impartiality. Let us act without respect of persons—it is a wise rule, a
guarantee for the stability both of a government and a household. Let us
give no occasion for jealousy by measuring with two different measures.”
“But, papa——”
“Believe me, my dear, parents who show partiality are sowing the seeds
of unfriendly feeling, discord, hatred. Let us be wise, and not bow to
any antiquated principle of primogeniture. What human experience has
found to be fatal in society, must not be introduced into our smaller
circle by us, the individual units of society.”
“But in that case they might as well all keep their own hats, and trim
them up afresh.”
“Let it be so.”
How mamma was to settle matters with her daughters was her business; the
head of the family was concerned solely with the legislative, not with
the executive department.
“And Leida must keep her old hat because she has been so untidy; but she
will have to have a new ribbon on it.”
Van Arlen nodded assent.
They must have been great men who first preached impartiality, and
abolished the right of primogeniture. Here, in this individual instance,
was a saving of three new hats,—what economy would be effected by the
application of the system to a whole State!
“And you yourself, mamma?”
“I have been thinking of keeping on the mourning for another year. My
black dresses are all quite good still.”
“And we were so fond of poor Cornelia! When the mourning is worn out the
dead are forgotten, people say. We must show that it is not the case
with us.”
“Or that we have been careful of our clothes,” Van Arlen might have
added; but though this inference did not enter his head, another did.
“So we shall not go out this year?”
“I’m sorry, for the girls’ sakes; but it really is a duty. But, all the
same, we must not keep them quite shut up either.”
“No, of course not.”
Mijnheer and Mevrouw Van Arlen were silent for a little.
“We must not keep them shut up,” repeated the mother, thoughtfully. “Do
you think it possible you might some time be transferred, Van Arlen?”
“Oh, Hortense! don’t ask such questions.”
“It is not out of curiosity, but in the interest of our family. You are
in such favourable relations with people in high positions.”
“What do you think is the cause of this, mamma?”
“Well, your knowledge, your ability, your great——”
“Do you think that a man possessing such qualities—mind I don’t say I
possess them—has much chance of being sent away to a distance?”
“No, but—it is hard.”
“It may be hard,—but when a man is indispensable—I don’t say that I am
indispensable—he has to put up with it. The feeling that he is doing his
duty conscientiously to the State, ought to have most weight with
him,—and it certainly makes things easier.”
Van Arlen finished his tea, and handed the empty cup to his wife—the
usual sign that the audience was over.
“Another cup?”
“Yes, please—but no sugar.”
This condition was as stereotyped as the dessert; papa only took one cup
with sugar; the ladies did not care for sugar, except at evening
parties, when they took it to prevent mistakes and confusion.
Van Arlen then went to work,—read, signed documents, made a note here,
and drew his pen through a sentence there,—and became so absorbed in his
work that he never heard Marie come in on tiptoe, to set down the humble
domestic cup of tea on the table covered with State documents. At the
stroke of half-past nine Van Arlen rose, and once more made his
appearance in the family sitting-room, where an old-fashioned card-table
had been set out. After working all day, he found that his mind needed
some relaxation. His wife and two of the daughters,—who took turns in
this, as in other things, were already seated; the cards were dealt, and
he had only to begin. They were playing whist for recreation, and not
for money—therefore no reckoning was necessary; but the marking was done
with laudable accuracy, and every mistake was severely reproved—for the
furthering of every one’s enjoyment; for enjoyment without seriousness
does not deserve the name.
Papa never spoke a word except what was required by the game, and did
not like any talking to go on in the room; so that the five daughters
who were not playing, sat silent round the big table, each with her
needlework, thinking about the hats they were not to have, the mourning
that their mother was to go on wearing, the ball to which they were not
invited, the opera they never went to, the new fashions other people
were going to wear, the novel they were in the middle of, but which must
not be read aloud now papa was in the room, the riches they missed, the
enjoyment they did not know, the past that was so poor, and the future
that did not promise to be richer.
There was a ring at the bell.
All the ladies looked up; even papa laid down the cards he was just
about to deal.
“Brother Van Noost Prigson!” said Mevrouw, in a tone of some anxiety,—as
well she might, for there was no meat in the larder—in fact, nothing in
the house but a small angle of cheese, and a few ounces of ginger from
the uneaten dessert.
Van Arlen said nothing: he was never precipitate, and in all
circumstances of life preserved his presence of mind.
“What a quiet little ring!” said Frederica.
“Could it be a message from the Minister, papa?”
“Leen has not heard the bell—shall I ring?”
Mevrouw Van Arlen assented, and the sitting-room bell was heard—a
quicker and more excited ring than the heavy, respectable front-door
bell.
“The bell rang, Leen.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m here.”
“No—the front-door bell.”
“No, indeed it didn’t, ma’am.”
“We all heard it.”
“Impossible,” muttered the maid to herself, as she went to see; “or else
it must be some one who pulled the bell and ran away—and you can’t be
always on the look-out for that.”
All listened in strained expectation. The front door was opened, but no
sound of voices came from it; it was closed again, and Leentje was heard
shuffling off to the kitchen.
“She might come back and say who it was,” mamma assented.
Leentje was again sent for.
“Who rang the bell, Leentje?”
“Just as I thought, ma’am,—it was some boy that ran away.”
Mijnheer Van Arlen was inwardly very indignant that his family—among
whom so good a tone prevailed—should make such an exhibition of
themselves in the presence of a servant. Mamma blamed the girls’
curiosity, but could not unconditionally accept the theory of the
boy,—Leentje had been too long at the front door for that. If it turned
out that she had been speaking to a “fellow” there, she would have to
leave next day. That sort of thing would not do in a respectable house.
The girls likewise declined to believe in the boy—the bell had been rung
too quietly. They wanted to go out and look whether anything had been
pushed under the door. Then it struck Antoinette that the mysterious
ring might be connected with burglary, and this opinion gave rise to
some eager whispering, which caused papa to turn a frowning brow, not
once, but twice, in the direction of the large table. In an unguarded
moment Leida slipped out into the passage, to institute an investigation
_in loco_, but neither on nor under the door-mat was there any trace of
a paper. All conjectures remained fruitless.
If the little street-boy, with the newly mended kettle on his back, who,
merrily whistling his favourite tune, had crossed the quiet street, and
pulled the bell, to give his aunt’s sister-in-law a run from the kitchen
for nothing,—if that small evil-doer had known what a change and
excitement he had caused in a respectable family, insomuch that Van
Arlen himself, who filled such an important post, had laid aside for a
moment the business which occupied him, he would probably have repeated
the experiment on the following evening—if only out of pity for the
monotonous life of the seven ladies, to whom even the pulling of the
bell was an event.
The night has passed;—the little, sputtering, flickering night-light,
which burns in Van Arlen’s bedroom—for Van Arlen does not believe in
having no light in the house, one never knows what may happen—has
consumed all its oil and gone out. The insolent sun, which has no pity
for faded carpets and curtains, has penetrated everywhere; and if one
could walk through the Van Arlens’ house at this hour, when their high
tone is still asleep, one would lose much of the reverence inspired by
the important position, the refined manners, and the ceremonious
intercourse with each other of its inhabitants.
But at this hour in the morning no one walks through Van Arlen’s house
except the maid, who, by the terms of her engagement, is bound to “do”
two rooms before breakfast. This involves rising before five, though she
does not go to bed any earlier for that; she is also supposed to answer
the door, go out once in four weeks, “if it suits,”—and have neither
right nor claim to any extras beyond her wages, which are moderate, and
her perquisites, which are _nil_.
To be weighed against all this is the great advantage of living with
respectable people, and that is a great deal in these days, Mevrouw
says. Besides this, Leentje is a “whole” orphan, and therefore ought to
appreciate the privilege of finding a home with such a family—though it
is true that Mevrouw Van Arlen will never engage a servant with any
parent or relative living, to save trouble with their families.
But the Van Arlens are far too respectable to let us waste any more time
over their servant,—more especially as by this time they are all
assembled at breakfast, with the exception of the head of the house, for
persons who do much brain-work need more rest than those who only tire
their bodies—so Mijnheer says. Mevrouw is seated before the tea-tray—the
daughters take cold water. Nothing is wholesomer than cold water.
Moreover, butter—at least, much butter—is bad for the health. Bread in
large quantities is also unhealthy, and the ladies prove, by the extent
of their breakfast, that they quite subscribe to this opinion. The
“whole orphan,” also, is educated in the same doctrine, but she is
allowed to poison herself every morning with coffee—so long as she does
not exceed her two ounces a week.
“I don’t know how it is, mamma, but that ringing the bell last night
does worry me,” said Frederica, by way of morning reflection; and the
other girls reflected also, and talked it over, and objected, or
supported each other, as if there were really an interesting question at
stake,—till papa’s arrival restored silence. He cast one glance over the
paper, which no one was allowed to inspect before him, for fear the news
might evaporate, and then put it into his pocket,—for girls have no
business with newspapers, and his wife did not care to see it. During
the meal he spoke little—he was oppressed by the prospect of all the
important affairs awaiting him; and he ate his bread and butter, and
drank his tea, with a solemnity which made it difficult to realise that
they were only ordinary bread and tea.
Presently he rose. “Oh! papa! you scarcely give yourself time for
breakfast!” said his wife, and he did not dispute the proposition. He
kissed her and his daughters on the forehead in silence, put on his hat,
and went to his office, thoughtful and abstracted, as if bowed down by
the weight of his position. He did not even see people who bowed to him;
as for miscellaneous human beings, they were not worth his attention.
Suddenly some one stopped him.
“This is lucky! I was just on my way to your house!” cried this person
in a loud voice,—so loud that all the bystanders could hear Van Arlen
being addressed like an ordinary human being. “Have you been out to a
funeral this morning?”
A well-regulated smile hovered for a moment about the official’s
mouth,—“No, brother.”
“You look just like it. How are they all at home?—your youngsters
growing up—eh? Nothing particular going on?”
Thus talking, Brother Van Noost Prigson walked along beside Van Arlen,
and entered with him—no, actually preceded him—into the door of the
building where he exercised his important functions. Preceded him! Van
Arlen went down five per cent. in the estimation of his subordinates
that day; and when his own messenger, with a low bow, threw open the
door of his private office, Van Noost Prigson was again the first to
tread the magnificent carpet, on which inferior officials scarcely dared
to set foot when expressly summoned by their chief.
“Not much to do—eh?”
“On the contrary, I am very busy to-day.”
“Well, well—reading and signing documents, and all that sort of thing—I
could do that too.”
“I shall have to sign about three hundred and forty separate papers.”
“Well—I’d do that in half-an-hour; but if you really are busy, I won’t
keep you. I’ll come and dine with you to-day.”
“Very good—and in that case, I’ll see——”
“Don’t give yourself any trouble. I’ll call in and see Hortense myself.
You know you needn’t make any difference in your ways for me, and I
daresay you couldn’t very well afford it either.”
Van Arlen looked at his brother-in-law as if to ask, “Do you mean to
insult me,” but his expression changed as he met the glance of the
cheery but penetrating eyes. “Living is dear at the Hague,” he said.
“The more fool you, then, to stay here—and with seven daughters, too!
Just listen, Van Arlen,—I have a plan, but I can’t carry it out without
your help.”
“Let me hear it before I promise.”
“My plan is—to make Van Arlen rich.... Where did you get that ridiculous
thing?” he suddenly broke off.
“Which?” asked the official—following Prigson’s eye, which was directed
to his breast.
“Why—that bit of ribbon. I never heard of your getting it. From Santa
Claus, I suppose?”
“I don’t understand you, Prigson; if you mean my Order, I make it a
point of honour to wear it, and I don’t like its being made a joke of.”
“A joke, my dear fellow? I have the most fervent respect for all orders
of knighthood—especially if they are sent home on St Nicholas’ Eve....
Come in! Beg pardon—I forgot this was _your_ place. Can I stay?”
Van Arlen glanced at the door,—it was only a clerk with documents, and
Prigson was suffered to remain while the clerk waited and the official
signed.
“This is the sort of thing that goes on all day long.”
“Well—it seems to me you earn your money pretty easily. But say, Van ...
I suppose no one can hear us talking here?”
“No one.”
“Well,—it doesn’t matter to me, but I shouldn’t like it on your
account,—I want some money.”
Van Arlen drew the palm of his hand across his forehead, and stared at
his brother-in-law without answering.
“I’m so fearfully in debt that I don’t want to give the alarm. I should
be much obliged if you could let me have those thousand florins I lent
you. In a month or two you can have them again, if you want; but I’ve
got to live till then, and I have nothing left.”
“It comes at a very inconvenient time, Prigson.”
“My dear fellow, I would like nothing better than to give you a receipt
for the whole sum in full; for you’re a good fellow, and have to
struggle so hard, one ought not to make it harder for you. But, just say
now, when _would_ it be convenient?”
Van Arlen thought for some minutes.
“At the beginning of next year,” he said slowly.
“I wish I could wait so long. I wish I could; but I have an expensive
undertaking on hand, which will perhaps by next year put me in a
position to accommodate you. But, for the moment, I _must_ have money;
and I dare not try to raise it myself for fear of ruining my credit,
which I can’t do without just now.”
“Come in!” said Van Arlen, in answer to a knock at the door.
“His Excellency would like to speak to you,” said the clerk.
“So those fellows let themselves be called Excellency, do they? I
thought that was bad form now-a-days,” said Prigson, loud enough to be
heard by the clerk. But Van Arlen did not reply, he was too thankful for
the chance of escape from his brother-in-law.
“I suppose you’ll be gone some time? An Excellency like that has plenty
of time for talking; _he_ doesn’t work himself to death,” said Prigson.
“It may be a couple of hours before I can get away.”
“In that case I’ll say good-bye. By-the-by, is there any place where I
can see the papers? Are you a member of the Besogne Club?”
“At the White Club you’ll find all the daily papers.”
“And will one of your cards be enough to admit me?”
“I haven’t a card here, but——” Van Arlen looked round, and his eye fell
on the card of one of his subordinates. “This will do just as well.”
“_Merci!_” said Prigson, with a just perceptible smile, and left him.
When Van Arlen returned from the Minister’s private room, he sent to ask
the functionary whose card he had given to Prigson to come to him, and,
while waiting, wrote a note to his wife, informing her of that
gentleman’s arrival.
Before the note had reached its destination, however, the person in
question had already appeared on the scene. He had been shown into the
_salon_, where, after sending up his name, he paced up and down for
about half-an-hour, vainly seeking for diversion in the four framed
engravings representing the divisions of the day, typified by English
ladies in the large bonnets and short waists of a fashion forty years
old. The alabaster clock, with gilt ornaments, was not going—it had not
gone for twenty years,—and the vases were as clumsy in form as monstrous
in colouring.
“Everything dates from the year twenty,” muttered Prigson, after a hasty
glance at one article and another, “and these things never break! The
whole house and furniture is of the year twenty—the girls too. Is none
of them going to appear? Hortense surely doesn’t require to make such a
toilette.”
He pulled the bell. It had given no sound for the last ten years;—but,
as it happened, the maid was just passing the door.
“Look here, my girl—you seem smart enough—just run upstairs and tell
your mistress I have only ten minutes to spare, and I have to go out of
town again directly.”
“Thank Heaven!” thought Mevrouw, when the maid came up with the message,
“then he won’t stay to dinner!” and in another moment she was
downstairs, endeavouring, by extra cordiality, to remove the impression
which the long waiting must have produced on Prigson.
“I’m sorry, brother, you can’t stay to dine with us in a quiet way,” she
said after a time.
“If you really make a point of it, Hortense, I can alter my plans to
suit,” answered Prigson; “but you must not let me put you out in any
way.”
“Oh! not in the least; certainly not. You are always welcome, and our
table is large enough. And what are you doing just now?”
“At this moment I am living on my means, for the last enterprise came to
nothing. But now I really have my eye on something good. You must try
and persuade Van Arlen to take it up; it is certain to make him rich——”
He was interrupted by “Good-morning, uncle!” in three different voices;
and the three eldest Van Arlens proceeded to welcome Prigson, who, in
entire disregard of the tone of the house, embraced them one after the
other.
“Always the same,” said their mother, smiling, and shaking her finger at
him, and the three girls blushed and sat down. Then appeared the two
next, to be welcomed in the same way; and presently the two youngest
turned up, to be likewise honoured by their uncle. All seven were as
neat as if they had come out of bandboxes, and each had some fancy-work
in her hand.
When the subordinate official whose card Van Arlen had given to Prigson
appeared in the former’s room as desired, he was received with—
“Oh, Mijnheer Talm, I have just taken the liberty of using your name.”
“You do me a great honour, sir.”
“One of my relations, Herr Van Noost Prigson, from London, wished to be
introduced to the White Club, and you know I can’t go there!”
Mijnheer Van Arlen meant that his position was too important to allow of
his doing so. The official bowed—he quite understood that.
“I happened to have your card lying here, and I thought you would be
willing to do me that service.”
“Certainly, very much flattered. Can I be of any further service to your
relative? Take him about anywhere? But I don’t speak English.”
“Oh, he speaks Dutch quite fluently,” replied Van Arlen; “if one did not
know it already, one would never guess that he came from London. So it
might be as well not to mention it.”
“Very good, sir.”
Mijnheer Talm was about to withdraw, with a low bow.
“By-the-by, Mijnheer Talm, is Department Y in order?”
“I thought there was no hurry about it.”
“The Minister has been asking me about it to-day, so I should be glad to
have it as soon as possible.”
“I can promise to have it ready to-morrow.”
There was work enough in Department Y to occupy Talm all day and all the
evening, perhaps half the night as well; his meeting Uncle Prigson was
scarcely possible under the circumstances.
In any case, there was not much chance of this happening; for when
Prigson had left the Van Arlens’ house, with a promise to return at
dinner-time, he went straight to the White Club, and got himself
introduced by a Secretary of Legation; and when Leida went to the
confectioner’s to double the stock of dessert-ginger, she saw Uncle Van
Noost Prigson sitting at the club window! Her heart beat high with so
much grandeur.
And Talm’s conversation for the next six weeks consisted principally of
the English millionaire whom he had introduced at the White Club at his
chief’s request. He thought it would do him no harm at the next chance
of promotion.
We left Van Arlen alone in his private room at the Government office.
There are moments in life when one prefers not to be alone, yet has not
the courage to break away from solitude; moments when a seemingly
impossible resolution must be taken, when one would be thankful
if—instead of thinking and acting for one’s self—one could blindly
follow the dictates of another. All the weight of his important position
had never oppressed Van Arlen so much as the idea suggested to him by
his short interview with Prigson.
Imagine a man who, without knowing a note of music, is handed the score
of a symphony and told to read it. That was about his state of mind with
regard to the question Van Noost Prigson had asked him. He had not a
thousand guilders in the world—not even a hundred.
He walked up and down his room, staring at one thing and another, but
unable to forget that thousand guilders, and the smallness of his
salary. If he had a thousand—no, not one, but ten, twenty, a hundred
thousand—would he not be a happy man? Then he would really live, as he
now only had the appearance of doing;—distinguished society, pretty
dresses for his wife and daughters, all pleasant things vainly desired,
would be his! Imagination has peculiar force in such cases, and Van
Arlen’s painted this ideal life for him with rough but forcible touches,
till he was once more recalled to reality and the starting-point of his
reverie—the thousand guilders!
Where was he to get them? He _must_ have them. Sell his possessions? The
furniture was worth nothing. The pictures?—who knew if the English
engravings might not be rare and valuable? He did not understand such
things. He had indeed pretended to some knowledge of art, but he had
none. If he had only the smallest grain! What would a collector give him
for them? Two hundred and fifty guilders each? Surely they might be
worth that. Perhaps more—perhaps——
Then arrived documents for signature, and Van Arlen signed his
name—signed again, and yet again, and imagined that he was endorsing
bank-notes. Why was his name not of equal efficacy when written on a
cheque? He could always pay the amount later on; it was only for the
time he wanted it.
Suddenly Van Arlen stood still. “Temporary—only temporary—and if I pay
it back, no one will ever ask after it.” He opened a locked cash-box; it
contained more than enough to help him; it did not belong to him; it had
only been left in his care, to give account of when the sum was
complete. He stood up, and wiped his forehead, and once more paced up
and down.
Who was going to inquire after it? The Minister? He had other things to
think of. His colleagues? The affair did not concern them; they did not
even know of its existence. His inferiors? They would certainly mind
their own business; and if they did not,—after all, he was their chief,
and could give them what answer he thought fit. There it lay. He opened
the little parcel. Surely no one knew the numbers!
There was a knock at the door. Van Arlen started as if he had committed
a crime, yet kept looking at the money that had been entrusted to him.
It was in an unsteady voice that he said, “Come in.”