artists used to produce out of their abundant imagination, scorning to
be tied down by models, dashing in anything charming or _outre_ which
they happened to think of at the moment, and jumbling together an
extravagant whole too good to be true. But there were only a few miles
of it left after Delft: and we hadn't reveled in impossibly delicious
farm-yards and supernaturally bowery gardens half long enough, when we
ran into the outskirts of The Hague--"S. Gravenhage," as I love to call
it to myself.
Until this moment, I'd been mentally patronizing Holland, admiring it,
and wondering at it, of course, but half-consciously saying that
quaintness, snugness, and historical interest were all we could expect
of the Low Country. Elegance and beauty of form we mustn't look for:
but I found myself surrounded by it in The Hague. There were streets of
tall, brown palaces, far finer than the royal dwelling which Robert
pointed out; the shops made me long to spring from the car and spend
every penny set apart for the tour; the Binnenhof--that sinister theater
of Dutch history--with its strangely grouped towers and palaces, and its
huge squares, made me feel an insignificant insect with no right to
opinions of any kind; and as I gazed up at the dark, medieval buildings,
vague visions of Cornelis and John de Witt in their torture, of van
Oldenbarneveld, and fair Adelaide de Poelgust stabbed and bleeding,
flitted fearfully through my brain. I wanted to get out and look for the
stone where Adelaide had fallen to die (how well I remembered that
story, told in twilight and firelight by my father!), and only the set
of Robert's shoulders deterred me. What was a romantic fragment of
history, compared to the certainty that the roast would be overdone?
But when we swept into the green-gold dusk of the forest, I forgot such
trivialities as buildings made by man.
Suddenly we were in a different world, an old, old world, with magic
that lurked in each dusky vista, breathed from the perfume of leaf and
fern, and whispered in the music of the trees, as if we had strayed upon
the road that leads to fairyland.
"Fancy seeing fairyland from the motor-car!" I said to myself. "I never
thought to go in such a fashion, though I've been sure that one day or
another I would find the way there through such a forest as this."
I felt that, if I walked here alone, I might see something more
mysterious than alder-trees, than giant beeches, and ancient oaks; than
glints of flower-strewn waters shining out of shadow in green darkness
deep and cool; than rustic bridges twined with creepers, or kiosks
glimmering at the end of long, straight alleys. I should have seen
processions of dim figures; chanting Druids and their victims; wild,
fierce warriors, and blue-eyed women, their white arms and the gold of
their long hair shining through the mist of centuries.
But then, I was in the motor-car: and though Robert, in a different and
more sketchy costume, would have been a gallant Batavian warrior, there
would be a certain indecorousness in permitting my fancy to make the
necessary changes. I had to content myself, therefore, with things as
they were; with the teuf-teuf of the automobile instead of the wild
wailing of white-robed Druids, and with the coming and going of modern
carriages under the shadowy branches, instead of strange chariots of
bygone kings.
After all, we did not find fairy-land but merely villa-land, when we
flashed out from the mysterious heart of the forest; but the villas were
charming, scattered in the woods, ringed with flowery lawns, and not one
without a huge veranda like a garden-room, fitted up with so many
cushioned sofas, easy-chairs, and little tables, that it was clear the
family life was lived there.
"I do hope my Dutch cousin's house at Scheveningen is as pretty as
these," I said to myself. "It would be delicious to visit in a
garden-room"; but presently we slipped out of the shade into sunlight,
and were in a town of brick streets, huge hotels, with flags all
a-flutter in a spanking, salt-smelling breeze, gay little shops and
houses such as grow up by the sea. It was Scheveningen.
I blinked in the blaze of sunlight which tore open the green veil of
dusk, and the air, though tingling with ozone, felt hot after the depths
of the forest.
Not a flower, not a garden was to be seen, yet Scheveningen was a
flower-garden of color in itself. Where the color came from you could
scarcely say, yet it struck at your eyes from all directions. Flags
flamed, roofs were red as beds of geraniums; or else they were green, or
else they were vivid yellow. The hotels were of quaint design, with a
suggestion of the Oriental; the shops had covered galleries, and the
people moving in the big, circular _place_ into which we drove--the
_place_ of the Kurhaus and of the circus--were drifting particles of the
bright mosaic; tall, dark young officers (not at all typically Dutch
according to preconceived ideas) in green and crimson or bright blue
uniforms; pretty girls in white with rose-trimmed or scarlet hats;
nursemaids in the costume of some remote province, the sunlight setting
their gold head-ornaments on fire; tiny children in blue sailor-suits,
or with a little red fez on a yellow head; old, white-haired gentlemen
holding on unsuitable top-hats as they walked against the wind;
white-aproned waiters flitting about restaurant verandas, carrying pink
ices, or baskets of fruit, like jewels.
It was a gay scene, but Robert said it was nothing to the "high season,"
which began on the first of August, and brought throngs of fashionable
people from all over Europe. As for the top-hats at which I laughed, he
defended them stoutly, saying they were as much _de rigueur_ at The
Hague as in London, and he could see nothing comic in wearing them at
the seaside.
Still we had had no glimpse of the sea; but Robert turned the car, and
driving between two gigantic hotels, ran down to a beach with sands of
gleaming gold, and a background of wind-blown dunes billowing away as
far as the eye could reach. The very wildness of this background gave a
bizarre sort of charm to the fantastic buildings which made up the
fashionable center of Scheveningen.
In the center, the Kurhaus dominated all; hotel, restaurant,
concert-room, theater, in one. Terrace below terrace it descended and
sent out into the green water of the North Sea a great pier blossoming
with flags. But the most individual feature was the large and
enterprising family of "wind stoels"--dear, cozy basket-houses for one,
like green and yellow bee-hives cut in half, or giant sunbonnets
crowding the beach behind the bathing-machines. There one could nestle,
self-contained as a hermit-crab in a shell, defying east wind or baking
sun, happy with a book, or the person one liked best in a twin
wind-stoel opposite.
Reposeful gaiety seemed at this first glance to be the note struck by
Scheveningen, and the air was buoyant as I had never known air to be
before.
"If you visit us in August," said Robert, "you will hear the best
operas, see the best automobile races, the most exciting motor-boat
races----"
"But we shall be on our own motor-boat in August," said I.
"I do not think so. You will perhaps let your boat. We will talk to my
mother," Robert answered, as one soothes a fractious child. Then, before
I had breath to answer, he swept us away from the beach, and drew up
before an aggressively comfortable villa on a terrace opening to the
sea.
VI
There was a garden-room with flower-painted walls, and Japanese
furniture and silk things; and in the garden-room stood Cousin Robert's
mother. The great glass doors were wide open, and she moved slowly to
the threshold to meet us.
Yes, she is far too large to come and call upon a stranger; far, far too
large for the motor-boat.
I saw in a flash why Robert put the family dinner-hour before the most
important historical events which helped to make Holland. If his jaw is
square enough, his gray eyes piercing enough to make his mother feel it
convenient to entertain unknown guests, whatever her plans and
inclinations, there's no doubt that her personality is more than
commanding enough to exact respect for domestic arrangements.
It would need such a giant as Robert not to be overawed by her, outside
domestic matters; and as for myself, though her pretty, smooth gray hair
parts in the middle, and her cheeks grew as pink as a baby's when she
smiled and told me in nice English to call her "Cousin Cornelia," I knew
that if she said black were white I would instantly agree with her.
There are glass doors between the garden-room and a drawing-room behind.
They were closed, because the Dutch (I am already learning) like to draw
a firm dividing line between being in the house and in the open air; and
I could see through the glass a half-length, life-size portrait of a
humorous little brown gentleman, who was, no doubt, Cousin Cornelia's
late husband, and Robert's father. Taking this for granted, it's evident
that Robert gets his inches and his blond splendor of looks from his
mother. There was so much of Cousin Cornelia in her black and white
spotted muslin, that at first I was conscious of her presence alone. It
was only her rich voice (like Devonshire cream, all in soft lumps when
the English words were difficult) introducing "Freule Menela van der
Windt, and your two cousins, Lisbeth and Lilli," which made me aware
that others were present.
I turned to the fiancee first, and found her a dark, thin, near-sighted
girl, with eye-glasses that pinched her nose, and perhaps her temper as
well, for there isn't a line of her face which won't be cross-grained
when she is old. She looked hard through her glasses at me and at Phil,
taking stock of us both, and didn't offer to shake hands; but Lisbeth
and Lilli, adorable strawberry-and-cream girls, twins of fifteen or
sixteen, put out dimpled fingers.
Cousin Cornelia asked how we liked Holland, but without waiting for us
to answer, told off Lisbeth and Lilli to show us our room, as there was
only just time to wash away the dust of motoring.
I was awestruck by Cousin Cornelia, and depressed by Menela; still I
hugged the thought that we were in luck to see the inside of a Dutch
home, and determined to make the most of our experience, which may not
occur again.
I never supposed it possible for the interior of a house to shine as
this does. Everything shines, even things that no one expects to present
a polished surface. For instance, does anybody (not Dutch) call upon
walls to behave as if they were mirrors? Yet as I went up the rather
steep stairs of the Villa van Buren I could see each movement I made,
each rise and fall of an eyelash repeated on a surface of brilliantly
varnished walnut.
"What wonderful wood!" I exclaimed.
"It is not real. It is paint," said pretty Lisbeth. "Do you not have
walls like this?"
"Never," I replied.
"Every one does in Holland. We admire them," explained Lilli.
"But what a lot of work to keep them so bright."
"It is only done once a day," she said apologetically. "The servant does
it when she has finished the windows."
"What--all the windows in the house--every day?"
"How else would they be clean?" asked Lisbeth, surprised.
There was no answer to this, from a Dutch point of view, so I remarked
meekly that it must take all the servant's time.
"It is what they like," said Lilli. "But we have another woman for the
floors and beating out the rugs, and doing the brass, so it is not so
much."
"Floors and rugs and brass every day, too?"
"Of course," returned both girls together, as if I had asked them about
their baths or their tooth-brushes. "_Of course._"
Lisbeth opened the door of a front room on the second floor.
"This is the spare room," said she, and advanced cautiously through the
dusk caused by the closing of the shutters. "We keep them so in the
afternoon," she explained, "because of the sunshine."
"Yes, otherwise the room would be hot, I suppose?"
"We do not mind its being hot. It is because the sun would fade the
carpet and the curtains." She threw open the blinds as she spoke, but
carefully shut both windows again.
"Oh, mayn't we have them open?" I ventured to ask. "The air is lovely."
"If you like," my cousin replied. "Only, if you do, the sand may blow
in."
"Just at the top then."
"At the top? I have not seen a window that opens at the top. We do not
have them made so."
"How funny! But I suppose there must be a reason why a whole nation
should go on having windows that won't open at the top."
"I do not know, except that we have always had them like that, so
probably it is better to go on," said Lilli, after a few seconds'
reflection, during which she looked exceedingly charming. She and
Lisbeth made no attempt at having figures, but their faces are perfect,
and their long tails of hair are fair and glossy as the silk of American
corn.
When the twins left us to our own devices, I was for simply washing
hands and faces; but Phil fiercely tore off her blouse, and made herself
pink with the effort of unearthing another from our box.
"What does it matter about changing?" I asked. "There's no time, and
they don't expect it. Besides, our things are as good as theirs--except
Miss van der Windt's. _She's_ very smart--to make up for her plainness."
"That's just the point," said Phil, struggling into a white, medallioned
blouse that fastened as intricately as the working of a prize puzzle.
"I've taken _such_ a dislike to her, and she to us."
"How do you know?"
"I can't tell how. But I do know. And I want our frocks to be prettier
than hers. _Do_ change, like a pet. I'll hook you up, if you'll do me.
Come, you _might_. You _would_ bring me abroad."
"Oh, all right!"
So I changed. And by dint of supernatural speed we were ready to leave
our green-and-pink doll's bedroom just as a Japanese gong moaned an
apology for supplying us with dinner instead of tea.
Once in a "blue moon" Phil and I are invited by some one to dine at the
Carlton or the Savoy, or at houses where the dinners are long and
elaborate; but memories of those dinners pale before the reality of this
at the Villa van Buren, in a handsome, shut-up dining-room.
There were _hors d'oeuvres_, and shell fish, and soup, and another kind
of fish; and after that began a long procession of meat and birds,
cooked in delicious, rich sauces. There were so many that I lost count,
as Noah must when he stood at the ark door to receive the animals as
they came along, two by two; but these were a little easier to keep
track of, because you could remind yourself by saying: "That was the one
done up in currant juice; that was the one with compote of cherries,"
and so on; which, of course, Noah couldn't.
Phil's capacity and mine was exhausted comparatively early in the feast,
but everybody else was eating steadily on, so we dared not refuse a
course, lest it should be considered rude in Holland. We did our best,
straight through to a wonderful iced pudding, and managed a crumb of
spiced cheese; but when raw currants appeared, we had to draw the line.
The others called them "bessen," pulling the red beads off their stems
with a fork, and sprinkling them with sugar, but my blood curdled at the
sight of this dreadful fruit, and my mouth crinkled up inside.
Although we sat down at six, it was after eight when we rose, and as the
windows were shut, the room was suffocating. Everybody looked flushed,
and I dared not hope, after excluding the air for so long, that we
should be allowed a breath of it later. But Cousin Cornelia, as a matter
of course, led the way into the garden-room, where lamps, shaded with
rose-colored silk, had now been lighted on two of the book-and
magazine-strewn tables.
The strong air of the sea blew blessedly upon us, seeming cold after the
heat of the dining-room, but Cousin Cornelia did not even wrap a shawl
about her shoulders. We were _out-of-doors_ now, and it was right to
have air, so you took it for granted, and did not suffer. But indoors,
what were windows for if you did not keep them closed? It seemed a waste
of good material, and therefore a tempting of Providence to take
revenge by sending you bronchitis or rheumatism.
It was exquisite in the garden-room. Sea and sky mingled in a haze of
tender blue. All the air was blue, spangled with the lights of the pier;
and our lamps, and the shaded lamps of other garden-rooms, glowed in the
azure dusk like burning flowers, roses, and daffodils, and tulips.
We had coffee in cups small and delicate as egg-shells, and the old
silver spoons were spoons for dolls or fairies.
Robert asked if we would like to go to the circus, which could not, he
said, be surpassed in Europe; or to a classical concert at the Kurhaus:
but we were contented in the garden-room, with the music of the sea. We
talked of many things, and if Robert is deficient in a knowledge of
history, the others make up for his ignorance. They know something of
everything; and even the apple-blossom twins could put Phyllis and me to
shame, if they were not too polite, on the subject of modern musicians
and painters.
They speak French, German, and Italian, as well as English: a smattering
of Spanish too; yet they said modestly, when we exclaimed at their
accomplishments, that it was nothing; hardly anybody would learn Dutch,
so the Dutch must learn the languages of other nations.
As for Freule Menela (I must not call her "Miss," it seems, because
"Freule" is a kind of title) she is the cleverest of all, as the sweet
twins tried to make us understand; and the pretty creatures are proud of
her, thinking little of their own beauty. Sometimes I fancied that a
shade of contempt passed over her face when Robert ventured a remark
which showed him more accomplished as sportsman than scholar; but, if
she noticed that he turned to Phil or me with any brightening of
interest, she at once took pains to engage his attention.
They talked in low, pleasant voices, scarcely raising their tones or
making a gesture; and there was always that faint suggestion of the
Scotch accent, whether they spoke English or broke into Dutch. When I
remarked upon it, Cousin Cornelia laughed and said it was perhaps the
common Celtic ancestry; and that if the Dutch heard Gaelic talked, they
could recognize a few words here and there.
It was not more than an hour after we finished our coffee, that tea was
brought, with more beautiful china, and a great deal of handsome silver.
What with this potent mixture of stimulants, and being in a new house,
and thinking exciting thoughts of the future, I felt I shouldn't be able
to sleep. Nevertheless, after we'd said good-night, and Phil and I were
undressing, I was not pleased when Cousin Cornelia knocked at the door.
"She has come about the motor-boat," I thought, "to tell us we oughtn't
to go. Heaven grant me strength to resist." For in her quilted Japanese
silk dressing-gown she looked larger and more formidable than ever.
Not a word did she say about the motor-boat at first. It was our past
which seemed to interest her, not our future. As a relation she has the
right to ask me things about myself, and Phil's history is inextricably
tangled up with mine.
She wanted to know where we lived in London, and how: also on what,
though she didn't put it as crudely as that. I was frank, and told her
about my serial stories and Phil's typing.
"I suppose you think we're mad to break up our work and go on a
motor-boat tour in Holland, as if we were millionaires, when really
we're poor girls," I said, before she had time to reprove us. "But we
have each about a hundred and twenty pounds a year, whatever happens, so
it isn't as desperate as you might think. Besides, it is going to be
_the_ time of our lives. Even my stepsister feels so now, though she was
against it at first, and neither of us would give it up for anything."
"I don't think you should give it up," said Cousin Cornelia. You might
have knocked me down with a feather--quite a small one: for in her note
she had said we must come and let her offer us good advice before it was
too late; and Robert had hinted that his mother meant to dissuade us
from our wild-goose chase--in the company of Mr. Starr and Mr. Starr's
aunt.
"I think you know how to take care of yourselves," she went on.
"And we'll have a chaperon," Phil assured her.
"So I have heard, from my son. I have great faith in the Scotch. Yes, as
you have been a little too kind-hearted, and promised this strange young
man, it is necessary that somebody should have an aunt. Otherwise, if
you two had been quite alone together, it would not so much have
mattered. In Holland girls have liberty, more than anywhere except in
America. The bicycle is their chaperon, for all young girls and men
bicycle with us. The motor-boat might have been your chaperon. Even if
the aunt should not come, perhaps the nephew could be got rid of, and a
way arranged, rather than give up your tour."
We were delighted, and I could have hugged Cousin Cornelia. Indeed, I
did thank her warmly, and was rather surprised that Phil, who usually
overflows with gratitude for the slightest kindness, was not more
effusive over my relative's interest in our affairs, and her
broad-minded verdict.
"She's a lamb, after all, isn't she?" I asked, when the large lady had
gone, and I was ready to creep into a bed only an inch too short for me.
"She may be a lamb, but she isn't going to let us shear her, if she can
help it," said Phil, looking deadly wise.
"What _do_ you mean?"
"My dear girl, with all your cleverness, you're only a baby child about
some things. _Don't_ you see what's she's driving at?"
I shook my head, with my hair about my face.
"Or what all her questions were leading up to? Well, then, what _do_ you
think has made her change her mind about our motor-boating?"
"She saw we could take care of ourselves."
"She has found out that we're poor, and obliged to. She supposed from
what your cousin Robert told her, that we were heiresses; and she would
have kept us on a long visit if--oh, you silly old dear, don't you see
she's afraid of us--with _him_? She'll be polite and nice, but she wants
us to disappear."
"Good gracious!"
"Pretty Lilli told me this evening that Freule Menela van der Windt
hasn't much money, but she comes of a splendid family: she's a distant
relation of that Mr. Brederode, and her people are diplomats who live at
The Hague, though she's an orphan and visits about. If one of us were
rich--why--oh, it's too horrid to go on. Now, maybe, you understand what
I mean, and can put two and two together and agree with me."
"For a saint, you sometimes develop a hideous amount of worldly wisdom,
my Phil," I replied. "But when I come to think Cousin Cornelia over, I'm
afraid you're right. It would be fun to _flirt_ with Robert, and
frighten her, wouldn't it?"
"We are going away--to the motor-boat--to-morrow, and we shall never see
him again," said Phil. "Besides, it's wrong to flirt, even with
foreigners; and now do let me say my prayers."
VII
Next morning, when I waked up, and cautiously drew my watch from under
the pillow, not to disturb Phyllis, it was only six o'clock, and there
was Phil gazing at me, with eyes large and bright in the green dusk that
filtered through the olive curtains.
"I've been awake for ages," said she.
"What are you thinking about?"
"The motor-boat. Queer--but I can't help it."
"Neither can I. Can you go to sleep again?"
"No. Can you?"
"Not I. Let's get up, and creep out of doors. What fun to go down to the
beach and take a bath!"
"Nell! In our nighties?"
"Silly! We'll hire things--and bathing-machines."
After mature deliberation Phil decided not to risk being taken for a
thief by the van Buren family; but I could not abandon the idea, and
fifteen minutes later I was softly unlocking the front door, to steal
alone into the pearly, new-born day. Oh, the wonder of it--the wonder of
each new day, if one only stopped to think; but the wonder of this above
all others!
Already there were a few people about, hurrying beachward; and when I
reached the level of the firm, yellow sand, there were the red-trousered
men of the bathing-machines, in full activity, getting their horses into
the traces, while dogs raced wildly over sand-hillocks, and children
played with bright, sea-washed shells the waves had flung them.
Two or three of the bath-machines were in use, some were engaged for
persons not yet arrived, and I thought myself lucky in securing one
drawn by the handsomest horse of all. The others were dull,
_blase_-looking creatures compared to him; indeed, he was far too fine
for a mere bathing-machine, and had a lovely cushiony back like the
animals on which beautiful ladies pirouet in circuses. I longed to try
it myself, when my shoes and stockings were off.