hardly knowing what we did, have so often offended Thee. We are not
worthy to receive Thee, unless Thou say but the word that our souls may
be healed. And, as Thou hast ordained, we will, in fear and confidence,
approach Thee as poor little children approaching their kind Father. We
have nothing wherewith to repay the great love which Thou bearest us; we
are needy in all things; and all things must come from Thee. We are still
very young and have already gone astray, but we repent and are heartily
sorry to have caused Thee any grief. And, now that Thou art so
unspeakably good to us, we wish to be wholly loyal to Thee and to belong
to Thee with heart and soul; dispose of us henceforth as Thy servants and
we shall be filled with joy. Come then, O Jesus; our hearts pant with
longing, our souls are now prepared; we have begged Mary, our dear
Mother, our guardian angels and our blessed patron saints to make us
worthy habitations for Thy majesty.”
The silence was so great that one could hear a leaf fall. The
congregation wriggled where they knelt to see and held their breaths,
full of expectation. The nun struck her key on the back of her chair. Two
little angels went, step by step, to the communion-bench and the first
row of boys and girls followed. The little ones now looked very serious.
They held their heads bowed and their hands clasped; and their faces
shone with heavenly light and silent inner happiness. Horieneke was now
like a white flower; her transparent little waxen face, her delicately
chiselled nose and closed pink lips looked so angelic under her sunny
curls and the white of her veil. The children approached the choir
silently and slowly: ‘twas as though they were floating. At the second
tap of the key, they knelt; one more ... and their hands were under the
lace communion-cloth. From the organ-loft the _Magnificat_ resounded. The
priest took the ciborium, gave the benediction and with stately tread
descended the altar-steps. In his slender fingers he held the Sacred
Host, that small white disk which stood out sharply above the silver
vessel against the rich violet of his chasuble. The children’s heads by
turn dropped backwards and fell upon their breasts, in ecstacy. The bells
rang out; the choristers shouted their hymn of praise; the priest
murmured:
“_Corpus Domini nostri Jesu Christ ..._”
The key tapped; and the angels kept leading new rows to the Holy Table
and bringing the others away again. And the great work went on in solemn
silence amid all that jubilant music. The congregation were lifted up,
their hearts throbbed and their tears welled with happiness and
contentment.
The last row had come back; and they were all now kneeling in adoration
when the head boy read out:
“What shall we return Thee, O Lord, for what Thou hast done for us! But
now we were mute, prostrate in adoration, amazed and awed by Thy mighty
presence in our hearts, bowed down in the dust of our humility; now at
last we dare raise our heads and thank Thee. We beseech Thee that Thou
wilt continue to dwell in our hearts, to reign there and to pour forth
Thy mercies there abundantly. We are frail creatures; and, were it not
that Thou, in Thy compassion, dost uphold us, we should continually and
at every moment fall and succumb in the rude gusts of life. We put our
trust in Thee and we know that Thou wilt succour us and that we shall
enter the life everlasting. Amen.”
It was over; and the congregation looked round impatiently to see how
they could get out of church quickest. Their tears were dried and their
thoughts were once more fixed on clothes, home, coffee and cakebread.
After the last sign of the cross, the men crowded outside; the mothers
sought their youngsters, kept them out of the crush for fear of accidents
and marched triumphantly through the two rows of sightseers that stood on
either side of the church-door. Now was the moment for showing-off, for
congratulation and admiration on every side, till the children did not
know which way to turn or what to say; and they were very hungry. All now
went with their friends to the tavern for a drop of Hollands; and from
there mother went home with two or three wives of the neighbourhood.
Horieneke walked behind. She was all by herself and wrapped in
contemplation: that great miracle was now over, all of a sudden, and she
could hardly believe it. Instead of enjoying all the happiness for which
she had waited so long, her heart was full of distress and she felt
inclined to cry. She had been so uneasy in church, so shy and frightened:
there was the reading of that paper before all those people; and directly
after, amid all the confusion, Our Lord had come. Hastily and very
distractedly she had said her prayers, had spoken, asked and prayed and
then waited for the miracle, waiting for Our Lord, Who now, living in
her, would speak. And nothing had happened, nothing: she had done her
very best to listen amidst the bustle outside and around her ... and yet
nothing, nothing! Meanwhile she had raised her head to breathe ... and
the people were leaving and she had to go with them: it was finished! It
had all been so matter-of-fact, just like the communion-practice of
yesterday, when she had merely swallowed a morsel of bread. Her heart
beat in perplexity and she feared that she had made an unworthy
communion.
The wind blew under her veil, which flew up in the air behind her. She
was so pure, so unspotted in all that white; and, cudgel her brains as
she would, she could not remember any fault or sin which she had omitted
to confess. Though Our Lord had not spoken to her, He had been there all
the same and she had not heard Him because of all that was happening
around her. She ought to have been alone there, in a silent church. Even
here, outside, by the trees, would have been better.
The wives were asked in to coffee and they stood and waited for Horieneke
at the garden-gate. Indoors everything was anyhow: Fonske was going about
in his shirt, Bertje had one leg in his breeches and Dolfke sat on the
floor, playing with Trientje. Father had made coffee and stood with the
bottles and glasses ready, looking dumbfounded at his child, now that he
saw her for the first time in her white clothes. The boys crowded round
shyly; they no longer knew their sister in this great lady; they kept
hold of one another shyly, with their fingers in their mouths; they were
unable to speak a word. Mother threw off her cloak and began cutting
currant-bread and butter. Horieneke was made to take off her veil and
gloves and a towel was fastened under her chin. The wives and youngsters
sat down. First a drop to each; all drank to the health of the little
first-communicant; they touched glasses. Father poured out and Horieneke
had to drink too: she put the stuff to her lips, pulled a wry face and
pushed the glass away. The boys dipped and soaked the bread in their
coffee; and the wives started talking about their young days and about
clothes and the old ways and the fine weather and the fruit-crop. Mother
did nothing but cut fresh slices of bread-and-butter, which were snatched
away and gobbled up on every side.
“Eat away!” said father.
The hostess of “The Four Winds” had been unable to take her eyes off
Horieneke all through mass.
“Damned pretty, like a little angel!” said Stiene Sagaer.
“And a curly head of hair like a ball of gold! It made one’s mouth water!
And that wreath!” squealed the farmer’s wife from the Rent Farm.
“Mam’selle Julie had a hand in it.”
“And such pretty manners! Well, dear, Our Lord will be mighty pleased
with you.”
“And how nicely she read that piece!” said Stiene. “My blood crept when I
heard it. Look here, Wanne Vandoorn was sitting beside me; and, you can
take my word, the good soul couldn’t control herself and we both cried
till we sobbed.”
“I felt it too,” said mother. “Such things are cruel hearing. And the
priest....”
“Ah, he knows how to talk, that holy man! He’s a pure soul.”
“You’ll regret it all your days, Ivo, that you weren’t there to see it.”
Father nodded and took another slice of bread-and-butter.
“It’ll take me all the week to tell about it at home,” said the farmer’s
wife.
The boys sat making fun among themselves of Stiene Sagaer’s crooked nose
and the squeaky voice of the farmer’s wife. When the wives had done
eating, they stood up and went.
When they had gone some little way, they turned round again and cried
against the wind:
“It’s going to be fine to-day, Ivo!”
“And warm!” piped the farmer’s wife. “Beautiful weather!”
They went down the sand-path, each wending her own way home.
The boys were now dressed and father, stripped to the waist, went out to
wash his face under the trees at the pump. His freshly-ironed white shirt
was brought out and his shiny boots and his blue smock-frock and
black-silk cap. After much fuss and turning and seeking, he got ready and
the boys too. Mother was busy with the baby in the cradle; Horieneke was
showing her new holy pictures to Trientje; and Bertje and the other boys
had gone out to play in the road. The bells rang again, this time for
high mass. Many small things had still to be rummaged out, clothes to be
pinned and buttoned; and the boys, with their Sunday penny in their
pocket, marched up the wide road to high mass.
The wind had dropped and the sun blazed in the clear blue of the sky,
which hung full of unravelled white cloud-threads, showing gold at the
edges. A gay light lay over all the young green; the huge fields were
full of waving corn, which swayed and bowed and straightened again,
shining in streaks as under clear, transparent water. The trees stood
turned to the sun, as though painted, so bright that from a distance one
saw all the leaves, finely drawn, gleaming against the shadows that lay
below. Here they stood in close hedges on either side of the road, trunk
after trunk, making a dark wall with a dense roof of leafage, which
presently opened out in a rift at the turn of the road, where four
tree-trunks stood out against the sky; and then the trees turned away to
the left and were drawn up in two new rows, which stretched out beside
the road right across the plain. Here and there a few other trees stood
lonely in the fields, gathered in small clumps, with the light playing
between them; and far away at the edge of the bright expanse, in a wealth
of mingled green, amid the tufted foliage with its changing hues and
shadows, the little pointed church showed above the uneven, red-tiled
roofs. It was all like a restful dream, made up of Sunday peace. Above
and around, all the air was sounding with the gay tripping music of the
three bells as they rang together: a laughing song in the glad sunshine,
summoning from afar the people who came from every side, clad in their
best. The boys, in their new red-brown, fustian breeches, standing stiff
with the tailor’s crease in them, and their thick, wide jackets and shiny
hats, held father’s hand or skipped round Horieneke, whom they could not
admire enough. In the village square they hid themselves and went to the
booth to see how they could best spend their pennies.
The people stayed in the street, looking about, and did not go into the
church until the little bell tolled out its tinkling summons and the last
little maid had been looked at and had disappeared. Then the men knocked
out their pipes against the tips of their shoes and sauntered in through
the wide church-door.
The incense still hung about the aisles and the sun sifted its golden
dust through the stained-glass windows right across the church. The
congregation stood crowded and crammed together behind their chairs,
looking at the gilt of the flowers and at the great mountain of votive
candles that were burning before the altar. The organ had all its pipes
wide open; and music streamed forth in great gusts that resounded in the
street outside. The priest sang and rough men’s voices chanted the
responses with the full power of their throats. And the high mass
proceeded slowly with its pomp of movement and song. The congregation
prayed from their books or, overcome by the heat, sat yawning or gazing
at the incense-wreaths or started nodding on their chairs. The saints
stood stock-still, smiling from their pedestals and proud in their high
day finery. When the singing ceased, one heard through the dreamy murmur
of the organ the spluttering of the burning candles and the clatter on
the brass dish of the sacristan making the collection. The priest once
more mounted the pulpit and, with the same gestures and action, delivered
the same admonitions as earlier in the morning. Again the people sat
listening and weeping; others slept. More organ-music and singing and
praying and the mass came to an end and the priest turned to the
congregation and gave the blessing. They streamed out of church in a
thick crowd and stood in the road again to see the youngsters pass. Then
all of them made their several ways to the taverns. The
first-communicants had to call on aunts and cousins and friends; and the
poorer children went to show their clothes and asked for pennies.
Horieneke and father and the brothers went straight home to await the
visitors. Before they reached the door, they smelt the butter burning in
the pan, the roast and the vegetables. The stove roared softly; and on
the flat pipe stood earthen and iron pots and pans simmering and fretting
and sending up clouds of steam to the rafters. Amidst it all, mother
hurried to and fro in her heavy wooden shoes. Her body still waggled in
her wide jacket and blue petticoat. Her face shone with grease and
perspiration. She puffed and sighed in the intolerable heat. The blue
chequered cloth lay spread on the table; and all around were the plates
with the freshly tinned spoons and forks and little beer-glasses.[8]
Outside, the boys sat in the top of the walnut-tree, waiting and peering
for any one coming. Father had taken off his blue smock and turned up his
shirt-sleeves and now went to see to his birds. That was his great hobby
and his work on Sunday every week. All the walls were hung with cages: in
that big one were two canaries, pairing; in the next, a hen-canary
sitting on her eggs; and in a little wire castle lived a linnet and a
cock-canary and three speckled youngsters. The finches were in a long row
of darkened cages and moulting-boxes. When he put out his hands, the
whole pack started singing and whistling; they sprang and fluttered
against the bars and pecked at his fingers. He took the cages down one by
one, put them on the table and whistled and talked to his birds, cleaned
the trays and filled the troughs with fresh water and seed. The
canary-bird got a lump of white sugar and the linnet half an egg, because
of her young ones. Then he stood and watched them washing their beaks and
wings and splashing in the water, pecking at their troughs now full of
seed and at their sugar and cheerfully hopping on and off their perches.
Then, when they were all hung up again in their places on the wall, they
all started whistling together till the kitchen rang with it. The baby
screamed in its cradle. Trientje cried and mother stamped across the
floor in her heavy wooden shoes.
[8] The West-Flemings brew a beer so extremely strong that it is
served in quite small glasses, not more than half the size of an
ordinary tumbler.
“Hi, mates, I see something!” Fonske called from the walnut-tree.
The boys stretched their necks and so did father: it was jogging along in
the distance, coming nearer and nearer.
“Uncle Petrus and Aunt Stanse in the dog-cart!”
They slithered out of the tree like cats and ran down the road as fast as
they could. The others now plainly heard the wheels rattling and saw the
great dogs tugging and leaping along as if possessed. High up in the car
sat uncle, with his tall hat on his round head, bolt upright in his
glossy black-broadcloth coat; and beside him broad-bodied Aunt Stanse,
with coloured ribbons fluttering round her cap and a glitter of beads
upon her breast. In between them sat Cousin Isidoor, half-hidden, waving
his handkerchief. They came nearer still, jolting up and down through the
streaks of shade and sunlight between the trees. Uncle Petrus flourished
his hand, pushed his hat back and urged the dogs on; aunt sat with her
face aflame and the drops of sweat on her chubby cheeks, laughing, with
her hands on her hips, because of the shaking of her fat stomach. The
dogs barked and leapt right and left at the boys. Petrus jumped nimbly
out of the cart, ran along the shafts and led the team with a stylish
turn out of the road, through the gate, into the little garden, where it
pulled up in front of the door. The dogs stood still, panting and lolling
out their tongues. Mother was there too and cried, “Welcome,” and took
Doorke under the armpits and lifted him out of the cart. Aunt began by
handing out baskets, parcels and bundles. Then, sticking out her fat
legs, in their white stockings, she climbed out of the cart and looked
round at the youngsters, who already stood hankering to know what was in
the basket.
“Well, bless me, Frazie, I needn’t ask you how it goes with the chickens!
There’s a whole band of them and all sound and well: just look at them!
Oh, you fatty!” And she pinched Bertje’s red cheeks. “And you too,
Frazie.”
“Look at the state I’m in!” said mother, sticking her hands under the
apron stretched tight across her fat stomach and looking down at her bare
legs. “Such a heap to do, no time to dress yet.”
“You’re all right as you are, Frazie; you’ve no need to hide your legs
nor t’other either: you’ve a handsome allowance of both,” said Uncle
Petrus, chaffingly. “I’d like a drop of water for the dogs, though.”
Father sent the bucket toppling down the well and turned the handle till
it rose filled. The dogs stuck their heads into the bucket and lapped and
gulped greedily. Cousin stood staring bashfully amid all those
peasant-lads and all that jollity, while Bertje, Fonske and the others
too did not come near, but stood looking at the little gentleman with his
fine clothes and his thin, peaky face; they trotted and turned, whispered
to one another, went outside and came back again, laughed and said
nothing.
“But the first-communicant! Where’s Horieneke?” asked Stanse, suddenly.
From the little green arbour, in between the trees, a golden curly-head
came peeping, followed by a little white body and little Trientje too,
holding a great bunch of yellow daffodils in her hand. Stanse stuck out
her arms in the air:
“Oh, you little butterfly! Come along here, you’re as lovely as an
angel!”
And she lifted Horieneke from among the flowers, right up to her beaded
breast, and pressed her thick lips to the child’s forehead with a
resounding smack.
“Godmother, godmother,” whimpered Trientje.
“Yes, you too, my duck!”
And the child forthwith received two fat kisses on its little cheeks.
The dogs were now unharnessed and father and Petrus had gone for a stroll
in the orchard. The boys stood crowding against the table, looking at
aunt undoing her parcels. In one were sweet biscuits, in another
brandy-balls, peppermints, pear-drops and toffy. All this was carefully
divided into little stacks and each child was given his share, with the
strict injunction not to eat any before noon. Fonske hid his in the
drawer, next to the canary-seed, Dolfke his in the cupboard and Bertje
shoved his portion into his pockets. It was not long before three or four
of them were fighting like thieves and robbers, while Stanse and Frazie
went to look at the baby, which lay sleeping quietly in the cradle.
First one more drop of cherry-gin apiece and then to dinner. The soup
stood ready ladled out, steaming in the plates. Horieneke sat demurely in
the middle, next to Doorke, with uncle and aunt on either side and, lower
down, father and all the children: mother had to keep moving to and fro,
waiting on them, snatching a mouthful now and again betweenwhiles. When
every one was served and Trientje had stammered out her Our Father aloud,
father once more stood up, as the master of the house, and said:
“You are all of you welcome and I wish you a good appetite.”
The spoons began to clatter and the tongues to wag: uncle praised the
delicious leek-soup, so did aunt; and then came endless questions from
every side about the news of the district and all that had happened
during the last ten or twelve years, ever since Frazie had married and
left her home.
The children sat staring with wide-open eyes, now at their plates, now at
aunt with her fat cheeks and her diamond cross that hung glittering at
the end of a gold chain on her enormous breast; they counted the rings
that were spitted on her fingers right up to the knuckles; they gazed at
her earrings.... As the soup went down, the faces began to shine and
mother pulled at her jacket and complained of the dreadful heat. Father
pushed up the window and opened the back-door. The wind and the scented
air, with pollen from the cherry-trees, now blew across the table and
played refreshingly in their necks and ears. Mother kept on running about
and serving: it was hot carrots now and boiled beef. Father took the
flowered milk-jug and filled the little tumblers with beer. Slices of
meat and fat were cut off with the big carving-knife and distributed;
each received his plateful of glistening carrots; and the forks went
bravely to work. After that, the great iron pot was set on the table,
with the rabbits, which, roasted brown, lay outstretched in the
appetizing, simmering gravy that smelt so good; and beside it a dish of
steaming potatoes. The little tumblers were emptied and filled again; in
between the loud talking you could hear the crunching of the teeth and
the cracking of the bones; the children sat smeared to their eyes and
picked the food in their plates with their hands. Uncle’s eyes began to
twinkle and he started making jokes, so much so that aunt had every
moment to stop eating for laughing; then her broad head would fall
backwards and her cheeks, which bloomed like ripe peaches, creased up and
displayed two rows of gleaming ivory teeth. It all turned to a noisy
giggling; and the general merriment could be heard far away in the other
houses.
Uncle Petrus enjoyed teasing his sister and made her cry out each time he
declared that, for all her waiting at table and running about, she had
eaten more than he and Brother Ivo put together and that it was no wonder
she had grown such a body and bred such fine youngsters. The mighty din
woke the baby and started it crying loudly in its cradle. Fonske took it
out and put it in mother’s lap. It was as fresh and pink as a rose-bud;
it kicked its little legs about and shoved its fists into its eyes.
“Yes, darling, you’re hungry too, I expect.”
And she unbuttoned her jacket and from behind her shift produced her
great right breast. The baby stuck its hands into that wealth of
whiteness, seized the proffered nipple in its mouth and started greedily
sucking. After the first eager gulps it gradually quieted, closed its
eyes and lay softly drinking, rocked on mother’s heaving lap. Isidoorke
kept looking at this as at something very strange that alarmed him.
Horieneke, noticing it, held up a rabbit-leg to him and told him of those
pretty white rabbits which she had seen slaughtered yesterday. The other
youngsters had now eaten their fill and began to feel terribly bored at
table. Bertje gave Fonske a kick on the shin and they went outside
together, whispering like boys with some roguery in view. Wartje, Dolfke
and the others followed them outside. When it was all well planned, they
beckoned behind the door to Doorke; and, when the little man came out at
last:
“Is it true, Doorke? Do you dare go among the dogs?”
And they led him on gently by his velvet jacket, behind the house to the
bake-house, where the dogs lay blinking in the shade, with their heads
stretched on their paws.
Doorke nodded; and, to show how well-behaved they were, he went close up
to them and stroked their backs.
“And is it also true,” asked Bertje, with mischievous innocence, “that
you know how to harness them?”
Doorke looked surprised and again nodded yes.
“Let’s see if you dare!”
“Hoo, hoo, Baron!” said Doorke.
And he took the dog by the collar, put the girths on him and fastened the
traces while Fonske held up the cart.
“And that other one too?”