Transcriber's Notes:
Words surrounded by _ are italicized.
Words encased in = clarify the pronunciation.
A number of obvious errors have been corrected in this text.
For a complete list, please see the bottom of this document.
Little Philippe of Belgium
[Illustration: LITTLE PHILIPPE OF BELGIUM]
LITTLE PHILIPPE
_of_ BELGIUM
BY
MADELINE BRANDEIS
_Author of_
"Little Indian Weaver"
"The Wee Scotch Piper"
"The Little Dutch Tulip Girl"
"The Little Swiss Wood-Carver"
_Photographic Illustrations Made in Belgium by the Author_
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
_By Arrangement with the A. Flanagan Company_
COPYRIGHT, 1930, BY A. FLANAGAN COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
PREFACE
When I began to write these stories about children of all lands I had
just returned from Europe whither I journeyed with Marie and Ref. Maybe
you don't know Marie and Ref. I'll introduce them: Please meet Marie, my
very little daughter, and Ref, my very big reflex camera.
These two are my helpers. Marie helps by being a little girl who knows
what other little girls like and by telling me; and Ref helps by
snapping pictures of everything interesting that Marie and I see on our
travels. I couldn't get along without them.
Several years have gone by since we started our work together and Marie
is a bigger girl--but Ref hasn't changed one bit. Ref hasn't changed any
more than my interest in writing these books for you. And I hope that
_you_ hope that I'll never change, because I want to keep on writing
until we'll have no more countries to write about--unless, of course,
some one discovers a new country.
Even if a new country isn't discovered, we'll find foreign children to
talk about--maybe the children in Mars! Who knows? Nobody. Not even
Marie--and Marie usually knows about most things. That's the reason why,
you see, though I sign myself
[Illustration: Madeline Brandeis]
I am really only
Marie's Mother.
DEDICATION
Because she likes "scarey" stories, because she likes this one best of
all my books, because I like her best of all--well, just because she's
my dear little daughter, I dedicate this book to
Marie Madeleine Brandeis.
CONTENTS
Chapter I PAGE
The Brussels Sprout 13
Chapter II
Papa Pomme's Surprise 32
Chapter III
A Neighbor 43
Chapter IV
Zelie 58
Chapter V
New Friends 69
Chapter VI
Philippe Acts as Guide 81
Chapter VII
Philippe Runs Away 95
Chapter VIII
A Difficult Journey 109
Chapter IX
The City of Sisters 120
Chapter X
In the Shadows of Bruges 131
Chapter XI
Found 139
Chapter XII
Philippe Finds Out 150
Chapter XIII
The Cave of the Crows 162
Chapter XIV
Trompke Talks 175
Chapter XV
A New Song 185
PEOPLE WHO POSED FOR THE PICTURES
Little Philippe Alden Allen
Philippe, grown older Philippe de Lacy
Papa Pomme Lionel Belmore
Tom Craufurd Kent
Zelie Seesil Anne Johnson
Baby Rose Suzanne Ransom
AND SOMETHING ABOUT THEM
Little Alden Allen looks so much like Philippe that he might have
stepped right out of this book. He is also a sweet lovable little boy.
Lionel Belmore--well, just look at his jolly round face! Isn't he Papa
Pomme to perfection? Mr. Belmore is a famous English actor, and he posed
for Papa Pomme because he loves to do all he can to please boys and
girls.
Craufurd Kent is another famous English actor. And although it is hard
to believe, from looking at these savage photographs, he also loves boys
and girls and he hopes you won't think him like Tom in real life. I can
assure you he isn't a bit, except that he whistles a lot and does it
beautifully.
Seesil Anne Johnson is a talented little girl, who has worked in many
motion pictures. She seems to have Zelie's sad eyes, though of course,
she has no reason to be sad, and she isn't. On the contrary, she is very
happy, for she has six brothers and sisters to play with.
Suzanne Ransom is another little motion picture girl, and she is just
like Philippe's Baby Rose. Don't you think so?
Now we come to the hero of the story, Philippe de Lacy. Philippe's life
itself is a story; only I could not tell it all to you, for it would
take most of the pages in this book to do so. You may already know that
Philippe is one of the best beloved boy-actors in the world. Perhaps you
do not know that during the war, Philippe was found in a deserted
village in France and adopted by a kind English nurse. She brought him
to America, and today there is no happier pair in Hollywood than these
two. You see what a fine boy Philippe has turned out to be. And I need
not add that Miss de Lacy is a proud mother.
In the book little Philippe's adventure started because of that war
picture which he saw with his father. In real life, little Philippe's
adventure also started because of the war. But in the book Philippe's
experience was not pleasant and he was glad when it was over, while the
real Philippe's adventure was pleasant, and we are all glad for him that
it is going on and on.
MADELINE BRANDEIS
[Illustration: VIEW OF A CANAL FROM THE ROSARY DOCK, BRUGES]
Little Philippe of Belgium
Chapter I
THE BRUSSELS SPROUT
The Brussels Sprout sat among the cabbages, thinking.
The Brussels Sprout was not a little vegetable. He was a little boy. His
name was really Philippe. But he was called "Petit Choux de Bruxelles"
(=pe-tē´ shōō de brük-sel=), which means in French, "Little
Brussels Sprout." French is spoken in Brussels, and this little boy
was born in that city.
But he now lived on a farm a few miles outside of Brussels.
The name "choux" (=shōō=) or "cabbage," is often used as a pet name.
That was the reason why Philippe's parents called him Little Cabbage or
Sprout.
Sprout was a very good name for this little boy, because new ideas were
always sprouting in his head.
He was always dreaming dreams and wishing wishes. He was never
satisfied.
One of his dearest wishes was for a little sister.
Today he sat among the cabbages and thought deeply. He was wondering
why one of the cabbages did not open and give him a baby sister.
[Illustration: SPROUT SAT AMONG THE CABBAGES]
This may sound queer to you. But Philippe was only five years old, and
he believed very earnestly that babies pop out of cabbages.
It is a Belgian folk tale. Philippe had planted these cabbages in his
garden for this very purpose.
But no baby sister had popped out of a cabbage yet.
Philippe wanted a baby sister with whom to play. He was the kind of
little boy who always longed for something.
He was not really discontented. But he liked new things to happen. And
besides he was a bit lonely on that farm, with nobody to play with him.
"Why do you look so sad today, my little cabbage?" asked his mother.
[Illustration: HE WAS NEVER SATISFIED]
She had just come out of the house and stood looking down at him.
"I am thinking that never will the baby, Cauliflower, come!" he
answered.
Cauliflower was what Philippe had determined to name the sister for whom
he longed. Cauliflower in French is "choux fleur" (=shōō-flûr=), which
means "cabbage flower."
"Are you quite certain that none of the cabbages moved today?" asked
Mother Yvelle (=ē-vĕl'=), smiling strangely.
Philippe shook his head and replied, "They are all quite still, Mamma.
The little sister is not coming."
Then Mother Yvelle laughed and threw both arms about her little boy.
"Do not say that," she cried.
Philippe looked at her and saw a shiny light in her eyes. Mother Yvelle
said softly, "Soon--soon--the great day is coming when my Philippe shall
be a little brother!"
A little brother! Philippe could hardly believe the words that Mother
Yvelle had spoken. But it was true. Mother Yvelle spoke only the truth.
When Mother Yvelle went into the house, Philippe looked at each cabbage
carefully.
[Illustration: MOTHER YVELLE]
"Which one will it be?" he wondered excitedly. "Which cabbage will
open and give me my little Cauliflower?"
[Illustration: "WHICH ONE WILL IT BE?"]
Philippe was happy beyond all dreams. He examined each vegetable. But he
could find no sign of the coming baby in any of them.
[Illustration: HE EXAMINED EACH VEGETABLE]
He went to the barn. There he spoke to the big dogs, his only
companions. He told them the great news.
These dogs did not have much time to play with a little boy. They were
usually working. For Belgian dogs draw carts for their owners.
[Illustration: BELGIAN DOGS DRAW CARTS FOR THEIR OWNERS]
Philippe's mother had a big vegetable cart. Nearly every morning she
loaded it with peas and beans and carrots and onions. She then hitched
the dogs and drove them to the market place in Brussels. Here she would
sit at a stand and sell her fresh vegetables.
Philippe usually went with her. But sometimes he stayed at home with the
gardener.
Philippe's father was a chef. Papa Paul was a very fine chef and could
cook some of the best French and Belgian dishes.
He cooked in a fine restaurant in Brussels. He came home late at night,
and so Philippe saw little of his father.
But he admired his father very much. He wanted to cook the way his
father did some day. That was another great desire in the heart of this
little boy. Philippe dreamed of some day becoming a chef like his
father.
But he did not look like Papa Paul. Philippe's father was stout and
round and smiling. And Philippe was rather slender, and had a serious
little face with big dreamy eyes. He was like his mother.
[Illustration: STOUT AND ROUND AND SMILING]
Mother Yvelle was thin and pale and sad-looking.
You see, she and her husband had lived through the terrible World War.
There are, however, people whose dispositions are so jolly that they
forget sadness. Philippe's father was one of these people. Though Papa
Paul wore a wooden leg, it did not seem to affect his sunny smile. When
he was in the war he had been shot in the leg, and now he wore a leg of
wood. He had been a chef only since the war.
Before the war Philippe's parents had farmed and raised vegetables
together. They had been happy farmers. But their farm had been blown to
bits by the enemy.
Many stormy years passed, and many terrible things happened to these
poor people. But finally the sunny smile won out. Here was Papa Paul
cooking in one of the best restaurants in Belgium, while Mother Yvelle
was the farmer.
Mother Yvelle looked forward to the day when Philippe should be old
enough to help her drive the dogs to town with the vegetables.
Philippe, too, wanted that day to come. He wanted to drive the fine dogs
to town.
From the barn he made his way to a tiny shack, which was his own little
kitchen. Here he spent many hours over a small stove his father had made
for him. He prepared dishes that he thought were very fine.
Today he had gathered some vegetables and carried them with the other
things he had in his arms.
"What are you going to cook today?" asked the gardener, Emile
(=ā-mēl´=).
He stood in the door holding a big rake and looking amused.
"A stew--a very fine stew," answered Philippe, and he began to pour a
number of things into a pot.
"What are you putting into the stew?" asked Emile.
"Onions and peas, some rice, a nice little fat snail and a root," the
boy replied, as he began to stir.
"A root? What kind of a root?" inquired the gardener.
"Oh, a root that I found. A very big one. I dug it up."
Emile laughed and moved on. One could never tell what went into
Philippe's stews. Sometimes Emile was made to taste them. Then he had to
tell Philippe that the stews were good. But Emile always had to drink
some water afterwards to wash away the taste.
But then Philippe was such a little boy. Besides, the gardener felt
sorry for him, because he was lonesome.
Philippe called the gardener Emile Epinard (=ā-mēl´
ā-pē-när´=), which means "Emile Spinach." And, indeed, Emile did
look like a ragged leaf of spinach!
Philippe had a vegetable game. He always tried to think what vegetable
each person looked like.
Then he would call that person by the name of that vegetable. It was
fun.
For instance, he always called his father "Papa Pomme" (=pōm=), which
means "Father Apple." This name rather shocked Mother Yvelle. But it
pleased the jolly round chef. He would tell his friends about it and
laugh until his fat sides shook.
[Illustration: PAPA POMME WAS A VERY FINE CHEF]
Philippe had a friend whom he called "String Bean Simon," another,
"Celery Susan," and many others he gave different nicknames of the same
kind.
As he was stirring his mixture, he suddenly remembered that he had not
told Emile the great news.
"Oh, Emile Spinach, Emile Spinach," he called, "did you know that soon,
soon the little sister will be here?"
But Emile Spinach had gone into the fields.
"This stew will be for the baby, Cauliflower," thought Philippe. "She
will like this stew."
Soon he heard his mother's voice calling from the house, "Supper, my
little one. Come to supper."
Carrying his precious pot, he started toward the cottage. On the way he
once more examined the cabbages.
But there was still no sign of a baby in any of them.
As he neared the house, he noticed a beautiful rose growing near the
wall.
It had been in full bloom the day before. Now it was beginning to droop.
Philippe looked at it pityingly.
"Poor rose!" he said. "Tomorrow you will be dead."
Then he went into the house.
The next morning Philippe arose early. He ran to the cabbage patch. But
the cabbages all looked neat and whole. None had been disturbed during
the night.
"She has not come!" moaned poor Philippe.
Sadly he started toward the cottage, when again he noticed the rose. But
this time it was only the stem he saw. The petals all had fallen to the
ground.
"Poor rose!" he sighed. "She is dead!"
[Illustration: "POOR ROSE," HE SAID]
There was a step behind him. A heavy hand was laid on his shoulder.
His father's deep, fine voice boomed, "What are you saying, my little
cabbage?"
"Poor rose is dead!" answered Philippe sadly.
"What!" exclaimed Papa Pomme. "Why, Baby Rose is born!"
"Baby Rose?" questioned Philippe.
"Yes, my son," Papa Pomme said. "Your little sister came to us last
night--your little sister Rose."
Philippe leaped up and threw his arms about his father's neck in a burst
of joy. At last his little sister was here! Then he looked at the dead
rose, and from it, to the live and healthy cabbages. He smiled
knowingly.
"Papa Pomme," he said, "it was not from the cabbage that Baby came. So,
you see, she shall not be our Cauliflower. It was the rose that opened
to give her to us. That is why she is our Baby Rose."