's a trifle warm, however. Don't you think it would be well for the
high-grounds if we had a sprinkle more of rain, Monsieur Vlierbeck?
Shall we give the horse some hay, Monsieur Vlierbeck? But stay: I see,
now, your coachman has brought his hay with him. Will you take anything,
Monsieur Vlierbeck?"
While the hostess was pouring forth this torrent of questions, Monsieur
De Vlierbeck got out of the vehicle, and, entering the house, addressed
the most flattering compliments to the dame about her good looks,
inquired as to the health of each of her children, and finished by
apprizing her that he was obliged to be in town instantly. Thereupon,
shaking her cordially by the hand, yet with a condescending air that
marked and preserved the distance between them, he gave his orders to
his lackey, and, with a farewell bow, walked toward the bridge leading
into the city.
At a solitary spot on the outer rampart Monsieur De Vlierbeck stopped,
looked round as if to see if any one was observing him, dusted his
garments, brushed his hat with a handkerchief, and then passed on
through the Porte Rouge into the city of Antwerp.
As he entered a town where he was likely to find himself constantly an
object of notice, he assumed a lofty carriage and self-satisfied air,
which might have deceived any one into the belief that he was the
happiest man on earth. And yet--alas, poor gentleman!--he was a prey to
the profoundest agony! He was, perhaps, about to suffer
_humiliation_,--a humiliation that would cut him to the very heart! But
there was a being in the world whom he loved better than his life or
honor,--his only child, his daughter! For her--how frequently had he
already sacrificed his pride, how frequently had he suffered the pangs
of martyrdom! Still, so great a slave was he to this passionate love
that every new endurance, every new trial, raised him in his own
estimation and exalted his pain into something that ennobled and
sanctified his very nature!
His heart beat violently as he entered deeper and deeper into the heart
of the city and approached the house he was about to visit. Soon after
he stopped at a door, and, as he pulled the bell, his hand trembled
violently in spite of extraordinary self-control; but as soon as a
servant answered the summons he became master of himself again.
"Is the notary in?" inquired the old gentleman. The servant replied
affirmatively, and, showing the visitor into a small room, went to
apprize his master.
As soon as Monsieur De Vlierbeck was alone, he put his right foot over
the left to hide the rent in his boot, drew forth the gold snuff-box,
and made ready to take a pinch.
The notary came in. He was a spare, business-looking man, and was
preparing to salute his guest graciously, but no sooner did he perceive
who it was than his face grew dark and assumed that reserved air with
which a cautious man arms himself when he expects a request which he is
predetermined to refuse. Instead, therefore, of lavishing on Monsieur De
Vlierbeck the compliments with which he habitually welcomed his
visitors, the notary confined himself to a few cold words of recognition
and then sat down silently in front of him.
Wounded and humbled by this ungracious reception, poor De Vlierbeck was
seized with a chill and became slightly pale; still, he managed to rally
his nerves, as he remarked, affably,--"Pray excuse me, sir; but, pressed
by imperious necessity, I have come once more to appeal to your kindness
for a small service."
"What is it you wish of me?" answered the notary, tartly.
"I wish you to find another loan of a thousand _francs_ for me,--or even
less,--secured by a mortgage on my property. I do not want all the money
at once, but I have especial need of two hundred _francs_, which I must
ask the favor of you to lend me to-day. I trust you will not deny me
this trifling loan, which will extricate me from the deepest
embarrassment."
"A thousand _francs_, on mortgage?" growled the notary; "and who, pray,
will guarantee the interest? Your property is already mortgaged for more
than it is worth."
"Oh! you are mistaken, sir," exclaimed Monsieur De Vlierbeck, anxiously.
"Not the least in the world! By order of the persons who have already
accommodated you with money, I caused your property to be appraised at
the very highest rates; and the consequence is that your creditors will
not get back their loans unless it shall sell for an extraordinary
price. Permit me to say, sir, that you have acted very foolishly: had I
been in your place, I would not have sacrificed all my fortune, and my
wife's too, to save a worthless fellow, even though he had been my
brother!"
De Vlierbeck frowned, as a painful recollection shot through his mind,
but said nothing, though his hand grasped the golden snuff-box as if he
would have crushed it.
"By that imprudent act," continued the notary, "you have plunged
yourself and your child into absolute want; for you can no longer
disguise it. For ten years--and God knows at what cost--you have been
able to keep the secret of your ruin; but the inevitable hour is
approaching, Monsieur De Vlierbeck, when you will be forced to
surrender every thing!"
De Vlierbeck riveted a look of doubt and agony on the notary as the
latter continued:--
"I must tell you frankly the condition of your affairs. Monsieur de
Hoogebaen died during his journey in Germany; his heirs found your bond
for four thousand _francs_, and have directed me _not_ to renew it. If
Monsieur Hoogebaen was your friend his heirs certainly are not. During
ten years you have failed to cancel this debt, and have paid two
thousand _francs_ interest; so that, for your own sake, it is time the
transaction should be closed. Four months are still left, Monsieur
Vlierbeck, before the expiration of--"
"_Only_ four months!" interrupted the poor gentleman, in a distressed
tone; "_only_ four months, and then--oh, God!"
"Then your property will be sold according to law," said the notary,
dryly, finishing the sentence. "I can well understand, sir, that this is
a painful prospect; but, as it is a decree of fate that no one can
control, you have nothing to do but prepare to receive the blow. Let me
offer to sell your estate as if you 'were leaving the country.' By that
means you will escape the mortification of a forced sale."
For several moments Monsieur De Vlierbeck remained silent, his face
buried in his hands, as if crushed by the notary's advice and
callousness. At length he replied, calmly but humbly,--
"Your counsel is, perhaps, wise and generous; yet I will not follow it.
You know that all my sacrifices, my painful life, my constant agony,
have been patiently endured for the sake of my only child. You alone
know that all I do has but, one purpose,--a purpose which I hold sacred.
I have reason to believe that God is about granting the earnest prayer I
have daily offered for ten years. My daughter is beloved by a rich
gentleman, whose character I think I may confide in, and his family
appears to sympathize in all his views. _Four months!_ it is but a short
time, alas! yet, ought I, by anticipating the legal period of a sale, to
destroy all my fond hopes? Ought I instantly to welcome misery for
myself and my child when I see the chance of sure relief from all we
have suffered?"
"Then you want to _deceive_ these people, whoever they may be? Do you
not suppose that by such a course of conduct you may make your daughter
still more wretched?"
At the word "_deceive_" the poor gentleman winced as if stung by an
adder, while a nervous thrill ran through his limbs and suffused his
face with a blush of shame.
"_Deceive!_" echoed he, bitterly; "oh, no! but I dare not, by a rash
avowal of my want, stifle the love that is growing up mutually. Whenever
it becomes necessary to be decided, I will make a loyal disclosure of my
condition. If the declaration ruin my hopes I will follow your advice. I
will sell all I have; I will quit the country and seek in some foreign
land to maintain myself and my beloved child by teaching." He stopped
for a moment, as if swallowing his grief, and then continued, in a lower
tone, half speaking to himself, "And, yet, did I not promise my dear
wife on her death-bed--did I not promise it on the holy cross--that our
child should not undergo such a fate? Ten years of suffering--ten abject
years--have not sufficed to realize my promise; and now, at last, a
feeble ray of hope struggles into my sombre future--" He grasped the
notary's hand, looked wildly but earnestly into his eyes, and added, in
suppliant tones, "Oh, my friend, help me! help me in this last and
trying effort; do not prolong my torture; grant my prayer, and as long
as I live I will bless my benefactor, the savior of my child!"
The notary withdrew his hand as he answered, with some embarrassment,
"Yet, Monsieur De Vlierbeck, I cannot comprehend what all this has to do
with the loan of a thousand _francs_!"
De Vlierbeck thrust his rejected hand into his pocket as he replied,
"Yes, sir, it _is_ ridiculous, is it not, to fall so low and to see
one's happiness or misery depend on things about which other persons may
laugh? And yet, alas! so it is! The young gentleman of whom I spoke to
you is to dine with us to-morrow in company with his uncle,--the uncle
invited himself,--and we have absolutely _nothing to give them!_ Besides
this, my child needs some trifles to appear decently before the guests,
and it is probable that the civility will be returned by an invitation
from them. Our isolation cannot long conceal our want. Sacrifices of all
kinds have already been made to prevent our being overwhelmed with
mortification." As he uttered these last words he drew forth his hand
from his pocket with about two _francs_ in small change, which he held
exposed on his palm before the notary. "And now, behold," continued he,
with a bitter smile,--"behold every cent I have in the world; and
to-morrow rich people are to dine at my house! If my poverty is betrayed
by any thing, farewell to my child's prospects! For God's sake, my good
friend, be generous, and help me!"
"A thousand _francs_!" muttered the notary, shaking his head; "I can't
deceive my clients, sir. What pledge can you give to secure the loan?
You possess nothing which is not already mortgaged beyond its value."
"A thousand! five hundred! two hundred!" cried De Vlierbeck. "Lend me,
at least, _something_ to relieve me from this cruel difficulty!"
"I have no disposable funds," replied the notary, coldly. "In a
fortnight perhaps I may have some; but even then I could promise nothing
positively."
"Then, for the sake of friendship, I beseech you, lend me some money
yourself!"
"I could never expect that you would return what I might lend," said
the notary, contemptuously; "and so it is an _alms_ you ask of me?"
Poor De Vlierbeck trembled on his chair and became pale as ashes; his
eyes flashed wildly and his brow knotted with frowns. Yet he quickly
curbed the unwonted agitation, bowed his head, and sighed, resignedly,
"ALMS! Alas! so be it! let me drink the very dregs of this bitter cup:
_it is for my child_!"
The notary went to a drawer and took from it some five-franc-pieces,
which he offered to his visitor. It is difficult to say whether the poor
gentleman was wounded by the actual receipt of charity, or whether the
sum was too small to be useful; but, without touching the money, he
glanced angrily at the silver and fell back in his chair, covering his
face with his hands.
Just at this moment a servant entered, announcing another visitor; and,
as soon as the lackey left the apartment, Monsieur De Vlierbeck sprang
from his chair, dashing away the tears that had gathered in his eyes.
The notary pointed to the money, which he laid on the corner of the
table; but the mortified guest turned away his head with a gesture of
repugnant refusal.
"Pardon my boldness, sir," said he, "but I have now only one favor to
ask of you"
"And it is--?"
"That you will keep my secret for my daughter's sake."
'Oh, as to that, make yourself easy. You know me well enough to be
aware of my discretion. Do you decline this trifling aid?"
"Thanks! thanks!" cried the gentleman, pushing away the notary's hand;
and, trembling as if seized by a sudden chill, he rushed from the room
and the house without waiting for the servant to open the door.
Utterly overcome by the terrible blow to his hopes, beside himself with
mortification, with his head hanging on his bosom and his eyes bent
staringly on the ground, the poor fellow ran about the streets for a
considerable length of time without knowing what he was about or whither
he was going. At length the stern conviction of want and duty partially
aroused him from his feverish dream, and he walked on rapidly in the
direction of the gate of Borgenhout, till he found himself entirely
alone among the fortifications.
He had no sooner reached this solitary quarter than a terrible conflict
seemed to begin within him; his lips quivered and muttered incoherently,
while his face exhibited a thousand different expressions of suffering,
shame, and hope. After a while he drew forth from his pocket the golden
snuff-box, looked long and sadly on the armorial engravings that adorned
it, and then fell into a reverie, from which he suddenly aroused himself
as if about taking a solemn resolution. With his eyes intently fixed on
the box, he began to obliterate the arms with his knife, as he murmured,
in a voice of tremulous emotion,--
"Remembrancer of my dear and excellent mother, protecting talisman that
has so long concealed my misery and which I invoked as a sacred shield
whenever poverty was on the eve of betraying me, last fragment of my
ancestry, I must bid thee farewell; and--alas! alas!--my own hand must
profane and destroy thee! God grant that the last service thou wilt ever
render me may save us from overwhelming humiliation!"
A tear trickled down his wan cheek as his voice became still; but he
went on with his task of obliteration till every trace of the crest and
shield disappeared from the emblazoned lid. After this he returned to
the heart of the town and passed through a number of small and lonely
streets, glancing eagerly, but askance, at the signs as he passed onward
in his agitation.
An hour had certainly elapsed in this bootless wandering, when he
entered a narrow lane in the quarter of Saint André and uttered a sudden
cry of joy as he caught a glimpse of the object for which he was in
search. His eye lighted on a sign which bore the simple but ominous
inscription--"SWORN PAWNBROKER." He passed by the door and walked
rapidly to the end of the lane; then, turning hastily, he retraced his
steps, hastening or lingering as he noticed any one passing in his
neighborhood, till at length he crept along the wall to the door, and,
seeing the thoroughfare almost empty, rushed into the house and
disappeared.
After a considerable time De Vlierbeck came forth from the
money-lender's and quickly gained another street. There was a slight
expression of satisfaction in his eyes; but the bright blush that
suffused his haggard cheeks gave token of the new humiliation through
which the sufferer had passed. Walking rapidly from street to street, he
soon reached a pastry-cook's, where he filled a basket with a stuffed
turkey, a pie, preserves, and various other smaller equipments for the
table, and, paying for his purchases, told the cook that he would send
his servant for the packages. Farther on he bought a couple of silver
spoons and a pair of ear-rings from a jeweller, and then proceeded on
his way, probably to make additional acquisitions for the proposed
entertainment.