The Poor Gentleman

The Poor Gentleman

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Conscience
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Title: The Poor Gentleman
Author: Hendrik Conscience
Release Date: October 2, 2004 [eBook #13576]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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GENTLEMAN***
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THE POOR GENTLEMAN.
by

HENDRIK CONSCIENCE
Author of The Curse of the Village, The Happiness of Being Rich, Veva,
The Lion of Flanders, Count Hugo of Craenhove, Wooden Clara,
Ricketicketack, The Demon of Gold, _The Village Inn-Keeper_, The
Conscript, Blind Rosa, The Amulet, The Miser, _The Fisherman's
Daughter_, etc.
Translated Expressly for this Edition.

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 nobler 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 classes 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
analyzing the tale and criticizing its personages. This would anticipate
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 constitute 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 _calèche_ 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 sunshine with the oil that had been