THE PARCEL POST.
FILL IN THESE PAPERS.--SEALING-WAX.--NOT RIGHT YET.--READ IT
BACKWARDS.--CAN I NEVER SEND OFF THIS PARCEL?--A LONG CUE.--ALLEMAAL
ZEGELS.--ART CRITICISM REJECTED.--OF NO VALUE.--MONSTER ZONDER
WAARDE.--A FLATTERING ADDRESS.--IS CHIVALRY DEAD?
You will remember that the day I was at Simplex I took some sketches.
Well, I bundled these up along with some really exquisite water-colours
that I purchased at an art-shop, and I sent them to Ireland.
Yes, I bought these pictures without pain. The vendor of these objects
of art spoke perfect English; it was a delight to hear him. So pleased
was I with my purchases, that I hastened home, there and then, and
adding my own artistic treasures, made a little square package of it
all for my aunt Rebecca in Connemara, Killery Bay,--a place renowned
for its beautiful sunsets and splendid salmon.
My aunt is artistic--she herself used to draw when she was young--and
I knew that nothing would please her better, as a present from Holland,
than a number of carefully chosen water-colours.
Glowing with affectionate enthusiasm at the prospect of giving my aunt
so agreeable a surprise, I made my way to the post-office and tried to
send off my package.
An obliging official addressed me in English.
"Oh, then", he said glancing at the address and weighing my bundle
in his hand, "this will cost you about six guilders if it goes as a
letter, but, if it is a book it will cost you two guilders and a half.
But as it appears to be neither a book nor a letter, I should advise
you to send it by 'pakketpost'; the cost will be under a guilder.
Please fill in these papers." And he reached me a dark red paper and
a flimsy white one both of which were dotted all over with Dutch and
French hard words with spaces after them to be filled in.
I retired to a little desk and did my best,--stating that I, Jack
O'Neill, aged so and so, sent one brown package of expensive
water-colour pictures, some pencil-sketches and one pen-and-ink
drawing, value unknown, to Miss Rebecca Fitzgerald O'Neill, (zonder
beroep), Warlin Castle Killery Bay, Ireland, on the 21st of Aug.,
19--. I added some other things here and there in the columns and gave
this report to the official. "Not in order," he said politely, "you
must put stamps on the package, with wax."
"Stamps," he added, touching it all round, "sealed with sealing wax."
"Oh, indeed!" I said. "Sorry to give you so much trouble. Many thanks!"
And I carried my bundle to a neighbouring stationer's.
The stationer was not at home, and his temporary assistant was a youth
that did not know English; but I borrowed an Engelsch-Hollandsch
WoordenBoek from him and instituted a search for _wax_. After some
little trouble occasioned by the words 'was' and 'honigraat', I settled
down comfortably on the word 'lak'; and then the stationer's boy and
I got on quite nicely together. He helped me most willingly, and made
all sorts of suggestions. We secured a candle and constructed two great
seals, of red wax, as if was for the Lord Chancellor; and I returned to
the Post-Office triumphant.
There was a new 'ambtenaar' on duty, the English-speaking one having
apparently gone to luncheon.
"Mag ik beleefd verzoeken?" I said; "Zeker in orde?"
"Nee mijnheer", he replied "volstrekt niet in orde! Er moeten vijf
zegels op zijn--vijf."
The bundle seemed safe enough to go half round the world! But he knew
the rules; and I submitted accordingly, went back to the stationer and
put five more seals on the packet, thus making the number seven in all.
On presenting my carefully prepared 'pakje' in the post-office I felt
confident enough that it was right. "Nu, mijnheer, het is zeker klaar?"
The functionary was also disposed to think that all was as it ought to
be and seemed at first to be satisfied.
He nodded approval; and gave me a friendly official smile; but
suddenly--as he was laying the curious object aside--his eye caught the
seal I had used, and his face fell. The seal was a very simple affair,
having been impressed from the back of a guilder--a beautiful new
specimen that I was reserving for show when I should return to Trinity.
"Nee, mijnheer", he said sharply. "Heelemaal niet goed! Het moet een
werkelijk zegel zijn--met letters--Uw naam!" And he drew imaginary
initials on the blotting-paper with his thumb.
"Neen maar!--Mijnheer!" I exclaimed.
Words failed to come to my relief. I could think of nothing to say
but "_Gunst!_" and in the circumstances this sounded too like a curse
to venture upon. Presently however I recalled something under cover
of which I could retire: "Het spijt mij erg--ik ben verbaasd--dank u
vriendlijk."
I went away sincerely regretting that I had begun this business at all.
Fortunately when I hunted up the stationer once more, the man himself
was at home; and after infinite rummaging in remote drawers he got me a
seal with the letters N. J.,--which was a trifle like Jack O'Neill, if
you read it backwards.
As that was the nearest approach I could get to my initials, and as no
time was to be lost, we melted down another stick of red sealing-wax,
and stamped the package over with seven gigantic seals, N. J.
I put on _seven_, though the official only demanded five, for I had an
undefined fear that something would be wrong again. Meantime the 'get
up' of the parcel was growing more impressive and unusual. The effect
of the big letters of the seal was specially fine, the red bundle now
looking as if it were bound for New Jersey.
Then in fear and trembling I made for the post-office again.
My tormentor appeared to be appeased. Ah yes, at last the letters were
all right.
"Uitstekend, mijnheer," he said. And he quite beamed upon me.
"Nu de formulieren, asjeblieft."
Oh, the papers, of course! I had quite forgotten about them by this
time. Fortunately I hadn't lost them; so I handed him both documents.
He took them up, smiling benignly on the foreigner who had managed
to surmount so many obstacles; but alas! his satisfaction--and mine
too--were of short duration. He frowned impatiently at the brown paper.
"Nee, mijnheer," he growled; "niet goed!" And he pushed papers and
package and all to me, as if he was mortally offended.
"Hé, mijnheer!" I ejaculated--"Hoe is dat? Kom toch! Wat is niet goed?"
"Geen zegel! geen zegel!" he thundered magisterially, with a
contemptuous toss of the brown _formulier_ in my direction. Like a
shot he turned to a schoolboy of fourteen at my elbow, (who had
meantime been studying my writings and reading them audibly to his
companions)--"En U?" he enquired.
I felt dismissed, if not disgraced! And no investigation of my
belongings could throw any light on my blunder. The brown manuscript
was at fault I knew; so, as the best thing possible I entered a solemn
declaration, opposite the hiernevens, "_een pakje met 7 zegels_",
and booked the same remark on a convenient spot on the white paper.
This done, I returned to the charge promptly, but with much inward
apprehension. The cue of people pushing forward to buy stamps and send
things away and generally to transact business, had grown to a long
line nearly to the door. Humbly I took my place at the end of the file,
about twenty minutes off the ambtenaar. It wasn't quite twenty minutes,
but it felt longer; for every now and then the ambtenaar glanced up,
when he had served a customer, and his eye invariably fell on me.
It was a long-drawn-out agony, that approach to the _loket_, under
official inspection, so to speak; and I had plenty of time to register
a silent bet with myself that the authorities were not done with me.
They'd be sure to give me another journey to the stationer's.
And so they did! Without deigning to look at my official guarantee
about the 7 _zegels_ the Postal Radamanthus began with vitriolic
self-restraint: "Ik--heb--U--gezegd. Er--moet--een zegel--op."
"Oh mynheer!" I burst out in hot indignation, "Hoe _kunt_ U dat zeggen?
Kijk! Het is allemaal zegels!" And indeed the parcel was almost
completely coated with wax.
A spasm passed over his face, and he controlled himself by a severe
effort. "Ik--heb--U--al--meer maal--gezegd"--His voice rose higher and
higher, and he bit off the words as if they were poison. "Hier moet de
afdruk van het zegel komen.--Hierr!" And he waved a white hand over the
coloured _formulier_ and finally dropped his thumb, like a pancake,
over a lozenge-shaped diagram filled with Dutch and French words.
"Hier!!"
Ah yes! Just so. Now I saw what was wanted, and I departed speechlessly
to the sealing-wax-shop again.
By this time I was quite domesticated there: so I took a good rest and
then put on a formidable seal on the lozenge. In half an hour I was
back again on the premises of Rhadamanthus, at the end of another
cue, wondering if I could reach the _loket_ before it would be closed
for the day. You see all that marching to and fro, and arguing with
officials, and cooking sealing-wax, and waiting your turn in a crowd,
swallows up an immensity of time.
At last I was before the little window and handed in the documents.
"Ja, ja. De zegel is in orde!"
"_In orde_, mijnheer!" he added with a cherubic smile. "Best."
"Maar--maar wat hebben we hier?" he muttered as he perused my
other remarks on the papers. He appeared somewhat nonplussed by my
_opmerkingen_ as to the contents of package, and ran his pen through
all my art criticisms; then suddenly said roughly. "Heet U Rebecca
O'Neill?"
This was so unexpected a query that it threw me off my guard and I
answered in English.
"Do I hate her? Oh no. On the contrary, I am sincerely attached to her.
But why do you ask?"
He said "Exkuseer" and called another ambtenaar--one who talked
English. This new functionary opened fire at once, "Sir, is your name
Rebecca O'Neill?"
"Bless my heart", I said; "Not at all. That's my aunt."
"In that case, sir, you have sent the package to yourself, and filled
in the declarations all wrongly".
"Is there _no_ way," I said in despair, "to send this thing off? I have
been all morning labouring at it, and I can't get rid of it. Would you
mind accepting it as a gift--just a little friendly gift, you know, as
a token of my appreciation of the post-office arrangements? Or would
there be any objection to my leaving it here lying on your desk? It's
quite harmless; perhaps even elegant--that depends on taste--but I
don't care for it any more! It's no further use to me. Will you have
it?"
"Oh hé! you mean it is of no value?"
"No value--not the least", I said, glad to see a chance of disposing of
it.
"Then you can send it off as, well--what we call--_Monster zonder
waarde_--monster--monster--I remember not your English word?"
"Oh," said I, "it is all right as it is. You don't need it translated.
'Monster' is quite good English--and very expressive."
"Then," said he; "that is it--_Worthless Monster_. _That_ must you
write--on the package. Then will it cost you a dubbeltje; and it will
go off at once. No wax will be needed, and no papers. No trouble of any
kind."
"I am delighted with your kindness," said I to him. "You have relieved
my mind."
"Will you put the name on it now?" he enquired courteously, reaching
me his own pen from behind his ear. "Please write legibly the English
declaration. I shall do the Dutch for you. It must be plain."
"If you don't mind," I said, "as you are so kind, might I ask you just
to write both English and Dutch?"
A glance had shown me that these curious words would have to come
uncomfortably near my aunt's name; and as my aunt is rather a
particular old lady with very definite notions about her own dignity,
I judged it prudent that this title of distinction with which she was
going to be invested should be drawn up in other handwriting than her
nephew's. She had a hawk's eye and could detect every scratch I made
with the pen.
"If it's not too much trouble, please put the whole declaration on it
yourself. You'll find a place here", I said, turning over the unsightly
object. "There's a little room left here, I think--just beside the
address".
He looked it all over. It was quite true. The parcel was all a mass of
red wax and "N. J.'s" except round about the address, where we had
kept the wax well off it for fear of infringing some other regulation.
"English first!" he said, making use of the vacant space.
And in Roman letters just after my aunt's name he boldly penned the
mystic words, first in English, and then, in brackets, in Dutch. This
is how it ran:
TO MISS REBECCA FITZGERALD O'NEILL,
=Worthless Monster (zonder waarde),=
WARLIN CASTLE,
KILLERY BAY
IRELAND CONNEMARA.
After that I wouldn't touch the parcel.
I declined all further responsibility in connection with it; and,
leaving it with him, retired, as from a good day's work.
As I knew my aunt, I felt sure she would appreciate the delicate
compliment implied by the proximity of the postal notice to her name.
This indeed proved the case, when I visited her later in the autumn. I
draw a veil over our interview; but happily my aunt is fond of a joke,
and when I told her my adventures of that morning, she laughed as she
had not done for years, until I flattered myself she had forgotten the
queer declaration on her package.
At the end, however, she suddenly drew herself up and, raising a
reproving finger, said, "Well, it wasn't _your_ writing! or I shouldn't
let you off so easily, Jack. But what kind of a functionary was that,
now, who would dare, in your presence, to insult your aunt?"
"In my young days a lad of spirit would have _called out_ a villain
like that,--yes, or a fellow that ventured on the twentieth part of
such an atrocity!"
"Jack, Jack, where's your chivalry?"
"Calm yourself, my dear aunt," I retorted. "Its only that you don't
catch the niceties of a translation. But you'll pick that up soon
enough if you go over with me to the Hague next year."
"_Never_", said my aunt firmly.