would be fools enough to go and get caught in that little spot of
ground, when there are acres of fields all round.”
_2nd S._—“Well, how is it that, when the town is so big and the cell at
the police-station so small, you’re always in it?”
* * * * *
A DOUBLE MISFORTUNE.
“Do you not think it a deeply significant fact, Henri,” said the poet to
his friend, “that I was born on the same day on which Goethe died?”
_Henri_—“Both events are cruel misfortunes to literature.”
* * * * *
Mrs A.’s housemaid has come round with a message:—
“Mistress’s compliments, and she would like to know if you will come to
spend to-morrow evening?”
_Mrs B._—“Very pleased, I am sure.... Are there more people coming?”
_Housemaid_—“I have them here on a list.”
_Mrs B._—“Let me see.... Why, there are at least thirty names here!”
_Housemaid_—“Yes, but most of them know that the children have the
chicken-pox, and mistress was reckoning on that!”
* * * * *
AT THE SOLICITOR’S.
“Good-morning, sir! May I ask you to advise me what compensation is due
when another person’s dog does damage in any one’s house?”
“Certainly, sir. The injured party is entitled to two guilders
compensation.”
“May I ask you for that sum, then? It is your dog that I have to
complain of.”
“Ah! Then it is your property that my dog has damaged? Nothing can be
fairer than that I should pay you the legal compensation. Here are
twenty cents.”
“Twenty cents!”
“Yes. As thus:—
Your claim is fl. 2 0
My fee, for advice 1 80
——————————
Balance due to you 0 20.”
* * * * *
A SLIGHT MISTAKE.
A man, who thought himself a scientist, gave a public lecture on
electricity. The hall was at first tolerably well filled, but the
audience were not long in finding out with whom they had to do, and
began to go out one by one. At last only one man remained, who listened
with the greatest attention, and thus encouraged the lecturer to
continue. At the end of half-an-hour he interrupted himself, and said
politely—
“I beg your pardon, sir, but I hope I am not trespassing on your
kindness? I shall have finished in ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes! You can go on for another hour—or all night, if you
like—so long as you don’t forget that you engaged me by the hour!”
The unhappy man perceived too late that it was the cabman who had driven
him down to the lecture-hall.
* * * * *
_Horseman_ (passing window of farmhouse)—“I say, you stupid lout, I want
to know why you are always laughing when I ride past?”
_Peasant_—“Why, sir, it is because you always happen to ride past when I
am laughing.”
* * * * *
_A._—“How are you, old fellow? Have you heard who has got that situation
in the Home Office that you were trying for?”
_B._—“Some ass or other, I suppose, who doesn’t in the least deserve
it!”
_A._—“Of that _you_ should be the best judge; you are the lucky man!”
_THE CANDIDATE._
It is now full two years since Dominie Groshaus departed this life. For
forty years the worthy man had tended his flock at Harder, without a
thought of laying aside his staff, and quite resolved to edify his
congregation for another ten years or so. But Death was not of the same
opinion as the deaf old gentleman. One fine morning he came along, and
gently took the staff out of the shepherd’s hand.
“_Le roi est mort, vive le roi_,” now came true at Harder. Scarcely had
the grave closed over Dominie Groshaus, when they began to think of
choosing a new pastor. This time it must be a liberal; that was plain as
a pikestaff. The Harder people wished to show that they could advance
with the times. But where to find him—that was the question. The stipend
was not large, and the number of “advanced” candidates exceedingly
small,—a bitter disappointment for the Harder parishioners, for your
farmer knows no greater enjoyment than in listening to the trial sermons
of a “whole regiment” of candidates. As matters stood, however, there
was nothing for it but to cut their coat according to their cloth, and
six probationers were accordingly invited to display their gifts. The
Harder people were not fortunate; for, behold, the last of the six had
already arrived, and been quartered at the schoolmaster’s, and they had
not yet found the right man! It will be understood that they were
waiting the last trial sermon in a state of great excitement. No one’s
heart, however, beat so high as Mr Slop’s, for the last candidate
pleased the schoolmaster uncommonly well—yes, uncommonly. He had enjoyed
a most delightful evening in the young fellow’s company. The
conversation went as if on wheels. Tantalising prospectives of
instructive conversations, profitable exchange of thought—of society
such as he had often vainly longed for—opened themselves to the master’s
mental vision. Therefore it was his most ardent wish that this candidate
should succeed. He was just considering what he could do to promote his
success, when the probationer suddenly put a question to him
point-blank.
“Can you tell me, sir, the reason why my friend Burgers did not give
satisfaction here?”
“Oh! well—what can I say to you?—the man was the victim of a stupid
joke. His hair is, as I suppose you are aware,...”
“Red—yes, fiery red,” sighed the probationer, with a faint smile.
“Yes—that hair of his!”
“Well,” pursued the schoolmaster, “on the day Mr Burgers was preaching
here, Jaap Stricker, a farmer, who is known as the worst joker in the
village, happened to be sitting in the pew just behind the elders. When
the young man, who was certainly doing his best, rather raised his voice
at the end of his sermon, and at the same time threw his arms out
quickly, Jaap Stricker bent over to the burgomaster, and whispered to
him, ‘The fire is bursting out.’ That joke, sir, was the _coup de
grâce_.”
“_Il n’y a pire que le ridicule_,” thought the probationer, “even among
these farmers.” And suddenly—as the schoolmaster drew the little stove
towards him in order to light his pipe—there rose up before him the
image of Hein Burgers, the rejected, as he used to sit at students’
gatherings, with his honest, jovial face, crowned—alas! with locks of
too brilliant a colour. He saw once more the gloomy Van Overveen
pretending, with his melancholy smile, to light his cigar at Hein
Burgers’ flaming head; he heard one and the other call out, on finding
that his pipe had gone out, “Just pass Hein this way, will you?”...
“I was just saying,” the schoolmaster continued, carefully putting the
cover on his pipe, after a vigorous pull or two,—“I was saying that was
the finishing touch. For even if Mr Burgers’ hair had been black instead
of red, the man’s chance was gone. In the first place, he forgot, when
he entered the church, to salute the elders—ahem!—just nod to them, you
know!”
“Aha!” said the candidate, making a mental note of the fact.
“And, besides that, there was something in his sermon the burgomaster
did not like.”
Here the schoolmaster’s lips opened, and the pipe slid into the corner
of his mouth. His eyes wandered over the ceiling, while he exhibited
that vibration of the diaphragm which, according to Darwin, is the
symptom of suppressed mirth.
“Pah!” ... he continued, after a pause, emitting a thick cloud of smoke,
under shelter of which his face came back into its normal condition.
“You must know that there occurred in his sermon an allusion to Galileo.
This was what offended the burgomaster.”
“Galileo!” exclaimed the probationer, springing from his seat. “Galileo!
what earthly objection can the burgomaster have to Galileo?”
“Much more than you think,” returned Mr Slop, with a solemn countenance,
but laughter in his eyes. “Much more than you can conjecture. Our
burgomaster has, along with many good qualities, a weakness—a
prejudice—what shall I call it? The fact is, that he does not believe
that the earth turns round....”
The shout of laughter emitted by his hearer reduced the schoolmaster to
silence.
The two men looked at each other. The master laughed too—the
probationer’s mirth was infectious—but not so loud. And while the young
man continued to give free rein to his emotions, Slop quietly groaned to
himself.
“Could a man have done a more unlucky thing?” he went on at last. “Why
need he have dragged in Galileo at all? As soon as I heard the name, I
thought to myself, ‘There goes your chance, my dear young gentleman!’
And if he had confined himself to mentioning the name, no harm would
have been done; but he did worse—he called Galileo’s opponents
narrow-minded people! And at last, as if to complete the disaster, he
uttered it as his settled conviction that there was no one among his
hearers who believed in the stability of the earth. Then I could see
that it was all up with him, for the burgomaster flushed up, red as
fire. Moreover, he nodded twice, and looked at the preacher with angry
defiance.”
“Stop, sir! stop!” cried the candidate, holding his sides. “But surely,
then, your burgomaster—what’s the man’s name?—Gorter—surely this Gorter
is an original of the first water?”
“He is indeed. Let us only hope that Galileo has not brought the whole
modern movement into discredit with him. I sadly fear that such is the
case. At any rate, sir, you are warned. If he enters on the subject
to-morrow—as he is almost certain to do—keep a good look-out, and mind
you don’t fall into the snare.”
On the following morning the church was as full as it could hold. The
candidate gave particular satisfaction. His delivery was more than
satisfactory; his voice was as clear as a bell. Such was the verdict of
the parishioners. Very well content, and with a great air of mystery,
the elders received the preacher at the end of the service. For when the
farmer has once made his choice, he takes good care not to give the
slightest hint of it—sly diplomat that he is! The candidate was to dine
at Burgomaster Gorter’s. Aaltje, the good-natured, bashful, kindly wife
of that dignitary, had prepared ribs of pork. With heartfelt
satisfaction did the couple take note of the young man’s hearty
appetite. He did not require any pressing, and played as good a knife
and fork as if he had been at home. This pleased the burgomaster well. A
good appetite is usually the sign of good health. Who would buy an
unhealthy cow? And what person in his senses would wish to possess an
unhealthy minister?
At the end of the repast, a walk in the orchard was proposed. The
burgomaster, pipe in mouth, stumped along in his wooden shoes, solemn
and dignified—a sphinx in a peaked cap—beside his guest, and took him to
see the pigs. Then they slowly returned to the house, the farmer still
preserving an air of tremendous mystery.
At last Mijnheer Gorter broke the ominous silence.
“I was very well-pleased with your discourse this morning,” he said.
“Were you, sir? I’m glad to hear that.”
“They want a modern man in this place. Well—I’m modern, too!” The
burgomaster’s chin moved backwards into his black silk neckcloth, while
a smile of grim self-satisfaction played about his lips. “I’m modern,
and progressive too,” he went on. “But there is one thing I can’t get
over. I don’t believe that the earth turns round. No one can make a fool
of me about that. Every morning when I go out into the fields, I see it
with my own eyes lying perfectly still. Now that has nothing to do with
modern thought,—that turning round, I suppose,—has it?”
“Oh!” replied the candidate, fairly driven into a corner, “it certainly
does have a little to do with it; but, after all, it’s not the principal
point. One may be a good and honest and religious man, and yet be of
opinion—I mean, believe—that the earth stands still. St Paul, for
example——”
“There you are!” roared the burgomaster, bringing his hand vigorously
down on his companion’s shoulder in the fulness of his satisfaction.
And thus, through his well-timed consideration of the burgomaster’s
hobby, the sixth candidate was elected to the parish of Harder.
T. H. HOOIJER.
(_De Gids_, 1881.)
_EPIGRAMS._
(SNELDICHTEN.)
Tys was a painter—a doctor then he became,
And said to his friends, who murmured at the same,
“My faults as a painter, sure, every one could see,
But now my errors are underground, the better ’tis for me.”
* * * * *
TROP DE ZÈLE.
Hans boasts he skated from Cologne
In one day to the Hague. “In one,”
His man confirms him, “true as you stand here—
_But ’twas the longest day of all the year!_”
* * * * *
’Twas asked, Which was the longest day?
My farmer friend, who would not stay
Till I had searched the calendar aright,
Said, “Why, sir, ’tis the one that has the shortest night.”
* * * * *
Dirck once was given to language most profane;
I strove to turn him from his evil ways in vain.
After long years I was successful. How?
With this one word: “Tis not the mode in Paris now.”
* * * * *
TO A PREACHER.
Ye preach so long, good sir, that we the opening have forgot,
And therefore when ye reach the end, we understand it not.
* * * * *
Pete ran against me in the street one day,
Nor moved aside: “He would not yield the way
To every fool.” “I can—and do!” said I—
Stepped from the path, and let the fool pass by.
* * * * *
Old Father Jan did chide his son because he sleeping lay,
Instead of getting up to work at dawning of the day,
And told him how a certain boor, at daybreak in the field,
Had found his fallow ground a pot of gold did yield.
“Yes, father,” said young Jack, “’twas early, it may be,
But sure the man that lost the gold was earlier than he!”
* * * * *
Jan will take where’er he can,
Out of purse and out of sack,
Out of cupboard, chest or pack,
Out of kettle, pot, and pan,—
Jan’s a very _taking_ man.
* * * * *
CLOTHES AND MEN.
The tailor’s shop for highest praise, say I,
With royal courts doth vie;
Best skill boast which of these two can?
There the man makes the clothes; here the clothes make the man.
* * * * *
Dirck went out once to buy a hat, ’tis known,
And sought to pay for it with words alone.
“Nay,” said the mercer, “I’ll not come to that,
To meet _you_ and uncover to _my hat_!”
* * * * *
How can a miller be a thief?
Methinks the thing were past belief;
What use for gold or gear can find
The man who lives upon the wind?
* * * * *
PRUDENT IGNORANCE.
Peter knows nought, and will know nought;
I know the reason why:
He fears distress and injury,
And has not the old saw forgot—
_What a man knows not hurts him not_.
* * * * *
THE COURTSHIP OF JAN AND GRIET.
“Well, is it ne’er to be?” said Jan;
“I’ve faithfully done all I can:
I’ve served you as a friend,” quo’ he,
“So long in all humility,
And serve you still!” “Tis true,” said she,
“And yet you will not serve for me!”
* * * * *
A knight, a doctor, a new nobleman,
A duke, a count, to make of any man,
Is no great art, and this can princes do.
Would Heaven grant us but some princes, who
Could by authority of ring and seal,
With men of sense provide the commonweal!
* * * * *
“My parents,” Andrew said, “were drowned at sea,
Therefore no vessel, ship, or boat, for me!”
“My father and my mother,” Adrian said,
“Died in their beds: shall I not go to bed?”
* * * * *
Twelve men to try a crime is British use:—
A thief was asked his jury for to choose.
“The twelve apostles—honest men they be.”
Then said a man: “But those we shall not see
Before the day of judgment.” “Gentlemen,
I’ll gladly wait the trial until then.”
* * * * *
Once poor, and kind of heart, thou’rt rich and greedy, Jan!
The touchstone proves the gold, the gold doth prove the man.
CONSTANTIJN HUYGENS, 1596–1687.
I met a kinsman of mine but now,
And asked him where he lived, and how?
“Like any prince,” so said my friend,
“I have enough to eat and drink, and debts without an end.”
[Illustration:
“I MET A KINSMAN OF MINE.”
]
* * * * *
Said Jan, twice wedded to a scolding wife,
“Church-going’s the great pleasure of my life;
’Tis strange and sweet to see a man, O rare!
Keep full five hundred women quiet there!”
_THE VILLAGE ON THE FRONTIER._[26]
CHARACTERS.
MARIA (_Maid_).
MICHIEL (_Man-servant_).
NICOLAAS (_Landlord and Burgomaster_).
LIEUTENANT EDELING.
VAN WERVE, } (_Refugees_).
CLARA (_his daughter_) }
CAPTAIN D’EGLANTIERS.
LIEUTENANT TAELINCK.
SERGEANT PLUCKX.
CORPORAL NESTEIRS.
PRIVATE PESSEREAU.
ACT I.
_A Village Inn. Evening._ MICHIEL _asleep in a chair_.
_Maria_ (_the maid—behind the scenes_). Michiel, where are you?
[_Entering._] He is lazy enough for a member of the Brussels Committee.
Michiel, get up!
_Michiel_ (_awaking_). Well, what’s up now?
_Maria._ Wake up, at any rate! Isn’t it perfectly scandalous to lie
there, at seven o’clock in the evening, snoring like an ox?
_Michiel._ Does that hurt any one?
_Maria._ Is there no work to do then?
_Michiel._ That won’t amount to much. Travellers won’t give us any
trouble, it’s not worth their while to cross the frontier just now; and
the farmers have their money under lock and key, and not a cent about
them to take a dram with.
_Maria._ Is there nothing else for you to do? Couldn’t you take your
rifle, in your spare time, and drill a little? Everybody is drilling
just now; there isn’t a child but can load at twelve different rates.
And you, of all others, ought to be ready to give an account of yourself
when the rebels come to pay us a visit. People on the frontier, if no
others, ought to be always in readiness.
(_Sings_) “Only with vigilance, powder, and ball,
In time of need, one can live at all
Upon the Belgian border.”
_Michiel._ Well! you’ve got hold of that sentiment by the wrong end. Let
me tell you the right way of it.
“He who would live in a border place
Must always exhibit a double face.
Let the Dutch army come—we’ll fly
Old Holland’s colours right merrily;
Let the Brabanters march this way,
And the Belgian flag goes up to-day,
And so in varying order.
Not by courage or powder and ball,
By cunning alone we can live at all
Upon the Belgian border!”
_Maria._ Do you know that you deserve to be hanged, with such infamous
principles as that?
_Michiel._ Why, it’s just to escape hanging that I want to put them into
practice, as our schoolmaster says.
_Maria._ Our schoolmaster used to say you were an ignorant ass; but I
see that at any rate you have remembered something.
_Michiel._ He shall be sorry, one of these days, for having spoken of me
in that way. But, never mind that, I have a good idea.
_Maria._ A fine one, I expect!
_Michiel._ Just listen. We cannot help it if one party or the other
wants to annex us; so we must try and keep friends with both, and make
each of them believe we are on their side. Now, I’ve asked the
house-painter for a couple of pots of paint: there they are. You say I
never carry anything out; now you shall just see.
_Maria._ Well—and then?
_Michiel._ Why, you see, the Orange flag is still on the church tower?
_Maria._ Yes; and if you dare to touch it, I’ll scratch your eyes out!
_Michiel._ My idea was to paint it with the Brabant colours on the side
towards Brabant. If the Dutch come from the north—very good! they see
the Orange flag. If the Brabanters come from the south—very good too!
they’ll see their own colours.
_Maria._ Well, that’s a nice invention!
_Michiel._ Isn’t it? I think they ought to give me a prize out of the
village treasury; for in this way I am saving every one from
embarrassment.
_Maria._ But you’ve forgotten one thing!
_Michiel._ Forgotten! What’s that?
_Maria._ When the wind changes, the Brabanters will see Orange, and the
Dutch the Brabant colours; and then, perhaps, both of them will bombard
the village, and you in it—which would not be the worst loss of all.
_Michiel._ That’s true; I never thought of that. But, after all, is
there no contrivance to prevent that? With a rope, for instance?
_Maria._ You’re a nice politician! It doesn’t do to forget that the wind
may change. So leave politics alone for the future, or I’ll tell the
master what sort of fellow you are.
_Michiel._ Would you go and tell tales, just because I have a little
more sense than the master? He will get us all into trouble before he’s
done, because he can’t give and take.
_Maria._ Then both of you taken together ought to make a man after your
own heart. If you ask any of the poor people hereabouts, they will tell
you whether or not he knows how to give; and if you were in his place,
you would certainly do nothing but take.
_Michiel._ Yes; having is having, but getting’s the trick! Much good has
the master done himself, with all his giving away. Then you have the
King; what numbers of people he has helped out of his own pocket-money!
And what has he gained by it? Nothing! They are breaking his
window-panes with his own three-guilder pieces!
_Maria._ Would you follow the example of such ungrateful wretches?
_Michiel._ Just now the question is, What pays best? And if we are ever
to be man and wife, it will surely be necessary to scrape a little money
together first, if we want to live like decent people.
_Maria._ We man and wife! You may make your mind easy on that point!
_Michiel._ It’s not to be? Very good—you’ll change your mind some day,
and come asking me on your bare knees to make you my wife,—some day when
I’m a great lord, just like the man with the whale,[27] who is now a
general among the Brabanters.
_Maria._ If being a fool and a scoundrel is enough to give a man high
rank among the rebels, you will have plenty of chances; but I won’t talk
to you any more.
_Michiel._ Have you anything more to say? Because, if not, I’ll go to
sleep again.
_Maria._ Nothing but this, that for the present, not being a general as
yet, you might go to Peter Kluisken’s and fetch the pig that the master
has bought.
_Michiel._ A nice little job! To tramp all that way at this time of
night, and in the direction of the Belgian sentinels, too. Well, just
you look out; if I meet them, I bring them here—upon my word I will.
[_Exit._
_Maria_ (_alone_). The scoundrel! He is quite capable of doing it. And
_he_ expects to marry me? Not if I know it.
_Enter_ NICOLAAS, _the landlord, with a newspaper in his hand_.
_Maria._ Well, sir, what’s the news?
_Nicolaas._ Good news, my girl. A division of our brave North
Netherlanders is marching this way; perhaps they may even pass through
this village.
_Maria._ That would be a pleasure. I wish some of them would stay here,
then the brigands, who yesterday were only a few miles from this place,
would never dare to show themselves.
_Nicolaas._ I think they will keep pretty quiet for the future.
_Maria._ Are there any more news in the paper, sir?
_Nicolaas._ H’m! h’m! not so fast, child. [_Glances over the paper._]
They do not seem to have made up their minds yet at Brussels whom they
are going to have at the head of the Government.
_Maria._ I can quite believe that; and I don’t think there are many men
very eager to undertake the management of such a confused state of
affairs.
_Nicolaas._ They may seek long enough, the ungrateful hounds, before
they find another ruler under whom they will be as happy as they were
under our good old King.
_Maria._ Any news besides, sir?
_Nicolaas._ Do let me read in peace.... H’m! yes; they are complaining
of scarcity in all the Belgian towns.
_Maria._ Of course they are. They may hate the Dutch, but they’ll find
they can’t get on without Dutch money. What other news is there?
_Nicolaas._ The Powers have resolved to keep to the non-intervention
system.
_Maria._ Non-intervention! what’s that? It must be a fine thing whatever
it is; every one is talking about it.
_Nicolaas._ Well, how can I best explain it? It means ... not to meddle
with other people’s affairs. For instance, if your neighbour comes and
asks you to help him because his house is on fire, and you tell him to
put it out himself, for it’s no affair of yours,—that’s
non-intervention. But listen ... I hear the sound of horses’ hoofs. Who
can it be?
_A voice outside._ Does the burgomaster live here?
_Nicolaas._ Coming!
[Illustration:
“JUST COME IN, LIEUTENANT.”
]
Maria (looking out). Lancers! lancers!
_Enter_ EDELING, _with two lancers_.
_Edeling._ I want to speak to the burgomaster. Does he live here?
_Nicolaas._ Just come in, Lieutenant. Come in, gentlemen, I am very glad
to see you. What will your honour take? Maria, run to the cellar,
there’s a good girl, and bring up a bottle of the best.
[_Exit Maria._
_Edeling._ Not for me, thanks; I don’t want anything. My time is short,
and so are my orders.
_Nicolaas._ I won’t listen to a word before the gentlemen have had some
refreshment.
_Enter_ MARIA _with wine_; NICOLAAS _opens bottle_.