The Poor Gentleman Part 1

The Poor Gentleman.

by Hendrik Conscience.

Preface to the American Edition.

The story of "THE POOR GENTLEMAN," now given in our language for the first time, is one of the series in which M. Conscience has delineated various grades of female character in positions of trial. In "The Village Innkeeper" he has shown the weaker traits of woman distracted between an inborn sense of propriety and a foolish ambition for high, life. In the "Conscript" his heroine displays the n.o.bler virtues of uncorrupted humble life; and, with few characters, taken from the lowest walks, he shows the triumph of honest, straightforward earnestness and pertinacious courage, even when they are brought in conflict with authority. "The Poor Gentleman" closes the series; and, selecting a heroine from the educated cla.s.ses of his country-people M. Conscience has demonstrated how superior a _genuine woman_ becomes to all the mishaps of fortune, and how successfully she subdues that imaginary _fate_ before which so many are seen to fall.

It would be difficult to describe this remarkable work without a.n.a.lyzing the tale and criticizing its personages. This would antic.i.p.ate the author and mar the interest of his story. We must confine ourselves, therefore, to general remarks on its structure and characteristics.

_Pontmartin_, the distinguished French _feuilletonist_, says, in one of his "Literary Chats," that these simple stories are "pearls set in Flemish gold,--a gold which alchemysts seek for in alembics and furnaces, but which Conscience has found in the inexhaustible veins of nature." "The Poor Gentleman," he remarks, "is a tale of not more than a hundred and fifty pages; but I would not give its shortest chapter for all the _romances_ I ever read. The perplexed De Vlierbeck--who ought to have had Caleb Balderstone for a servant--is one of those characters that engrave themselves indelibly on our memory." In every trait and detail the author has attained a photographic minuteness; which, while it is distinct and sharp, never interferes with that motion, breadth, and picturesque effect that impart life and reality to a story. Nor can we doubt that it will be read and re-read as long as there is a particle of that feeling among us which installed the Vicar of Wakefield, Paul and Virginia, the Crock of Gold, the Sketch-book, and the Tales of a Traveller, among the heirlooms of every tasteful household. The "Tales of Flemish Life" are additions to that rare stock of home-literature which is at once amiable and gentle, simple and affectionate, familiar and tender, and which meets a quick response from every honest heart and earnest spirit.

If it be objected that the stories are too short and sketchy for the praise that has been bestowed on them, it may be answered that in their translation we have had the best opportunity to observe the skill, power, and perception of character which const.i.tute their real merit.

Simple as they seem, they are written with masterly art. In design, elaborateness, tone, and finish, they resemble the works of the Flemish School which have made us familiar with the Low Countries and their people through the pictures of Ruysdael, Teniers, and Ostade. There is scarcely a leaf that does not display some of those recondite or evanescent secrets of human nature which either escape ordinary writers, or, when found by them, are spread out over volume instead of being condensed into a page.

Baltimore, August, 1856.

THE TRANSLATOR.

CHAPTER I.

Near the end of July, 1842, an open _caleche_ might have been seen rolling along one of the three highways that lead from the frontiers of Holland toward Antwerp. Although the vehicle had evidently been cleaned with the utmost care, every thing about it betokened decay. Its joints were open, discolored, and weather-beaten, and it swung from side to side on its springs like a rickety skeleton. Its patched leathers shone in the suns.h.i.+ne with the oil that had been used to freshen them, but the borrowed l.u.s.tre could not hide the cracks and repairs with which they were defaced. The door-handles and other parts of the vehicle that were made of copper had been carefully polished, and the vestiges of silver-plating, still visible in the creases of the ornaments, denoted a former richness which had been almost entirely worn out by time and use.

The _caleche_ was drawn by a stout, heavy horse, whose short and lumbering gait intimated very clearly that he was oftener employed in the plough and cart than in carrying his owner toward the capital.

A peasant-boy of seventeen or eighteen was perched on the driver's seat.

He was in livery; a tarnished gold band adorned his hat, and bra.s.s b.u.t.tons glistened on his coat; but the hat fell over his ears, and the coat was so large that the driver seemed lost in it as in a bag. The garments had been worn by many of the lackey's predecessors on the box, and, in a long series of years, had doubtless pa.s.sed from coachman to coachman till they descended to their present possessor.

The only person in the vehicle was a man about fifty years old. He was unquestionably the master of both servant and cabriolet, for his look and deportment commanded respect and consideration. With head depressed and moody air, he sat motionless and dreamy in his seat till he heard the approach of other vehicles, when, suddenly lifting his eyes, he would salute the strangers graciously and then instantly relapse into his former att.i.tude. A moment's glance at this person was sufficient to excite an interest in him. His face, though hard and wrinkled, was so regular and n.o.ble in its contour, his look so mild and yet so earnest and penetrating, his broad brow so clear and lofty, that the most careless observer could not doubt that he was endowed with the best qualities of human nature. Besides this, there were unquestionable indications that he had been a sufferer. If a simple glance at his features did not impress one with a conviction of this fact, it was confirmed by the fringe of silvery hair that straggled over his temples, and the sombre, melancholy fire that glimmered in his eyes like the last rays of expiring hope.

His dress was in perfect keeping with his physiognomy. It was of that neat and simple style which always characterizes a man of the world who is governed by refined and elegant tastes. His linen was spotlessly white, his cloth extremely fine, and his well-brushed hat shone smartly in the suns.h.i.+ne. Occasionally, as some one pa.s.sed on the road, he might be seen to draw forth a handsome gold snuff-box and inhale a pinch with so graceful an air that an observer would be convinced he belonged to the highest cla.s.ses of society. A malicious eye, it is true, might have discovered by close inspection that the brush had been too familiar with his coat and worn it threadbare, that his silk hat had been doctored to preserve its l.u.s.tre and smoothness, and that his gloves were elaborately darned. If an inquisitive critic could have pried into the bottom of the vehicle, he would have detected a large crack in the side of the left boot, beneath which a gray stocking had been carefully masked with ink.

Still, all these signs of poverty were so artfully concealed, and his dress worn with so careless an air of opulence and ease, that every body might have supposed the traveller did not put on better clothes only because he had a whim for bad ones.

The _caleche_ had rolled along rapidly for about two hours, when the driver suddenly drew up at a small inn on the dike outside of the city of Antwerp. The landlady and groom instantly sallied forth, and by their profound salutations and civility exhibited their marked respect for a well-known stranger.

"It's a fine day, Monsieur Vlierbeck, isn't it?" said the dame; "yet it's a trifle warm, however. Don't you think it would be well for the high-grounds if we had a sprinkle more of rain, Monsieur Vlierbeck?

Shall we give the horse some hay, Monsieur Vlierbeck? But stay: I see, now, your coachman has brought his hay with him. Will you take anything, Monsieur Vlierbeck?"

While the hostess was pouring forth this torrent of questions, Monsieur De Vlierbeck got out of the vehicle, and, entering the house, addressed the most flattering compliments to the dame about her good looks, inquired as to the health of each of her children, and finished by apprizing her that he was obliged to be in town instantly. Thereupon, shaking her cordially by the hand, yet with a condescending air that marked and preserved the distance between them, he gave his orders to his lackey, and, with a farewell bow, walked toward the bridge leading into the city.

At a solitary spot on the outer rampart Monsieur De Vlierbeck stopped, looked round as if to see if any one was observing him, dusted his garments, brushed his hat with a handkerchief, and then pa.s.sed on through the Porte Rouge into the city of Antwerp.

As he entered a town where he was likely to find himself constantly an object of notice, he a.s.sumed a lofty carriage and self-satisfied air, which might have deceived any one into the belief that he was the happiest man on earth. And yet--alas, poor gentleman!--he was a prey to the profoundest agony! He was, perhaps, about to suffer _humiliation_,--a humiliation that would cut him to the very heart! But there was a being in the world whom he loved better than his life or honor,--his only child, his daughter! For her--how frequently had he already sacrificed his pride, how frequently had he suffered the pangs of martyrdom! Still, so great a slave was he to this pa.s.sionate love that every new endurance, every new trial, raised him in his own estimation and exalted his pain into something that enn.o.bled and sanctified his very nature!

His heart beat violently as he entered deeper and deeper into the heart of the city and approached the house he was about to visit. Soon after he stopped at a door, and, as he pulled the bell, his hand trembled violently in spite of extraordinary self-control; but as soon as a servant answered the summons he became master of himself again.

"Is the notary in?" inquired the old gentleman. The servant replied affirmatively, and, showing the visitor into a small room, went to apprize his master.

As soon as Monsieur De Vlierbeck was alone, he put his right foot over the left to hide the rent in his boot, drew forth the gold snuff-box, and made ready to take a pinch.

The notary came in. He was a spare, business-looking man, and was preparing to salute his guest graciously, but no sooner did he perceive who it was than his face grew dark and a.s.sumed that reserved air with which a cautious man arms himself when he expects a request which he is predetermined to refuse. Instead, therefore, of lavis.h.i.+ng on Monsieur De Vlierbeck the compliments with which he habitually welcomed his visitors, the notary confined himself to a few cold words of recognition and then sat down silently in front of him.

Wounded and humbled by this ungracious reception, poor De Vlierbeck was seized with a chill and became slightly pale; still, he managed to rally his nerves, as he remarked, affably,--"Pray excuse me, sir; but, pressed by imperious necessity, I have come once more to appeal to your kindness for a small service."

"What is it you wish of me?" answered the notary, tartly.

"I wish you to find another loan of a thousand _francs_ for me,--or even less,--secured by a mortgage on my property. I do not want all the money at once, but I have especial need of two hundred _francs_, which I must ask the favor of you to lend me to-day. I trust you will not deny me this trifling loan, which will extricate me from the deepest embarra.s.sment."

"A thousand _francs_, on mortgage?" growled the notary; "and who, pray, will guarantee the interest? Your property is already mortgaged for more than it is worth."

"Oh! you are mistaken, sir," exclaimed Monsieur De Vlierbeck, anxiously.

"Not the least in the world! By order of the persons who have already accommodated you with money, I caused your property to be appraised at the very highest rates; and the consequence is that your creditors will not get back their loans unless it shall sell for an extraordinary price. Permit me to say, sir, that you have acted very foolishly: had I been in your place, I would not have sacrificed all my fortune, and my wife's too, to save a worthless fellow, even though he had been my brother!"

De Vlierbeck frowned, as a painful recollection shot through his mind, but said nothing, though his hand grasped the golden snuff-box as if he would have crushed it.

"By that imprudent act," continued the notary, "you have plunged yourself and your child into absolute want; for you can no longer disguise it. For ten years--and G.o.d knows at what cost--you have been able to keep the secret of your ruin; but the inevitable hour is approaching, Monsieur De Vlierbeck, when you will be forced to surrender every thing!"

De Vlierbeck riveted a look of doubt and agony on the notary as the latter continued:--

"I must tell you frankly the condition of your affairs. Monsieur de Hoogebaen died during his journey in Germany; his heirs found your bond for four thousand _francs_, and have directed me _not_ to renew it. If Monsieur Hoogebaen was your friend his heirs certainly are not. During ten years you have failed to cancel this debt, and have paid two thousand _francs_ interest; so that, for your own sake, it is time the transaction should be closed. Four months are still left, Monsieur Vlierbeck, before the expiration of--"

"_Only_ four months!" interrupted the poor gentleman, in a distressed tone; "_only_ four months, and then--oh, G.o.d!"

"Then your property will be sold according to law," said the notary, dryly, finis.h.i.+ng the sentence. "I can well understand, sir, that this is a painful prospect; but, as it is a decree of fate that no one can control, you have nothing to do but prepare to receive the blow. Let me offer to sell your estate as if you 'were leaving the country.' By that means you will escape the mortification of a forced sale."

For several moments Monsieur De Vlierbeck remained silent, his face buried in his hands, as if crushed by the notary's advice and callousness. At length he replied, calmly but humbly,--

"Your counsel is, perhaps, wise and generous; yet I will not follow it.

You know that all my sacrifices, my painful life, my constant agony, have been patiently endured for the sake of my only child. You alone know that all I do has but, one purpose,--a purpose which I hold sacred.

I have reason to believe that G.o.d is about granting the earnest prayer I have daily offered for ten years. My daughter is beloved by a rich gentleman, whose character I think I may confide in, and his family appears to sympathize in all his views. _Four months!_ it is but a short time, alas! yet, ought I, by antic.i.p.ating the legal period of a sale, to destroy all my fond hopes? Ought I instantly to welcome misery for myself and my child when I see the chance of sure relief from all we have suffered?"

"Then you want to _deceive_ these people, whoever they may be? Do you not suppose that by such a course of conduct you may make your daughter still more wretched?"

At the word "_deceive_" the poor gentleman winced as if stung by an adder, while a nervous thrill ran through his limbs and suffused his face with a blush of shame.

"_Deceive!_" echoed he, bitterly; "oh, no! but I dare not, by a rash avowal of my want, stifle the love that is growing up mutually. Whenever it becomes necessary to be decided, I will make a loyal disclosure of my condition. If the declaration ruin my hopes I will follow your advice. I will sell all I have; I will quit the country and seek in some foreign land to maintain myself and my beloved child by teaching." He stopped for a moment, as if swallowing his grief, and then continued, in a lower tone, half speaking to himself, "And, yet, did I not promise my dear wife on her death-bed--did I not promise it on the holy cross--that our child should not undergo such a fate? Ten years of suffering--ten abject years--have not sufficed to realize my promise; and now, at last, a feeble ray of hope struggles into my sombre future--" He grasped the notary's hand, looked wildly but earnestly into his eyes, and added, in suppliant tones, "Oh, my friend, help me! help me in this last and trying effort; do not prolong my torture; grant my prayer, and as long as I live I will bless my benefactor, the savior of my child!"

The notary withdrew his hand as he answered, with some embarra.s.sment, "Yet, Monsieur De Vlierbeck, I cannot comprehend what all this has to do with the loan of a thousand _francs_!"

De Vlierbeck thrust his rejected hand into his pocket as he replied, "Yes, sir, it _is_ ridiculous, is it not, to fall so low and to see one's happiness or misery depend on things about which other persons may laugh? And yet, alas! so it is! The young gentleman of whom I spoke to you is to dine with us to-morrow in company with his uncle,--the uncle invited himself,--and we have absolutely _nothing to give them!_ Besides this, my child needs some trifles to appear decently before the guests, and it is probable that the civility will be returned by an invitation from them. Our isolation cannot long conceal our want. Sacrifices of all kinds have already been made to prevent our being overwhelmed with mortification." As he uttered these last words he drew forth his hand from his pocket with about two _francs_ in small change, which he held exposed on his palm before the notary. "And now, behold," continued he, with a bitter smile,--"behold every cent I have in the world; and to-morrow rich people are to dine at my house! If my poverty is betrayed by any thing, farewell to my child's prospects! For G.o.d's sake, my good friend, be generous, and help me!"

"A thousand _francs_!" muttered the notary, shaking his head; "I can't deceive my clients, sir. What pledge can you give to secure the loan?

You possess nothing which is not already mortgaged beyond its value."