This ungenerous
conclusion
more and more took possession of
him.
him.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v09 - Dra to Eme
The little
old woman possessed some wonderful secrets; she could give rot
to sheep, make cows run dry, and poison nurses' milk. She
could see the fate of those who consulted her in cards and in
coffee-grounds. She could recall the fickle lover to the side of
the deserted maiden. Perhaps she could find a sweetheart for
lonely Rika?
Unholy thoughts rose with the oppressive mists of the even-
ing. They grew in the solitude, in the remoteness from others'
joy. The ungainly couples danced up and down, black as imps,
against the four red windows. The music grated and jarred; but
for the last hour the village steeple, which rose heavenward as
the watchful finger of God, had been lost in the darkness.
Would it be well to take advantage of the absence of her
master and mistress and consult the fortune-teller ? No one
would meet her. All the village was at the Golden Swan.
Holy Virgin! how they are enjoying themselves! Among the
whirling couples Rika saw two figures intertwined, their faces so
close that their lips must meet!
Yes, she would have recourse to the spells of the old woman
Hokespokes, whatever might happen. She had still the bright
coin in her pocket. This and the few coppers which she had
saved would suffice.
The sorceress lived in a clay hut deep in the dark woods of
Zoersel. The peasants avoided these woods and passed through
them in broad daylight only, making the sign of the cross. At
nightfall weird melancholy sounds, which seemed to come from
another world, murmured in the tree-tops. It took an hour to
reach the cottage from Viersel. Rika calculated that she could
be home before midnight. Her master and mistress would not
## p. 5205 (#377) ###########################################
GEORGES EEKHOUD
5205
return earlier than that. She overcame her last fears, and set
out bravely towards the lonely heath.
In this bag, little one, are the ashes of the tooth of a corpse;
the tooth was picked up in the cemetery of Safftingen, the vil-
lage that was submerged by the Scheldt; therein is also a mush-
room, called toadstool, gathered at the foot of the tree on
which Nol Bardaf the cobbler was hanged.
Next full moon,
on a cloudless night, sprinkle the magic powder at the foot of
your bed, and prick the mushroom deeply with a hairpin, utter-
ing these words three times:-'I command thee, charmed plant,
to bring me the man who shall wound me as I wound thee! )
Then go to bed with the mushroom under your pillow, and wait
in perfect quiet without speaking. The beloved one will appear.
Open your eyes, but above all things neither speak nor move.
You must even hold your breath. If he leaves you, do not try to
detain him. You will see him again, and will then become his
wife. ”
Thus spoke Zanne Hokespokes.
Rika followed the instructions of the sorceress. She waited
several days for the fine cloudless night, and when the full moon
rose she did as the witch had bidden her.
"I command thee, charmed thing, to bring me the man who
shall wound me as I wound thee! ”
Once -- twice — thrice.
Rika, with wide-open eyes and strained ear, lay in bed eagerly
awaiting the promised vision. Shadow became substance in the
garret, which was bathed in the silvery-blue beams of the moon.
The silence was so overwhelming that Rika thought she heard
the sound of the white light as it fell on the bare floor.
Now she regretted her traffic with a servant of the Devil, now
she rejoiced at the prospect of seeing him, the man who would
love her; but again she feared that he might not come.
The yard door swung on its hinges. A hasty, heavy step
crossed the court without disturbing the watch-dog. He opened
the kitchen door. Clope! Clope! rapidly he climbed the ladder
which led to the attic. Terror seized Rika; she stifled a cry, as
the trap-door opened.
There he was in her room; a soldier, a young artilleryman.
He passed by her unnoticed in the white light of the moon.
Ah! Rika loves him at first sight; it is he for whom she has
waited. He has a round face, curly auburn hair, a well-cut
## p. 5206 (#378) ###########################################
5206
GEORGES EEKHOUD
more
mouth, a slightly aquiline nose, with dilating nostrils, a square
chin, and broad shoulders. A fine mustache covers his upper
lip. He wears a brigadier's braids on his sleeve, and spurs on
his heels. What mad race has he been running ? His broad
chest rises and falls, he gasps for breath, and throws himself
down on the only stool. Rika longs to rush to him, to wipe the
sweat from his brow. As if overpowered, he loosens his tunic,
unclasps his belt, and exposes his fine chest. Somewhat rested,
oblivious of Rika, he scrutinizes his uniform from head to foot,
and notices that one of the buttonholes of his boot-strap is torn.
He takes off the strap, and with a knife which he draws from
his pocket makes a fresh hole in the leather. Then he readjusts
the strap to the trouser.
Rika observed all these movements. More and
more she
admired his military bearing and the ease with which he moved.
Animated by his run, the soldier's face struck her as
expressive than the faces of the other fellows of her acquaint-
ance, even than the faces of the scornful Odo and Freek, the
Verhulsts' two sons, whom she had once admired.
The stranger re-buttoned his coat, fastened his belt, put his
cap on his head, and left the room with the same quick firm
step. She dared not call to him and hold out her arms. The
door closed.
The sound of his footsteps, the clank of his sword, were lost
in the distance. To Rika a memory only remained.
Has it not all been a dream, poor impressionable little thing?
No; a moment ago he sat quite near Rika's bed.
By the wan light of the moon she saw a sparkling object, the
knife which he had just used; here was her proof. She could no
longer doubt. She picked up the knife, pressed the still-open
blade to her lips, and as her breath dulled the steel, she wiped it,
kissed it again; twenty times she repeated the same childish trick.
Truly the good Zanne Hokespokes keeps her word. The
pretty knife with its tortoise-shell handle will henceforth be a
pledge for Rika. Her fingers lovingly caressed the blade, as if
they stroked the mustache of the brigadier; she would fain see
her reflection in the dark eyes of the beloved one, as she saw it
in the shining metal.
Her eyes grew weary with gazing on the bright surface; she
was compelled to lie down. She slept and dreamt of her soldier
visitor, with the precious knife clasped to her breast.
## p. 5207 (#379) ###########################################
GEORGES EEKHOUD
5207
TARATA! Tarata! Tarata!
“Wake up, Kors Davie! . . . Perhaps you're sorry to leave the
barracks! Confound it! the fellow snores as if he did not care
for his holiday! ”
Brigadier Warner Cats, Davie's fellow-countryman and com-
rade, tired of speaking, shook Kors roughly, as the bugle sounded
the réveille. Kors sat up, stretched himself, appeared astonished,
and rubbed his eyes with his fists.
« That's strange! Pouh! What a vile dream! ” he muttered
with a yawn.
Comrade, just listen: I was out in the country,
very much against my will, I assure you. . . . A horrible old
woman pursued me with repeated blows. We crossed heath and
swamp; my shoulder-belt and my sword caught in the thickets;
my skin was scratched with thorns. . . . I few over ditches
three yards wide to escape from my persecutor. But the wicked
old woman galloped after me and belabored me incessantly. . .
I was too much of a coward to turn and face her. . . . Oh! that
race by starlight! . . . I almost hated our beloved Campine,
. . . for all this happened in La Bruyère. . . But I'll be
hanged if I know where! . . . Oh! my legs, my poor legs. . .
You'll not believe, but I'm as exhausted
"Pouh! Pouh! ” interrupted the faithful Warner Cats.
“Dreams are lies! so my grandmother used to say. You'll have
forgotten all about these phantoms by the time you're beyond
the ramparts, on the way to our beautiful Wildonck, these phan-
toms will all vanish. . . Be done with grumbling. . . Hang
nightmares, if only the awakening is sweet! ”
Kors got up, packed his kit, folded his blankets, and cheered
by the thought of his holiday, hummed a soldier's tune.
As he felt in his pocket he stopped suddenly. “Good heavens!
I could have sworn that I put it in my waistcoat pocket. ”
« What ?
What's up now, you grumbling devil ? ” asked
Warner.
« Dash it! Begga Leuven's penknife, . .
my Begga. . The
pretty knife which she bought me for my fête day when I was
last in Antwerp. ”
« Well ? »
“I cannot find it! . . . There's a fine state of things. .
What will Begga say? I wanted to show her the little treasure
still bright and new.
The dear soul will never forgive my care-
lessness. ”
.
## p. 5208 (#380) ###########################################
5208
GEORGES EEKHOUD
Nonsense! she'll give you another. . Besides, it is not
lucky to give knives; they cut the bonds of love! ” Warner added
gravely; "they bring misfortune. ”
«In the mean time, the bother is that I've lost the knife.
Damn it! ”
He turned his pockets inside out in vain.
« Well, I suppose I must make the best of it,” he said at last.
When he was ready, he shook hands with his comrade and
took up his bundle.
“Au revoir ! ” said Warner. “Remember me to all friends,
and drink a pint to my health next Sunday at Maus Walkiers.
Don't forget to go and see my old parents, and tell them that
my purse is as flat as a pancake. Remember me also to Stans
the wheelwright. ”
“Good. Are these all my orders ? ”
Davie hastened into the street.
Having left the town by the Vieux-Dieu fort, he followed the
treeless military road on a hot July morning. When he came
within sight of the spire of Wommelghem, he turned off by the
short cut which led to Ranst and Broechem.
Here the copses
and brushwood protected him from the intense heat of the sun.
He walked sharply, cap in hand, the sweat standing on his brow.
Over his shoulder he carried his bundle, tied in a red handker-
chief and fastened to a stick which he had cut on the way. He
stopped for a drink of beer at the toll-houses and cross-roads,
chatted with the barmaids if they took his fancy, then went
happily on. Towards midday he had passed through or skirted
four villages, and was a mile only from the home where his
father and Begga awaited him. As he recalled the bright
healthy face of his young sweetheart, the remembrance of his bad
dream and of the loss of the knife came back to him. Con-
founded knife! Kors could not separate the thought of Begga
from the lost treasure, and by a strange contradiction of human
nature he was almost angry with the poor girl, because she had
bought him this pocket-knife which had now come between them.
This ungenerous conclusion more and more took possession of
him. So preoccupied was he that he forgot to look where he
was going. Suddenly he noticed that he had gone astray
He was about to cross a bridge over the Campine canal,
though this bridge did not really lie in his route. Beyond it,
trees lined the road on either side for a great distance. Between
## p. 5209 (#381) ###########################################
GEORGES EEKHOUD
5209
the trunks could be seen vast meadows, which stretched towards
an immense purple heath, bathed in soft mist. Four fine cows
stood knee-deep in the meadow-grass which fringed the banks of
the canal; not far from the cows a young girl with a branch in
her hand sat on the slope guarding them.
He called to her:-
"Hi, Mietje, come here ! »
She sprang up, and jumped lightly over the fence, but when
she came within a few yards of the stranger she stopped, looked
at him for a moment, covered her face with her hands, and
turned to go away.
In a few rapid strides the soldier overtook
her, and caught her gently by the arm. He was secretly flattered
by the embarrassment of the young peasant girl. Silent, but
blushing red as a poppy, she looked down, and the blue-green of
her eyes could be seen beneath the fair lashes. She tried to turn
away and escape the scrutiny of the gallant.
“Bless me, what a pretty little puss! ” he exclaimed. «Tell
me, my beautiful one, where do such dainty maidens come from ? ”
“I come from Viersel,” she replied, in a very timid voice.
« Then we are neighbors, and almost fellow-villagers, for I live
at Wildonck, and was on my way thither. ”
“You will never reach it, if you follow this road. ”
“Egad! I don't deny it, my pretty one! A moment ago I
thought myself a fool for losing my way. Now I bless my stu-
pidity. ”
She did not reply to this compliment, but flushed crimson.
He would not set her free. The vision of Begga, sullen and
displeased at the loss of the knife, grew fainter and fainter. In
this frame of mind he welcomed the stranger gladly, as a pleas-
ant diversion from the thoughts which had tormented him just
before.
“What is your name, my flower of Viersel ? »
«Hendrika Let — Rika. ”
« That has always been one of my favorite names. It was my
mother's, Do your parents live far from here ? »
"My parents! I never knew them. I am a servant at boer
Verhulst's, whose farm you see down there, a short distance away
behind the alder-trees. ”
“You do not ask my name, Rika ? ”
She was burning to know the name of the beloved one, for
he was indeed the brilliant visitor of the enchanted night. She
## p. 5210 (#382) ###########################################
5210
GEORGES EEKHOUD
stilled the throbbing of her beating heart, and pretended to show
only the polite indifference which an honest girl would feel to
an agreeable passer-by who accosted her on the road.
“You shrug your shoulders and pout, Rika! Of what interest
is a soldier's name to you? Probably he is a bad fellow, as the
curé preaches,- a spendthrift, a deceiver of women. Well, I will
tell
you
all the same. I am Cornelis Davie, otherwise Kors,
Kors the Black, now brigadier in the first battery of the fifth
regiment of artillery, stationed at Fort IV. , at Vieux-Dieu, near
Antwerp. In two months I shall return to Wildonck for good,
and take up the management of the Stork Farm, for old Davie
has worked long enough. Then, Rika, Kors Davie will marry.
Can you not suggest some girl for him, my sweet Rika? Do
you think he will find some fair ones to choose from at Viersel ? ”
“I think you are getting further and further away from Wil-
donck! ” said the coquette.
It was true; they had walked along together, and the canal
was now far behind them.
“You rogue! ” said Kors, a little annoyed. “Why need you
remind me of the moment of parting ? ”
"If you follow this road, you may perhaps arrive to-morrow.
Farewell, my soldier. My cows may go astray as you have. ”
The happy girl pretended to move away. This time he seized
her round the waist, and holding her in his arms, repeated again
and again, “You are beautiful, Rika! ”
“If our Viersel lads saw you so foolish, they would laugh at
you. Are there no girls at Wildonck, or in the town ? ”
« The devil take the lads of Viersel, the girls of Wildonck,
and the women of Antwerp! I will win you from all the men
in your village, sweet one! you are more beautiful to me than all
the girls of my native place! Rika, if you will consent, our
marriage shall be fixed. ”
« This love will not last. ”
He pressed her more closely to him.
“Let me go, let me go, brigadier, or I shall scream. You
have surely been drinking. There are several inns between here
and your fort, are there not ? What would people say if they
met me with you ? Ah! to the right there is a road which
branches off and will take you home. Be off! Good-night! ”
The susceptible Davie had now forgotten the very existence
of the fair and prudent Begga Leuven.
## p. 5211 (#383) ###########################################
GEORGES EEKHOUD
5211
« Well, if it must be, I will go! ” he said, in a firm yet tender
voice. “But one word more, Rika. If I return in three days'
time; if I repeat then that I love you madly; if I ask you to be
my wife, will you refuse me ? »
“Cornelis Davie is making fun of Rika Let; land-owners do
not marry their farm servants. "
«I swear that I am in earnest! I have one desire, one wish
only. Rika, when I return in three days' time, on Monday, will
you meet me here ? »
A feeble consent was wrung from her.
When Kors tried to kiss her lips, she had not the strength to
resist; she returned his kiss passionately.
Then, not without a pang, he walked rapidly in the direction
of the foot-path, not daring to look back.
Breathless with excitement and triumph, Rika followed him
with her eyes, until he was lost behind a leafy clump of oaks.
It was fair-time again, but now Rika Let was happy; she
dined at Viersel with her former employers the Verhulsts,
accompanied by her husband, the fine Kors Davie of Wildonck,
Kors the Black, the owner of the Stork Farm.
Poor old Davie had fretted and died! Ah! the sorcery of old
Zanne Hokespokes was indeed potent; she had changed the loyal
Kors into an undutiful son and a faithless lover. Poor Begga
was helpless against the spells of the Devil. Nothing could do
away with the power of the incantation. "Do not be unhappy,
sweet Begga! Marry tall Milè, the lock-keeper; he has neither
the money nor the manly bearing of the ex-brigadier, but he
will love you better. ”
It was just a year ago, to the day, since Rika Let consulted
the witch. The poor dairymaid had reaped ample revenge for
the slights cast upon her. She wished to pay a visit to the Ver-
hulsts and introduce her rich husband to them, for the Verhulsts'
wealth was nothing compared to that of the Davies.
Rika was gorgeously dressed. Think, baezine V'erhulst, of
offering her a woolen kerchief from Suske Derk's stall! Feel
the silk of her dress; it cost ten francs a yard, neither more nor
less. The lace on her large fête-cap is worth the price of at
least three fat pigs, and the diamond heart, a jewel which
belonged to the late baezine Davie, the mother of Kors, hanging
## p. 5212 (#384) ###########################################
5212
GEORGES EEKHOUD
(
round her throat on a massive gold chain, is more valuable than
all your trinkets!
At midday there was feasting at the Verhulsts' farm in honor
of the fair, and more especially to welcome the Davies. Masters,
friends, plowmen and haymakers, all with good appetite, seated
themselves round a table laden with enormous dishes brought in
by the farmer's wife and Rika's successor,
The obsequious Madame Verhulst overpowered her former
servant with attention.
"Baccine Davie, take one of these carbonades? They are soft
as butter. . . . A slice of ham ? It's fit for a king. Or perhaps
you will have some more of this chine, which has been specially
kept for your visit ? Or a spoonful of saffron rice? It melts in
the mouth. ”
“You are very kind, Madame Verhulst, but we breakfasted late
just before starting. · Kors, have our horses been fed ? »
“Do not be afraid, baezine Davie; Verhulst will see to that
himself. ”
Kors, who was more and more in love with his wife, presided
at the men's end of the table; near him sat Odo and Freek Ver-
hulst, who had formerly treated Rika so disdainfully. Kors, well
shaven, rubicund, merry, and wearing a dark-blue smock-frock,
looked lovingly and longingly in the direction of his wife.
A savory smell filled the large room, the steam dimmed the
copper ornaments on the chimney-piece, the crucifix, the candle-
sticks, the plates, which were formerly the pride of the cleanly
Rika.
At first the guests gravely and solemnly satisfied their hun-
ger, without saying a word. Then came the bumpers to wash
down the viands, for mealy Polder potatoes make one thirsty!
As the tankards were re-filled, tongues were loosed, and jokes
piquant as the waters of the Scheldt flew apace.
Later, coffee, together with white bread and butter, sprinkled
with currants, was served for the ladies. The men bestirred
themselves unwillingly. Silently and solemnly they filled their
pipes and smoked, while the old gossips and white-capped young
girls chattered like magpies. The low-roofed houses of the vil-
lage, which stand at the foot of the steeple pointing upward as
the watchful finger of God, fade in the gathering twilight.
Before the bugles and violins struck up in the Golden Swan,
whither baesine Davie was longing to go with her husband, the
## p. 5213 (#385) ###########################################
GEORGES EEKHOUD
5213
(
proud Rika took him by the arm and showed him round the
Verhulsts's farm. After visiting the cowsheds, the stables, the
pig-sties, and the dairy, they climbed to the garret where Rika
used to sleep. The same little camp bed stood there, the same
broken mirror, the solitary rickety stool. A feeling of emotion,
mingled perhaps with remorse, overcame the pretty farmer's wife
at sight of the familiar objects, and she threw herself into her
husband's arms. The young farmer kissed her passionately over
and over again. Rika sat on his knee with his arms around her,
and they were oblivious to all save their love.
Below in the court-yard shrill voices called to them; it was
time for the dances.
“There is no need to hasten, is there, my Rika ? ”
Kors, my well-beloved,” Rika said at last with a sigh, after
a long and delicious silence, “do you not remember this room ? »
"What a strange question, little woman! you know this is the
first time I have crossed the threshold ! »
“Are you certain ? ”
She laughed, amused at his puzzled, half-angry, half good-
natured look.
"Have you ever lost anything, Kors ? ” she persisted.
"Be done with riddles! Rather let us go and dance,” replied
Kors, relieved for the moment by the strident tones of the music,
and the sound of dancing.
Houps! Lourelourela! Rich and poor joined in the dance,
their figures outlined like black imps against the red windows of
the Golden Swan.
One word more,” said Rika, catching hold of Kors's blouse;
“have you no recollection of a little thing which you lost one
night on a journey ? ”
“No more enigmas for me, sweet one; let us be off. My feet
itch for the dance. ”
«Must I remind you ? — look ! »
She drew Begga Leuven's knife from her pocket.
He turned and held out his hand. At touch of the knife, the
remembrance of that strange night came back to him. Again he
saw the hideous old woman who pursued him with blows; he
crossed heath and swamp, his sword caught in the brushwood; he
ran until he was breathless. But now he understood more
than he did on that morning when he told his nightmare to his
loyal friend Warner Cats, the intimate friend whom he had lost
## p. 5214 (#386) ###########################################
5214
GEORGES EEKHOUD
in consequence of his willful marriage. He recognized this
accursed garret, where he had lost the pretty knife, a present
from his first lover. Reason returned, and with it all his pure
and holy passion for Begga. She who was called baezine Davie
had won him by sorcery. To kiss her lips he forsook Begga, his
gentle comrade; later, he was deaf to the curses of his grand-
father, he was indifferent when Begga married tall Milè, and he
shed no tears at the grave of the father whose death was brought
about by his disgraceful marriage.
And she, the abominable accomplice of the sorceress, still
clung to him,- the vampire!
The pale moon had risen, and now bathed the attic in silver
rays tinged with blue.
Rika sank to the ground beneath the unrecognizing glance
of Kors; she stretched out her hands to ward off what she felt
must come.
In Black Kors's contracted, bloodless hand, the open knife
shone as on the night of the charm.
Between two harsh and vibrating strains of music which came
from the Golden Swan, a discordant burst of laughter echoed
across the silent tragic plain surrounding Verhulst Farm.
At that moment, Kors in a fit of delirium plunged the knife
into Rika's breast. . . . She fell without uttering a cry.
Did not the incantation run:-“I command thee, charmed
plant, to bring me the man who will wound me as I wound
thee"?
## p. 5215 (#387) ###########################################
5215
EDWARD EGGLESTON
(1837-)
ES
DWARD EGGLESTON was born at Vevay, Indiana, December
10th, 1837
His father was a native of Amelia County,
Virginia, and was of a family which migrated from England
to Virginia in the seventeenth century, and which became one of
much distinction in the State. A brief biography of Mr. Eggleston
lately published affords some information as to his early years.
He
was a sufferer from ill health as a child. He had repeatedly to be
removed from school for this cause, and he spent a considerable part
of his boyhood on farms in Indiana, where he
made acquaintance with that rude backwoods
life which he has described in "The Hoosier
Schoolmaster) and other stories. An import-
ant incident of his youth was a visit of thir-
teen months which he paid to his relations
in Virginia in 1854. This opportunity of
making acquaintance under such favorable
circumstances with slave society, must have
been of great value to one who was to make
American history the chief pursuit of his life.
In 1856 he went to Minnesota, and there
lived a frontier life to the great improve- EDWARD EGGLESTON
ment of his health. The accounts we have
of him show him to have had the ardent and energetic character
which belongs to the youth of the West. When not yet nineteen
years old he became a Methodist preacher in that State. Later, ill
health forced him again to Minnesota, where with the enthusiasm of
a young man he traveled on foot, shod in Indian moccasins, in winter
and summer preaching to the mixed Indian and white populations on
the Minnesota River.
Mr. Eggleston's literary career began, while he was still preaching,
with contributions to Western periodicals. Having written for the
New York Independent, he was offered in 1870 the place of literary
editor of that paper, and the following year became its editor-in-
chief. He was afterwards editor of Hearth and Home, to the columns
of which journal he contributed (The Hoosier Schoolmaster,' a story
that has been very popular. He wrote a number of other novels,
“The End of the World,' The Mystery of Metropolisville, The
## p. 5216 (#388) ###########################################
5216
EDWARD EGGLESTON
Circuit Rider,' 'Roxy,' etc. In January 1880, while on a visit to
Europe, he began to make plans for a History of Life in the United
States. ' He had always had a strong taste for this subject, a keen
natural interest in history being evident here and there in his stories.
His historical researches were carried on in many of the chief libra-
ries of Europe and the United States. A result of these studies was
the thirteen articles on 'Life in the Colonial Period published in the
Century Magazine. These, however, were but preliminary studies to
the work which he intended should be the most important of his life.
The first volume of this work, The Beginners of a Nation,' was pub-
lished in 1896.
old woman possessed some wonderful secrets; she could give rot
to sheep, make cows run dry, and poison nurses' milk. She
could see the fate of those who consulted her in cards and in
coffee-grounds. She could recall the fickle lover to the side of
the deserted maiden. Perhaps she could find a sweetheart for
lonely Rika?
Unholy thoughts rose with the oppressive mists of the even-
ing. They grew in the solitude, in the remoteness from others'
joy. The ungainly couples danced up and down, black as imps,
against the four red windows. The music grated and jarred; but
for the last hour the village steeple, which rose heavenward as
the watchful finger of God, had been lost in the darkness.
Would it be well to take advantage of the absence of her
master and mistress and consult the fortune-teller ? No one
would meet her. All the village was at the Golden Swan.
Holy Virgin! how they are enjoying themselves! Among the
whirling couples Rika saw two figures intertwined, their faces so
close that their lips must meet!
Yes, she would have recourse to the spells of the old woman
Hokespokes, whatever might happen. She had still the bright
coin in her pocket. This and the few coppers which she had
saved would suffice.
The sorceress lived in a clay hut deep in the dark woods of
Zoersel. The peasants avoided these woods and passed through
them in broad daylight only, making the sign of the cross. At
nightfall weird melancholy sounds, which seemed to come from
another world, murmured in the tree-tops. It took an hour to
reach the cottage from Viersel. Rika calculated that she could
be home before midnight. Her master and mistress would not
## p. 5205 (#377) ###########################################
GEORGES EEKHOUD
5205
return earlier than that. She overcame her last fears, and set
out bravely towards the lonely heath.
In this bag, little one, are the ashes of the tooth of a corpse;
the tooth was picked up in the cemetery of Safftingen, the vil-
lage that was submerged by the Scheldt; therein is also a mush-
room, called toadstool, gathered at the foot of the tree on
which Nol Bardaf the cobbler was hanged.
Next full moon,
on a cloudless night, sprinkle the magic powder at the foot of
your bed, and prick the mushroom deeply with a hairpin, utter-
ing these words three times:-'I command thee, charmed plant,
to bring me the man who shall wound me as I wound thee! )
Then go to bed with the mushroom under your pillow, and wait
in perfect quiet without speaking. The beloved one will appear.
Open your eyes, but above all things neither speak nor move.
You must even hold your breath. If he leaves you, do not try to
detain him. You will see him again, and will then become his
wife. ”
Thus spoke Zanne Hokespokes.
Rika followed the instructions of the sorceress. She waited
several days for the fine cloudless night, and when the full moon
rose she did as the witch had bidden her.
"I command thee, charmed thing, to bring me the man who
shall wound me as I wound thee! ”
Once -- twice — thrice.
Rika, with wide-open eyes and strained ear, lay in bed eagerly
awaiting the promised vision. Shadow became substance in the
garret, which was bathed in the silvery-blue beams of the moon.
The silence was so overwhelming that Rika thought she heard
the sound of the white light as it fell on the bare floor.
Now she regretted her traffic with a servant of the Devil, now
she rejoiced at the prospect of seeing him, the man who would
love her; but again she feared that he might not come.
The yard door swung on its hinges. A hasty, heavy step
crossed the court without disturbing the watch-dog. He opened
the kitchen door. Clope! Clope! rapidly he climbed the ladder
which led to the attic. Terror seized Rika; she stifled a cry, as
the trap-door opened.
There he was in her room; a soldier, a young artilleryman.
He passed by her unnoticed in the white light of the moon.
Ah! Rika loves him at first sight; it is he for whom she has
waited. He has a round face, curly auburn hair, a well-cut
## p. 5206 (#378) ###########################################
5206
GEORGES EEKHOUD
more
mouth, a slightly aquiline nose, with dilating nostrils, a square
chin, and broad shoulders. A fine mustache covers his upper
lip. He wears a brigadier's braids on his sleeve, and spurs on
his heels. What mad race has he been running ? His broad
chest rises and falls, he gasps for breath, and throws himself
down on the only stool. Rika longs to rush to him, to wipe the
sweat from his brow. As if overpowered, he loosens his tunic,
unclasps his belt, and exposes his fine chest. Somewhat rested,
oblivious of Rika, he scrutinizes his uniform from head to foot,
and notices that one of the buttonholes of his boot-strap is torn.
He takes off the strap, and with a knife which he draws from
his pocket makes a fresh hole in the leather. Then he readjusts
the strap to the trouser.
Rika observed all these movements. More and
more she
admired his military bearing and the ease with which he moved.
Animated by his run, the soldier's face struck her as
expressive than the faces of the other fellows of her acquaint-
ance, even than the faces of the scornful Odo and Freek, the
Verhulsts' two sons, whom she had once admired.
The stranger re-buttoned his coat, fastened his belt, put his
cap on his head, and left the room with the same quick firm
step. She dared not call to him and hold out her arms. The
door closed.
The sound of his footsteps, the clank of his sword, were lost
in the distance. To Rika a memory only remained.
Has it not all been a dream, poor impressionable little thing?
No; a moment ago he sat quite near Rika's bed.
By the wan light of the moon she saw a sparkling object, the
knife which he had just used; here was her proof. She could no
longer doubt. She picked up the knife, pressed the still-open
blade to her lips, and as her breath dulled the steel, she wiped it,
kissed it again; twenty times she repeated the same childish trick.
Truly the good Zanne Hokespokes keeps her word. The
pretty knife with its tortoise-shell handle will henceforth be a
pledge for Rika. Her fingers lovingly caressed the blade, as if
they stroked the mustache of the brigadier; she would fain see
her reflection in the dark eyes of the beloved one, as she saw it
in the shining metal.
Her eyes grew weary with gazing on the bright surface; she
was compelled to lie down. She slept and dreamt of her soldier
visitor, with the precious knife clasped to her breast.
## p. 5207 (#379) ###########################################
GEORGES EEKHOUD
5207
TARATA! Tarata! Tarata!
“Wake up, Kors Davie! . . . Perhaps you're sorry to leave the
barracks! Confound it! the fellow snores as if he did not care
for his holiday! ”
Brigadier Warner Cats, Davie's fellow-countryman and com-
rade, tired of speaking, shook Kors roughly, as the bugle sounded
the réveille. Kors sat up, stretched himself, appeared astonished,
and rubbed his eyes with his fists.
« That's strange! Pouh! What a vile dream! ” he muttered
with a yawn.
Comrade, just listen: I was out in the country,
very much against my will, I assure you. . . . A horrible old
woman pursued me with repeated blows. We crossed heath and
swamp; my shoulder-belt and my sword caught in the thickets;
my skin was scratched with thorns. . . . I few over ditches
three yards wide to escape from my persecutor. But the wicked
old woman galloped after me and belabored me incessantly. . .
I was too much of a coward to turn and face her. . . . Oh! that
race by starlight! . . . I almost hated our beloved Campine,
. . . for all this happened in La Bruyère. . . But I'll be
hanged if I know where! . . . Oh! my legs, my poor legs. . .
You'll not believe, but I'm as exhausted
"Pouh! Pouh! ” interrupted the faithful Warner Cats.
“Dreams are lies! so my grandmother used to say. You'll have
forgotten all about these phantoms by the time you're beyond
the ramparts, on the way to our beautiful Wildonck, these phan-
toms will all vanish. . . Be done with grumbling. . . Hang
nightmares, if only the awakening is sweet! ”
Kors got up, packed his kit, folded his blankets, and cheered
by the thought of his holiday, hummed a soldier's tune.
As he felt in his pocket he stopped suddenly. “Good heavens!
I could have sworn that I put it in my waistcoat pocket. ”
« What ?
What's up now, you grumbling devil ? ” asked
Warner.
« Dash it! Begga Leuven's penknife, . .
my Begga. . The
pretty knife which she bought me for my fête day when I was
last in Antwerp. ”
« Well ? »
“I cannot find it! . . . There's a fine state of things. .
What will Begga say? I wanted to show her the little treasure
still bright and new.
The dear soul will never forgive my care-
lessness. ”
.
## p. 5208 (#380) ###########################################
5208
GEORGES EEKHOUD
Nonsense! she'll give you another. . Besides, it is not
lucky to give knives; they cut the bonds of love! ” Warner added
gravely; "they bring misfortune. ”
«In the mean time, the bother is that I've lost the knife.
Damn it! ”
He turned his pockets inside out in vain.
« Well, I suppose I must make the best of it,” he said at last.
When he was ready, he shook hands with his comrade and
took up his bundle.
“Au revoir ! ” said Warner. “Remember me to all friends,
and drink a pint to my health next Sunday at Maus Walkiers.
Don't forget to go and see my old parents, and tell them that
my purse is as flat as a pancake. Remember me also to Stans
the wheelwright. ”
“Good. Are these all my orders ? ”
Davie hastened into the street.
Having left the town by the Vieux-Dieu fort, he followed the
treeless military road on a hot July morning. When he came
within sight of the spire of Wommelghem, he turned off by the
short cut which led to Ranst and Broechem.
Here the copses
and brushwood protected him from the intense heat of the sun.
He walked sharply, cap in hand, the sweat standing on his brow.
Over his shoulder he carried his bundle, tied in a red handker-
chief and fastened to a stick which he had cut on the way. He
stopped for a drink of beer at the toll-houses and cross-roads,
chatted with the barmaids if they took his fancy, then went
happily on. Towards midday he had passed through or skirted
four villages, and was a mile only from the home where his
father and Begga awaited him. As he recalled the bright
healthy face of his young sweetheart, the remembrance of his bad
dream and of the loss of the knife came back to him. Con-
founded knife! Kors could not separate the thought of Begga
from the lost treasure, and by a strange contradiction of human
nature he was almost angry with the poor girl, because she had
bought him this pocket-knife which had now come between them.
This ungenerous conclusion more and more took possession of
him. So preoccupied was he that he forgot to look where he
was going. Suddenly he noticed that he had gone astray
He was about to cross a bridge over the Campine canal,
though this bridge did not really lie in his route. Beyond it,
trees lined the road on either side for a great distance. Between
## p. 5209 (#381) ###########################################
GEORGES EEKHOUD
5209
the trunks could be seen vast meadows, which stretched towards
an immense purple heath, bathed in soft mist. Four fine cows
stood knee-deep in the meadow-grass which fringed the banks of
the canal; not far from the cows a young girl with a branch in
her hand sat on the slope guarding them.
He called to her:-
"Hi, Mietje, come here ! »
She sprang up, and jumped lightly over the fence, but when
she came within a few yards of the stranger she stopped, looked
at him for a moment, covered her face with her hands, and
turned to go away.
In a few rapid strides the soldier overtook
her, and caught her gently by the arm. He was secretly flattered
by the embarrassment of the young peasant girl. Silent, but
blushing red as a poppy, she looked down, and the blue-green of
her eyes could be seen beneath the fair lashes. She tried to turn
away and escape the scrutiny of the gallant.
“Bless me, what a pretty little puss! ” he exclaimed. «Tell
me, my beautiful one, where do such dainty maidens come from ? ”
“I come from Viersel,” she replied, in a very timid voice.
« Then we are neighbors, and almost fellow-villagers, for I live
at Wildonck, and was on my way thither. ”
“You will never reach it, if you follow this road. ”
“Egad! I don't deny it, my pretty one! A moment ago I
thought myself a fool for losing my way. Now I bless my stu-
pidity. ”
She did not reply to this compliment, but flushed crimson.
He would not set her free. The vision of Begga, sullen and
displeased at the loss of the knife, grew fainter and fainter. In
this frame of mind he welcomed the stranger gladly, as a pleas-
ant diversion from the thoughts which had tormented him just
before.
“What is your name, my flower of Viersel ? »
«Hendrika Let — Rika. ”
« That has always been one of my favorite names. It was my
mother's, Do your parents live far from here ? »
"My parents! I never knew them. I am a servant at boer
Verhulst's, whose farm you see down there, a short distance away
behind the alder-trees. ”
“You do not ask my name, Rika ? ”
She was burning to know the name of the beloved one, for
he was indeed the brilliant visitor of the enchanted night. She
## p. 5210 (#382) ###########################################
5210
GEORGES EEKHOUD
stilled the throbbing of her beating heart, and pretended to show
only the polite indifference which an honest girl would feel to
an agreeable passer-by who accosted her on the road.
“You shrug your shoulders and pout, Rika! Of what interest
is a soldier's name to you? Probably he is a bad fellow, as the
curé preaches,- a spendthrift, a deceiver of women. Well, I will
tell
you
all the same. I am Cornelis Davie, otherwise Kors,
Kors the Black, now brigadier in the first battery of the fifth
regiment of artillery, stationed at Fort IV. , at Vieux-Dieu, near
Antwerp. In two months I shall return to Wildonck for good,
and take up the management of the Stork Farm, for old Davie
has worked long enough. Then, Rika, Kors Davie will marry.
Can you not suggest some girl for him, my sweet Rika? Do
you think he will find some fair ones to choose from at Viersel ? ”
“I think you are getting further and further away from Wil-
donck! ” said the coquette.
It was true; they had walked along together, and the canal
was now far behind them.
“You rogue! ” said Kors, a little annoyed. “Why need you
remind me of the moment of parting ? ”
"If you follow this road, you may perhaps arrive to-morrow.
Farewell, my soldier. My cows may go astray as you have. ”
The happy girl pretended to move away. This time he seized
her round the waist, and holding her in his arms, repeated again
and again, “You are beautiful, Rika! ”
“If our Viersel lads saw you so foolish, they would laugh at
you. Are there no girls at Wildonck, or in the town ? ”
« The devil take the lads of Viersel, the girls of Wildonck,
and the women of Antwerp! I will win you from all the men
in your village, sweet one! you are more beautiful to me than all
the girls of my native place! Rika, if you will consent, our
marriage shall be fixed. ”
« This love will not last. ”
He pressed her more closely to him.
“Let me go, let me go, brigadier, or I shall scream. You
have surely been drinking. There are several inns between here
and your fort, are there not ? What would people say if they
met me with you ? Ah! to the right there is a road which
branches off and will take you home. Be off! Good-night! ”
The susceptible Davie had now forgotten the very existence
of the fair and prudent Begga Leuven.
## p. 5211 (#383) ###########################################
GEORGES EEKHOUD
5211
« Well, if it must be, I will go! ” he said, in a firm yet tender
voice. “But one word more, Rika. If I return in three days'
time; if I repeat then that I love you madly; if I ask you to be
my wife, will you refuse me ? »
“Cornelis Davie is making fun of Rika Let; land-owners do
not marry their farm servants. "
«I swear that I am in earnest! I have one desire, one wish
only. Rika, when I return in three days' time, on Monday, will
you meet me here ? »
A feeble consent was wrung from her.
When Kors tried to kiss her lips, she had not the strength to
resist; she returned his kiss passionately.
Then, not without a pang, he walked rapidly in the direction
of the foot-path, not daring to look back.
Breathless with excitement and triumph, Rika followed him
with her eyes, until he was lost behind a leafy clump of oaks.
It was fair-time again, but now Rika Let was happy; she
dined at Viersel with her former employers the Verhulsts,
accompanied by her husband, the fine Kors Davie of Wildonck,
Kors the Black, the owner of the Stork Farm.
Poor old Davie had fretted and died! Ah! the sorcery of old
Zanne Hokespokes was indeed potent; she had changed the loyal
Kors into an undutiful son and a faithless lover. Poor Begga
was helpless against the spells of the Devil. Nothing could do
away with the power of the incantation. "Do not be unhappy,
sweet Begga! Marry tall Milè, the lock-keeper; he has neither
the money nor the manly bearing of the ex-brigadier, but he
will love you better. ”
It was just a year ago, to the day, since Rika Let consulted
the witch. The poor dairymaid had reaped ample revenge for
the slights cast upon her. She wished to pay a visit to the Ver-
hulsts and introduce her rich husband to them, for the Verhulsts'
wealth was nothing compared to that of the Davies.
Rika was gorgeously dressed. Think, baezine V'erhulst, of
offering her a woolen kerchief from Suske Derk's stall! Feel
the silk of her dress; it cost ten francs a yard, neither more nor
less. The lace on her large fête-cap is worth the price of at
least three fat pigs, and the diamond heart, a jewel which
belonged to the late baezine Davie, the mother of Kors, hanging
## p. 5212 (#384) ###########################################
5212
GEORGES EEKHOUD
(
round her throat on a massive gold chain, is more valuable than
all your trinkets!
At midday there was feasting at the Verhulsts' farm in honor
of the fair, and more especially to welcome the Davies. Masters,
friends, plowmen and haymakers, all with good appetite, seated
themselves round a table laden with enormous dishes brought in
by the farmer's wife and Rika's successor,
The obsequious Madame Verhulst overpowered her former
servant with attention.
"Baccine Davie, take one of these carbonades? They are soft
as butter. . . . A slice of ham ? It's fit for a king. Or perhaps
you will have some more of this chine, which has been specially
kept for your visit ? Or a spoonful of saffron rice? It melts in
the mouth. ”
“You are very kind, Madame Verhulst, but we breakfasted late
just before starting. · Kors, have our horses been fed ? »
“Do not be afraid, baezine Davie; Verhulst will see to that
himself. ”
Kors, who was more and more in love with his wife, presided
at the men's end of the table; near him sat Odo and Freek Ver-
hulst, who had formerly treated Rika so disdainfully. Kors, well
shaven, rubicund, merry, and wearing a dark-blue smock-frock,
looked lovingly and longingly in the direction of his wife.
A savory smell filled the large room, the steam dimmed the
copper ornaments on the chimney-piece, the crucifix, the candle-
sticks, the plates, which were formerly the pride of the cleanly
Rika.
At first the guests gravely and solemnly satisfied their hun-
ger, without saying a word. Then came the bumpers to wash
down the viands, for mealy Polder potatoes make one thirsty!
As the tankards were re-filled, tongues were loosed, and jokes
piquant as the waters of the Scheldt flew apace.
Later, coffee, together with white bread and butter, sprinkled
with currants, was served for the ladies. The men bestirred
themselves unwillingly. Silently and solemnly they filled their
pipes and smoked, while the old gossips and white-capped young
girls chattered like magpies. The low-roofed houses of the vil-
lage, which stand at the foot of the steeple pointing upward as
the watchful finger of God, fade in the gathering twilight.
Before the bugles and violins struck up in the Golden Swan,
whither baesine Davie was longing to go with her husband, the
## p. 5213 (#385) ###########################################
GEORGES EEKHOUD
5213
(
proud Rika took him by the arm and showed him round the
Verhulsts's farm. After visiting the cowsheds, the stables, the
pig-sties, and the dairy, they climbed to the garret where Rika
used to sleep. The same little camp bed stood there, the same
broken mirror, the solitary rickety stool. A feeling of emotion,
mingled perhaps with remorse, overcame the pretty farmer's wife
at sight of the familiar objects, and she threw herself into her
husband's arms. The young farmer kissed her passionately over
and over again. Rika sat on his knee with his arms around her,
and they were oblivious to all save their love.
Below in the court-yard shrill voices called to them; it was
time for the dances.
“There is no need to hasten, is there, my Rika ? ”
Kors, my well-beloved,” Rika said at last with a sigh, after
a long and delicious silence, “do you not remember this room ? »
"What a strange question, little woman! you know this is the
first time I have crossed the threshold ! »
“Are you certain ? ”
She laughed, amused at his puzzled, half-angry, half good-
natured look.
"Have you ever lost anything, Kors ? ” she persisted.
"Be done with riddles! Rather let us go and dance,” replied
Kors, relieved for the moment by the strident tones of the music,
and the sound of dancing.
Houps! Lourelourela! Rich and poor joined in the dance,
their figures outlined like black imps against the red windows of
the Golden Swan.
One word more,” said Rika, catching hold of Kors's blouse;
“have you no recollection of a little thing which you lost one
night on a journey ? ”
“No more enigmas for me, sweet one; let us be off. My feet
itch for the dance. ”
«Must I remind you ? — look ! »
She drew Begga Leuven's knife from her pocket.
He turned and held out his hand. At touch of the knife, the
remembrance of that strange night came back to him. Again he
saw the hideous old woman who pursued him with blows; he
crossed heath and swamp, his sword caught in the brushwood; he
ran until he was breathless. But now he understood more
than he did on that morning when he told his nightmare to his
loyal friend Warner Cats, the intimate friend whom he had lost
## p. 5214 (#386) ###########################################
5214
GEORGES EEKHOUD
in consequence of his willful marriage. He recognized this
accursed garret, where he had lost the pretty knife, a present
from his first lover. Reason returned, and with it all his pure
and holy passion for Begga. She who was called baezine Davie
had won him by sorcery. To kiss her lips he forsook Begga, his
gentle comrade; later, he was deaf to the curses of his grand-
father, he was indifferent when Begga married tall Milè, and he
shed no tears at the grave of the father whose death was brought
about by his disgraceful marriage.
And she, the abominable accomplice of the sorceress, still
clung to him,- the vampire!
The pale moon had risen, and now bathed the attic in silver
rays tinged with blue.
Rika sank to the ground beneath the unrecognizing glance
of Kors; she stretched out her hands to ward off what she felt
must come.
In Black Kors's contracted, bloodless hand, the open knife
shone as on the night of the charm.
Between two harsh and vibrating strains of music which came
from the Golden Swan, a discordant burst of laughter echoed
across the silent tragic plain surrounding Verhulst Farm.
At that moment, Kors in a fit of delirium plunged the knife
into Rika's breast. . . . She fell without uttering a cry.
Did not the incantation run:-“I command thee, charmed
plant, to bring me the man who will wound me as I wound
thee"?
## p. 5215 (#387) ###########################################
5215
EDWARD EGGLESTON
(1837-)
ES
DWARD EGGLESTON was born at Vevay, Indiana, December
10th, 1837
His father was a native of Amelia County,
Virginia, and was of a family which migrated from England
to Virginia in the seventeenth century, and which became one of
much distinction in the State. A brief biography of Mr. Eggleston
lately published affords some information as to his early years.
He
was a sufferer from ill health as a child. He had repeatedly to be
removed from school for this cause, and he spent a considerable part
of his boyhood on farms in Indiana, where he
made acquaintance with that rude backwoods
life which he has described in "The Hoosier
Schoolmaster) and other stories. An import-
ant incident of his youth was a visit of thir-
teen months which he paid to his relations
in Virginia in 1854. This opportunity of
making acquaintance under such favorable
circumstances with slave society, must have
been of great value to one who was to make
American history the chief pursuit of his life.
In 1856 he went to Minnesota, and there
lived a frontier life to the great improve- EDWARD EGGLESTON
ment of his health. The accounts we have
of him show him to have had the ardent and energetic character
which belongs to the youth of the West. When not yet nineteen
years old he became a Methodist preacher in that State. Later, ill
health forced him again to Minnesota, where with the enthusiasm of
a young man he traveled on foot, shod in Indian moccasins, in winter
and summer preaching to the mixed Indian and white populations on
the Minnesota River.
Mr. Eggleston's literary career began, while he was still preaching,
with contributions to Western periodicals. Having written for the
New York Independent, he was offered in 1870 the place of literary
editor of that paper, and the following year became its editor-in-
chief. He was afterwards editor of Hearth and Home, to the columns
of which journal he contributed (The Hoosier Schoolmaster,' a story
that has been very popular. He wrote a number of other novels,
“The End of the World,' The Mystery of Metropolisville, The
## p. 5216 (#388) ###########################################
5216
EDWARD EGGLESTON
Circuit Rider,' 'Roxy,' etc. In January 1880, while on a visit to
Europe, he began to make plans for a History of Life in the United
States. ' He had always had a strong taste for this subject, a keen
natural interest in history being evident here and there in his stories.
His historical researches were carried on in many of the chief libra-
ries of Europe and the United States. A result of these studies was
the thirteen articles on 'Life in the Colonial Period published in the
Century Magazine. These, however, were but preliminary studies to
the work which he intended should be the most important of his life.
The first volume of this work, The Beginners of a Nation,' was pub-
lished in 1896.
