THE rain took off near Laeken. But the sun was already down; the air was
chill; and we had scarcely a dry stitch between the pair of us. Nay, now
we found ourselves near the end of the Allée Verte, and on the very
threshold of Brussels, we were confronted by a serious difficulty. The
shores were closely lined by canal boats waiting their turn at the lock.
Nowhere was there any convenient landing-place; nowhere so much as a
stable-yard to leave the canoes in for the night. We scrambled ashore
and entered an _estaminet_ where some sorry fellows were drinking with
the landlord. The landlord was pretty round with us; he knew of no
coach-house or stable-yard, nothing of the sort; and seeing we had come
with no mind to drink, he did not conceal his impatience to be rid of us.
One of the sorry fellows came to the rescue. Somewhere in the corner of
the basin there was a slip, he informed us, and something else besides,
not very clearly defined by him, but hopefully construed by his hearers.
Sure enough there was the slip in the corner of the basin; and at the top
of it two nice-looking lads in boating clothes. The _Arethusa_ addressed
himself to these. One of them said there would be no difficulty about a
night’s lodging for our boats; and the other, taking a cigarette from his
lips, inquired if they were made by Searle and Son. The name was quite
an introduction. Half-a-dozen other young men came out of a boat-house
bearing the superscription ROYAL SPORT NAUTIQUE, and joined in the talk.
They were all very polite, voluble, and enthusiastic; and their discourse
was interlarded with English boating terms, and the names of English
boat-builders and English clubs. I do not know, to my shame, any spot in
my native land where I should have been so warmly received by the same
number of people. We were English boating-men, and the Belgian
boating-men fell upon our necks. I wonder if French Huguenots were as
cordially greeted by English Protestants when they came across the
Channel out of great tribulation. But after all, what religion knits
people so closely as a common sport?
The canoes were carried into the boat-house; they were washed down for us
by the Club servants, the sails were hung out to dry, and everything made
as snug and tidy as a picture. And in the meanwhile we were led upstairs
by our new-found brethren, for so more than one of them stated the
relationship, and made free of their lavatory. This one lent us soap,
that one a towel, a third and fourth helped us to undo our bags. And all
the time such questions, such assurances of respect and sympathy! I
declare I never knew what glory was before.
‘Yes, yes, the _Royal Sport Nautique_ is the oldest club in Belgium.’
‘We number two hundred.’
‘We’—this is not a substantive speech, but an abstract of many speeches,
the impression left upon my mind after a great deal of talk; and very
youthful, pleasant, natural, and patriotic it seems to me to be—‘We have
gained all races, except those where we were cheated by the French.’
‘You must leave all your wet things to be dried.’
‘O! _entre frères_! In any boat-house in England we should find the
same.’ (I cordially hope they might.)
‘_En Angleterre_, _vous employez des sliding-seats_, _n’est-ce pas_?’
‘We are all employed in commerce during the day; but in the evening,
_voyez-vous_, _nous sommes sérieux_.’
These were the words. They were all employed over the frivolous
mercantile concerns of Belgium during the day; but in the evening they
found some hours for the serious concerns of life. I may have a wrong
idea of wisdom, but I think that was a very wise remark. People
connected with literature and philosophy are busy all their days in
getting rid of second-hand notions and false standards. It is their
profession, in the sweat of their brows, by dogged thinking, to recover
their old fresh view of life, and distinguish what they really and
originally like, from what they have only learned to tolerate perforce.
And these Royal Nautical Sportsmen had the distinction still quite
legible in their hearts. They had still those clean perceptions of what
is nice and nasty, what is interesting and what is dull, which envious
old gentlemen refer to as illusions. The nightmare illusion of middle
age, the bear’s hug of custom gradually squeezing the life out of a man’s
soul, had not yet begun for these happy-starred young Belgians. They
still knew that the interest they took in their business was a trifling
affair compared to their spontaneous, long-suffering affection for
nautical sports. To know what you prefer, instead of humbly saying Amen
to what the world tells you you ought to prefer, is to have kept your
soul alive. Such a man may be generous; he may be honest in something
more than the commercial sense; he may love his friends with an elective,
personal sympathy, and not accept them as an adjunct of the station to
which he has been called. He may be a man, in short, acting on his own
instincts, keeping in his own shape that God made him in; and not a mere
crank in the social engine-house, welded on principles that he does not
understand, and for purposes that he does not care for.
For will any one dare to tell me that business is more entertaining than
fooling among boats? He must have never seen a boat, or never seen an
office, who says so. And for certain the one is a great deal better for
the health. There should be nothing so much a man’s business as his
amusements. Nothing but money-grubbing can be put forward to the
contrary; no one but
Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell
From Heaven,
durst risk a word in answer. It is but a lying cant that would represent
the merchant and the banker as people disinterestedly toiling for
mankind, and then most useful when they are most absorbed in their
transactions; for the man is more important than his services. And when
my Royal Nautical Sportsman shall have so far fallen from his hopeful
youth that he cannot pluck up an enthusiasm over anything but his ledger,
I venture to doubt whether he will be near so nice a fellow, and whether
he would welcome, with so good a grace, a couple of drenched Englishmen
paddling into Brussels in the dusk.
When we had changed our wet clothes and drunk a glass of pale ale to the
Club’s prosperity, one of their number escorted us to an hotel. He would
not join us at our dinner, but he had no objection to a glass of wine.
Enthusiasm is very wearing; and I begin to understand why prophets were
unpopular in Judæa, where they were best known. For three stricken hours
did this excellent young man sit beside us to dilate on boats and
boat-races; and before he left, he was kind enough to order our bedroom
candles.
We endeavoured now and again to change the subject; but the diversion did
not last a moment: the Royal Nautical Sportsman bridled, shied, answered
the question, and then breasted once more into the swelling tide of his
subject. I call it his subject; but I think it was he who was subjected.
The _Arethusa_, who holds all racing as a creature of the devil, found
himself in a pitiful dilemma. He durst not own his ignorance for the
honour of Old England, and spoke away about English clubs and English
oarsmen whose fame had never before come to his ears. Several times,
and, once above all, on the question of sliding-seats, he was within an
ace of exposure. As for the _Cigarette_, who has rowed races in the heat
of his blood, but now disowns these slips of his wanton youth, his case
was still more desperate; for the Royal Nautical proposed that he should
take an oar in one of their eights on the morrow, to compare the English
with the Belgian stroke. I could see my friend perspiring in his chair
whenever that particular topic came up. And there was yet another
proposal which had the same effect on both of us. It appeared that the
champion canoeist of Europe (as well as most other champions) was a Royal
Nautical Sportsman. And if we would only wait until the Sunday, this
infernal paddler would be so condescending as to accompany us on our next
stage. Neither of us had the least desire to drive the coursers of the
sun against Apollo.
When the young man was gone, we countermanded our candles, and ordered
some brandy and water. The great billows had gone over our head. The
Royal Nautical Sportsmen were as nice young fellows as a man would wish
to see, but they were a trifle too young and a thought too nautical for
us. We began to see that we were old and cynical; we liked ease and the
agreeable rambling of the human mind about this and the other subject; we
did not want to disgrace our native land by messing an eight, or toiling
pitifully in the wake of the champion canoeist. In short, we had
recourse to flight. It seemed ungrateful, but we tried to make that good
on a card loaded with sincere compliments. And indeed it was no time for
scruples; we seemed to feel the hot breath of the champion on our necks.