SETTING OUT ON THE GREAT ADVENTURE
It was on Friday afternoon, September 24th, that I ran down the stairs
of the Hotel Terminus, with a little brown bag in my hand.
Without saying good-bye to anybody, I hurried out, and jumped into a cab
at the door, accompanied by the old professor from Liège, and the young
Brussels lawyer.
It was a gorgeous day, about four o'clock in the afternoon, with
brilliant sunlight flooding the city; and a feeling of intense elation
came over me as our cab went rattling along over the old flagged
streets.
Overhead, in the bright blue sky, aeroplanes were scouting. The wind
blew sweet from the Scheldt, and the flat green lands beyond. All the
banners stirred and waved. French, English, Belgian and Russian. And I
felt contented, and glad I had started.
"First we call for Madame Julie!" said the young lawyer.
We drove along the quay, and stopped at a big white house.
To my surprise, I found myself now suddenly precipitated into the midst
of a huge Belgian party,--mamma, papa, aunts, uncles, nephews, nieces,
friends, officers, little girls, little boys, servants gathered in a
great high-ceiled and be-windowed drawing-room crowded to the full. I
was introduced to everybody, and a lot of hand-shaking went on.
I thought to myself, "This is a new way to get to Brussels!"
Servants were going round with trays laden with glasses of foaming
champagne, and little sweet biscuits.
"We shall drink to the health of Julie!" said someone.
And we drank to Julie.
The sun poured in through the windows, and the genial affectionate
Belgian family all gathered closer round the beloved daughter, who was
going bravely back to-day to Brussels to join her husband there at his
post.
It was a touching scene.
But as I think of it now, it becomes poignant with the tragedy hidden
beneath the glittering sunlight and foaming champagne. That fine old
man, with the dignified grey head and beard, was a distinguished Belgian
minister, who has since met with a sad death. He was Julie's father, a
father any woman might have been proud of. He said to me, "Je suis
content that a lady is going too in this little company. It is hard for
my daughter to be travelling about alone. Yet she is brave; she does not
lack courage; she came alone all the way from Brussels three days ago
in order to bring her little girl to Antwerp and leave her in our care.
And now she feels it is her duty to go back to her husband in Brussels,
though we, of course, long to have her remain with us."
Then at last the parting came, and tall, brown-eyed, buxom Julie kissed
and was kissed by everybody, and everybody shook hands with me, and
wished me luck, and I felt as if I was one with them, although I had
never seen them in my life before, and never saw them in my life again.
We ran down the steps. And now, instead of getting into the old ricketty
fiacre, we entered a handsome motor car belonging to the Belgian
Ministry, and drove quickly to the quay. The father came with us, his
daughter clinging to his arm. At the quay we went on board the big river
steamer, and Julie bade her father farewell. She flung herself into his
arms, and he clasped her tight. He held her in silence for a long
minute. Then they parted.
They never met again.
As we moved away from the quay, it seemed to me that our steamer was
steering straight for the Hesperides.
All the west was one great blazing field of red and gold, and the sun
was low on the broad water's edge, while behind us the fair city of
Antwerp lit sparkling lights in all her windows, and the old Cathedral
rose high into the sunlight, with the Belgian banner fluttering from a
pinnacle; and that is how I shall always see Antwerp, fair, and
stately, and sun-wreathed, as she was that golden September afternoon.
When I think of her, I refuse to see her any other way!
I refuse to see her as she was when I came back to her.
Or as when I left her again for the Last Time.