honourable gentleman, Jonkheer Karel Bernhard Anton Jozef Delmare Van
Bergen Van Wiesendaal! (_Raises his voice._) _Entrez!_
_Enter_ GENERAL VAN WELLER, _in undress uniform, with a riding-whip in
his hand_.
_Frans_ (_without looking round_). Who’s there?
_Van Weller._ Look round, and perhaps you’ll know.
_Frans._ I’m just like Louis Napoleon’s knights—I do well, but I don’t
care to look round.[7]
_Van Weller_ (_looks round with displeasure, then approaches and gazes
fixedly for a few moments at Frans_). No, you are not he. You are too
low-looking a fellow to be my nephew. Who are you?
_Frans_ (_without changing his position_). In the first place, or, as we
used to say at Paris, _primo_, I must request you to allow me to express
my thanks for your very flattering opinion with regard to my
physiognomy; _secundo_, it would be the proper thing for you to do me
the favour of informing me of _your_ name.
[Illustration:
“ENTREZ.”
]
_Van Weller._ Insolence personified!—my nephew cannot be far off. (_To
Frans._) My name is Jan Weller. Who are you?
_Frans._ I don’t know.
_Van Weller._ It is surely your place to know.
_Frans._ Alas! who in this corrupt age does know himself? At Ephesus, it
was written——
_Van Weller._ That does not concern me, or you either. What is your
name?
_Frans._ That’s another matter. My late master used to call me....
_Van Weller_ (_impatiently_). Well?
_Frans._ ... when he was in a good-humour, “You vagabond!”
_Van Weller._ Pretty! very pretty! If you keep up this game much longer,
I shall be tempted to write that name on your back with my horsewhip!
_Frans._ Don’t do that, please. It would cause confusion, as it is not
my name at present.
_Van Weller_ (_smiling_). Well, tell me your name, then?
_Frans._ Girls who don’t know me call me “Angel,” or something similar.
Others,—of earlier date,—“scoundrel, wretch, miscreant,” and I don’t
know what all ... mostly words that are not to be found in the
_Dictionnaire de l’Académie_.
_Van Weller._ Tell me, in the devil’s name, who you are, fellow!
_Frans._ My mother used to call me Levi....
_Van Weller._ Well then?
_Frans._ Yes, but ... that is not my name. She only called me so,
because there was a Jew of that name who sold vegetables down our
street, and I could imitate him so well.
_Van Weller._ It is enough to exhaust any man’s patience! Speak out,
once for all, in whose rooms am I?
[ANDRIES _puts his head in at the door_.]
_Andries._ Are you here, General?
_Frans_ (_springs to his feet_). General? Your obedient servant!
_Van Weller_ (_to Andries_). Come in! [_Enter Andries._] Ask this fellow
his name. If he does not answer briefly, and to the point, as soon as I
give the word “March!” you take him by the collar and throw him out of
window.
[_Andries salutes, turns on his heel, and marches up to Frans. Frans
approaches the bed._]
_Van Weller._(_to Frans_). What are you going to do?
_Frans._ With your permission, General ... I have always been a lover of
military exercises, but being only a civilian I am not at all well up in
window-throwing drill, and so, I thought, a couple of pillows on the
pavement....
_Van Weller._ Andries, bring the fellow here!
[_Points to the floor with his riding-whip. Frans escapes Andries
who walks toward him with a stiff military step._]
_Van Weller._ Quick march! Seize him, and bring him here!
[_Sits down. Andries seizes Frans, and drags him roughly to the spot
indicated, but in such a manner that Frans stands with his back
to the General._]
_Van Weller._ Right about face!
[_Andries turns Frans round by the shoulders, forcing him to face
the General,—then takes a step backward, and remains standing at
attention._]
_Van Weller._ (_throws the riding-whip to Andries_). Take it! Now,
attend! When I say “Out!” you begin to thrash him till the word is given
to stop. (_To Frans._) What is your name?
_Frans._ I have already told you, sir, that my mother—
_Van Weller._ Out!
[_Andries lays on with the whip._]
_Frans._ No—no—oh!—my name is Frans Varel, General!
_Van Weller._ Leave out the “General!” for the future. And the “oh!”
also. Answer briefly what I ask you—no more, no less. What is your
profession?
_Frans._ Valet, or rather secretary, to——
_Van Weller._ Enough! Who is your master?
_Frans._ Jonkheer Van Bergen.
_Van Weller._ Just so, that must be the right man! Has he any other name
besides Bergen?
_Frans._ My master’s full name is Jonkheer Karel Bernhard Anton Jozef
Delmare Van Bergen Van Wiesendaal. (_Aside._) Oh! how miserably I’m
representing him!
_Van Weller._ How old is your master?
_Frans._ I think he is twenty-eight.
_Van Weller._ The same! the same! How long have you been in his service?
_Frans._ We grew up together.
_Van Weller._ Then you knew his father?
_Frans._ Certainly. It was he who used to call me “vagabond,” when——
_Van Weller._ That is not what I am asking. How long is it since the old
gentleman died?
_Frans_ (_considering_). Fifteen or sixteen years.
_Van Weller._ Did he die of an illness?
_Frans._ He certainly did not die of health.
_Van Weller_ (_impatiently_). Speak out—what did he die of?
_Frans._ Of ... of ... an exaggerated sense of honour.
_Van Weller._ Speak plainly, fellow, or I’ll give the word! Relate what
happened shortly before his death.
_Frans._ Shortly before his death....
_Van Weller._ Well—be quick!
_Frans._ He was still alive.
_Van Weller_ (_angrily_). Out!
[_Andries lays on with the whip._]
_Frans_ (_quickly_). Stop!
_Van Weller_(_to Andries_). Why are you not thrashing him as I told you?
You hear him trying to make a fool of me!
_Andries._ The word was given to stop, General.
_Van Weller._ He gave it, not I!
_Andries._ There was nothing about that in the orders, General.
_Van Weller._ I am in sole command here, of course. Now speak, you
scoundrel, quickly! _Out_——
_Frans._ Oh, sir! I’m beginning! The next day——
_Van Weller._ What? What day? I know nothing yet!
_Frans._ Monsieur Socrates also knew nothing. The recognition of this
fact is the source of all wisdom, General. I am telling you the story in
my own way, beginning at the end. I belong to the school of M. Dumas and
M. Sue.
_Van Weller._ Don’t wear out my patience any longer, fellow! Relate
consecutively what took place on the last day of Mr Van Bergen’s life.
_Frans._ He got up at half-past four in the morning, and put on his
socks and boots. I did not see this, but I am induced to believe it, as
he appeared, a little later, with his boots and spurs on. It is thus a
fair inference that he had just put them on, unless, like M. Charles
Douze, he had been sleeping in them—in which case....
_Van Weller._ Are you quite incorrigible? Don’t tell me the story like
that!
_Frans._ Am _I_ to blame? _N’est pas conteur qui veut._ I did not
profess to be a good story-teller, General.
_Van Weller._ Silence! I ask you for the last time whether you are
willing to relate, in a proper manner, what you know of the affair?
_Frans._ About Charles Douze? He was born——
_Van Weller._ Out!
[_Andries strikes Frans with the whip, several times._]
_Frans._ Ai! ai!—oh! General!—I’ll tell you everything!
_Van Weller._ Stop! (_To Frans._) Now go on, and think of your back.
_Frans._ The old gentleman had come back from an assembly at Court, the
evening before, very much put out. They said he had had a quarrel, and
was to fight a duel next day. I only know this by tradition, as you may
say, because I and the young master were under arrest, locked up in the
summer house, because we had stolen apri——
_Van Weller._ Never mind the apricots, and tell me about the duel.
_Frans._ Well, then—my master must have slept very badly that night.
This, too, I only know by way of tradition; and since tradition
represents the border-land between the dark region of myth and the
daylight of history——
_Van Weller._ Out——
_Frans._ Ow!—wait—listen! Next morning he went out at five o’clock, and
came home at half-past six, mortally wounded. He had a bullet in his
left breast, whence I infer that he had been shot. But I cannot with
certainty——
_Van Weller._ Silence! Who was his adversary?
_Frans._ That I do not know. The coachman who drove the master out,
said....
_Van Weller_ (_impatiently_). Well?
_Frans._ Said he did not know either.
_Van Weller_ (_stamps his foot_). Did your master die soon after?
_Frans._ Yes—at half-past one that afternoon ... as near as I can guess.
For, you see, as the young gentleman had fastened a frog to the pendulum
of the big clock that stood in the hall——
_Van Weller._ To the deuce with your frogs and your clocks! Answer
me—did any one come to see Bergen before his death?
_Frans._ Yes; three officers, one of them a major.
_Van Weller_ (_aside_). Ah! that was Huser. (_To Frans._) What happened
then?
_Frans._ They were admitted to see him, but the servants were sent away.
But as I have always been very fond of tragedy scenes, I managed to peep
through the keyhole; and I saw that the Major fell on his knees beside
the bed, and cried. The kneeling was very well done ... his _contenance_
was simply perfect ... I was all attention. Old Mr Van Bergen held out
his hand to him, and said——
_Van Weller_ (_rising quickly_). That is just what I want to know—go on!
_Frans._ That he was thirsty.
_Van Weller_ (_sits down again, as if disappointed_). That’s not what I
meant. Go on!
_Frans._ They gave him something to drink. Then he sat up in bed, and
put his arms round that officer. “Let us part in peace,” he said, “_sans
rancune_!” The officer kept on crying, and said, “Can you ever forgive
me, Bergen?” The master smiled, and said, “Gladly! gladly!—_sans
rancune_, dearest——”
_Van Weller._ Well—dearest _what?_
_Frans._ I couldn’t catch the name. And I never saw that Major again. I
heard that he died about six months later.
_Van Weller_ (_aside_). It must have been Huser—not a doubt about it!
(_To Frans._) And then? What happened next?
_Frans._ The wounded man asked one of the officers to call his little
Charles—that was the young master, who was still in the summer-house—_I_
had got out.... The young gentleman came up to the bed, and, instead of
being pleased at getting out sooner than he expected, he began to cry
too.
_Van Weller._ Go on, go on!
_Frans._ After being silent for some time, the master said to the
Major——
_Van Weller._ Go on, do, fellow! I’ve been waiting for that about an
hour!
_Frans._ He said,—“Don’t distress yourself over my death. It was in fair
fight. My fate might have been yours. Only—be a father to my poor
Charles!”
_Van Weller._ What next?
_Frans._ The Major began to sob again, and cried, “I swear to you I
will!” Then Baron Van Bergen smiled pleasantly, held out his hand to him
once more, and died. [_V. W. remains lost in thought._] It was a
touching scene, General. The old gentleman died almost as naturally as
M. Furneau of the Théâtre Royal. I should have been quite overcome with
emotion if the other two officers had possessed any knowledge of the
stage. They seemed to be novices, who had never been in Paris. Not the
faintest idea of tragic action—they didn’t even wring their hands! Of
course that of itself gave them a stupid attitude——
_Van Weller._ Will you hold your tongue? How was it that you never saw
this officer again?
_Frans._ They said in the kitchen that he was abroad with his son, and
that when he came home he was going to take Master Charles with him. But
he never came back.
_Van Weller._ And his son?
_Frans._ I never heard anything about him.
_Van Weller._ Have you ever seen him?
_Frans._ Never.
_Van Weller_ (_aside_). I think the fellow is lying. (_To Frans._) Did
you ever know a man by the name of Huser?
_Frans._ Huser? Yes, very well indeed. He was the young master’s
greatest friend. Or rather—for they weren’t exactly friends—he was ...
he did ... he gave ... well, I never quite knew what to make of that
Huser.
_Van Weller._ Now we’re getting near it! What became of Huser?
_Frans._ H’m!—nothing much! ... he did not turn out anything to boast
of, General. He was careless,—he was fast ... that is to say, he wasn’t
exactly that. He gambled ... at least, no, he never gambled. But ... in
short, I don’t know anything about it. All I know is, that he came to
smash in the end.
_Van Weller_ (_aside_). Poor Gustav! poor boy! (_To Frans._) Go on, man,
tell me all you know.
_Frans._ He had a difference of opinion with the Procureur du Roi, as we
used to say at Paris. He had been imprudent—(_whispers_)—forged
cheques!—people took it ill of him,—and—you know the law, General!
_Van Weller_ (_aside_). Poor boy! (_To Frans._) But how was that
possible? Was he in debt?
_Frans._ On the contrary, his father had left him plenty of money, and
he lived very economically.
_Van Weller._ And he did not play, you say?
_Frans._ Never. He had old-fashioned notions on that head.
_Van Weller._ Was he, perhaps, given to courting?
_Frans._ Oh! no—he was too stiff and solemn for that. He always looked
sulky and discontented. He was a tiresome sort of fellow. I think, even,
that he used to make verses.
_Van Weller._ And he was your master’s friend?
_Frans._ No, and ... yes! He was always with us, and at our rooms. He
always helped the young master when he had the chance; but afterwards he
used to give it him like blazes.
_Van Weller._ Strange, very strange! And how long ago is that?
_Frans._ Four years.
_Van Weller._ What was your master doing then?
_Frans._ Nothing.
_Van Weller._ How? I thought he was at the university.
_Frans._ Well—studying, and doing nothing—that comes pretty much to the
same thing.
_Van Weller._ And this Huser?
_Frans._ Before that _fâcheux évènement_ I spoke of, he was studying
too. I think he wanted to be a lawyer....
_Van Weller._ Silence! Nothing but what I ask you! Is your master a good
sort of man?
_Frans._ He might certainly be better.
_Van Weller._ Silence! You deserve a good thrashing. He is a bad servant
that speaks ill of his master. If I ask you any question that you would
injure your master by answering, then you are to hold your tongue. Do
you understand? I don’t want to make any traitors. Remember this
carefully, or I shall give the word. Did your master play high at the
university? [_Frans is silent._] ... So—he’s silent ... therefore our
young gentleman _did_ play ... therefore he is betraying his master by
his silence.... Out!
[_Andries strikes him._]
_Frans._ Oh! my dear good gentleman, what _am_ I to say? No, no, the
young master never gambled.
_Van Weller._ He lies! Yes—I forgot to say that if you don’t tell the
truth, I shall give the word too. Did your master gamble at the
university? Out!
[_Andries again raises the whip._]
_Frans_ (_points to the window_). Fire! fire! for heaven’s sake!—save
yourselves! ... fire!
[_The General hastens to the window. Andries remains rigidly at his
post. Frans runs to the door._]
_Frans._ I should have done that sooner. (_With a low bow._) General,
your humble servant.
[_Exit._
_Van Weller_ (_returning from the window_). I see nothing, absolutely
nothing. Where is the fellow?
_Andries._ He’s run away, General.
_Van Weller._ Why didn’t you hold him?
_Andries._ That was not in the orders, sir.
_Van Weller._ The scoundrel has been making a fool of me! Never mind—I
know enough for the present. Do you know him, Andries?
_Andries._ Yes, sir, he’s a good-for-nothing fellow.
_Van Weller._ Of course—like master, like man!
_Enter_ SOPHIE, _with a note_.
_Sophie._ You here, Andries? (_Looks at General V. W._) Who’s this man?
_Andries._ Hush—sh!
_Van Weller_ (_to Andries_). Silence! (_To Sophie._) What do you want
here, my girl?
_Sophie_ (_looks hard at him_). I have a note for young Mr Van Bergen’s
man. (_To Andries._) Hasn’t Frans been here? Surely this is the
gentleman’s room? He said number four, and——
_Van Weller._ Just give me that note.
_Sophie._ Are you Mr Van Bergen’s man too?
_Van Weller._ Yes. Give it here.
_Sophie_ (_to Andries_). Will it be all right if I give it to this man?
[_Andries does not answer._] Good gracious! what’s the matter? Why are
you standing there as glum and stiff as if you were on parade?
[_Tries to seize his hand, but he pushes her gently back._]
_Andries_ (_nodding towards the General, who is watching them with an
air of amusement_). Eh!
_Sophie_ (_shakes him by the arm_). Do speak! What is it?
_Andries._ Eh!
_Sophie._ Has _he_ made you like that? (_To Van Weller._) What does this
mean? I don’t like it. It doesn’t suit me at all. May I ask you, for the
last time, to tell me what it means? [_Van Weller laughs heartily._]
Still better! He thinks he’s making a fool of me. [_Turns to Andries and
shakes his arm again._] Andries, Andries, do speak, or I shall be angry!
_Andries_ (_under his breath_). Do be quiet! It’s the General!
[Illustration:
“ENTER SOPHIE WITH A NOTE.”
]
_Sophie._ Oh! (_Turns to Van Weller._) Please, sir, may I ask why you
wouldn’t let Andries go out on leave the other day? That was not nice of
you. I’d——
_Van Weller_ (_to Andries_). Who is this pretty child?
_Andries._ She’s Mam’zelle Sophie, Freule Van Wachler’s maid.
_Van Weller._ Why, that’s fortunate! (_To Sophie._) Well, and how is my
sister Koosje?
_Sophie_ (_surprised_). Your sister Koosje, sir?
_Van Weller._ Yes—Mevrouw Wachler!
_Sophie_ (_curtseys_). Very well, sir. (_To Andries._) Think of that—I
never knew that the mistress’s Christian name was Koosje. Why, that’s a
name any one of us might have!
_Van Weller_ (_to Andries_). Are you in love with this charming
creature?
_Andries._ With your permission,—yes, General.
_Sophie._ _That’s_ nice of you, Andries! _I_ never asked any one’s
permission. And supposing the gentleman were to say, No?
_Van Weller._ Well, well,—you may make your mind easy,—I won’t say No!
(_To Andries, calling him aside._) Something has just occurred to me. I
don’t want that rascal to tell his master that I have been questioning
him. Does he care about...? [_makes the gesture of drinking_].
_Andries._ Yes, General.
_Van Weller._ And try to persuade your sweetheart to stay here a little.
I should like to talk to her.
_Andries._ Yes, General. (_To Sophie._) Just give your note to the
General, Sophie, and answer him nicely if he asks anything, and be as
pleasant and polite as you can. Remember, he can let me off on leave!
[_Salutes, and turns to go, but comes back._]
_Van Weller._ Well—what is it now?
_Andries._ Am _I_ to be drunk, too, General?
_Van Weller._ No need for that! March!
[_Exit Andries._
_Sophie._ Do you wish to take the note, sir?
_Van Weller._ Just lay it down here.
_Sophie._ But I think there’s some hurry about it. The young gentleman
said I was to bring a key back with me.
[_Van Weller takes the note, and reads it, with gestures of
astonishment. Looking round, he sees the casket. He goes up to
it, and stands still, lost in thought. At last he takes the key
out of the lock and gives it to Sophie._]
_Van Weller._ There’s the key, my girl. You have done your errand
well—so go now—just go.
_Sophie._ But Andries said you wanted to talk to me.
_Van Weller._ Yes ... no ... it’s hardly needed now.... Or....
(_hesitating_) How are things going, Sophie?—is there to be a wedding
soon?
_Sophie_ (_confused_). Yes—if Andries....
_Van Weller._ I’m not speaking of Andries now—I mean in the Van Wachler
family.
_Sophie._ Ah! I think there will, indeed! for the young lady has three
lovers.
_Van Weller._ That’s enough to begin with. I had only heard of one. And
who are they?
_Sophie_ (_counts on her fingers_). First, Jonkar Van Bergen,—then the
music-master, Holm,—and the third is old Mr Buys.
_Van Weller._ What do you say?—a music-master?
_Sophie._ Oh, don’t laugh at him, sir—he’s such a good man! It’s only a
pity that he’s always so sad.
_Van Weller._ And why do you think he is one of the young lady’s lovers?
_Sophie._ Why—because Mr Van Wachler said so himself.
_Van Weller._ Surely you misunderstood him, my good girl.
_Sophie._ Why so? For my part, I should prefer him to Jonkar Van Bergen.
Mr Holm is less merry and cheerful, but then one can see that he has had
his troubles. They say he is a prince, who has for some reason or other
turned music-master,—but I’m not sure of that.
_Van Weller._ And Jonkar Karel?
_Sophie._ Jonkar Van Bergen is—but please don’t say I said so, sir—I
don’t think he is to be trusted. This morning, he had been talking to
Madame about the young lady and Mr Holm—Madame is very much opposed to
the music-master....
_Van Weller._ That I can well believe!
_Sophie._ Well ... he put his arm round her neck and kissed her, and
when she was out of the room he made fun of her, though she had just
been calling him “_charmant garçon_.” Later on, I heard him say, “Just
as silly as ever! She’ll choke with her affection some day!” Now, do you
call that a man to be trusted, sir?
_Van Weller._ No, not exactly. [_Chucks her under the chin._] But old
Buys now?—how did you come to think of him?
_Sophie._ I don’t quite understand how it is. I never used to notice
anything. He is nearly as old as you, sir—and one can’t love a man like
that, can one?
_Van Weller_ (_with a start_). Ah!
_Sophie._ I mean love like—love as one——
_Van Weller._ Yes, yes, I understand. I’ll make you a present of the
explanation.
_Sophie._ Well—I know nothing about it—but, the other day, when I went
up to her sitting-room—now don’t say I told you, sir!
_Van Weller._ No, no—just go on.
_Sophie._ She was sitting on his knee, and he kissed her.
_Van Weller._ Well, I’m surprised at my niece!
_Sophie._ Oh! don’t think any harm of her, sir! The three lovers is the
only thing, and I don’t think the worse of her for that! If I were a
man, I’d want to be her lover too,—I’m sure I would!
_Van Weller_ (_aside_). I think I must be on the track. (_To Sophie._)
Look here, can you hold your tongue?
_Sophie._ Yes—when I’ve nothing to say.
_Van Weller._ When you get home, don’t mention having seen me. I have
just returned from Java, and want to surprise the family. Give young Mr
Karel the key, and say you had it from Frans.
_Sophie._ But—that would be a story.
_Van Weller._ Did you never tell a fib in your life?
_Sophie_ (_after thinking a while_). Only once—when Andries asked me
whether....
_Van Weller._ All right, my child. Say whatever you like.
_Sophie_ (_coaxingly_). Please, sir, if Andries asks for leave——
_Van Weller._ He shall get it! If I were Andries, and had a sweetheart
like you, I should have deserted long ago!
[_Exit Sophie._
_Van Weller_ (_alone_). I shall find him—I must find him!—on my soul I
will find him. [_Starts, as if remembering something._] That note!—there
was something about Huser in it. [_Takes it up and reads._] “Frans, lock
the casket at once,—I forgot it. There are letters from Huser in it that
concern us alone. Send me the key.” Why is he so anxious to keep these
letters secret, as if the existence of the State depended on the
publication of a student’s correspondence? I left the box open—but it’s
not honest, Weller! [_Walks up and down, as if in doubt._] It’s not
honest. But, Gustaf!—perhaps it will help me to trace him! I _will_ read
them! [_He goes up to the box, takes out some papers, looks at them, and
lays them aside. At last he comes to one which he appears to
recognise._] That’s Gustaf’s hand. [_Sits down, reads, and seems much
disturbed. At last he jumps up._] Andries! Yes, my presentiment did not
deceive me! Oh! my noble boy, where are you? Gustaf! Gustaf! But that
scoundrel—that Karel Van Bergen,—who, Heaven mend it! calls himself my
nephew. I must see him! He shan’t have that girl of my sister’s, though
she were ten times as much of a coquette, and had twenty lovers instead
of three! She would still be too good for him! Andries!
_Enter_ FRANS, _intoxicated_.
_Frans_ (_sings_).
“Mon maître est an filou
Et moi j’ n’ suis pas bête ... la ... la....”
Ah! good-morning! good-morning! _Mon maître est un filou._ Oh, yes! but
we’ve had _circonstances_, splendid _circonstances_—to begin with.
_Van Weller._ Andries!
_Frans._ Andries is a good fellow, a downright good fellow—but just the
least bit _bête_. Never been to Paris, sir? Are you coming to Paris?
_Allons mourir pour la patrie._
[_Approaches the General._]
_Van Weller_ (_pushes him away roughly, so that Frans falls on the
sofa_). Lie there, beast! Andries!
_Frans_ (_muttering_). _Mon maître est un filou...._ [_Falls asleep._]
_Enter_ ANDRIES.