AMONG THE ROSES.
Life was so smooth and even in this little cottage by the river that
days flew by with that pleasant rapidity which leaves nothing to record
except a general sense of restful enjoyment. One expedition, however,
might be described, a visit paid to a neighbouring estate which had been
advertised for sale, as giving a glimpse of a typical phase of
up-country life. The call was paid about noon, and after riding down a
steep hill, where natives were busily engaged in planting tea, the two
Englishmen came upon a little square white house half hidden in a bend
in the stream. This building had a deserted, untidy look which was
intensified by the state of the garden which surrounded it; even at some
distance from the house the scent of roses was perceptible, and in the
garden itself, if such a wilderness deserves the name, the odour was
almost overpowering. The place was a miniature forest of rose-bushes,
loaded with lovely blossoms, roses such as X. had not seen since he
left his native land. Everything looked untidy and ragged and ruined;
the house, the creepers, the rose bushes, the grass, the pigeon lofts
all spoke of neglect and want of money to put them straight, a want
caused by the fall in the price of cinchona, a misfortune which had
involved many a fair estate and reduced it to the desolate and unkempt
condition exemplified by the one now visited. But even unkempt and
uncared for, what a picture it made! It was the realisation of a poetic
death--the victim smothered by roses beside the singing waters of a
brook. It was a long time before any one came, and the two visitors sat
in the verandah feeling rather shy and uncomfortable, for this was the
neighbour's first visit, and the native, who had ushered them in,
vanished, sending weird cries around the tangled garden paths as though
to summon his master home.
At length, after long waiting, the silence and suspense, and the wonder
of who would come, from which direction, and when, grew almost
unbearable, and the absurd situation so wrought on their nerves that
both visitors gave vent to little gasps of laughter, brought on probably
by the same nervous sensations which compel children to misbehave in
church--direct promptings of the evil one, inducing a desire to do that
which we know we should not do. At length, after it had been debated in
hurried whispers whether a departure could not be effected, the lady of
the house appeared upon the scene. She was a tall, large lady, in
appearance typically Dutch. She wore the usual white linen jacket and
skimpy sarong, and her legs were bare. She gave a cordial greeting in
Dutch, at least to X. it was Dutch, for he knew nothing whatever of the
language. This his friend carefully explained, so he surmised, as the
lady gave vent to various guttural exclamations of astonishment and
turned to gaze at him as though he were indeed a strange person to
behold.
The conversation between the two then continued glibly, and X. was quite
forgotten, and he felt neglected and grew fidgety, realizing that he
extremely disliked this novel sensation of being ignored, without the
possibility of attracting any attention to himself by a remark. He was
soon to learn however, that those trifling inconveniences of which we
are cognizant are generally less unpleasant than those we do not know,
for presently there was a stir and a general rising from seats as the
husband of the good lady emerged from the house on to the verandah. This
gentleman was tall and dark, with a pointed grey beard like an American
in a caricature. He was clothed in a strange _deshabille_, which ended
in bare feet thrust loosely into carpet slippers, and when the eyes of
the visitors reached thus far they realized why his complexion was so
dark. After the first greetings the host--who X. afterwards learnt had
once held high office under Government, which he gave up for
planting--turned towards him and proceeded to harangue him without full
stops. There is no other way to describe what took place, as he
continued to pour language at his guest without the least apparent
desire for reply. To say that the visitor felt uncomfortable would be to
mildly describe his feelings--he had wished for recognition, and surely
had it now. What would his host think of him, if he allowed him to
continue to talk and never informed him that he could not understand one
word of Dutch? Again and again he endeavoured to stem the torrent of
words and explain both in English and in French, and this being of no
avail, at the risk of appearing rude and inattentive, X. turned to his
friend and begged him to make the matter clear. The friend said
something in Dutch, but he must, it seemed, have said the wrong thing,
since it had not the slightest effect, and the host continued his talk,
probably all about the advantages of the estate he wished to sell. Then,
regarding the situation as hopeless, X. fixed his expression into one of
intelligent attention and waited for him to stop. But he was not so
attentive that he did not presently hear the good lady say something to
his friend which caused him to exclaim as though astonished, and with a
suppressed click of a laugh he turned to X. and said, "It's all right.
Madame has just told me he is stone deaf and can't hear a word, so it's
no use my saying anything, he would understand you as well." "But can't
the lady tell him I don't know Dutch?" exclaimed X. almost
desperately--but too late, for by this time his friend was again deeply
engaged in conversation with his hostess, and there was nothing to be
done but once more give his assumed attention to his host. A pleasant
situation truly, to go to a man's house for the first time and so
conduct yourself that you feel certain he will presently believe that it
was your intention to deliberately insult and make a fool of him. X.
will never forget that quarter of an hour. At last the conversation
ended by its appearing that the lady had suggested, and her visitor
agreed to, a walk round the estate. When he gathered this, X. eagerly
seconded the proposition, but it took all joy out of it to find that the
verbose proprietor insisted upon accompanying them himself to do the
honours of the place. It was in vain that X. endeavoured to plant him on
his friend, for his prolonged assumption of intelligent interest had
apparently been so successful, that his host was flattered and never
left his side. However, a few climbs up slippery by-paths--I fear
deliberately chosen--soon dislodged the slippers, and the poor man was
compelled to heed what, it is hoped, he interpreted as polite
entreaties not to put himself out for his visitors and return to the
house. Then ensued a tour of the estate, which had once been of great
promise and now, alas, was overrun with undergrowth and weed. After
their walk the Englishmen found that the most hospitable preparations
had been made for their entertainment, and, more, that these had
evidently been seen to by a daughter whose presence had not before been
observed. Would I could describe this young girl as she appeared to X.,
who has confessed that he found it quite impossible to find words with
which to paint a picture which could do her the scantiest justice.
Simply attired in the same costume as her mother, but oh, how becoming
that costume can be! This charming apparition carried round the glasses
and offered wine to the visitors, while X. wished heartily that the dear
old host would harangue him ever so long that he might keep silence and
watch--watch this dainty, dark-eyed maiden, who looked as if she had
stepped out of some old picture to render those little domestic services
after the custom of days gone by; and as he received his glass from the
charming attendant, he endeavoured to think what it was this kindly
service most called to mind, and in his memory he found it in those
hospitable houses in New Zealand beyond the Bay of Islands where once he
visited, and all the daily life was like a glimpse of a century that had
passed. But though visiting was good, X. was soon wanting to improve
his position and show that he was capable of taking a more active part
in the conversation than he had hitherto done, and so reckless of his
host's disgust at a sudden lack of attention, he rose and went to the
side table to sniff at the beautiful flowers and peep at the sample
sacks of coffee which lay piled in the corner of the room. But such
little wiles to obtain speech with the modest maiden were of small use,
when one party spoke English and the other Dutch, while neither of them
knew both. It is true that X. could have carried on a conversation in
Malay, and he was sure that that language would be well known to all the
family, but he had been warned that people in Java did not like to be
addressed in a language they considered fit only for a medium of
communication with their servants. An invitation to stay and lunch was
refused--in Dutch--and the planter friend afterwards explained that he
had done so, as he thought X. would not have liked to go without bread,
since in such establishments up country bread was never found. As
if--under the circumstances--X. would have cared whether he ate bread or
rice, provided the rose-nymph had handed it to him; and so alas! they
rode away beyond the fragrance of the roses and through the neglected
grounds, carrying with them a new memory of home life which it will be
hard to forget. The shabby, neglected house--the sacks of coffee and
flowers run riot--the deaf, courteous ex-official, perhaps proud of his
descent from some great Makassar chief--the kindly lady, embodiment of
perfect health, who long ago had left her home in Europe for life in a
distant land with the husband of her choice--and last but not least of
all these impressions of that day--their child--reared in a glorious
country unspoilt by contact with civilization--simple, unaffected, a
picture from the past.