<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=343779" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Great Adventure Of Max Breuck</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">1</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A yellow band of light upon the street<br>Pours from an open door, and makes a wide<br>Pathway of bright gold across a sheet<br>Of calm and liquid moonshine. From inside<br>Come shouts and streams of laughter, and a snatch<br>Of song, soon drowned and lost again in mirth,<br>The clip of tankards on a table top,<br>And stir of booted heels. Against the patch<br>Of candle-light a shadow falls, its girth<br>Proclaims the host himself, and master of his shop.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>2</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This is the tavern of one Hilverdink,<br>Jan Hilverdink, whose wines are much esteemed.<br>Within his cellar men can have to drink<br>The rarest cordials old monks ever schemed<br>To coax from pulpy grapes, and with nice art<br>Improve and spice their virgin juiciness.<br>Here froths the amber beer of many a brew,<br>Crowning each pewter tankard with as smart<br>A cap as ever in his wantonness<br>Winter set glittering on top of an old yew.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>3</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tall candles stand upon the table, where<br>Are twisted glasses, ruby-sparked with wine,<br>Clarets and ports. Those topaz bumpers were<br>Drained from slim, long-necked bottles of the Rhine.<br>The centre of the board is piled with pipes,<br>Slender and clean, the still unbaptized clay<br>Awaits its burning fate. Behind, the vault<br>Stretches from dim to dark, a groping way<br>Bordered by casks and puncheons, whose brass stripes<br>And bands gleam dully still, beyond the gay tumult.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>4</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'For good old Master Hilverdink, a toast!'<br>Clamoured a youth with tassels on his boots.<br>'Bring out your oldest brandy for a boast,<br>From that small barrel in the very roots<br>Of your deep cellar, man. Why here is Max!<br>Ho! Welcome, Max, you're scarcely here in time.<br>We want to drink to old Jan's luck, and smoke<br>His best tobacco for a grand climax.<br>Here, Jan, a paper, fragrant as crushed thyme,<br>We'll have the best to wish you luck, or may we choke!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>5</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Max Breuck unclasped his broadcloth cloak, and sat.<br>'Well thought of, Franz; here's luck to Mynheer Jan.'<br>The host set down a jar; then to a vat<br>Lost in the distance of his cellar, ran.<br>Max took a pipe as graceful as the stem<br>Of some long tulip, crammed it full, and drew<br>The pungent smoke deep to his grateful lung.<br>It curled all blue throughout the cave and flew<br>Into the silver night. At once there flung<br>Into the crowded shop a boy, who cried to them:</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>6</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Oh, sirs, is there some learned lawyer here,<br>Some advocate, or all-wise counsellor?<br>My master sent me to inquire where<br>Such men do mostly be, but every door<br>Was shut and barred, for late has grown the hour.<br>I pray you tell me where I may now find<br>One versed in law, the matter will not wait.'<br>'I am a lawyer, boy,' said Max, 'my mind<br>Is not locked to my business, though 'tis late.<br>I shall be glad to serve what way is in my power.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>7</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then once more, cloaked and ready, he set out,<br>Tripping the footsteps of the eager boy<br>Along the dappled cobbles, while the rout<br>Within the tavern jeered at his employ.<br>Through new-burst elm leaves filtered the white moon,<br>Who peered and splashed between the twinkling boughs,<br>Flooded the open spaces, and took flight<br>Before tall, serried houses in platoon,<br>Guarded by shadows. Past the Custom House<br>They took their hurried way in the Spring-scented night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>8</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Before a door which fronted a canal<br>The boy halted. A dim tree-shaded spot.<br>The water lapped the stones in musical<br>And rhythmic tappings, and a galliot<br>Slumbered at anchor with no light aboard.<br>The boy knocked twice, and steps approached. A flame<br>Winked through the keyhole, then a key was turned,<br>And through the open door Max went toward<br>Another door, whence sound of voices came.<br>He entered a large room where candelabra burned.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>9</div><div style="margin:10px 0">An aged man in quilted dressing gown<br>Rose up to greet him. 'Sir,' said Max, 'you sent<br>Your messenger to seek throughout the town<br>A lawyer. I have small accomplishment,<br>But I am at your service, and my name<br>Is Max Breuck, Counsellor, at your command.'<br>'Mynheer,' replied the aged man, 'obliged<br>Am I, and count myself much privileged.<br>I am Cornelius Kurler, and my fame<br>Is better known on distant oceans than on land.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>10</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My ship has tasted water in strange seas,<br>And bartered goods at still uncharted isles.<br>She's oft coquetted with a tropic breeze,<br>And sheered off hurricanes with jaunty smiles.'<br>'Tush, Kurler,' here broke in the other man,<br>'Enough of poetry, draw the deed and sign.'<br>The old man seemed to wizen at the voice,<br>'My good friend, Grootver, --' he at once began.<br>'No introductions, let us have some wine,<br>And business, now that you at last have made your choice.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>11</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A harsh and disagreeable man he proved to be,<br>This Grootver, with no single kindly thought.<br>Kurler explained, his old hands nervously<br>Twisting his beard. His vessel he had bought<br>From Grootver. He had thought to soon repay<br>The ducats borrowed, but an adverse wind<br>Had so delayed him that his cargo brought<br>But half its proper price, the very day<br>He came to port he stepped ashore to find<br>The market glutted and his counted profits naught.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>12</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Little by little Max made out the way<br>That Grootver pressed that poor harassed old man.<br>His money he must have, too long delay<br>Had turned the usurer to a ruffian.<br>'But let me take my ship, with many bales<br>Of cotton stuffs dyed crimson, green, and blue,<br>Cunningly patterned, made to suit the taste<br>Of mandarin's ladies; when my battered sails<br>Open for home, such stores will I bring you<br>That all your former ventures will be counted waste.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>13</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Such light and foamy silks, like crinkled cream,<br>And indigo more blue than sun-whipped seas,<br>Spices and fragrant trees, a massive beam<br>Of sandalwood, and pungent China teas,<br>Tobacco, coffee!' Grootver only laughed.<br>Max heard it all, and worse than all he heard<br>The deed to which the sailor gave his word.<br>He shivered, 'twas as if the villain gaffed<br>The old man with a boat-hook; bleeding, spent,<br>He begged for life nor knew at all the road he went.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>14</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For Kurler had a daughter, young and gay,<br>Carefully reared and shielded, rarely seen.<br>But on one black and most unfriendly day<br>Grootver had caught her as she passed between<br>The kitchen and the garden. She had run<br>In fear of him, his evil leering eye,<br>And when he came she, bolted in her room,<br>Refused to show, though gave no reason why.<br>The spinning of her future had begun,<br>On quiet nights she heard the whirring of her doom.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>15</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Max mended an old goosequill by the fire,<br>Loathing his work, but seeing no thing to do.<br>He felt his hands were building up the pyre<br>To burn two souls, and seized with vertigo<br>He staggered to his chair. Before him lay<br>White paper still unspotted by a crime.<br>'Now, young man, write,' said Grootver in his ear.<br>'`If in two years my vessel should yet stay<br>From Amsterdam, I give Grootver, sometime<br>A friend, my daughter for his lawful wife.' Now swear.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>16</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Kurler swore, a palsied, tottering sound,<br>And traced his name, a shaking, wandering line.<br>Then dazed he sat there, speechless from his wound.<br>Grootver got up: 'Fair voyage, the brigantine!'<br>He shuffled from the room, and left the house.<br>His footsteps wore to silence down the street.<br>At last the aged man began to rouse.<br>With help he once more gained his trembling feet.<br>'My daughter, Mynheer Breuck, is friendless now.<br>Will you watch over her? I ask a solemn vow.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>17</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Max laid his hand upon the old man's arm,<br>'Before God, sir, I vow, when you are gone,<br>So to protect your daughter from all harm<br>As one man may.' Thus sorrowful, forlorn,<br>The situation to Max Breuck appeared,<br>He gave his promise almost without thought,<br>Nor looked to see a difficulty. 'Bred<br>Gently to watch a mother left alone;<br>Bound by a dying father's wish, who feared<br>The world's accustomed harshness when he should be dead;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>18</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Such was my case from youth, Mynheer Kurler.<br>Last Winter she died also, and my days<br>Are passed in work, lest I should grieve for her,<br>And undo habits used to earn her praise.<br>My leisure I will gladly give to see<br>Your household and your daughter prosperous.'<br>The sailor said his thanks, but turned away.<br>He could not brook that his humility,<br>So little wonted, and so tremulous,<br>Should first before a stranger make such great display.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>19</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Come here to-morrow as the bells ring noon,<br>I sail at the full sea, my daughter then<br>I will make known to you. 'Twill be a boon<br>If after I have bid good-by, and when<br>Her eyeballs scorch with watching me depart,<br>You bring her home again. She lives with one<br>Old serving-woman, who has brought her up.<br>But that is no friend for so free a heart.<br>No head to match her questions. It is done.<br>And I must sail away to come and brim her cup.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>20</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My ship's the fastest that owns Amsterdam<br>As home, so not a letter can you send.<br>I shall be back, before to where I am<br>Another ship could reach. Now your stipend --'<br>Quickly Breuck interposed. 'When you once more<br>Tread on the stones which pave our streets. -- Good night!<br>To-morrow I will be, at stroke of noon,<br>At the great wharf.' Then hurrying, in spite<br>Of cake and wine the old man pressed upon<br>Him ere he went, he took his leave and shut the door.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>21</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas noon in Amsterdam, the day was clear,<br>And sunshine tipped the pointed roofs with gold.<br>The brown canals ran liquid bronze, for here<br>The sun sank deep into the waters cold.<br>And every clock and belfry in the town<br>Hammered, and struck, and rang. Such peals of bells,<br>To shake the sunny morning into life,<br>And to proclaim the middle, and the crown,<br>Of this most sparkling daytime! The crowd swells,<br>Laughing and pushing toward the quays in friendly strife.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>22</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The 'Horn of Fortune' sails away to-day.<br>At highest tide she lets her anchor go,<br>And starts for China. Saucy popinjay!<br>Giddy in freshest paint she curtseys low,<br>And beckons to her boats to let her start.<br>Blue is the ocean, with a flashing breeze.<br>The shining waves are quick to take her part.<br>They push and spatter her. Her sails are loose,<br>Her tackles hanging, waiting men to seize<br>And haul them taut, with chanty-singing, as they choose.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>23</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At the great wharf's edge Mynheer Kurler stands,<br>And by his side, his daughter, young Christine.<br>Max Breuck is there, his hat held in his hands,<br>Bowing before them both. The brigantine<br>Bounces impatient at the long delay,<br>Curvets and jumps, a cable's length from shore.<br>A heavy galliot unloads on the walls<br>Round, yellow cheeses, like gold cannon balls<br>Stacked on the stones in pyramids. Once more<br>Kurler has kissed Christine, and now he is away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>24</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Christine stood rigid like a frozen stone,<br>Her hands wrung pale in effort at control.<br>Max moved aside and let her be alone,<br>For grief exacts each penny of its toll.<br>The dancing boat tossed on the glinting sea.<br>A sun-path swallowed it in flaming light,<br>Then, shrunk a cockleshell, it came again<br>Upon the other side. Now on the lee<br>It took the 'Horn of Fortune'. Straining sight<br>Could see it hauled aboard, men pulling on the crane.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>25</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then up above the eager brigantine,<br>Along her slender masts, the sails took flight,<br>Were sheeted home, and ropes were coiled. The shine<br>Of the wet anchor, when its heavy weight<br>Rose splashing to the deck. These things they saw,<br>Christine and Max, upon the crowded quay.<br>They saw the sails grow white, then blue in shade,<br>The ship had turned, caught in a windy flaw<br>She glided imperceptibly away,<br>Drew farther off and in the bright sky seemed to fade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>26</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Home, through the emptying streets, Max took Christine,<br>Who would have hid her sorrow from his gaze.<br>Before the iron gateway, clasped between<br>Each garden wall, he stopped. She, in amaze,<br>Asked, 'Do you enter not then, Mynheer Breuck?<br>My father told me of your courtesy.<br>Since I am now your charge, 'tis meet for me<br>To show such hospitality as maiden may,<br>Without disdaining rules must not be broke.<br>Katrina will have coffee, and she bakes today.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>27</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She straight unhasped the tall, beflowered gate.<br>Curled into tendrils, twisted into cones<br>Of leaves and roses, iron infoliate,<br>It guards the pleasance, and its stiffened bones<br>Are budded with much peering at the rows,<br>And beds, and arbours, which it keeps inside.<br>Max started at the beauty, at the glare<br>Of tints. At either end was set a wide<br>Path strewn with fine, red gravel, and such shows<br>Of tulips in their splendour flaunted everywhere!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>28</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From side to side, midway each path, there ran<br>A longer one which cut the space in two.<br>And, like a tunnel some magician<br>Has wrought in twinkling green, an alley grew,<br>Pleached thick and walled with apple trees; their flowers<br>Incensed the garden, and when Autumn came<br>The plump and heavy apples crowding stood<br>And tapped against the arbour. Then the dame<br>Katrina shook them down, in pelting showers<br>They plunged to earth, and died transformed to sugared food.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>29</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Against the high, encircling walls were grapes,<br>Nailed close to feel the baking of the sun<br>From glowing bricks. Their microscopic shapes<br>Half hidden by serrated leaves. And one<br>Old cherry tossed its branches near the door.<br>Bordered along the wall, in beds between,<br>Flickering, streaming, nodding in the air,<br>The pride of all the garden, there were more<br>Tulips than Max had ever dreamed or seen.<br>They jostled, mobbed, and danced. Max stood at helpless stare.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>30</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Within the arbour, Mynheer Breuck, I'll bring<br>Coffee and cakes, a pipe, and Father's best<br>Tobacco, brought from countries harbouring<br>Dawn's earliest footstep. Wait.' With girlish zest<br>To please her guest she flew. A moment more<br>She came again, with her old nurse behind.<br>Then, sitting on the bench and knitting fast,<br>She talked as someone with a noble store<br>Of hidden fancies, blown upon the wind,<br>Eager to flutter forth and leave their silent past.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>31</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The little apple leaves above their heads<br>Let fall a quivering sunshine. Quiet, cool,<br>In blossomed boughs they sat. Beyond, the beds<br>Of tulips blazed, a proper vestibule<br>And antechamber to the rainbow. Dyes<br>Of prismed richness: Carmine. Madder. Blues<br>Tinging dark browns to purple. Silvers flushed<br>To amethyst and tinct with gold. Round eyes<br>Of scarlet, spotting tender saffron hues.<br>Violets sunk to blacks, and reds in orange crushed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>32</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Of every pattern and in every shade.<br>Nacreous, iridescent, mottled, checked.<br>Some purest sulphur-yellow, others made<br>An ivory-white with disks of copper flecked.<br>Sprinkled and striped, tasselled, or keenest edged.<br>Striated, powdered, freckled, long or short.<br>They bloomed, and seemed strange wonder-moths new-fledged,<br>Born of the spectrum wedded to a flame.<br>The shade within the arbour made a port<br>To o'ertaxed eyes, its still, green twilight rest became.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>33</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her knitting-needles clicked and Christine talked,<br>This child matured to woman unaware,<br>The first time left alone. Now dreams once balked<br>Found utterance. Max thought her very fair.<br>Beneath her cap her ornaments shone gold,<br>And purest gold they were. Kurler was rich<br>And heedful. Her old maiden aunt had died<br>Whose darling care she was. Now, growing bold,<br>She asked, had Max a sister? Dropped a stitch<br>At her own candour. Then she paused and softly sighed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>34</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Two years was long! She loved her father well,<br>But fears she had not. He had always been<br>Just sailed or sailing. And she must not dwell<br>On sad thoughts, he had told her so, and seen<br>Her smile at parting. But she sighed once more.<br>Two years was long; 'twas not one hour yet!<br>Mynheer Grootver she would not see at all.<br>Yes, yes, she knew, but ere the date so set,<br>The 'Horn of Fortune' would be at the wall.<br>When Max had bid farewell, she watched him from the door.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>35</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The next day, and the next, Max went to ask<br>The health of Jufvrouw Kurler, and the news:<br>Another tulip blown, or the great task<br>Of gathering petals which the high wind strews;<br>The polishing of floors, the pictured tiles<br>Well scrubbed, and oaken chairs most deftly oiled.<br>Such things were Christine's world, and his was she<br>Winter drew near, his sun was in her smiles.<br>Another Spring, and at his law he toiled,<br>Unspoken hope counselled a wise efficiency.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>36</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Max Breuck was honour's soul, he knew himself<br>The guardian of this girl; no more, no less.<br>As one in charge of guineas on a shelf<br>Loose in a china teapot, may confess<br>His need, but may not borrow till his friend<br>Comes back to give. So Max, in honour, said<br>No word of love or marriage; but the days<br>He clipped off on his almanac. The end<br>Must come! The second year, with feet of lead,<br>Lagged slowly by till Spring had plumped the willow sprays.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>37</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Two years had made Christine a woman grown,<br>With dignity and gently certain pride.<br>But all her childhood fancies had not flown,<br>Her thoughts in lovely dreamings seemed to glide.<br>Max was her trusted friend, did she confess<br>A closer happiness? Max could not tell.<br>Two years were over and his life he found<br>Sphered and complete. In restless eagerness<br>He waited for the 'Horn of Fortune'. Well<br>Had he his promise kept, abating not one pound.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>38</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Spring slipped away to Summer. Still no glass<br>Sighted the brigantine. Then Grootver came<br>Demanding Jufvrouw Kurler. His trespass<br>Was justified, for he had won the game.<br>Christine begged time, more time! Midsummer went,<br>And Grootver waxed impatient. Still the ship<br>Tarried. Christine, betrayed and weary, sank<br>To dreadful terrors. One day, crazed, she sent<br>For Max. 'Come quickly,' said her note, 'I skip<br>The worst distress until we meet. The world is blank.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>39</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Through the long sunshine of late afternoon<br>Max went to her. In the pleached alley, lost<br>In bitter reverie, he found her soon.<br>And sitting down beside her, at the cost<br>Of all his secret, 'Dear,' said he, 'what thing<br>So suddenly has happened?' Then, in tears,<br>She told that Grootver, on the following morn,<br>Would come to marry her, and shuddering:<br>'I will die rather, death has lesser fears.'<br>Max felt the shackles drop from the oath which he had sworn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>40</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'My Dearest One, the hid joy of my heart!<br>I love you, oh! you must indeed have known.<br>In strictest honour I have played my part;<br>But all this misery has overthrown<br>My scruples. If you love me, marry me<br>Before the sun has dipped behind those trees.<br>You cannot be wed twice, and Grootver, foiled,<br>Can eat his anger. My care it shall be<br>To pay your father's debt, by such degrees<br>As I can compass, and for years I've greatly toiled.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>41</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This is not haste, Christine, for long I've known<br>My love, and silence forced upon my lips.<br>I worship you with all the strength I've shown<br>In keeping faith.' With pleading finger tips<br>He touched her arm. 'Christine! Beloved! Think.<br>Let us not tempt the future. Dearest, speak,<br>I love you. Do my words fall too swift now?<br>They've been in leash so long upon the brink.'<br>She sat quite still, her body loose and weak.<br>Then into him she melted, all her soul at flow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>42</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And they were married ere the westering sun<br>Had disappeared behind the garden trees.<br>The evening poured on them its benison,<br>And flower-scents, that only night-time frees,<br>Rose up around them from the beamy ground,<br>Silvered and shadowed by a tranquil moon.<br>Within the arbour, long they lay embraced,<br>In such enraptured sweetness as they found<br>Close-partnered each to each, and thinking soon<br>To be enwoven, long ere night to morning faced.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>43</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At last Max spoke, 'Dear Heart, this night is ours,<br>To watch it pale, together, into dawn,<br>Pressing our souls apart like opening flowers<br>Until our lives, through quivering bodies drawn,<br>Are mingled and confounded. Then, far spent,<br>Our eyes will close to undisturbed rest.<br>For that desired thing I leave you now.<br>To pinnacle this day's accomplishment,<br>By telling Grootver that a bootless quest<br>Is his, and that his schemes have met a knock-down blow.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>44</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But Christine clung to him with sobbing cries,<br>Pleading for love's sake that he leave her not.<br>And wound her arms about his knees and thighs<br>As he stood over her. With dread, begot<br>Of Grootver's name, and silence, and the night,<br>She shook and trembled. Words in moaning plaint<br>Wooed him to stay. She feared, she knew not why,<br>Yet greatly feared. She seemed some anguished saint<br>Martyred by visions. Max Breuck soothed her fright<br>With wisdom, then stepped out under the cooling sky.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>45</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But at the gate once more she held him close<br>And quenched her heart again upon his lips.<br>'My Sweetheart, why this terror? I propose<br>But to be gone one hour! Evening slips<br>Away, this errand must be done.' 'Max! Max!<br>First goes my father, if I lose you now!'<br>She grasped him as in panic lest she drown.<br>Softly he laughed, 'One hour through the town<br>By moonlight! That's no place for foul attacks.<br>Dearest, be comforted, and clear that troubled brow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>46</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One hour, Dear, and then, no more alone.<br>We front another day as man and wife.<br>I shall be back almost before I'm gone,<br>And midnight shall anoint and crown our life.'<br>Then through the gate he passed. Along the street<br>She watched his buttons gleaming in the moon.<br>He stopped to wave and turned the garden wall.<br>Straight she sank down upon a mossy seat.<br>Her senses, mist-encircled by a swoon,<br>Swayed to unconsciousness beneath its wreathing pall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>47</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Briskly Max walked beside the still canal.<br>His step was firm with purpose. Not a jot<br>He feared this meeting, nor the rancorous gall<br>Grootver would spit on him who marred his plot.<br>He dreaded no man, since he could protect<br>Christine. His wife! He stopped and laughed aloud.<br>His starved life had not fitted him for joy.<br>It strained him to the utmost to reject<br>Even this hour with her. His heart beat loud.<br>'Damn Grootver, who can force my time to this employ!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>48</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He laughed again. What boyish uncontrol<br>To be so racked. Then felt his ticking watch.<br>In half an hour Grootver would know the whole.<br>And he would be returned, lifting the latch<br>Of his own gate, eager to take Christine<br>And crush her to his lips. How bear delay?<br>He broke into a run. In front, a line<br>Of candle-light banded the cobbled street.<br>Hilverdink's tavern! Not for many a day<br>Had he been there to take his old, accustomed seat.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>49</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Why, Max! Stop, Max!' And out they came pell-mell,<br>His old companions. 'Max, where have you been?<br>Not drink with us? Indeed you serve us well!<br>How many months is it since we have seen<br>You here? Jan, Jan, you slow, old doddering goat!<br>Here's Mynheer Breuck come back again at last,<br>Stir your old bones to welcome him. Fie, Max.<br>Business! And after hours! Fill your throat;<br>Here's beer or brandy. Now, boys, hold him fast.<br>Put down your cane, dear man. What really vicious whacks!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>50</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They forced him to a seat, and held him there,<br>Despite his anger, while the hideous joke<br>Was tossed from hand to hand. Franz poured with care<br>A brimming glass of whiskey. 'Here, we've broke<br>Into a virgin barrel for you, drink!<br>Tut! Tut! Just hear him! Married! Who, and when?<br>Married, and out on business. Clever Spark!<br>Which lie's the likeliest? Come, Max, do think.'<br>Swollen with fury, struggling with these men,<br>Max cursed hilarity which must needs have a mark.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>51</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Forcing himself to steadiness, he tried<br>To quell the uproar, told them what he dared<br>Of his own life and circumstance. Implied<br>Most urgent matters, time could ill be spared.<br>In jesting mood his comrades heard his tale,<br>And scoffed at it. He felt his anger more<br>Goaded and bursting; -- 'Cowards! Is no one loth<br>To mock at duty --' Here they called for ale,<br>And forced a pipe upon him. With an oath<br>He shivered it to fragments on the earthen floor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>52</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sobered a little by his violence,<br>And by the host who begged them to be still,<br>Nor injure his good name, 'Max, no offence,'<br>They blurted, 'you may leave now if you will.'<br>'One moment, Max,' said Franz. 'We've gone too far.<br>I ask your pardon for our foolish joke.<br>It started in a wager ere you came.<br>The talk somehow had fall'n on drugs, a jar<br>I brought from China, herbs the natives smoke,<br>Was with me, and I thought merely to play a game.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>53</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Its properties are to induce a sleep<br>Fraught with adventure, and the flight of time<br>Is inconceivable in swiftness. Deep<br>Sunken in slumber, imageries sublime<br>Flatter the senses, or some fearful dream<br>Holds them enmeshed. Years pass which on the clock<br>Are but so many seconds. We agreed<br>That the next man who came should prove the scheme;<br>And you were he. Jan handed you the crock.<br>Two whiffs! And then the pipe was broke, and you were freed.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>54</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'It is a lie, a damned, infernal lie!'<br>Max Breuck was maddened now. 'Another jest<br>Of your befuddled wits. I know not why<br>I am to be your butt. At my request<br>You'll choose among you one who'll answer for<br>Your most unseasonable mirth. Good-night<br>And good-by, -- gentlemen. You'll hear from me.'<br>But Franz had caught him at the very door,<br>'It is no lie, Max Breuck, and for your plight<br>I am to blame. Come back, and we'll talk quietly.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>55</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You have no business, that is why we laughed,<br>Since you had none a few minutes ago.<br>As to your wedding, naturally we chaffed,<br>Knowing the length of time it takes to do<br>A simple thing like that in this slow world.<br>Indeed, Max, 'twas a dream. Forgive me then.<br>I'll burn the drug if you prefer.' But Breuck<br>Muttered and stared, -- 'A lie.' And then he hurled,<br>Distraught, this word at Franz: 'Prove it. And when<br>It's proven, I'll believe. That thing shall be your work.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>56</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'll give you just one week to make your case.<br>On August thirty-first, eighteen-fourteen,<br>I shall require your proof.' With wondering face<br>Franz cried, 'A week to August, and fourteen<br>The year! You're mad, 'tis April now.<br>April, and eighteen-twelve.' Max staggered, caught<br>A chair, -- 'April two years ago! Indeed,<br>Or you, or I, are mad. I know not how<br>Either could blunder so.' Hilverdink brought<br>'The Amsterdam Gazette', and Max was forced to read.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>57</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Eighteen hundred and twelve,' in largest print;<br>And next to it, 'April the twenty-first.'<br>The letters smeared and jumbled, but by dint<br>Of straining every nerve to meet the worst,<br>He read it, and into his pounding brain<br>Tumbled a horror. Like a roaring sea<br>Foreboding shipwreck, came the message plain:<br>'This is two years ago! What of Christine?'<br>He fled the cellar, in his agony<br>Running to outstrip Fate, and save his holy shrine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>58</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The darkened buildings echoed to his feet<br>Clap-clapping on the pavement as he ran.<br>Across moon-misted squares clamoured his fleet<br>And terror-winged steps. His heart began<br>To labour at the speed. And still no sign,<br>No flutter of a leaf against the sky.<br>And this should be the garden wall, and round<br>The corner, the old gate. No even line<br>Was this! No wall! And then a fearful cry<br>Shattered the stillness. Two stiff houses filled the ground.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>59</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Shoulder to shoulder, like dragoons in line,<br>They stood, and Max knew them to be the ones<br>To right and left of Kurler's garden. Spine<br>Rigid next frozen spine. No mellow tones<br>Of ancient gilded iron, undulate,<br>Expanding in wide circles and broad curves,<br>The twisted iron of the garden gate,<br>Was there. The houses touched and left no space<br>Between. With glassy eyes and shaking nerves<br>Max gazed. Then mad with fear, fled still, and left that place.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>60</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Stumbling and panting, on he ran, and on.<br>His slobbering lips could only cry, 'Christine!<br>My Dearest Love! My Wife! Where are you gone?<br>What future is our past? What saturnine,<br>Sardonic devil's jest has bid us live<br>Two years together in a puff of smoke?<br>It was no dream, I swear it! In some star,<br>Or still imprisoned in Time's egg, you give<br>Me love. I feel it. Dearest Dear, this stroke<br>Shall never part us, I will reach to where you are.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>61</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His burning eyeballs stared into the dark.<br>The moon had long been set. And still he cried:<br>'Christine! My Love! Christine!' A sudden spark<br>Pricked through the gloom, and shortly Max espied<br>With his uncertain vision, so within<br>Distracted he could scarcely trust its truth,<br>A latticed window where a crimson gleam<br>Spangled the blackness, and hung from a pin,<br>An iron crane, were three gilt balls. His youth<br>Had taught their meaning, now they closed upon his dream.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>62</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Softly he knocked against the casement, wide<br>It flew, and a cracked voice his business there<br>Demanded. The door opened, and inside<br>Max stepped. He saw a candle held in air<br>Above the head of a gray-bearded Jew.<br>'Simeon Isaacs, Mynheer, can I serve<br>You?' 'Yes, I think you can. Do you keep arms?<br>I want a pistol.' Quick the old man grew<br>Livid. 'Mynheer, a pistol! Let me swerve<br>You from your purpose. Life brings often false alarms --'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>63</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Peace, good old Isaacs, why should you suppose<br>My purpose deadly. In good truth I've been<br>Blest above others. You have many rows<br>Of pistols it would seem. Here, this shagreen<br>Case holds one that I fancy. Silvered mounts<br>Are to my taste. These letters `C. D. L.'<br>Its former owner? Dead, you say. Poor Ghost!<br>'Twill serve my turn though --' Hastily he counts<br>The florins down upon the table. 'Well,<br>Good-night, and wish me luck for your to-morrow's toast.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>64</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Into the night again he hurried, now<br>Pale and in haste; and far beyond the town<br>He set his goal. And then he wondered how<br>Poor C. D. L. had come to die. 'It's grown<br>Handy in killing, maybe, this I've bought,<br>And will work punctually.' His sorrow fell<br>Upon his senses, shutting out all else.<br>Again he wept, and called, and blindly fought<br>The heavy miles away. 'Christine. I'm well.<br>I'm coming. My Own Wife!' He lurched with failing pulse.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>65</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Along the dyke the keen air blew in gusts,<br>And grasses bent and wailed before the wind.<br>The Zuider Zee, which croons all night and thrusts<br>Long stealthy fingers up some way to find<br>And crumble down the stones, moaned baffled. Here<br>The wide-armed windmills looked like gallows-trees.<br>No lights were burning in the distant thorps.<br>Max laid aside his coat. His mind, half-clear,<br>Babbled 'Christine!' A shot split through the breeze.<br>The cold stars winked and glittered at his chilling corpse.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Amy+Lowell">Amy Lowell</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=343779" data-title="The Great Adventure Of Max Breuck de Amy Lowell" data-description="1 A yellow band of light upon the street Pours from an open door, and makes a wide Pathway of bright gold across a sheet Of calm and liquid moonshine. From inside Come shouts and streams of laughter, and a snatch Of song, soon drowned and lost ag..."></div> </div> </div>

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