The Poor Gentleman | Page 6

Saint André and uttered a
sudden cry of joy as he caught a glimpse of the object for which he was

in search. His eye lighted on a sign which bore the simple but ominous
inscription--"SWORN PAWNBROKER." He passed by the door and
walked rapidly to the end of the lane; then, turning hastily, he retraced
his steps, hastening or lingering as he noticed any one passing in his
neighborhood, till at length he crept along the wall to the door, and,
seeing the thoroughfare almost empty, rushed into the house and
disappeared.
After a considerable time De Vlierbeck came forth from the
money-lender's and quickly gained another street. There was a slight
expression of satisfaction in his eyes; but the bright blush that suffused
his haggard cheeks gave token of the new humiliation through which
the sufferer had passed. Walking rapidly from street to street, he soon
reached a pastry-cook's, where he filled a basket with a stuffed turkey,
a pie, preserves, and various other smaller equipments for the table, and,
paying for his purchases, told the cook that he would send his servant
for the packages. Farther on he bought a couple of silver spoons and a
pair of ear-rings from a jeweller, and then proceeded on his way,
probably to make additional acquisitions for the proposed
entertainment.
CHAPTER II.
In our wild and thorny region of the North a brave and toilsome
peasantry have long been engaged in victorious conflict with the barren
sleep to which nature seemed to have condemned the soil. They have
stirred up the sterile depths and watered them with their sweat; they
have summoned science and industry to their aid, drained marshes,
diverted the streamlets that descended toward the Meuse from the
highlands and put them in circulation through innumerable arteries to
fatten and enrich the land. What a glorious fight it was of man against
matter! What a magnificent triumph it has been to convert the unthrifty
Campine[A] into a fruitful and luxurious region! Indeed, our
descendants will hardly believe their own eyes when in future times
they shall behold grass-covered plains, flowery meadows, and fields
waving with grain, where the lingering patriarchs of our day may point
out the sites of burning sand-pits and barren moors!

[Footnote A: The Flemings have given the name of Campine to the vast
uncultivated spaces extending in the north of Belgium from the vicinity
of Antwerp to Venloo. The improvement of the _Campine,_
undertaken on a large scale within some years, has already produced
the happiest results.]
North of the city of Antwerp, toward the frontiers of Holland, there are
but few traces of this gradual improvement. It is only along highroads
that the traveller begins to observe the effect of liberal agriculture on
the sandy soil, while, farther on toward the heart of the region, every
thing is still bare and uncultivated. As far as the eye can penetrate,
nothing is to be seen in that quarter but arid plains thinly covered with
stunted vegetation, while the horizon is bounded by that blue and
cloudy line which always marks the limit of a desert. Yet, as we
journey over these vast spaces, it is impossible not to observe, from
time to time, that a clear and slender rivulet meanders here and there
over the moor, and that its verdant banks are studded with vigorous
plants and thrifty trees; while in many places the hardy sons of toil who
took advantage of the neighboring water, have opened their lonely
farms, built comfortable houses, and frequently gathered themselves
together in neat and thrifty villages.
In one of these spots, where meadow-land and pasturage have made
agriculture profitable, and by the side of an unfrequented road, there is
a farm of considerable size and value. The massive trees which spread
their thick shade on every side attest that the spot has been occupied
and cultivated for several generations. Besides, the ditches which
surround it, and the stone bridge that leads to the principal gate, justify
the belief that the estate has some right to be considered a lordly
demesne. In the neighborhood it is known as GRINSELHOF. The
entire front of the property is covered by the homestead of the farmer,
comprising his stables and granges; so that, in fact, every thing in their
rear is concealed by these edifices as well as by dense thickets and
hedges which are growing in all the wild luxuriance of nature. Indeed,
the dwelling of the proprietor was a mystery even to the farmer who
worked the soil; for its surrounding copses were an impenetrable veil to
his eyes, beyond which neither he nor his family were ever allowed to

pass without special permission.
Within this lonely and sacred precinct, buried in foliage, was a large
house, called THE CHÂTEAU, inhabited by