READER, perhaps you were never
in Belgium? Haply you don't know
the physiognomy of the country?
You have not its lineaments defined
upon your memory, as I have them
on mine?
Three--nay four--pictures line
the four-walled cell where are
stored for me the records of
the past. First, Eton. All in
that picture is in far perspective,
receding, diminutive; but freshly
coloured, green, dewy, with a
spring sky, piled with glittering
yet showery clouds; for my childhood
was not all sunshine--it had
its overcast, its cold, its stormy
hours. Second, X----, huge, dingy;
the canvas cracked and smoked;
a yellow sky, sooty clouds; no
sun, no azure; the verdure of
the suburbs blighted and sullied--a
very dreary scene.
Third, Belgium; and I will
pause before this landscape.
As to the fourth, a curtain covers
it, which I may hereafter withdraw,
or may not, as suits my convenience
and capacity. At any rate, for
the present it must hang undisturbed.
Belgium! name unromantic and
unpoetic, yet name that whenever
uttered has in my ear a sound,
in my heart an echo, such as
no other assemblage of syllables,
however sweet or classic, can
produce. Belgium! I repeat the
word, now as I sit alone near
midnight. It stirs my world of
the past like a summons to resurrection;
the graves unclose, the dead
are raised; thoughts, feelings,
memories that slept, are seen
by me ascending from the clods--haloed
most of them--but while I gaze
on their vapoury forms, and strive
to ascertain definitely their
outline, the sound which wakened
them dies, and they sink, each
and all, like a light wreath
of mist, absorbed in the mould,
recalled to urns, resealed in
monuments. Farewell, luminous
phantoms!
This is Belgium, reader. Look!
don't call the picture a flat
or a dull one--it was neither
flat nor dull to me when I first
beheld it. When I left Ostend
on a mild February morning, and
found myself on the road to Brussels,
nothing could look vapid to me.
My sense of enjoyment possessed
an edge whetted to the finest,
untouched, keen, exquisite. I
was young; I had good health;
pleasure and I had never met;
no indulgence of hers had enervated
or sated one faculty of my nature.
Liberty I clasped in my arms
for the first time, and the influence
of her smile and embrace revived
my life like the sun and the
west wind. Yes, at that epoch
I felt like a morning traveller
who doubts not that from the
hill he is ascending he shall
behold a glorious sunrise; what
if the track be strait, steep,
and stony? he sees it not; his
eyes are fixed on that summit,
flushed already, flushed and
gilded, and having gained it
he is certain of the scene beyond.
He knows that the sun will face
him, that his chariot is even
now coming over the eastern horizon,
and that the herald breeze he
feels on his cheek is opening
for the god's career a clear,
vast path of azure, amidst clouds
soft as pearl and warm as flame.
Difficulty and toil were to be
my lot, but sustained by energy,
drawn on by hopes as bright as
vague, I deemed such a lot no
hardship. I mounted now the hill
in shade; there were pebbles,
inequalities, briars in my path,
but my eyes were fixed on the
crimson peak above; my imagination
was with the refulgent firmament
beyond, and I thought nothing
of the stones turning under my
feet, or of the thorns scratching
my face and hands.
I gazed often, and always with
delight, from the window of the
diligence (these, be it remembered,
were not the days of trains and
railroads). Well! and what did
I see? I will tell you faithfully.
Green, reedy swamps; fields fertile
but flat, cultivated in patches
that made them look like magnified
kitchen-gardens; belts of cut
trees, formal as pollard willows,
skirting the horizon; narrow
canals, gliding slow by the road-side;
painted Flemish farmhouses; some
very dirty hovels; a gray, dead
sky; wet road, wet fields, wet
house-tops: not a beautiful,
scarcely a picturesque object
met my eye along the whole route;
yet to me, all was beautiful,
all was more than picturesque.
It continued fair so long as
daylight lasted, though the moisture
of many preceding damp days had
sodden the whole country; as
it grew dark, however, the rain
recommenced, and it was through
streaming and starless darkness
my eye caught the first gleam
of the lights of Brussels. I
saw little of the city but its
lights that night. Having alighted
from the diligence, a fiacre
conveyed me to the Hotel de ----,
where I had been advised by a
fellow-traveller to put up; having
eaten a traveller's supper, I
retired to bed, and slept a traveller's
sleep.
Next morning I awoke from prolonged
and sound repose with the impression
that I was yet in X----, and
perceiving it to be broad daylight
I started up, imagining that
I had overslept myself and should
be behind time at the counting-house.
The momentary and painful sense
of restraint vanished before
the revived and reviving consciousness
of freedom, as, throwing back
the white curtains of my bed,
I looked forth into a wide, lofty
foreign chamber; how different
from the small and dingy, though
not uncomfortable, apartment
I had occupied for a night or
two at a respectable inn in London
while waiting for the sailing
of the packet! Yet far be it
from me to profane the memory
of that little dingy room! It,
too, is dear to my soul; for
there, as I lay in quiet and
darkness, I first heard the great
bell of St. Paul's telling London
it was midnight, and well do
I recall the deep, deliberate
tones, so full charged with colossal
phlegm and force. From the small,
narrow window of that room, I
first saw THE dome, looming through
a London mist. I suppose the
sensations, stirred by those
first sounds, first sights, are
felt but once; treasure them,
Memory; seal them in urns, and
keep them in safe niches! Well--I
rose. Travellers talk of the
apartments in foreign dwellings
being bare and uncomfortable;
I thought my chamber looked stately
and cheerful. It had such large
windows --CROISEES that opened
like doors, with such broad,
clear panes of glass; such a
great looking-glass stood on
my dressing-table --such a fine
mirror glittered over the mantelpiece--the
painted floor looked so clean
and glossy; when I had dressed
and was descending the stairs,
the broad marble steps almost
awed me, and so did the lofty
hall into which they conducted.
On the first landing I met a
Flemish housemaid: she had wooden
shoes, a short red petticoat,
a printed cotton bedgown, her
face was broad, her physiognomy
eminently stupid; when I spoke
to her in French, she answered
me in Flemish, with an air the
reverse of civil; yet I thought
her charming; if she was not
pretty or polite, she was, I
conceived, very picturesque;
she reminded me of the female
figures in certain Dutch paintings
I had seen in other years at
Seacombe Hall.
I repaired to the public room;
that, too, was very large and
very lofty, and warmed by a stove;
the floor was black, and the
stove was black, and most of
the furniture was black: yet
I never experienced a freer sense
of exhilaration than when I sat
down at a very long, black table
(covered, however, in part by
a white cloth), and, having ordered
breakfast, began to pour out
my coffee from a little black
coffee-pot. The stove might be
dismal-looking to some eyes,
not to mine, but it was indisputably
very warm, and there were two
gentlemen seated by it talking
in French; impossible to follow
their rapid utterance, or comprehend
much of the purport of what they
said--yet French, in the mouths
of Frenchmen, or Belgians (I
was not then sensible of the
horrors of the Belgian accent)
was as music to my ears. One
of these gentlemen presently
discerned me to be an Englishman--no
doubt from the fashion in which
I addressed the waiter; for I
would persist in speaking French
in my execrable South-of-England
style, though the man understood
English. The gentleman, after
looking towards me once or twice,
politely accosted me in very
good English; I remember I wished
to God that I could speak French
as well; his fluency and correct
pronunciation impressed me for
the first time with a due notion
of the cosmopolitan character
of the capital I was in; it was
my first experience of that skill
in living languages I afterwards
found to be so general in Brussels.
I lingered
over my breakfast as long as
I could; while it
was there on the table, and while
that stranger continued talking
to me, I was a free, independent
traveller; but at last the things
were removed, the two gentlemen
left the room; suddenly the illusion
ceased, reality and business
came back. I, a bondsman just
released from the yoke, freed
for one week from twenty-one
years of constraint, must, of
necessity, resume the fetters
of dependency. Hardly had I tasted
the delight of being without
a master when duty issued her
stern mandate: "Go forth and
seek another service." I never
linger over a painful and necessary
task; I never take pleasure before
business, it is not in my nature
to do so; impossible to enjoy
a leisurely walk over the city,
though I perceived the morning
was very fine, until I had first
presented Mr. Hunsden's letter
of introduction, and got fairly
on to the track of a new situation.
Wrenching my mind from liberty
and delight, I seized my hat,
and forced my reluctant body
out of the Hotel de ---- into
the foreign street.
It was a fine
day, but I would not look at
the blue sky or at
the stately houses round me;
my mind was bent on one thing,
finding out "Mr. Brown, Numero
--, Rue Royale," for so my letter
was addressed. By dint of inquiry
I succeeded; I stood at last
at the desired door, knocked,
asked for Mr. Brown, and was
admitted.
Being shown
into a small breakfast-room,
I found myself in the presence
of an elderly gentleman--very
grave, business-like, and respectable-looking.
I presented Mr. Hunsden's letter;
he received me very civilly.
After a little desultory conversation
he asked me if there was anything
in which his advice or experience
could be of use. I said, " Yes," and
then proceeded to tell him that
I was not a gentleman of fortune,
travelling for pleasure, but
an ex-counting-house clerk, who
wanted employment of some kind,
and that immediately too. He
replied that as a friend of Mr.
Hunsden's he would be willing
to assist me as well as he could.
After some meditation he named
a place in a mercantile house
at Liege, and another in a bookseller's
shop at Louvain.
"Clerk and shopman!" murmured
I to myself. "No." I shook my
head. I had tried the high stool;
I hated it; I believed there
were other occupations that would
suit me better; besides I did
not wish to leave Brussels.
"I know of no place in Brussels," answered
Mr. Brown, "unless indeed you
were disposed to turn your attention
to teaching. I am acquainted
with the director of a large
establishment who is in want
of a professor of English and
Latin."
I thought two minutes, then
I seized the idea eagerly.
"The very thing, sir!" said
I.
"But," asked he, "do
you understand French well
enough to teach Belgian
boys English?"
Fortunately I could answer
this question in the affirmative;
having studied French under a
Frenchman, I could speak the
language intelligibly though
not fluently. I could also read
it well, and write it decently.
"Then," pursued Mr. Brown, "I
think I can promise you the place,
for Monsieur Pelet will not refuse
a professor recommended by me;
but come here again at five o'clock
this afternoon, and I will introduce
you to him."
The word "professor" struck
me. "I am not a professor," said
I.
"Oh," returned Mr. Brown, "professor,
here in Belgium, means a teacher,
that is all."
My conscience
thus quieted, I thanked Mr.
Brown, and, for
the present, withdrew. This time
I stepped out into the street
with a relieved heart; the task
I had imposed on myself for that
day was executed. I might now
take some hours of holiday. I
felt free to look up. For the
first time I remarked the sparkling
clearness of the air, the deep
blue of the sky, the gay clean
aspect of the white-washed or
painted houses; I saw what a
fine street was the Rue Royale,
and, walking leisurely along
its broad pavement, I continued
to survey its stately hotels,
till the palisades, the gates,
and trees of the park appearing
in sight, offered to my eye a
new attraction. I remember, before
entering the park, I stood awhile
to contemplate the statue of
General Belliard, and then I
advanced to the top of the great
staircase just beyond, and I
looked down into a narrow back
street, which I afterwards learnt
was called the Rue d'Isabelle.
I well recollect that my eye
rested on the green door of a
rather large house opposite,
where, on a brass plate, was
inscribed, "Pensionnat de Demoiselles." Pensionnat!
The word excited an uneasy sensation
in my mind; it seemed to speak
of restraint. Some of the demoiselles,
externats no doubt, were at that
moment issuing from the door--I
looked for a pretty face amongst
them, but their close, little
French bonnets hid their features;
in a moment they were gone.
I had traversed
a good deal of Brussels before
five o'clock
arrived, but punctually as that
hour struck I was again in the
Rue Royale. Re-admitted to Mr.
Brown's breakfast-room, I found
him, as before, seated at the
table, and he was not alone--a
gentleman stood by the hearth.
Two words of introduction designated
him as my future master. "M.
Pelet, Mr. Crimsworth; Mr. Crimsworth,
M. Pelet" a bow on each side
finished the ceremony. I don't
know what sort of a bow I made;
an ordinary one, I suppose, for
I was in a tranquil, commonplace
frame of mind; I felt none of
the agitation which had troubled
my first interview with Edward
Crimsworth. M. Pelet's bow was
extremely polite, yet not theatrical,
scarcely French; he and I were
presently seated opposite to
each other. In a pleasing voice,
low, and, out of consideration
to my foreign ears, very distinct
and deliberate, M. Pelet intimated
that he had just been receiving
from "le respectable M. Brown," an
account of my attainments and
character, which relieved him
from all scruple as to the propriety
of engaging me as professor of
English and Latin in his establishment;
nevertheless, for form's sake,
he would put a few questions
to test; my powers. He did, and
expressed in flattering terms
his satisfaction at my answers.
The subject of salary next came
on; it was fixed at one thousand
francs per annum, besides board
and lodging. "And in addition," suggested
M. Pelet, "as there will be some
hours in each day during which
your services will not be required
in my establishment, you may,
in time, obtain employment in
other seminaries, and thus turn
your vacant moments to profitable
account."
I thought this very kind, and
indeed I found afterwards that
the terms on which M. Pelet had
engaged me were really liberal
for Brussels; instruction being
extremely cheap there on account
of the number of teachers. It
was further arranged that I should
be installed in my new post the
very next day, after which M.
Pelet and I parted.
Well, and what
was he like? and what were
my impressions
concerning him? He was a man
of about forty years of age,
of middle size, and rather emaciated
figure; his face was pale, his
cheeks were sunk, and his eyes
hollow; his features were pleasing
and regular, they had a French
turn (for M. Pelet was no Fleming,
but a Frenchman both by birth
and parentage), yet the degree
of harshness inseparable from
Gallic lineaments was, in his
case, softened by a mild blue
eye, and a melancholy, almost
suffering, expression of countenance;
his physiognomy was "fine et
spirituelle." I use two French
words because they define better
than any English terms the species
of intelligence with which his
features were imbued. He was
altogether an interesting and
prepossessing personage. I wondered
only at the utter absence of
all the ordinary characteristics
of his profession, and almost
feared he could not be stern
and resolute enough for a schoolmaster.
Externally at least M. Pelet
presented an absolute contrast
to my late master, Edward Crimsworth.
Influenced by the impression
I had received of his gentleness,
I was a good deal surprised when,
on arriving the next day at my
new employer's house, and being
admitted to a first view of what
was to be the sphere of my future
labours, namely the large, lofty,
and well lighted schoolrooms,
I beheld a numerous assemblage
of pupils, boys of course, whose
collective appearance showed
all the signs of a full, flourishing,
and well-disciplined seminary.
As I traversed the classes in
company with M. Pelet, a profound
silence reigned on all sides,
and if by chance a murmur or
a whisper arose, one glance from
the pensive eye of this most
gentle pedagogue stilled it instantly.
It was astonishing, I thought,
how so mild a check could prove
so effectual. When I had perambulated
the length and breadth of the
classes, M. Pelet turned and
said to me--
"Would you
object to taking the boys as
they are, and testing
their proficiency in English?"
The proposal was unexpected.
I had thought I should have been
allowed at least 3 days to prepare;
but it is a bad omen to commence
any career by hesitation, so
I just stepped to the professor's
desk near which we stood, and
faced the circle of my pupils.
I took a moment to collect my
thoughts, and likewise to frame
in French the sentence by which
I proposed to open business.
I made it as short as possible:--
"Messieurs,
prenez vos livres de lecture."
"Anglais ou Francais, monsieur?" demanded
a thickset, moon-faced young
Flamand in a blouse. The answer
was fortunately easy:--
"Anglais."
I determined to give myself
as little trouble as possible
in this lesson; it would not
do yet to trust my unpractised
tongue with the delivery of explanations;
my accent and idiom would be
too open to the criticisms of
the young gentlemen before me,
relative to whom I felt already
it would be necessary at once
to take up an advantageous position,
and I proceeded to employ means
accordingly.
"Commencez!" cried I, when
they had all produced their books.
The moon-faced youth (by name
Jules Vanderkelkov, as I afterwards
learnt) took the first sentence.
The "livre de lecture" was the "Vicar
of Wakefield," much used in foreign
schools because it is supposed
to contain prime samples of conversational
English; it might, however, have
been a Runic scroll for any resemblance
the words, as enunciated by Jules,
bore to the language in ordinary
use amongst the natives of Great
Britain. My God! how he did snuffle,
snort, and wheeze! All he said
was said in his throat and nose,
for it is thus the Flamands speak,
but I heard him to the end of
his paragraph without proffering
a word of correction, whereat
he looked vastly self-complacent,
convinced, no doubt, that he
had acquitted himself like a
real born and bred "Anglais." In
the same unmoved silence I listened
to a dozen in rotation, and when
the twelfth had concluded with
splutter, hiss, and mumble, I
solemnly laid down the book.
"Arretez!" said I. There was
a pause, during which I regarded
them all with a steady and somewhat
stern gaze; a dog, if stared
at hard enough and long enough,
will show symptoms of embarrassment,
and so at length did my bench
of Belgians. Perceiving that
some of the faces before me were
beginning to look sullen, and
others ashamed, I slowly joined
my hands, and ejaculated in a
deep "voix de poitrine"--
"Comme c'est
affreux!"
They looked at each other,
pouted, coloured, swung their
heels; they were not pleased,
I saw, but they were impressed,
and in the way I wished them
to be. Having thus taken them
down a peg in their self-conceit,
the next step was to raise myself
in their estimation; not a very
easy thing, considering that
I hardly dared to speak for fear
of betraying my own deficiencies.
"Ecoutez, messieurs!" said
I, and I endeavoured to throw
into my accents the compassionate
tone of a superior being, who,
touched by the extremity of the
helplessness, which at first
only excited his scorn, deigns
at length to bestow aid. I then
began at the very beginning of
the "Vicar of Wakefield," and
read, in a slow, distinct voice,
some twenty pages, they all the
while sitting mute and listening
with fixed attention; by the
time I had done nearly an hour
had elapsed. I then rose and
said:--
"C'est assez
pour aujourd'hui, messieurs;
demain nous recommencerons,
et j'espere que tout ira bien."
With this oracular sentence
I bowed, and in company with
M. Pelet quitted the school-room.
"C'est bien! c'est tres bien!" said
my principal as we entered his
parlour. "Je vois que monsieur
a de l'adresse; cela, me plait,
car, dans l'instruction, l'adresse
fait tout autant que le savoir."
>From the parlour M. Pelet
conducted me to my apartment,
my "chambre," as Monsieur said
with a certain air of complacency.
It was a very small room, with
an excessively small bed, but
M. Pelet gave me to understand
that I was to occupy it quite
alone, which was of course a
great comfort. Yet, though so
limited in dimensions, it had
two windows. Light not being
taxed in Belgium, the people
never grudge its admission into
their houses; just here, however,
this observation is not very
APROPOS, for one of these windows
was boarded up; the open windows
looked into the boys' playground.
I glanced at the other, as wondering
what aspect it would present
if disencumbered of the boards.
M. Pelet read, I suppose, the
expression of my eye; he explained:--
"La fenetre fermee donne sur
un jardin appartenant a un pensionnat
de demoiselles," said he, "et
les convenances exigent --enfin,
vous comprenez--n'est-ce pas,
monsieur?"
"Oui, oui," was my reply, and
I looked of course quite satisfied;
but when M. Pelet had retired
and closed the door after him,
the first thing I did was to
scrutinize closely the nailed
boards, hoping to find some chink
or crevice which I might enlarge,
and so get a peep at the consecrated
ground. My researches were vain,
for the boards were well joined
and strongly nailed. It is astonishing
how disappointed I felt. I thought
it would have been so pleasant
to have looked out upon a garden
planted with flowers and trees,
so amusing to have watched the
demoiselles at their play; to
have studied female character
in a variety of phases, myself
the while sheltered from view
by a modest muslin curtain, whereas,
owing doubtless to the absurd
scruples of some old duenna of
a directress, I had now only
the option of looking at a bare
gravelled court, with an enormous "pas
de geant" in the middle, and
the monotonous walls and windows
of a boys' school-house round.
Not only then, but many a time
after, especially in moments
of weariness and low spirits,
did I look with dissatisfied
eyes on that most tantalizing
board, longing to tear it away
and get a glimpse of the green
region which I imagined to lie
beyond. I knew a tree grew close
up to the window, for though
there were as yet no leaves to
rustle, I often heard at night
the tapping of branches against
the panes. In the daytime, when
I listened attentively, I could
hear, even through the boards,
the voices of the demoiselles
in their hours of recreation,
and, to speak the honest truth,
my sentimental reflections were
occasionally a trifle disarranged
by the not quite silvery, in
fact the too often brazen sounds,
which, rising from the unseen
paradise below, penetrated clamorously
into my solitude. Not to mince
matters, it really seemed to
me a doubtful case whether the
lungs of Mdlle. Reuter's girls
or those of M. Pelet's boys were
the strongest, and when it came
to shrieking the girls indisputably
beat the boys hollow. I forgot
to say, by-the-by, that Reuter
was the name of the old lady
who had had my window bearded
up. I say old, for such I, of
course, concluded her to be,
judging from her cautious, chaperon-like
proceedings; besides, nobody
ever spoke of her as young. I
remember I was very much amused
when I first heard her Christian
name; it was Zoraide--Mademoiselle
Zoraide Reuter. But the continental
nations do allow themselves vagaries
in the choice of names, such
as we sober English never run
into. I think, indeed, we have
too limited a list to choose
from.
Meantime my path was gradually
growing smooth before me. I,
in a few weeks, conquered the
teasing difficulties inseparable
from the commencement of almost
every career. Ere long I had
acquired as much facility in
speaking French as set me at
my ease with my pupils; and as
I had encountered them on a right
footing at the very beginning,
and continued tenaciously to
retain the advantage I had early
gained, they never attempted
mutiny, which circumstance, all
who are in any degree acquainted
with the ongoings of Belgian
schools, and who know the relation
in which professors and pupils
too frequently stand towards
each other in those establishments,
will consider an important and
uncommon one. Before concluding
this chapter I will say a word
on the system I pursued with
regard to my classes: my experience
may possibly be of use to others.
It did not require very keen
observation to detect the character
of the youth of Brabant, but
it needed a certain degree of
tact to adopt one's measures
to their capacity. Their intellectual
faculties were generally weak,
their animal propensities strong;
thus there was at once an impotence
and a kind of inert force in
their natures; they were dull,
but they were also singularly
stubborn, heavy as lead and,
like lead, most difficult to
move. Such being the case, it
would have been truly absurd
to exact from them much in the
way of mental exertion; having
short memories, dense intelligence,
feeble reflective powers, they
recoiled with repugnance from
any occupation that demanded
close study or deep thought.
Had the abhorred effort been
extorted from them by injudicious
and arbitrary measures on the
part of the Professor, they would
have resisted as obstinately,
as clamorously, as desperate
swine; and though not brave singly,
they were relentless acting EN
MASSE.
I understood
that before my arrival in M.
Pelet's establishment,
the combined insubordination
of the pupils had effected the
dismissal of more than one English
master. It was necessary then
to exact only the most moderate
application from natures so little
qualified to apply--to assist,
in every practicable way, understandings
so opaque and contracted--to
be ever gentle, considerate,
yielding even, to a certain point,
with dispositions so irrationally
perverse; but, having reached
that culminating point of indulgence,
you must fix your foot, plant
it, root it in rock--become immutable
as the towers of Ste. Gudule;
for a step --but half a step
farther, and you would plunge
headlong into the gulf of imbecility;
there lodged, you would speedily
receive proofs of Flemish gratitude
and magnanimity in showers of
Brabant saliva and handfuls of
Low Country mud. You might smooth
to the utmost the path of learning,
remove every pebble from the
track; but then you must finally
insist with decision on the pupil
taking your arm and allowing
himself to be led quietly along
the prepared road. When I had
brought down my lesson to the
lowest level of my dullest pupil's
capacity--when I had shown myself
the mildest, the most tolerant
of masters--a word of impertinence,
a movement of disobedience, changed
me at once into a despot. I offered
then but one alternative--submission
and acknowledgment of error,
or ignominious expulsion. This
system answered, and my influence,
by degrees, became established
on a firm basis. "The boy is
father to the man," it is said;
and so I often thought when looked
at my boys and remembered the
political history of their ancestors.
Pelet's school was merely an
epitome of the Belgian nation.
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