CHAPTER VII.
READER, perhaps you were never in Belgium? Haply you don't know thephysiognomy of the country? You have not its lineaments defined uponyour memory, as I have them on mine?
Three--nay four--pictures line the four-walled cell where are stored forme the records of the past. First, Eton. All in that picture is in farperspective, receding, diminutive; but freshly coloured, green, dewy,with a spring sky, piled with glittering yet showery clouds; for mychildhood was not all sunshine--it had its overcast, its cold, itsstormy hours. Second, X----, huge, dingy; the canvas cracked and smoked;a yellow sky, sooty clouds; no sun, no azure; the verdure of the suburbsblighted and sullied--a very dreary scene.
Third, Belgium; and I will pause before this landscape. As to thefourth, a curtain covers it, which I may hereafter withdraw, or may not,as suits my convenience and capacity. At any rate, for the present itmust hang undisturbed. Belgium! name unromantic and unpoetic, yet namethat whenever uttered has in my ear a sound, in my heart an echo, suchas no other assemblage of syllables, however sweet or classic, canproduce. 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 gravesunclose, the dead are raised; thoughts, feelings, memories that slept,are seen by me ascending from the clouds--haloed most of them--but whileI gaze on their vapoury forms, and strive to ascertain definitely theiroutline, 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 dullone--it was neither flat nor dull to me when I first beheld it. When Ileft Ostend on a mild February morning, and found myself on the roadto Brussels, nothing could look vapid to me. My sense of enjoymentpossessed an edge whetted to the finest, untouched, keen, exquisite.I was young; I had good health; pleasure and I had never met; noindulgence of hers had enervated or sated one faculty of my nature.Liberty I clasped in my arms for the first time, and the influence ofher 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 thatfrom the hill he is ascending he shall behold a glorious sunrise; whatif the track be strait, steep, and stony? he sees it not; his eyes arefixed on that summit, flushed already, flushed and gilded, and havinggained it he is certain of the scene beyond. He knows that the sun willface 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 thegod's career a clear, vast path of azure, amidst clouds soft as pearland warm as flame. Difficulty and toil were to be my lot, but sustainedby energy, drawn on by hopes as bright as vague, I deemed such a lotno hardship. I mounted now the hill in shade; there were pebbles,inequalities, briars in my path, but my eyes were fixed on the crimsonpeak above; my imagination was with the refulgent firmament beyond, andI thought nothing of the stones turning under my feet, or of the thornsscratching 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, reedyswamps; fields fertile but flat, cultivated in patches that made themlook like magnified kitchen-gardens; belts of cut trees, formal aspollard willows, skirting the horizon narrow canals, gliding slow bythe road-side; painted Flemish farmhouses; some very dirty hovels; agray, dead sky; wet road, wet fields, wet house-tops: not a beautiful,scarcely a picturesque object met my eye along the whole route; yet tome, all was beautiful, all was more than picturesque. It continued fairso long as daylight lasted, though the moisture of many preceding dampdays had sodden the whole country; as it grew dark, however, the rainrecommenced, and it was through streaming and starless darkness my eyecaught the first gleam of the lights of Brussels. I saw little of thecity but its lights that night. Having alighted from the diligence, afiacre conveyed me to the Hotel de ----, where I had been advised by afellow-traveller to put up; having eaten a traveller's supper, I retiredto bed, and slept a traveller's sleep.
Next morning I awoke from prolonged and sound repose with the impressionthat I was yet in X----, and perceiving it to be broad daylight Istarted up, imagining that I had overslept myself and should be behindtime at the counting-house. The momentary and painful sense of restraintvanished 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, thoughnot uncomfortable, apartment I had occupied for a night or two at arespectable 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 wasmidnight, and well do I recall the deep, deliberate tones, so fullcharged with colossal phlegm and force. From the small, narrow windowof that room, I first saw THE dome, looming through a London mist. Isuppose the sensations, stirred by those first sounds, first sights, arefelt but once; treasure them, Memory; seal them in urns, and keep themin safe niches! Well--I rose. Travellers talk of the apartments inforeign dwellings being bare and uncomfortable; I thought my chamberlooked stately and cheerful. It had such large windows--CROISEES thatopened like doors, with such broad, clear panes of glass; such a greatlooking-glass stood on my dressing-table--such a fine mirror glitteredover the mantelpiece--the painted floor looked so clean and glossy;when I had dressed and was descending the stairs, the broad marble stepsalmost 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, ashort red petticoat, a printed cotton bedgown, her face was broad,her physiognomy eminently stupid; when I spoke to her in French, sheanswered me in Flemish, with an air the reverse of civil; yet I thoughther charming; if she was not pretty or polite, she was, I conceived,very picturesque; she reminded me of the female figures in certain Dutchpaintings 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, andmost of the furniture was black: yet I never experienced a freersense of exhilaration than when I sat down at a very long, black table(covered, however, in part by a white cloth), and, having orderedbreakfast, 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 itwas indisputably very warm, and there were two gentlemen seated byit talking in French; impossible to follow their rapid utterance, orcomprehend much of the purport of what they said--yet French, in themouths of Frenchmen, or Belgians (I was not then sensible of the horrorsof the Belgian accent) was as music to my ears. One of these gentlemenpresently discerned me to be an Englishman--no doubt from the fashion inwhich I addressed the waiter; for I would persist in speaking French inmy execrable South-of-England style, though the man understood English.The gentleman, after looking towards me once or twice, politely accostedme in very good English; I remember I wished to God that I could speakFrench as well; his fluency and correct pronunciation impressed me forthe first time with a due notion of the cosmopolitan character of thecapital I was in; it was my first experience of that skill in livinglanguages I afterwards found to be so general in Brussels.
I lingered over my breakfast as long as I could; while it was thereon the table, and while that stranger continued talking to me, I was afree, independent traveller; but at last the things were removed, thetwo gentlemen left the room; suddenly the illusion ceased, reality andbusiness came back. I, a bondsman just released from the yoke, freed forone week from twenty-one years of constraint, must, of necessity, resumethe fetters of dependency. Hardly had I tasted the delight of beingwithout a master when duty issued her stern mandate: "Go forth and seekanother service." I never linger over a painful and necessary task; Inever take pleasure before business, it is not in my
nature to do so;impossible to enjoy a leisurely walk over the city, though I perceivedthe morning was very fine, until I had first presented Mr. Hunsden'sletter of introduction, and got fairly on to the track of a newsituation. Wrenching my mind from liberty and delight, I seized my hat,and forced my reluctant body out of the Hotel de ---- into the foreignstreet.
It was a fine day, but I would not look at the blue sky or at thestately houses round me; my mind was bent on one thing, finding out "Mr.Brown, Numero --, Rue Royale," for so my letter was addressed. By dintof 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 thepresence of an elderly gentleman--very grave, business-like, andrespectable-looking. I presented Mr. Hunsden's letter; he received mevery civilly. After a little desultory conversation he asked me if therewas 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 offortune, travelling for pleasure, but an ex-counting-house clerk, whowanted employment of some kind, and that immediately too. He repliedthat as a friend of Mr. Hunsden's he would be willing to assist me aswell as he could. After some meditation he named a place in a mercantilehouse at Liege, and another in a bookseller's shop at Louvain.
"Clerk and shopman!" murmured I to myself. "No." I shook my head. Ihad tried the high stool; I hated it; I believed there were otheroccupations that would suit me better; besides I did not wish to leaveBrussels.
"I know of no place in Brussels," answered Mr. Brown, "unless indeed youwere disposed to turn your attention to teaching. I am acquainted withthe director of a large establishment who is in want of a professor ofEnglish 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 Belgianboys English?"
Fortunately I could answer this question in the affirmative;having studied French under a Frenchman, I could speak the languageintelligibly though not fluently. I could also read it well, and writeit decently.
"Then," pursued Mr. Brown, "I think I can promise you the place, forMonsieur Pelet will not refuse a professor recommended by me; but comehere again at five o'clock this afternoon, and I will introduce you tohim."
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 nowtake some hours of holiday. I felt free to look up. For the first timeI 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 whata fine street was the Rue Royale, and, walking leisurely along its broadpavement, I continued to survey its stately hotels, till the palisades,the gates, and trees of the park appearing in sight, offered to my eye anew attraction. I remember, before entering the park, I stood awhile tocontemplate the statue of General Belliard, and then I advanced to thetop of the great staircase just beyond, and I looked down into a narrowback 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 largehouse opposite, where, on a brass plate, was inscribed, "Pensionnat deDemoiselles." Pensionnat! The word excited an uneasy sensation inmy mind; it seemed to speak of restraint. Some of the demoiselles,externats no doubt, were at that moment issuing from the door--I lookedfor a pretty face amongst them, but their close, little French bonnetshid 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 thehearth. Two words of introduction designated him as my future master."M. Pelet, Mr. Crimsworth; Mr. Crimsworth, M. Pelet," a bow on eachside finished the ceremony. I don't know what sort of a bow I made; anordinary one, I suppose, for I was in a tranquil, commonplace frame ofmind; I felt none of the agitation which had troubled my first interviewwith Edward Crimsworth. M. Pelet's bow was extremely polite, yet nottheatrical, scarcely French; he and I were presently seated opposite toeach other. In a pleasing voice, low, and, out of consideration to myforeign ears, very distinct and deliberate, M. Pelet intimated that hehad just been receiving from "le respectable M. Brown," an account of myattainments and character, which relieved him from all scruple as tothe propriety of engaging me as professor of English and Latin inhis establishment; nevertheless, for form's sake, he would put a fewquestions to test my powers. He did, and expressed in flattering termshis satisfaction at my answers. The subject of salary next came on itwas fixed at one thousand francs per annum, besides board and lodging."And in addition," suggested M. Pelet, "as there will be some hoursin each day during which your services will not be required in myestablishment, 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 termson which M. Pelet had engaged me were really liberal for Brussels;instruction being extremely cheap there on account of the number ofteachers. It was further arranged that I should be installed in my newpost 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 ratheremaciated figure; his face was pale, his cheeks were sunk, and his eyeshollow; his features were pleasing and regular, they had a Frenchturn (for M. Pelet was no Fleming, but a Frenchman both by birthand parentage), yet the degree of harshness inseparable from Galliclineaments was, in his case, softened by a mild blue eye, and amelancholy, almost suffering, expression of countenance; his physiognomywas "fine et spirituelle." I use two French words because they definebetter than any English terms the species of intelligence with which hisfeatures were imbued. He was altogether an interesting and prepossessingpersonage. I wondered only at the utter absence of all the ordinarycharacteristics of his profession, and almost feared he could not bestern and resolute enough for a schoolmaster. Externally at leastM. Pelet presented an absolute contrast to my late master, EdwardCrimsworth.
Influenced by the impression I had received of his gentleness, I was agood deal surprised when, on arriving the next day at my new employer'shouse, and being admitted to a first view of what was to be thesphere of my future labours, namely the large, lofty, and well-lightedschoolrooms, 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 companywith M. Pelet, a profound silence reigned on all sides, and if by chancea murmur or a whisper arose, one glance from the pensive eye of thismost gentle pedagogue stilled it instantly. It was astonishing, Ithought, how so mild a check could prove so effectual. When I hadperambulated the length and breadth of the classes, M. Pelet turned andsaid to me--
"Would you object to taking the boys as they are, and testing theirproficiency in English?"
The proposal was unexpected. I had thought I should have been allowed atleast three days to prepare; but it is a bad omen to commence any careerby hesitation, so I just stepped to the professor's desk near which westood, and faced the circle of my pupils. I took a moment to collectmy thoughts, and likewise to frame in French the sentence by which Iproposed 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 youngFlamand in a blouse. The answer was fortunately easy:--
"Anglais."
I determined to give myself as little trouble as possible in thi
slesson it would not do yet to trust my unpractised tongue with thedelivery of explanations; my accent and idiom would be too open to thecriticisms of the young gentlemen before me, relative to whom I feltalready it would be necessary at once to take up an advantageousposition, and I proceeded to employ means accordingly.
"Commencez!" cried I, when they had all produced their books. Themoon-faced youth (by name Jules Vanderkelkov, as I afterwards learnt)took the first sentence. The "livre de lecture" was the "Vicar ofWakefield," much used in foreign schools because it is supposed tocontain prime samples of conversational English; it might, however,have been a Runic scroll for any resemblance the words, as enunciated byJules, bore to the language in ordinary use amongst the natives of GreatBritain. My God! how he did snuffle, snort, and wheeze! All he said wassaid in his throat and nose, for it is thus the Flamands speak, butI heard him to the end of his paragraph without proffering a word ofcorrection, 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 inrotation, and when the twelfth had concluded with splutter, hiss, andmumble, I solemnly laid down the book.
"Arretez!" said I. There was a pause, during which I regarded them allwith a steady and somewhat stern gaze; a dog, if stared at hard enoughand long enough, will show symptoms of embarrassment, and so at lengthdid my bench of Belgians. Perceiving that some of the faces before mewere beginning to look sullen, and others ashamed, I slowly joined myhands, and ejaculated in a deep "voix de poitrine"--
"Comme c'est affreux!"
They looked at each other, pouted, coloured, swung their heels; theywere not pleased, I saw, but they were impressed, and in the wayI wished them to be. Having thus taken them down a peg in theirself-conceit, the next step was to raise myself in their estimation nota very easy thing, considering that I hardly dared to speak for fear ofbetraying my own deficiencies.
"Ecoutez, messieurs!" said I, and I endeavoured to throw into myaccents the compassionate tone of a superior being, who, touched by theextremity of the helplessness, which at first only excited his scorn,deigns at length to bestow aid. I then began at the very beginning ofthe "Vicar of Wakefield," and read, in a slow, distinct voice, sometwenty pages, they all the while sitting mute and listening with fixedattention by the time I had done nearly an hour had elapsed. I thenrose and said:--
"C'est assez pour aujourd'hui, messieurs; demain nous recommencerons, etj'espere que tout ira bien."
With this oracular sentence I bowed, and in company with M. Peletquitted the school-room.
"C'est bien! c'est tres bien!" said my principal as we entered hisparlour. "Je vois que monsieur a de l'adresse; cela, me plait, car, dansl'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 smallroom, with an excessively small bed, but M. Pelet gave me to understandthat I was to occupy it quite alone, which was of course a greatcomfort. Yet, though so limited in dimensions, it had two windows. Lightnot being taxed in Belgium, the people never grudge its admission intotheir houses; just here, however, this observation is not very APROPOS,for one of these windows was boarded up; the open windows looked intothe boys' playground. I glanced at the other, as wondering what aspectit would present if disencumbered of the boards. M. Pelet read, Isuppose, the expression of my eye; he explained:--
"La fenetre fermee donne sur un jardin appartenant a un pensionnatde demoiselles," said he, "et les convenances exigent--enfin, vouscomprenez--n'est-ce pas, monsieur?"
"Oui, oui," was my reply, and I looked of course quite satisfied; butwhen M. Pelet had retired and closed the door after him, the first thingI did was to scrutinize closely the nailed boards, hoping to findsome chink or crevice which I might enlarge, and so get a peep at theconsecrated ground. My researches were vain, for the boards were welljoined and strongly nailed. It is astonishing how disappointed I felt. Ithought it would have been so pleasant to have looked out upon agarden planted with flowers and trees, so amusing to have watched thedemoiselles at their play; to have studied female character in a varietyof phases, myself the while sheltered from view by a modest muslincurtain, whereas, owing doubtless to the absurd scruples of some oldduenna of a directress, I had now only the option of looking at a baregravelled court, with an enormous "pas de geant" in the middle, and themonotonous walls and windows of a boys' school-house round. Not onlythen, but many a time after, especially in moments of weariness andlow spirits, did I look with dissatisfied eyes on that most tantalizingboard, longing to tear it away and get a glimpse of the green regionwhich I imagined to lie beyond. I knew a tree grew close up to thewindow, for though there were as yet no leaves to rustle, I often heardat night the tapping of branches against the panes. In the daytime,when I listened attentively, I could hear, even through the boards, thevoices of the demoiselles in their hours of recreation, and, to speakthe honest truth, my sentimental reflections were occasionally a trifledisarranged by the not quite silvery, in fact the too often brazensounds, which, rising from the unseen paradise below, penetratedclamorously into my solitude. Not to mince matters, it really seemed tome a doubtful case whether the lungs of Mdlle. Reuter's girls or thoseof M. Pelet's boys were the strongest, and when it came to shriekingthe 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 beardedup. I say old, for such I, of course, concluded her to be, judging fromher cautious, chaperon-like proceedings; besides, nobody ever spoke ofher as young. I remember I was very much amused when I first heard herChristian name; it was Zoraide--Mademoiselle Zoraide Reuter. But thecontinental nations do allow themselves vagaries in the choice of names,such as we sober English never run into. I think, indeed, we have toolimited a list to choose from.
Meantime my path was gradually growing smooth before me. I, in afew weeks, conquered the teasing difficulties inseparable from thecommencement of almost every career. Ere long I had acquired as muchfacility in speaking French as set me at my ease with my pupils; andas I had encountered them on a right footing at the very beginning, andcontinued tenaciously to retain the advantage I had early gained, theynever attempted mutiny, which circumstance, all who are in any degreeacquainted with the ongoings of Belgian schools, and who know therelation in which professors and pupils too frequently stand towardseach other in those establishments, will consider an important anduncommon one. Before concluding this chapter I will say a word on thesystem I pursued with regard to my classes: my experience may possiblybe of use to others.
It did not require very keen observation to detect the character of theyouth of Brabant, but it needed a certain degree of tact to adopt one'smeasures to their capacity. Their intellectual faculties were generallyweak, their animal propensities strong; thus there was at once animpotence 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 trulyabsurd to exact from them much in the way of mental exertion havingshort memories, dense intelligence, feeble reflective powers, theyrecoiled with repugnance from any occupation that demanded close studyor deep thought. Had the abhorred effort been extorted from them byinjudicious and arbitrary measures on the part of the Professor, theywould 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, thecombined insubordination of the pupils had effected the dismissal ofmore than one English master. It was necessary then to exact only themost moderate application from natures so little qualified to apply--toassist, in every practicable way, understandings so opaque andcontracted--to be ever gentle, considerate, yielding even, to a certainpoint, with dispositions so irrationally perverse; but, having reachedthat culminating point of indulgence, you must fix
your foot, plant it,root it in rock--become immutable as the towers of Ste. Gudule; for astep--but half a step farther, and you would plunge headlong into thegulf of imbecility; there lodged, you would speedily receive proofsof Flemish gratitude and magnanimity in showers of Brabant saliva andhandfuls of Low Country mud. You might smooth to the utmost the path oflearning, remove every pebble from the track; but then you must finallyinsist with decision on the pupil taking your arm and allowing himselfto be led quietly along the prepared road. When I had brought down mylesson to the lowest level of my dullest pupil's capacity--when Ihad shown myself the mildest, the most tolerant of masters--a word ofimpertinence, a movement of disobedience, changed me at once intoa despot. I offered then but one alternative--submission andacknowledgment of error, or ignominious expulsion. This system answered,and my influence, by degrees, became established on a firm basis. "Theboy is father to the man," it is said; and so I often thought whenlooked at my boys and remembered the political history of theirancestors. Pelet's school was merely an epitome of the Belgian nation.
The Professor Page 8
