What a difference, too, between this air and the air at school; even
that which one breathed out of doors in the cloistered court, shut in
by four forbidding high walls, sweating with damp and decaying with
mildew.
Seated with my back to the coachman, my hands on my father's knee, I
uttered exclamations of surprise and besieged him with questions. He
sat back in the carriage, shielded from the wind by his big overcoat.
Yana sat beside him; Lion ran on in advance.
Passing along the chief street of the suburb, we came out into the
open country. The tufts of young leaves gave a sweet freshness to the
hoary trunks of the great beech-trees which lined the road. In place
of the yellow withered grass in the meadows, there was a vivid
emerald carpet; splendid cows, with well-rounded flanks and dewlaps
reaching the ground, nibbled the tender shoots. The full rows of young
corn promised a plentiful harvest. Between a double hedge of
weeping-willows and alders ran silvery waters, swollen by the melting
of the late snows. When we passed a flower-garden the scent of lilac
filled the dreamy air. Gates with gilt knobs opened on avenues of elms
and oaks; sloping lawns led up to a castle, whose terrace was
ornamented with clipped and modeled orange-trees. The majestic passing
of a pair of big swans or the scurry of hare-brained ducks stirred the
stagnant pond, and left wakes amid the flags and water-lilies.
Moss-grown farmsteads, flanked by barns with green shutters fixed to
the red bricks, draw-wells, chickens picking about on the
manure-heaps,--these were my chief delight. Sometimes a countryman's
cart with its white awning stood on one side for us to pass.
We drove through Deurne, then through Wyneghem.
For the third time a slender spire lifted its gray-slated point into
the opaline sky.
"S'Gravenwezel tower!" exclaimed Yana.
"S'Gravenwezel! But that is your village!" I cried. "Are we going to
live there?"
The good creature smiled in the affirmative.
Some few moments later, the driver, directed by Yana, stopped in front
of a lonely farm, a quarter of an hour away from the rest of the long,
straggling village.
"This is my parents' home!" she said.
I can still see the little one-storied farmhouse, with its overhanging
thatched roof, festooned with stone-crop, a white chalk cross on the
brickwork to protect it from lightning. At sound of the carriage, the
whole household ran to the door. There was Yana's father, a short,
thick-set sexagenarian, bent but still healthy-looking, his face
wrinkled like old parchment, with a stiff beard and bright eyes; the
mother, a buxom woman about ten years younger, very active despite her
stoutness; then a host of brothers and sisters, varying from
twenty-five to fifteen; the boys bold, dark, curly-headed, muscular,
square-set fellows; the girls fresh-looking, tanned by the sun, all
like Yana their elder sister, who, to my mind, was the most charming
_boerine annversoise_ that one could imagine, with her dark hair, her
big emerald-green eyes and sweeping lashes. In honor of S'Gravenwezel
kermesse,--sounds of which could already be heard in the distance,
--they said, but more in honor of our visit, the men wore their Sunday
trousers, and bright blue smocks coquettishly gathered at the neck.
The women had taken out their lace caps with big wings, the
head-dresses with silver pins, woolen dresses, and large silk
handkerchiefs which crossed over the breast and fell in a point
behind. The good people complimented my father on his appearance.
"That is Mynheer's son,--Jonkheer Jorss!" In a few moments I had made
friends with these simple cordial folk, and particularly with a fine
lad of nineteen--"onze Jan" (our Jean), said Yana--on the eve of
drawing lots for the conscription.
When his sister laid the table,--for we were to stay to dinner
there,--he offered to show me the orchard, the garden, and the
stables. I accepted joyfully. I could no longer keep still. Jean, with
my hand in his, took me first to the cows. As they lay down, chained
up in their sheds, they lowed piteously. The dung-strewn bedding shone
with bronze and old-gold, and the far end of the stable resembled a
picture by Rembrandt--at least, it is thus that I recall to-day that
reddish-brown half-light. That I might be better able to admire the
animals, he roused them with a kick. They got up lazily, sulkily. He
told me their names and their good points. That big black one, with
the spot between her eyes, was Lotteke; this big glutton chewing the
early clover was called La Blanche. Jan persuaded me to pat them. They
rubbed their horns against the posts which divided them. The boy told
me that they were excellent milkers. I counted six in all. A strong
smell of milk filled the air, warm with all this breathing, heaving
animality. Jan promised to take me to work in the fields with him when
I came to live in the village. I should dig the ground and become a
real peasant, a _boer_ like himself. _Boer Jorss_, he called me,
laughing. But I took this prospect of country life quite seriously; I
admired the fine figure, the proud healthy bearing, of this young
peasant. I in my turn should grow like that, I thought. A career such
as his awaited me! That was better than wearing a frock-coat and a
black hat, than growing pale and fevered over books and copies, and
seeing nothing of beautiful nature except what can be found in a
suburb: weeds growing over waste places and patches of sky amid
spotted roofs! He took me also to the garden, an oblong inclosure
with well-kept paths, and planted with sunflowers, peonies, and
hollyhocks. The beds were edged with strawberry plants, the fruit just
ripening. The kind lad promised me the first that were gathered.
We were called back to the house, while I was making the acquaintance
of Spits the watch-dog. The kermesse meal awaited us. At the express
request of my father, who threatened to eat nothing, the family, at
least the men, sat down with us. As to the women, they all pretended
to wait on us. My eyes wandered with delight around this room, so new
to me; the alcoves where the parents and older members of the family
slept, receded into the wall and were hidden by flowered curtains; the
wide chimney-piece was ornamented with a crucifix and plates imprinted
with historical subjects; a branch of consecrated box hung below; then
there were enormous spits and the imposing chimney-hook.
Yana placed on the table a tureen of cabbage and bacon soup, the smell
of which would have aroused the appetite of the dead.
We all made the sign of the cross, bowed our heads and clasped our
hands over the soup-basins, the savory smell from which rose towards
the smoky beam like the perfume of incense. For some seconds nothing
was audible save the lowing of the cows from the sheds, the buzzing of
flies on the window-panes, and the striking of S'Gravenwezel clock,
which rang out midday with the silvery, melancholy chimes of village
bells.
What a delicious meal we had! My father thought of all the most
expressive adjectives in the patois to express the merits of the soup,
I sang the praises of the eggs which served as a golden frame to the
red-and-white slices of ham. A mountain of mealy potatoes disappeared
beneath our lively forks. I had a healthy country appetite!
Yana, who was touched, declared that her master had not eaten so much
for a month.
We were obliged to taste all the products of the farm: butter, milk,
cream cheese, early vegetables, and fruit. I laughed at Yana, who had
thought it necessary to bring provisions. She did not know the
parental hospitality! But I no longer made fun of her forethought when
she brought out the contents of the wonderful basket: two bottles of
old wine and a plum tart of her own making, which she placed
triumphantly in the middle of the table. They all drank to my father's
health, to mine, and to our happy stay in S'Gravenwezel.
"It is settled, then, that in a week's time you shall come to my
house-warming, you hear, all of you!" said my father definitely....
"And now, Djodgy, we must be going, for you are longing to see our
nest."...
Jan came with us. He walked behind with his sister. Lion ran backwards
and forwards, showing his joy by his wild leaps and bounds, and
chasing the small animals which he raised among the rye.
Poppies and cornflowers already lit up the changing ears of corn with
their bright color, and white or brown butterflies flitted above like
animated flowers. We had followed a path which ran across the
cornfields, behind Ambroes farm, to the left of the high road. Some
minutes later we skirted a little oak wood, and immediately behind it
my father pointed our home out to me.
Simple cottage! you haunt me still, above all in springtime, when the
air is warm and soft as on that memorable day.... Your white walls
will ever be to me a sad though sweet and loving memory.
The little house was simple and quiet as possible. There was one story
only, and it contained but four rooms. An out-house with hen-roost,
which would serve as a shed for the gardener, stood on one side.
Yana's brother had for the time being put into it a pretty white kid,
which bleated loudly at our approach; he ran to set it free.
Fruit-trees covered the wall facing south. The inclosure, encircled by
a hedge of beech, was half orchard, half pleasure garden, and covered
an area of three thousand metres. In front of the house was a square
lawn, divided by a path from the gate to the front door. Leafy copses
of plantain, chestnuts, American oaks, and birches, offered delightful
retreats on either side of the house for reading or dreaming. As we
went round the grounds, my father explained with animation the
improvements which he projected. Here was to be a clump of
rhododendrons, here a bed of Orleans roses, there a grove of lilacs.
He consulted me with a feverish "Hey?" He was excited, unreserved;
rarely had I seen him in such high spirits. Since the death of my
mother his beautiful, sonorous, and contagious laugh had been heard no
more.
Chattering thus, we came to a mound at the bottom of the garden, from
which we could see a corner of the village; the spire emerging from a
screen of limes, the crossed sails of a silent mill perched on a
grassy knoll, farms scattered among cornfields and meadows, until the
plain was lost in the horizon.
"Look, George," he said, "this will be our world in future.... It
will be good for us both to live here; for if I need solace, you will
gain equally.... No more confinement, my dear little fellow; we are
rich enough to live in the country as philosophers.... And when I
am gone ... for one must provide for everything...." He stopped.
I remember that a broken-winded barrel organ ground out a polka
behind the screen of limes which shut off the village.
My father had suddenly become serious, and the solemnity of his last
words moved me deeply. Then that distant melancholy air made me
shudder. When he had finished speaking, he coughed for a long time.
We were seated on the slope, our backs to the house, facing the vast
plain, the silence of which was rendered more overwhelming by the
jarring notes of the barrel organ.
"Father," I murmured, as if in prayer, "what do you mean?"
In reply he drew me towards him, took my head in his hands and looked
at me long, his eyes lost in mine; then he embraced me, attempted to
smile, and said:--
"It is nothing. I am well, am I not? Why do my family worry me with
their advice? Indeed, they will frighten me with their long faces and
perpetual visits.... To-day at least I have escaped from them.... We
two are alone ... free! Soon it will be always so!"
Despite this reanimation, an inexpressible agony wrung my heart, and I
made no effort to escape from this influence, which I felt to be due
to our deep sympathy.
Regret was already mingled with my delight; and on this exquisite
afternoon there was that heart-rending sense of things which have been
and will never be again--never.
I threw my arms round my father's neck, and made no other reply to his
last words. It required a mutual effort to break the silence; neither
of us made the effort. In the distance the organ continued to grind
out the tune as if it too were choked with sobs.
Thus we remained for long, until the day waned.
"Is it not time to go back, sir?"
Yana's interruptions aroused us. Silently my father got up, and with
my hand still in his we passed through the graying country, where the
twilight already created fantastic shadows. At about a hundred yards
from the house he turned round, and made me look once more at the
little corner of earth, the hermitage which was to shelter us.
"We will call it Mon Repos!" he said, and he moved on.
Mon Repos! How he lingered over those three syllables. Even thus are
certain nocturnes of Chopin prolonged.
When we reached Ambroes farm, we took affectionate farewell of Yana's
family. My father thanked them for their welcome, and reminded them of
his invitation. He gave Jan a few further instructions about the
garden; the lad stood cap in hand, his dark eyes expressive of vivid
sympathy.
Yet another "au revoir"; then the carriage drove away, and we turned
our backs on the dear village.
Was it still the kermesse organ which obsessed me, lingering above all
other sounds, growing fainter and fainter but never quite dying away?
And why did I ceaselessly repeat to myself, whatever the music, these
three unimportant syllables "Mon Repos"?
The sun was setting when we reached the gates of the town. Country
masons, white and dusty, with tools over their shoulder and tins
hanging by their side, walked rapidly to the villages which we had
left behind. Happy workmen! They were wise to go back to the village,
and to leave the hideous slums of West Antwerp to their town comrades.
A fresh breeze had risen which stirred the tops of the aspens. The
purple light on the horizon beyond the ramparts grew faint. During the
whole drive my father remained sunk in prostration; his hands, which I
stroked, were moist; now burning, now icy. He roused himself from this
painful torpor only to slip his hand through my hair, and to smile at
me as never friend has smiled since.
Yana too looked sad now, and pretended that it was the dust which
caused her to wipe her eyes continually with her handkerchief.
I was tired, overcome with so much open air, but I could not fall
asleep that night. I dreamed with open eyes of the events of the day,
of the farm, of good-natured Jan, of the happy meal, of the kid, of
the coming day when I should be "_boer Jorss_," as the kind fellow
said.... I was happy, but from time to time a fit of terrible coughing
from the next room stifled me, and then I recalled the scene in the
garden, our silence against the jarring sound of the organ, and later
these two words "Mon Repos." I did not close my eyes until the
morning.
When I awoke, my uncle was already waiting for me. He was an old
officer and adhered to military time only.
"We must be off!" he said in his gruff, harsh voice. "You must go back
to work, my lad."
Must I go away again? Why this week's separation? What did my uncle's
authoritative tone mean in my father's house, in _our_ house? Why did
Yana look at him respectfully but sullenly? I did not guess the
horrible but absolute necessity for this intrusion; it exasperated me.
What a bitter leave-taking! And that, too, for a week's separation
only. It was in vain that my uncle made fun of our tears. I clung to
my beloved father, and he had not the strength to repel me. The
impatient officer tore me at last from his embrace.
"The train does not wait!" he grumbled. "Were there ever such
chicken-hearted people!"