The reader is now invited to return to the theatre party, from which
he was called suddenly away by the anxiety experienced in certain
quarters over Walter's disappearance.
The family took their seats, in the parquet this time, having had to
give up their box to visiting potentates. The box was still unoccupied.
"A comedy!" Walter thought. He looked about him and listened.
The house was crowded, and everyone was talking. Backstairs gossip and
court scandals were passed around. People were wondering who would
sit there, and who would sit there. Later arrivals were pushing at
one another and quarreling about seats.
"The programs for the princes are printed on silk. What do you suppose
it cost a yard?"
"Rotgans is one of the first poets!"
"Hm! Better say one of the second."
"He's a poet of the seventh class."
"Why, then, one of his plays? We have poets whose song is as clear
as a bell!"
"Of course, Bilderdyk! A Phoenix!"
"Oh, these foreigners don't understand a word of it anyway, and it
doesn't make any difference what the play is."
"It's a pity about Floris."
"Oh, there's something behind that."
"Yes, Bilderdyk is a patriot."
"A genuine Hollander!"
"A genuine----"
"He will give those foreigners something to think about."
"Sh!---- ... not much flattery. No Hollander is going to do that."
"Sh!"
Everybody stood up. A footman appeared in the royal box, probably to
see whether the cushions were straight on the chairs, or not.
"The idea, the very idea of standing up before a lackey!"
It was enough to make them indignant; but they had done it, even
those who protested loudest. There were city aldermen in the number,
and doctors, and professors, and prominent business men, including,
perhaps, the great Kopperlith.
Another period of babbling and waiting; then another footman
appeared. Again everybody sprang to his feet. Again all, except the
silent Holsmas, railed at such stupidity.
The crowd became more restless. Innumerable times were they fooled by
some footman or other, who opened a door to break the monotony. The
people were already beginning to complain, but softly, cautiously.
Walter was carried away with the elegance and magnificence of it
all. One thing, however, jarred upon his sense of propriety: he
wondered how such swell folk could say such commonplace things. The
Holsmas said nothing. Only once, when Uncle Sybrand pointed to a
certain box, did they join in the general hubbub.
"She will sit there, I think."
"I shall be sorry if I have left little Erich all for nothing,"
said Mevrouw Holsma.
"He's safe with Femke."
"Yes, but I had rather be with him myself. The child is sick. I'm
not going to wait much longer."
"It's doubtful whether she will come with the others. I've heard that
she's full of moods and mischief. She cares nothing for convention. It
seems to run in the blood."
"If she isn't here by ten o'clock I'm going. I don't care much about
it, anyway."
This conversation occupied Walter for a short time. Who was this person
on whose account Mevrouw Holsma had left the bedside of her sick child?
The tension of expectancy was broken, and a momentary excitement pulsed
through the multitude. All arose to their feet, and remained standing.
An emperor, or something of the kind, entered the royal box. Walter
could see little; but he inferred what was going on from whisperings
he heard about him. His majesty had made a quick rush for his chair,
turning over a few other chairs in so doing. That was a habit of
his. Then he looked about the auditorium for a moment with squinted
eyes, jerked up his chair and fell into it. He was in a hurry. The
public was now at liberty to take their seats.
The other boxes were now filled quickly, as if by a stroke of
magic. Remarkable costumes were on exhibition. There were bodices three
inches wide, with skirts of as many yards. Voluptuous bosoms hovered
between chin and girdle. Scanty sleevelets did not know whether they
were to cover arms or shoulders. The ladies wore kid gloves reaching to
their armpits, and on their heads were turbans and flower-gardens. The
uniforms of the gentlemen were even more conspicuous. Those shakos! The
enemy would have run at the sight of them.
The orchestra began to play. It was that song about the brave Dunois,
of course.
"Arise!" someone called; and all scrambled to their feet again in
honor of the brave hero.
The curtain went up.
"Yes, Minos, on the present that I gave to thee----
'Twas stolen from the church----"
"What church?" asked Walter.
"Sh!" from William. "Poetic license. You will see how it is."
"----hangs Nisus' crown and life."
"Qu'est-ze qu'elle changte?" cried the countess-palatine. Then she
let herself out on costumes, speaking in a noisy voice.
Walter listened like a finch. Not that he understood very well;
but everything strange interested him intensely.
Not a soul was touched by the tragic bravery of King Minos; no one was
listening. Poor Rotgans! Afterwards it was said that Napoleon had been
especially pleased with "our Snoel" and with "our Watlier." Goodness,
Napoleon! When he was to be crowned he had Talma the mimic to drill
him for the ceremony--instead of saying to Talma: "Look, this is the
way an emperor appears when he's crowned!"
Walter listened attentively; even though he sometimes felt that he
could make such verses himself.
During the performance another commotion arose. One of their majesties
had asked for a glass of orange lemonade; and this was something the
buffetier did not have. A runner was dispatched to the drug-store
post haste. He returned with a bottle of lemon-syrup. The situation
became threatening. The news spread like fire that they were making a
"Majesty" wait for such a trifle. King Minos declared:
"Feelings of pleasure thrill my inner man--"
"De l'eau de fleur d'orange! que diantre!" cried a chamberlain. And
Minos noticed that nobody was interested in what was going on in
his interior.
A confectioner up on "Olympus" allowed his light to flash out and
gave some valuable information; but the police had him by the collar
in a jiffy. He was to be dragged away and put in confinement for
the present. The technical charge was, "Making a demonstration for
the House of Orange." At that time the House of Orange was in exile,
and Napoleon's brother was king of Holland.
"Feelings of pleasure thrill my inner man--"
repeated Minos with gusto. The conductor of the orchestra seized his
baton and was going to play, "Hail to the Emperor." Many stood up in
readiness to escape in case of danger.
In the meantime the prisoner was screaming as if he were possessed;
but the two Italian police that Napoleon had brought with him could
not understand a word.
The emperor himself had forgotten that he had called for orange water
and was now engrossed in a military map.
"Qu' a-t-il?" he seemed to be asking the lady next to him.
Minos had begun again and was once more repeating his assurance that
"feelings of pleasure thrill----"
Walter noted that the grown-up members of the Holsma party did not
pay the slightest attention to the play.
"If she doesn't come soon, I'm going," Mevrouw Holsma repeated.
"Perhaps she's sitting further back in the emperor's box, where we
can't see her."
"I've heard that in Paris she never stays fifteen minutes in the same
place. Maybe we shall find her somewhere else," remarked another.
"I am not going to wait but five minutes longer. My little Erich is
worth more to me than a thousand cousins----"
"Of the king," added Holsma.
Walter had thought that they meant Femke. What, then, could be so
interesting about the princess? The boxes were full of them.
At the close of the third act Mevrouw Holsma left with Uncle Sybrand,
who was to return with Femke. "If she will come," he said. "For she
cares nothing for such a fuss."
Walter knew better. Uncle Sybrand ought to have seen her in the
"Juniper Berry." But a knight tells no tales.
Old Minos is insanely in love with Ismene, who is so beautiful
and virtuous. Scylla is insanely in love with Minos, who is old and
dignified. Ismene is in love with Focus, who is a hero; and, possibly,
Focus loves Ismene, though he does not treat her quite gallantly. He
says to her:
"Princess, thy reasons spare: to me they're odious!"
The tumult on Mount Olympus began afresh. Had the rebellious
confectioner returned? All eyes were directed toward the gallery. A
policeman in uniform was seen remonstrating in vain with some men
on the front seat. In order to make them understand his French, or
Italian, he was pulling at their arms. They were to understand that
he did not want to arrest them, or kill them, but merely wanted them
to give up their seats.
"Princess, thy reasons spare: to me they're odious!"
"Qu' y a-t-il encore?" asked the emperor again; and, when one of the
chamberlains answered his question, he laughed heartily. Heads were
together everywhere. Something interesting was going forward on Mount
Olympus. People whispered and tittered and laughed outright. Their
eyes were fastened on the gallery. Even the emperor stood up and
leaned out of his box. But it did no good: he could not see around
the corner. He was surprised at this.
The countess-palatine, however, had got to the bottom of the
matter. She was exchanging telegraphic messages with someone in the
background on Mount Olympus. No one was thinking of Rotgans' play.
She was greeting someone with that famous fan. Whom? The rebellious
confectioner? With arms extended she was testifying that there was
something extraordinary up there among that rabble.
"Princess, thy reasons spare: to me they're odious!"
The countess-palatine threw off all restraint, and laughed and
laughed. After the emperor had laughed hilarity was permissible. Her
pleasure was beyond her control.
I should have to have a double pen to report what Uncle Sybrand said
on his return, and, at the same time, reproduce the exclamation that
escaped Walter, who was looking towards the gallery with eyes and
mouth wide open.
"Where is Femke?" asked Holsma.
"She didn't want to come," replied Uncle Sybrand. "Just as I said."
"There she is!" cried Walter.
"Who?"
"Femke, M'neer, Femke, Femke--that is Femke! And she----"
The girl above had taken hold of the policeman by the collar and,
pushing him to one side, had pressed forward to the front row. There
she had seated herself on the laps of the fellows the policeman had
been negotiating with in vain.
"It is Femke, M'neer. If only they don't hurt her!"
Again the emperor stood up and stared at Mount Olympus. He saw the girl
with the North Holland cap and nodded to her. The countess-palatine
greeted again with her fan, as if she would congratulate her on
securing the seat.
"But, M'neer, it is Femke," cried Walter, amazed that he received
no answer.
Even Holsma and Sybrand were surprised, but not so much so as Walter.
"Now, children," said Holsma, "you can tell your mother that we saw
her." And to Walter he continued, "That girl is a relation of ours."
"Yes, Femke!"
"No, that isn't her name; and----"
"M'neer, don't I know Femke?"
That sounded quite different from what Walter had said that evening
when he "denied" her.
The girl's big blue eyes, roving about the hall, suddenly fell on
Walter. She bent over, looked him attentively in the face, then nodded
to him and threw him a kiss.
At least, he thought it was that way; and it was that way. But everyone
in the parquet thought that the kiss had been intended for him. Folk
of quality were annoyed at the insolence of the peasant wench; while
more "sporty" persons returned the attention.
Soon hissing was heard. The news had leaked out that Princess Erika,
the cousin of the king, had dressed in the national costume to show
her affection for the people.
"Don't you believe it, M'neer? I tell you that is Femke," Walter
assured him with tears in his eyes.
"No, no, my boy. That girl is not Femke."
"But, she greeted me!"
"You saw the emperor greet her; and you know he would not salute
a wash-girl."
That was perhaps true; but it was hard for Walter to accept it. And,
on the other hand, it was just as hard for him to believe that the
princess was a cousin of the Holsmas.
Again he imagined that the girl was nodding to him and motioning her
lips. It looked to him as if she said: "My brother!" Walter lisped
the words after her and pressed both hands to his breast.
Yes, now he had it! They considered him a little daft and wanted
to cure him of his fixed idea. That would explain the visit to the
theatre and also Femke's alleged unwillingness to come with Uncle
Sybrand. But--how did she dare to interfere with the policeman? And
the greeting from the emperor? And how did Holsma know that he had
"denied" Femke, and that her presence could threaten his peace of mind?
"Oh, M'neer, let Femke sit here! I will be perfectly quiet. I am so
afraid she will get hurt up there among those men."
Holsma looked at him wistfully. After all, could Kaatje have been
right about it? He sought to distract Walter's attention by referring
to other things; but it was useless.
"All right," said Holsma at last "I just wanted to tease you a
little. Femke is sitting up there, because she--doesn't wish to sit
here. She thinks that it wouldn't be proper, because she's only a
wash-girl. She's afraid we would be ashamed. You see?"
"M'neer, no one need be ashamed to sit by her. Not even the emperor."
"Yes, yes," agreed Holsma. "Quite so. Femke is a brave girl and
doesn't need to cringe before anybody. Watch the play, my boy."
Walter was willing to do what the doctor said, but not without taking
leave of that glorious apparition. He looked up; and she smiled to
him again. Then she took from her breast a rose branch, with three
buds on it, held it a moment between the forefinger and thumb of her
left hand, pointed to Walter with her right and let it fall.
The rosebuds landed on the bald pate of a stout gentleman near the
Holsma party. He seized them and examined them admiringly; but, before
he could decide what to do with them, Walter had sprung over half a
dozen chairs and deprived him of the precious property. With a glance
toward Olympus, Walter pressed the roses to his lips. Princess Erika
nodded approval; and the playful countess-palatine applauded lustily.
That was more than Walter could bear. He had never forgiven himself
for denying her; but she, the noble, the big-hearted, the majestic
one!--she had proclaimed her pardon publicly before the people. And
that was why she preferred to sit in the gallery. She had washed
away the black spots from his soul; she had restored his soiled
chivalry. These thoughts flashed through Walter's mind like lightning.
He sank to the floor in a faint. But was it any wonder?
The Holsmas took him home with them for the night; and another message
was sent to Juffrouw Pieterse.
"Don't you see, Stoffel? Just as I said! I don't care if everybody
knows it. He's simply living at Dr. Holsma's. Trudie, don't forget when
Leentje goes to the grocer's---- Upon my soul, he's at Dr. Holsma's
all the time!"