It was Wednesday, and the Pieterses were going to give a
party. Juffrouw Laps had been invited, also the Juffrouw living
over the dairy, whose husband was employed at the "bourse." Further
Mrs. Stotter, who had been a midwife for so long and was still merely
"very respectable." Then the widow Zipperman, whose daughter had
married some fellow in the insurance business, or something of the
kind. Also the baker's wife. That was unavoidable: it was impossible
to buy all kinds of pastry and cakes without her finding out what
was up. Then the Juffrouw living below and to the rear. Of course
she wouldn't come, but the Pieterses wanted to show that they had
forgotten the late quarrel over the broken window-pane. If she didn't
come that was the end of the matter, so far as Juffrouw Pieterse was
concerned. She would have nothing more to do with the Juffrouw from
below. I may add that the lady from below did not come, and that her
name was stricken from the calling-list of those higher up.
The children were to go to bed early, with the promise of a cup of
sage-milk for breakfast if they would not make any noise the entire
evening. This drink largely took the place of tea then. It was thought
that the "noise" made by children would not be appreciated. Walter
got permission to go play with the Halleman boys, who were thought
to be very respectable. He must be at home by eight o'clock; but this
was said in a tone that gave him no cause to fear a reprimand in case
he should stay out later. Laurens, who of course was an apprentice to
a printer, and usually came home about seven o'clock in the evening,
was big enough to be present with the guests, but must promise to sit
still and drink only two glasses. The big girls were to be present
as a matter of course: They had been confirmed. Stoffel presided. His
business was to meet the gentlemen when they came for the ladies about
ten o'clock, and entertain the company with stories of Mungo Park.
Leentje was to remain till the people were all there, as it was so
inconvenient to have to open the door every time. She could make
herself useful in arranging the table and doing other things incident
to such occasions. But she "must move about a little brisker,"
otherwise they would prefer to do everything themselves.
The eldest of the girls, Juffrouw Truitje, must look after the
"sage-milk." Pietje had charge of the sandwiches; but Myntje was to
see to it that the butter was spread a little thicker, for the last
time the bread had been too dry.
Everything was going to turn out so nicely, "if only Juffrouw
Laps wouldn't talk so much." That was her failing. And, too, they
hoped that the widow Zipperman would "brag a little less about her
son-in-law." This was considered a source of weariness. And the
Juffrouw who lived over the dairy "might be more modest." She had
"never lived in such a fine house"; and as for the shop--that was no
disgrace; and on the top floor--but one cannot tell how it will be.
No one understood why the baker's wife used so many French words, which
was not becoming in one of her station. "If she does it this evening,
Stoffel, say something to me that she can't understand, then she will
find out that we are not 'from the street,' that we know what's what."
"It's all the same to me," Juffrouw Pieterse continued, "whether the
Juffrouw downstairs comes or not. I don't care a fig about it.--Four,
five--Louw can sit there, but he must keep his legs still--and a chair
there--yes--so! It's a good thing she's not coming; it would have been
too crowded. Leentje, go to work--do blow your nose! No, run over to
Juffrouw Laps's and ask the Juffrouw if the Juffrouw could spare a
few stools--without backs, you understand; because the chairs there
by the chimney--yes, ask the Juffrouw for a few stools, and tell the
Juffrouw that they are for me, and that I expect the Juffrouws about
seven. Give my compliments to the Juffrouw and wipe your nose."
Juffrouw Pieterse didn't like to use personal pronouns; it was
impolite.
On this afternoon Walter went to his bridge early. It was now not
so useless as usual, for the rain of the day before had filled the
ditch with water, which was even running, so that the straws which
Walter thoughtlessly, or full of thought--both are about the same
thing--threw into the water were carried down to the pond, where
the logs lay that were to be sawed up by the "Eagle" and the "Early
Hour." These were the names of the sawmills that for some weeks had
been the witnesses of Walter's daydreams.
Glorioso was gone, and could not be replaced; but on those afternoons
when he was free Walter returned involuntarily to the spot where he had
had his first glimpse of the world of romance. How rough and crude the
colors in that first picture! Perhaps it was the very roughness of the
colors that attracted him and changed him, till he could not conceive
how he had ever found enjoyment in the little cakes on the corner.
A peculiar prospective had opened up before him. He dreamed of things
that he could not name; but they made him bitterly dissatisfied with
his present condition. He was anxious to do everything prescribed
to get to Heaven; but he thought it would be much easier to pray in
such a cave with wax candles. And as for honoring his mother, a point
upon which she always laid great stress--why didn't she have a train
like the countess? Certainly he ought not to have sold the Bible;
and he wouldn't do it any more--he had vowed it; but then he ought
to have had a box filled with florins, and a feather in his cap,
just as it was in the book.
He was disgusted with his brother Stoffel, and his sisters, and
Juffrouw Laps, and the preacher and everything. He couldn't understand
why the whole family didn't go to Italy and form a respectable
robber-band. But Pennewip and Keesje shouldn't go; that was certain.
He wondered what had become of his verses. Every Wednesday such
pupils as had been well-behaved, and, for that reason, deemed worthy
to contest for the "laurel," handed in a poem written on some subject
suggested by the teacher. This time the subject assigned to Walter was
"Goodness," which probably had some reference to his former behavior,
and was a hint for the improvement of his moral character. But Walter
had already put goodness into rhyme so often, and found the subject so
dry and tedious and worn-out that he had taken the liberty of "singing"
something else. He selected the theme nearest his heart--robbers!
Like all authors he was greatly infatuated with his work. He was
convinced that the teacher, too, would see the excellencies of his poem
and forgive him for deviating from the path of goodness. The verses
would undoubtedly be sent to the mayor, and he would pass them on to
the Pope, who would then summon Walter and appoint him "Court-robber."
And thus he dreamed and threw his straws into the stream. They
moved away slowly and disappeared between the moss-covered
timbers. Involuntarily his fancy had transmuted them into the
characters of his world of romance. There went the countess with
her long train, which got caught in the moss and held the countess
fast. The virtuous Amalia met with no better luck; she got tangled
up in the water lentils. And now came Walter himself. He approached
Amalia, in her green robes, and was just about to rescue her, when
he was swallowed by a duck. This was most unkind of the duck, for
it was Walter's last stalk of grass; and now in the rattling and
buzzing of the sawmills below he could hear Amalia repeating in a
reproachful voice:
"Warre, warre, warre, we;
Where is warre, warre, wall--
Walter, who will rescue me?"
This annoyed him, and he could not resist the temptation to throw
a rock at the duck whose greediness had caused Amalia to doubt his
chivalry.
The duck chose the better part, and retired after she had done Walter
all the damage she could. But the sawmills paid no attention to these
happenings and continued to rattle away.
Walter heard now in the noisy clatter of the mills all kinds of songs
and stories, and, listening to these, he soon forgot Amalia and the
Pope. That the reader may not get a wrong impression of these mills,
I hasten to say that there was really nothing extraordinary about
them. They buzzed and rattled just like other sawmills.
It often happens that we think we perceive something which comes from
the external world, when in fact it is only a subjective product in
ourselves. Similarly, we may think we have just imagined something,
when really it came to us from the world of the senses.
This is a kind of ventriloquism that often gives cause for annoyance
and enmity.
I wonder which turns the faster?--Walter listened to the mills. Now--I
think--no, begin together. Good! No, the Eagle was ahead! Once
more--now!
Which will get there first? No, that won't do. Once more together. Look
sharp, Morning Hour,--out again! I can't hold my eye on it--what a
whirling and buzzing!
You are tired, are you? I believe it.
If I might only sit on such a big wing, wouldn't I hold on tight? And
wouldn't the sawyer look?
Why are you called "Morning Hour"? Have you gold in your mouth? And
"Eagle"! Can you fly? Take me with you. What a big play-ground up
there, and no school!
I wonder how the first school began. Which came first, the school,
or the teacher? But the first teacher must have attended a school. And
the first school must have had a teacher.
So the first school must have just started itself. But that is
impossible. "Eagle," can you turn yourself?--with the wind? Can you
turn yourself some other way? Try it. Beat "Morning Hour." Quick,
quick--beautiful!
Now, once more alone. Good!
Now, together again! Karre, karre, kra, kra--stretch your arms out and
take me with you. Will you? Put your hat on, Eagle; how the ribbons
fly.--Who are you? Warre, warre, ware, wan--I can't help it; it was the
duck. Tell me what your name is. Fanny, fanny, fanny, fan---- Is your
name fan? And you, Morning Hour, what is your name? Ceny, ceny, ceny,
ce. What kind of a name is Ce? Now together--sing a song together:
Fanny, fanny, fanny, fan--
Ceny, ceny, ceny, ce--
Fanny, ceny, fanny, ceny,
Fanny, ceny, fan--cy.
Fancy--what do you mean by that? Is that the name of both of you? And
what is it? Has it wings?
"Morning Hour" and "Eagle" had fused into something that had wings
and was called fancy.
Fancy lifted Walter up and bore him away.
When she brought him back to the bridge again it had already been
dark for a long time. He shook himself as if he were wet, rubbed his
eyes and started home. We shall see later what awaited him there;
but first we must go back a few hours. I hope the reader will not
disdain an invitation to Juffrouw Pieterse's. Remember that her
husband never made anything, but bought everything ready-made in Paris.
In passing by I should like to make Master Pennewip a short visit.