_Maria._ Nothing. [_She locks the cupboard, and returns the key to
D’Eglantiers._]
_D’Eglantiers_ (_aside to Maria_). If I ever get into the Government,
I’ll see that you have a pension.
_Maria._ I should like to ask you something, sir. First, about the
landlord,—my master, you know,—the man you took prisoner yesterday, and
who is in that room; will you set him free again?
_D’Eglantiers._ H’m! h’m! a rebel like that? but, since you ask it ...
well, go and fetch him!
_Maria._ And in the second place, will you let my sister and my uncle,
who are sleeping here, go back to their own village undisturbed?
_D’Eglantiers._ Where do they live?
_Maria._ Why ... not very far off.
_D’Eglantiers._ Well, if they lived at the other end of nowhere, I
should let them go, since it is you that ask it!
_Maria._ Very good; I’ll go at once and tell them.
[_Exit._
_D’Eglantiers_ (_aside_). That’s the right sort of girl! she’s saved me
from all my anxiety.
_Taelinck_ (_aside_). I don’t feel anything like easy about that affair
of the cupboard!
_Enter_ NICOLAAS.
_Nicolaas._ Captain, the maid tells me you have given orders for my
release.
_D’Eglantiers._ Yes; because that girl asked me, I’ve let you go, but
mind what you’re about next time. The council is going to assemble here,
and you may vote with the rest, because I want liberty to flourish.
_Enter_ PLUCKX.
_Pluckx._ Captain! here’s the council; are you ready for them?
_D’Eglantiers._ Yes, yes, let them come; but,—I tell you what,—let ten
or a dozen of our men come in too, so as to maintain full liberty during
the discussions; do you hear?
_Pluckx._ Very good, Captain.
[_Pluckx goes out, and returns with the principal men of the
village, headed by Michiel, as Burgomaster, and some
Volunteers._]
_Nicolaas_ (_to Michiel_). What in the devil’s name are you doing here?
Look alive, and get to the stables!
_Michiel._ Why, master, are you there? That’s lucky. I’ll have you for
my man-of-all-work, master!
_Nicolaas._ Why, man, are you gone wrong in your head? or——
_Michiel._ Not at all! The Captain here has made me Burgomaster of the
village;—so you see, sir, that things look very bad for you.
_D’Eglantiers._ Silence! The council is going to be opened, and every
one is to sit down.
[_The “Notables,” with Michiel in their midst, sit down in a circle,
while D’Eglantiers takes his place at a table, with Taelinck by
his side._]
_D’Eglantiers._ The _séance_ must be public, as is the proper thing for
all liberal governments.
_Nicolaas._ Of course—so that every one can hear the nonsense that is
talked.
_D’Eglantiers._ Therefore, Pluckx, open the door; but don’t let every
one in, or the room will be overcrowded, you understand?
_Nicolaas._ A very wise precaution!
[_The front door and shutters are opened. It is daylight._]
_D’Eglantiers._ Citizens! in the name of the Government, I offer you _la
liberté_, _les lumières_, _et l’ordre légal_. Do you understand that?
_The Schoolmaster._ It seems to mean the same thing as freedom,
enlightenment, and law and order.
_Nicolaas_ (_standing up_). Surely, sir, it is scarcely necessary to
give us what we have possessed for a long time already!
_D’Eglantiers._ Silence! I bring you liberty in all things,—no more
coercion,—no more monopoly! Education and trade are free. Is there a
school here?
_The Schoolmaster._ Certainly, sir, the Society for National Education—
_D’Eglantiers._ Done away with! Abolished! The parents are free from
henceforth, and, as a natural consequence, the children also. No more
schools; at any rate, none of the National Education Society’s!
_Nicolaas._ That I am quite willing to believe.
_D’Eglantiers._ Silence! Is there any factory in this _commune_?
_Nicolaas._ There are six, in which hundreds of people earn their
living.
_D’Eglantiers._ Monopoly must be abolished. Every one ought to be
allowed freely to make what he likes. Therefore all the factories must
be sacked.
_Nicolaas._ The factories sacked? Is that the freedom you are bringing
us? (_Turning to the Notables._) And you are going to allow this?
(_Confusion in the meeting._)
_D’Eglantiers._ Silence! _Volontaires!_ the first man that contradicts,
you are to shoot through the head. Otherwise free discussion becomes an
impossibility.
[_The Volunteers take aim._]
_Michiel_ (_quaking with terror_). Of course—the Cap—Captain is right.
The—(_in confusion_)—the factories must take his word for it. What a
kind amiable man the Captain is! Long live the Captain!
_D’Eglantiers._ All the ready money in the village must at once be
placed in my hands, in order to clothe my valiant troops.
_Nicolaas._ They can take care of themselves in that respect (_Points at
Pluckx._)
_D’Eglantiers._ All the wine and provisions in the place must be
presented to my troops as a voluntary gift.
_Nicolaas._ Anything else?
_D’Eglantiers._ All swords, guns, knives, spades, axes, pickaxes,
ploughshares—in short, all iron tools must be handed over to me.
_Nicolaas._ He’s not hard to please, _he_ isn’t.
_D’Eglantiers._ And the council is to deliberate whether it would not be
well to send in an address declaring their submission to the Government.
_Michiel._ A very good idea.
_Nicolaas._ I should like to say a word.
_D’Eglantiers._ Speak up!
_Taelinck._ He can’t speak. He is only the ex-Burgomaster; he is not
entitled to a share in the proceedings.
_D’Eglantiers._ Never mind—let him speak as one not entitled.
_Nicolaas._ If I may speak without danger, I should like to ask what
_is_ the Government that we are to submit to? I have already heard some
half-dozen sovereigns mentioned; and really I should not be surprised if
you had offered the crown to a Chinese mandarin.
_D’Eglantiers._ Tut! tut! all you’ve got to do is to submit—it doesn’t
matter to whom. That’s not your business.
_Nicolaas._ Then I vote against such an absurdity.
_The Schoolmaster and others._ So do I! so do I!
_D’Eglantiers._ I shall put you under arrest if you don’t vote as I tell
you.
_Nicolaas._ Is that what you understand by liberty?
_D’Eglantiers._ You are at liberty to talk as much as you like, but you
must vote as I wish.
_Nicolaas._ I thought you were more liberal than that, Captain!
_D’Eglantiers._ I can’t waste time arguing with you. [_Takes the
proclamation out of his pocket._] Here’s my manifesto. Let the
Burgomaster read it out loud.
_Michiel._ Silence! Let every one listen! (_Reads._) “Proclamation,—We,
Captain D’Eglantiers——”
_D’Eglantiers._ That’s me, standing here.
_Michiel_ (_reads_). “And Lieutenant Taelinck——”
_Taelinck._ Here’s the man you’re reading about, _compère!_
_Michiel._ “To all that shall read these presents, salutation!
salutation!” (_Bows._)
_D’Eglantiers and Taelinck._ Salutation!
_Michiel_ (_reads_). “Citizens! a Dutch army, ten thousand strong, is
marching on this village!” What’s this?
_D’Eglantiers._ That’s not on the paper, you scoundrel!
[_General consternation._]
_Michiel._ It is there—read for yourself!
_D’Eglantiers._ Then it’s a forged document—_parbleu!_
_Pluckx_ (_examines the paper_). It’s signed by you and the Lieutenant,
sir.
_All._ Go on! go on!
_Michiel_ (_reads_). “As I am not in a position, with the forces at my
disposal, to withstand so powerful an enemy, I hope you will not take it
ill of me if I beat a retreat——”
_All._ Well, now!
_Michiel_ (_reads_). “Within a quarter of an hour!”
_Nicolaas._ A pleasant journey to you!
_D’Eglantiers._ What sort of an infernal thing is this? [_Snatches the
paper out of Michiel’s hand. Aside to Taelinck._] Yes, indeed, there’s
my mark!
_Taelinck._ And mine, too!
_D’Eglantiers._ Then the girl has cheated us!
_Pluckx._ If ten thousand men are marching on us, the best thing we can
do is to march off in the other direction.
_Nicolaas._ And we will go to meet them.
_Michiel._ Yes, we’ll escort them in in triumph!
[_All the Notables, and the majority of the Volunteers, leave the
house._]
_D’Eglantiers._ What the——! What are you doing! Stay here! It’s all a
swindle!
_Enter_ MARIA, _with_ VAN WERVE _and_ CLARA, _disguised as_ _peasants_.
_Maria._ Captain, here are my sister and my uncle, who——
_D’Eglantiers._ Here! you child of Satan! I’ll sister and uncle you!
What sort of a paper is this that you’ve written? Come, now!
_Maria_ (_aside_). The fat’s in the fire now, and no mistake!
_D’Eglantiers._ Answer me! what sort of a paper is it?
_Maria._ Why, sir, haven’t you read it?
_D’Eglantiers._ I’ve heard it read, and——
_Maria._ Did you let it go out of your own hands?
_D’Eglantiers._ Insolent, too? Who’s asking questions, you or I?
_Maria._ A word in confidence, Captain? [_Draws him aside._] Don’t you
understand?—that was a trick of mine to——
_D’Eglantiers._ A trick?—a fine trick! I’ll——
_Maria._ Hush! hush! do! I knew that the Dutch troops were coming, and
in order to let you know it privately I wrote it down on that paper. I
hoped you would read it by yourself, and then act as circumstances might
demand.
_D’Eglantiers._ Well—in that case! But it is strange, though——
_Enter_ PLUCKX.
_Pluckx._ Captain, it’s time for you to show yourself. Half of our men
want to leave, and the villagers are beginning to arm!
_D’Eglantiers._ What the——[_Breaks off, and looks towards the
cupboard._] I must get hold of my bonds first. Lieutenant Taelinck, go
on. I’ll follow immediately.
_Taelinck_ (_also looking at the cupboard_). Aren’t you coming with us,
Captain?
_D’Eglantiers._ Presently, presently.
[_Taelinck goes out slowly, followed by Pluckx. D’Eglantiers runs to
the cupboard, opens it, and searches in vain for the packet._]
_Maria_ (_aside_). What shall I do now? Wait!—I have it.
[_Hastens out and comes back with Taelinck._]
_Maria_ (_to Taelinck_). It is just as I told you—the Captain has been
hiding gold and jewels in that cupboard.
_Taelinck_ (_comes forward, and taps D’Eglantiers on the shoulder_).
Well, Captain, what have you got there, say?
_D’Eglantiers_ (_surprised_). Eh! what?
[_Turns round, and seeing Taelinck, hurriedly closes the cupboard._]
_Taelinck._ You’ve hidden our booty there,—that’s quite clear. Open that
door again, and look sharp about it.
_D’Eglantiers._ What’s the good?—there’s no money in it.
_Taelinck._ I’ll report you!
_D’Eglantiers._ I won’t give you the chance! [_Draws his sword._]
_Taelinck_ (_defends himself_). You miserable thief.
[_They fight. Van Werve and Clara are about to take the opportunity
of escaping, when Pluckx enters with his men._]
_Pluckx._ What! fighting here? Why, the Hollanders are coming!
_D’Eglantiers._ What! Where? When?
[_Shouts of “Oranje boven!”[29] outside. Van Werve rushes at
Taelinck and disarms him._]
_Van Werve._ Yes!—“Oranje boven!”
_Pluckx._ Here they come! _Sauve qui peut!_
[_Tries to escape by the front door._]
_D’Eglantiers._ Where’s the back door?
_Maria_ (_calls after him_). Don’t forget your bonds, whatever you do!
[_As D’Eglantiers attempts to leave by the back door, Michiel
enters, accompanied by several Soldiers, and knocks him down
with a pitchfork, while Taelinck is being held by Van Werve.
Edeling, Nicolaas, Soldiers, and Armed Villagers enter by the
front door, and disarm Pluckx and the rest of the Belgians._]
_Michiel._ Halt! Captain! you were mistaken after all! “Oranje boven!”
_D’Eglantiers._ Traitor of a Burgomaster!
_Edeling._ My Clara!
_Michiel._ See there! I knew we should catch them.
_Nicolaas_ (_to the Dutch leader, pointing at Michiel_). Captain, you
had better secure this rascal! it was he who brought the rebels here.
_Michiel_ (_as he is seized by the Dutch_). How! what?—why, I showed you
the way myself!
_Maria._ The pitcher to the well—Michiel!
[_The insurgents and Michiel are led away._]
_Edeling_ (_seeing Maria_). Good-morning, my lass—didn’t I come back to
see you, as I said I would? (_To the others._) This is the girl who
helped me to escape.
_Van Werve._ She has served us all.
VAN LENNEP.
_PROVERBS._
He who lives with cripples learns to limp.
The best steersman stands ashore.
Self is the man.
He gives an egg to get a chicken.
They are not all princes who ride with the emperor.
He howls with the wolves when he is in the wood, and bleats with the
sheep in the field.
A little too late, much too late.
Stand still a while, you lose a mile.
The nearer Rome the worse Christian.
Call no herring before he’s in the net.
He who has choice has anxiety.
Don’t put too many eggs under one hen.
If fools were silent they’d be wise.
No man dies of threats.
The fowl that cackles most does not lay most eggs.
No mad dog ever ran for seven years.
One can see by the stockings whose leg is broken.
You should hang your cloak towards the wind.
No man ever limped for another’s sore foot.
It’s ill stealing where the host is a thief.
’Tis ill eating cherries with lords.
When slovenly people turn over a new leaf they polish the bottoms of the
saucepans.
What belongs to the ravens[30] will never drown.
All offices are greasy.[31]
What the sow does the little pigs must pay for.
With much pounding the stockfish becomes tender.
No man sees his own hump-back.
’Tis an ill water, said the horse, for he could not swim.
’Tis an ill morsel that chokes one.
Let them pump who are cold, I have my coat on.[32]
All that come of cats will go mewing.
Let the plover peck, I have the eggs in my hat.
Though the ape should wear a golden ring, yet he is an ugly thing.
He who has a fine cat should bring no furrier into his house.
Lands become sand, sands become land. (_Landen versanden, sanden
verlanden._ An epitome of the physical history of Holland.)
The greater jurist the worse Christian.
When the gnats dance in January the farmer comes to beggary.
Beware of a fair Spaniard and a swarthy Englishman.
Better sit still with an owl than fly with a falcon.
The first man in the boat has the choice of oars.
It’s the third strand that holds the cable.
Man overboard—an eater the less.
A tired horse would rather see a dirty stable than a clean high-road.
A woman’s hair pulls worse than the main-topsail.
At Boulogne there are more traps than mice.
White and black[33] were the making of Venice.
A hundred Dutchmen, a hundred knives.
A hundred Frenchmen, no knives.
A hundred Scots, two hundred knives.[34]
In Italy—too many feasts, too many chiefs, too many storms.
The Spaniard seems wise, and is not.
The Frenchman seems a fool, and is not.
The Italian seems wise, and is so.
The Portuguese seems a fool, and is so.[35]
A husband’s mother is the devil on the floor.
A house full of daughters is a cellar full of sour beer.
’Tis easy piping to those who love dancing.
Smoke, bad air, and scolding wives, are what drive men out of the house.
_A DUTCH PODSNAP._
“A glass of wine, mamma?”
“No, thank you, papa.”
“You, Caroline?”
“No, thank you, papa.”
“Frederica?”
“No, thank you, papa.”
Ditto, ditto, for Marie, Antoinette, and Hortense.
“Hendriek doesn’t take any wine?”
“Oh! no, papa.”
“And my Lijsje?”
“Oh! it would be dreadful, papa!”
Mijnheer Van Arlen, having gone through this ceremony, half-filled his
glass, filled it up with water, and then carefully corked the bottle, to
be put away for to-morrow. In this way it would be made to last ten
days, and as a rule it did so; for the above invitation to his wife and
seven daughters was renewed every day, and every day regularly declined.
However, there were some exceptions to this rule: in the first place,
when papa was on a journey. Every year papa had to take a journey for
the Minister; it was a mission of mysterious importance, whose
destination no one was to know. It always came off quite unexpectedly,
immediately after the receipt of his second quarter’s salary. On these
occasions the bottle, if it still contained any wine, was emptied by the
family, and papa’s own particular tumbler—a most precious one, of ruby
glass, with a flower-pattern, and the initials H. M. engraved on it—put
away in the china-cupboard for the space of ten days. For this
unexpected, mysterious, and important journey always lasted exactly ten
days, during which time the daughters enjoyed the mild joke of calling
their mother “Madame Veuve,” and were solemnly requested by her not to
do it, for, as she said, it was a sort of joke that always sent a cold
shudder through her. She preferred being called “little bride,” which
took place once a year, on her wedding-day, an occasion which formed the
second of the exceptions referred to above. On this occasion papa always
provided mamma with the surprise of a glass of port at dinner, and all
the seven daughters had some too, though in their hearts they would have
preferred not taking it, for they detested it—and it always gave one
such a colour in the evening!
The third exception—which was only half a one—occurred when papa had a
relation or a friend from out of town on a visit, when mamma would take
a glass; and then the bottle had to be finished, for wine only turns
flat if it is left standing.
To-day, however, was merely an ordinary day. Papa had received no
instructions as to his journey, and the wedding anniversary was some
time off; though the friend from out of town was expected, and might
arrive any week. He was something more than a friend—he was a late
brother-in-law; for Mevrouw Van Arlen—Hortense Muggenhout, as denoted by
the initials on the tumbler—had had a younger sister, who had married
Heer Van Noost Prigson, a most respectable man, as appears from his
double-barrelled name, which was never forgotten, either by himself or
the Van Arlen family. Mijnheer Van Noost Prigson had lost his wife not
long after the birth of his only son.
Uncle Van Noost Prigson had written to-day he would come; but he was a
man of business,—of much business,—and he wrote so quickly that
three-fourths of each of his letters were illegible. Fortunately, papa
was also a man of business, and in his responsible position was brought
into contact with so many matters—cipher, among others—that he was able
to read the writing of Uncle Van Noost Prigson, at least the greater
part of it. This time, however, the most important part of uncle’s
letter was in figures, and he always made his figures very indistinctly.
He said he might possibly come on the 3rd (it might also have been the
8th), unless it were the 10th—or (for the figures might equally well
have stood for that) the 21st—while at the end of the letter he added,
with equal distinctness, that it was to be between the 14th and 16th,
for which again one might have read the 24th and 26th. Equally uncertain
was the duration of his visit; its purpose, indeed, was explained, and
this papa thought fit to keep to himself. It must surely be a matter of
importance, thought the eight ladies, for the thought that he—with his
vast experience of all sorts of business—should have failed to decipher
this part of the letter never entered their heads for a moment.
Papa filled a most important office,—it was in the year 1846,—and in
consequence of one thing or another, perhaps in connection with the
mysterious journeys, he had, one 6th of December, received a token that
the State appreciated his services. Since that day, the said token had
been inseparable from the black coat, without which no one ever saw
Mijnheer Van Arlen. It was quite in harmony with the impressive wrinkle
on his forehead, which looked as though Van Arlen had for years been
staring upward in a bent position,—in harmony, too, with the compressed
lips, which seemed in continual fear of letting a State secret escape;
while his hair had become quite white, probably from the anxiety
occasioned by the weighty matters which occupied his head. The daughters
found in papa the type of a handsome man, and at the same time of a
thoroughly respectable one; mamma adored him with the enthusiasm which
every good housewife is bound to feel for her husband, and never spoke
of him except as “Mijnheer Van Arlen.” Conversely, he always referred to
his wife as “_Mevrouw mijne echtgenoote_;”[36] and he preferred to
allude to his daughters in numerical order, unwilling to admit the outer
world to so great a degree of familiarity as to speak to it of his
daughters by their Christian names.
Either the bottle had stood too long on this particular day, or some
other cause had spoilt Van Arlen’s taste for it; anyhow, he did not
finish his glass, and, when dinner was over, fixed a penetrating gaze on
the door, and remained silent.
“Are you not well, papa?” asked Caroline.
“Quite well, my child!”
“Difficult business?” asked Mevrouw, sympathetically.
“Oh! all business is difficult, mamma,” said Van Arlen, weightily, and
stared into nothing more perseveringly than ever.
Mamma sighed, and the daughters looked sadly at papa. Could Uncle Van
Noost Prigson’s letter be the cause of the trouble?
“Will you have any dessert, papa?”
The dessert was standing ready, as usual, on the small side-table. A box
of flat biscuits, a butter-dish, a corner of cheese under a glass cover,
and a little dish of fruit, or, if there was none to be had, of
preserved ginger. But papa did not care for dessert, and never took any,
except when the above-mentioned relation or intimate friend from the
country was present; for “a dinner is not complete without dessert.”
“No, thank you, my dear? Will you?”
“Oh! you know I never do. Shall we say grace?”
Grace was said, reverent and short, as is befitting in a house where a
good tone prevails, and papa folded up his napkin neatly, and laid it
beside his plate; whereupon Leida fetched the matches, and gave papa a
light, which he accepted with a gracious nod, just as he had done
yesterday, and the day before, and all the year round, with the
exceptions aforesaid. Then eighteen-year-old Leida gave her papa a light
kiss on his forehead, just above the broad wrinkle.
“Why, papa! you must not be so gloomy; just let me kiss the trouble
away,” said she.
“What tricks next?” asked papa, sportively; and mamma called her a
monkey, and all the six sisters thought it such a good thing that Leida
was in such spirits, and had such a knack of getting papa into a
cheerful humour.
Van Arlen lit his cigar, and went slowly and thoughtfully to his own
room, whither he was called by his weighty official cares, and where a
mysterious locked portfolio lay ready for him. He turned the key in the
lock, sat down in his easy-chair, and went to sleep. He was quite right
to lock himself in,—a State secret might so easily have escaped him in
his sleep,—nay more, the secret of his after-dinner nap, which was
entirely unknown to his household and the outer world, might have leaked
out. About half-past seven there was a modest knock at the door; the
person knocking waited patiently till all the State secrets should be
covered up; and when the door was opened, the table before Van Arlen was
strewn with papers. The inkstand, however, remained on the mantelpiece.
But she who entered the room suspected no deception, and was not on the
look-out for traces of it. Year after year it had been Mevrouw Van
Arlen’s habit to bring her husband his “first cup” at this hour, and the
ten minutes which he was accustomed to give her served for the
discussion of domestic matters. Papa listened attentively to what mamma
had spent on milk and on bread, on peas and beans and matches,—nothing
is too small for a great man,—and then handed out the exact amount from
the secret drawer of his writing-table.
“And then, papa, Caroline and Frederica and Marie ought to have new
hats.”
“And the three others?”
“They can have the old hats of the three eldest done up with new
trimmings.”
“And what becomes of _their_ old ones?”
“They can use them for every day.”
Van Arlen tried to form in his own mind a visible picture of the change;
but his habit of considering affairs of State somewhat dimmed and
confused his sight in matters of everyday life.
“I do not rightly understand you, my dear. It seems to me that the three
eldest might just as well have the hats of the next three, as the next
three have the hats of the elder ones passed on to them.”
“Caroline, Frederica, and Marie are the eldest.”