had lain in ambush for some time; for ever since he had witnessed the
doctor’s repeated visits, his curiosity had known no bounds.
“Well, Mr Van Elst,” he began, feigning great surprise at meeting him
there, “and how are you all at home?”
“Oh, first-rate,” said Van Elst; “mother sick, child sick, and husband
no longer master in his own house!”
“Bless me!” said Mr Smits. “Come, I’ll walk up and down a bit with you.
I understand how it is when the wife is ill, especially a wife like
yours, but we’ll hope she’ll soon be herself again. And then things will
be all right, won’t they?”
This was very diplomatic on Mr Smits’s part; he wanted to know about
more than the wife’s illness. It was a well-calculated move, for the
whole story came out.
“_All right!_ No, indeed, we shall not. What upsets my temper is those
guests of mine. You will hardly believe, Mr Smits, what a tiresome,
irritating fellow that Martendijk is, with his terror of infection, and
his eternal complaints about his health. And what a heartless creature
his wife is! But, above all, what studied egoists they both are!”
Mr Smits had to hear it all; how worn-out Jo was; how their guests had
taken advantage of them; how he had been driven into giving that
confounded party. “And if I could once for all just give them a piece of
my mind—but you see I can’t, as they are my guests. My wife is always
giving me nudges and winks to keep me quiet; and if I do break loose
occasionally, I get nice little scoldings from her into the bargain. Oh,
there’s no standing the life I lead just now!”
“And is there no chance of their leaving soon?” asked Mr Smits.
“Oh, no! they talk of remaining another month at least,” replied Van
Elst, in so despairing a tone, that his neighbour pitied him from the
bottom of his heart.
“But if there are unwelcome guests in one’s house, it’s surely easy to
find some way of getting rid of them?”
“I don’t know any way. They are not particularly sensitive on some
points.”
“You may ask what old Smits has to do with it,” began the bachelor; “but
you must remember I have gradually grown to take an interest in you and
your wife.”
“Take care, Mr Smits, I am jealous,” cried Max, who had totally
recovered his good-humour now he had unbosomed himself.
“Absurd! an old fellow of sixty!” said Mr Smits, not a little flattered.
“But what I wanted to ask you was, may I try to devise some plan for
your deliverance?”
“Oh, yes; and if you succeed I’ll be grateful to you all my life.”
The first thing put into Van Elst’s hand next morning, when he sat down
to his early coffee in the verandah, was a carefully sealed note from
his old neighbour over the way. It was concise, and to the point.
“FRIEND,—Your wife is feverish. Your cousin has a dread of infection.
Is there any danger of typhus?—Yours,
“SMITS.”
With a heartier laugh than he had indulged in for a long time, Van Elst
sprang to his feet. “The very thing! What a capital idea!” He would take
steps at once.
“How is Cousin Jo?” asked Emily half-an-hour later at the
breakfast-table.
“No better,” said Max gravely; “I would not go near her if I were you,
Cousin Emily; I think she’s asleep.”
The doctor came, and pronounced the patient convalescent; so he sat
chatting sociably with her for some time, and then left her, prescribing
a tonic.
Scarcely was he gone when Max joined his cousins in the front verandah.
“What a long time the doctor stayed,” Emily remarked. “It’s nothing
serious, is it?”
Van Elst preserved an ominous silence.
“Cousin Jo will soon be going about again, I hope?” asked Martendijk,
with some concern; for domestic affairs had not gone so smoothly, nor
had they, personally, fared so well, since Mrs Van Elst had been laid
up.
Max’s face assumed a very serious expression. “Going about! No, indeed,
not for a while yet.”
“What do you say?”
“Well, you see—h’m—after all,” said Max, as if making a sudden resolve,
“I think it’s best to tell you frankly, the doctor is afraid of typhus
fever.”
“_Typhus!_” shrieked Martendijk. “Good Heavens! Emily, d’ye hear?”
“Yes,” said Emily, and, to her credit, we must confess that her first
thoughts flew to the poor husband and children, who, if the worst should
happen, would lose so devoted a wife and mother. “Alas! Cousin Max,” she
said, “how terrible.”
“Was the doctor quite sure of it?” asked Martendijk, his face blanched
with mortal terror, the remembrance of which long remained an unfailing
source of amusement to Van Elst.
“No, not at all certain; he thought it might perhaps be small-pox,” he
replied.
Martendijk stared at him in the wildest consternation.
“Good God!” he stammered, “that’s no trifle either. Small-pox and typhus
fever! One every bit as infectious as the other!”
“Yes,” said Max, “small-pox especially. Well, I’m off to the office,” he
concluded. “Good-morning, you’ll go and see after my wife every now and
then, won’t you, Emily?” he asked, as he sprang into his _bendy_.
“No, Emily, indeed you’ll do nothing of the kind, I hope,” cried
Martendijk, as soon as Van Elst was beyond earshot. “You might bring
back infection, and——”
“Ah! Piet, you really are rather a coward in that respect.”
“Yes; but, Emily, _small-pox_! Just fancy if you were to take it——”
“Well, of course; but you need not be so ready to accept it as a fact.
If Max were sure of it he would not have been so calm about it.”
“Dearest,” and Piet’s voice was as meek as any child’s, “I hope you
agree with me, we must get away from this _at once_.”
“What would people say if we left Jo——”
“Oh! my dearest wife, do not agitate me with all these objections!”
“It looks so cowardly, Piet. And the climate here agrees with you so
well. And the building is not finished yet.”
“Well, we must just make the best of it. Anything rather than remain in
this infected atmosphere. Oh, Emily, dearest Emily, have you no more
affection for your husband? O Lord! the pain, the pain! The shock has
set it going again!”
* * * * *
When Van Elst came home from his office at mid-day, his “boy” brought
him another letter. It was not from Smits this time, however, but from
the Martendijks.
“DEAR COUSINS (it ran),—You will quite understand our haste to get
away, now your house is attacked by such a terrible epidemic. We would
willingly have remained much longer, and it is our intention to repeat
our visit soon.
“In the meantime accept our cordial thanks for the hospitality you
have shown to us.
“Though your behaviour to us has not been all it might have been, dear
Cousin Max, we do not bear you the slightest grudge, and are quite
ready to excuse it, knowing what a bad effect the liver has on the
temper.
“We wish dear Jo a speedy recovery, and earnestly trust that she may
be spared to her husband and children.—With our kindest regards, your
affectionate cousins,
“P. & E. MARTENDIJK.”
“Hurrah!” exclaimed Van Elst. “Hurrah! Jo! our guests are gone!”
Though Jo received the news with considerable consternation, and
thought it disgraceful and inexcusable in Max to joke about anything
so terrible as typhus fever (in which Max agreed with her penitently),
it was amazing how rapidly she sprang out of bed,—the departure of her
guests proving more effective than all the doctor’s tonics.
So when their old neighbour strolled past the Van Elsts’ house a
little later, with an air of indifference, and Max rushed out to tell
him the glad news, and to thank him for his friendly and timely help,
he found Mrs Van Elst in the verandah, as bright and merry as ever,
ready to assure him—though she insisted on thinking it a disgraceful
proceeding!—that he had done her a great service by his lucky
inspiration.
An invitation to a quiet dinner on the following day was the result;
and the dinner was so good, the host in such excellent spirits, and
the hostess so sweet, that the solitary old bachelor caught himself
thinking, as he always did when a spectator of the Van Elsts’ domestic
bliss, “I might have known this sort of thing too, if only——”
ANNIE FOORE.
BIOGRAPHICAL INDEX OF WRITERS.
[Illustration]
BUNING, ARNOLD WERUMEUS, born at Uithuizen (Groningen), in 1846, and
served in the Dutch navy from 1861 to 1876, when he was forced by
ill-health to retire on a pension. He then settled in his native
town, but afterwards removed to the Hague, where he now lives. He
is the author of a great number of short stories, mostly more or
less naval, and one or more novels, of which the principal is “The
Burgomaster’s Inheritance” (Leyden, 1873), and frequently
contributes to _Eigen Haard_ and Elsevier’s _Geïllustreerd
Maandschrift_. He is not remarkable for the subtleties of humour,
his genius being more akin to the rattling fun and boisterous
spirits of such writers as Captain Marryat and the late Henry
Kingsley. But he can be touching too, and there is unaffected
pathos as well as fun in the little volume, “Marim-Schetsen,” from
which our extract is taken. The education of the orphan boy by his
father’s old mate, “The Red ’Un,” who trains him up with unsparing
rigour in the way in which all good sailors should go, is good in
both ways; so is the sketch (in _Verschillende Ouwe Heeren_) of
old Jan Hallema, the Hilligermond pilot.
CATS, JACOB,[46] born at Brouwershaven, in Zeeland, 1577; died
September 12, 1660; and was buried in the Kloosterkerk at the
Hague. He studied law at Leyden, and then travelled in France and
Italy. Returning, he practised as a lawyer in his native town for
some years. His health gave way, and he visited England in order
to consult Dr William Butler, at Cambridge, but received no
benefit. He went home to die, but was unexpectedly cured by a
strolling alchemist. He then settled at Middleburgh, and married.
His profession seems to have left him abundant leisure for poetry,
and for enjoying the society of his family at his country place of
Grypskerke. It was during this period he produced his “Emblems of
Fancy and Love,” “Galatea,” “Mirror of Past and Present,” and
“Marriage” (Houwelick). In 1621 he was appointed Pensionary
(stipendiary magistrate) of Middleburgh, and in 1623 transferred
to the same office at Dordrecht. In 1627 he was sent on a
diplomatic mission to England, and knighted by Charles I. After
his return he lost his wife, and dedicated to her memory the
_Trouwringh_ (“Wedding Ring”), published in 1635. In 1636 he was
chosen Grand Pensionary of Holland, resigned his office in 1651,
and in 1657 went on another unsuccessful embassy to England, where
he delivered a Latin oration before the House of Commons. On
coming back to Holland he retired to his villa of Zorgvliet, near
the Hague, where he devoted himself once more to farming and
poetry, and died at the age of seventy-three. He has always been a
most popular writer in Holland, his mixture of canny morality and
shrewd homely wit being in thorough accordance with the national
genius, which found his long-windedness no drawback. His
reputation for “soundness,” and his tendency to preach also, no
doubt secured his popularity among a nation peculiarly suspicious
of heterodoxy, frivolity, and anything “without a moral at the
end,” though it must be said that his notions of propriety appear
to be somewhat large when judged by present-day standards. It may
seem difficult to believe, after all this, that he possessed the
faintest spark of humour; but his shrewd mother wit makes him
sometimes amusing, even to an outsider, and now and then he
records a touch of that “detached outlook in life, which goes to
the making of a real humorist.” Southey, who read Dutch among
other things, and was probably introduced to a great deal of Dutch
literature by the poet Bilderdijk, has a highly complimentary
reference to him in the epistle to Allan Cunningham:
... “Father Cats,
The household poet, teacheth in his songs
The love of all things lovely, all things pure.
Best poet, who delights the cheerful mind
Of childhood, stores with moral strength the heart
Of youth, with wisdom maketh mid-life rich,
And fills with quiet tears the eye of age.”
Cats’ works used to occupy in Dutch households the position of the
“Pilgrim’s Progress” and Fox’s “Book of Martyrs” in old-fashioned
English ones. He is still popular, not only among his Protestant
countrymen, but even in Belgium, and a complete edition of his
works has lately been issued at Antwerp. It includes a large
collection of proverbs, some of the quainter ones being given in
the text. A translation of some of his “Zinne-Beelden” was
published, under the title of “Moral Emblems,” by Richard Pigott,
in 1860, in a large and handsome volume, with reproductions of the
original woodcuts.
CREMER, JACOBUS JAN, born at Arnheim in 1827, is now living at the
Hague. He devoted himself for a time to painting, but in time
entirely abandoned the pencil for the pen. He is most successful
in his village stories, the best being located in his native
“Betuwe,” which he calls “The Paradise of Holland.” The list of
his works, which include novels, short stories, and sketches
(published in serial collections), and plays, is far too long to
reproduce. Like Dickens, he was at one time conspicuously
successful in giving readings and recitations from his own works.
DEKKER, EDWARD DOUWES, best known by the pseudonym of _Multatuli_, was
born at Amsterdam, March 2, 1820. He went to Java in 1840 or 1841,
with his father, the captain of a vessel, and shortly afterwards
obtained a Government clerkship. After a succession of
appointments in different places, at one of which he made the
acquaintance of the lady who afterwards became his first wife,[47]
he became “Assistant Resident” at Lebak,—a post which he threw up
in 1856, because the Governor-General would not listen to his
representations with regard to the extortion and tyranny practised
by the native chiefs, and (indirectly) by the Dutch Government.
Coming home, he embodied his opinions and experiences in the novel
of “Max Havelaar,” which, crude and formless as a literary
production, startled the reading public with its origin and
audacity, and, having regard to the effect it produced, may fitly
be called the Dutch “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.” For some time after
landing in Holland he and his family were in the greatest
distress, as through his hasty resignation he had forfeited the
pension which would have been due to him in another year or two.
He obtained some grudging help from his wife’s relations, who
offered to provide for her entirely if she would leave him, and
were righteously indignant at her refusal. With the appearance of
“Max Havelaar” his success as a literary man was assured, and from
thenceforth he was able to live by his pen, though continually
harassed by debts (he was careless, generous, and extravagant, and
had a constitutional incapacity for accounts), controversies, and
quarrels, well or ill founded, with friends or foes. After the
death of his first wife, he was married a second time—to Mej.
Schepeles—and made his home in the Rhineland, first at
Niederingelheim, and then at Wiesbaden. He died at Mainz, in
February 1887. Perhaps his best work is to be found in the _Ideen_
(filling in the collected edition of his works some seven
volumes). They are a kind of continuous rambling _causerie_,
contributed to a Dutch daily, the _Dageraad_, and ranging over
every possible topic, full of aphorism, paradox, epigram, and with
an occasional story woven in here and there. The most important of
these is the delightful fictitious biography of Wouter Pieterse,
which, though certainly not an autobiography, incorporates many of
the experiences of his childhood and youth. It was never finished,
and proceeds in a most capricious manner, being frequently
interrupted by digressions for dozens of pages together, and then
suddenly taken up again. Some extracts are given from this and
other parts of the _Ideen_. Most of his other works, except the
dramas “The Bride in Heaven” and “The School for Princes,” are of
a more or less occasional and fugitive character. But Multatuli’s
position is not to be measured by the mere number and extent of
his works. He is a distinct force in modern Holland, and a name to
conjure with to the younger generation of Dutch readers.
EEDEN, F. VAN, is the editor of the _Nieuwe Gids_, and author of
novels, sketches, critical articles, &c., besides the poem
“Ellen,” and some plays, including the comedy from which our
quotation is taken, and a farce, “The Student at Home.”
FOORE, ANNIE, is the pseudonym of Mevrouw W. J. F. Ijzerman, whose
maiden name was Francisca J. J. A. Junius, daughter of a learned
theologian, the minister of Tiel. She was born at the latter place
in 1847, and married an engineer, at Padang, Sumatra, in 1873. Her
principal works are the novels, “The Colonial and his Superior”
(1877), “A Family Secret,” “Florence’s Dream,” and several volumes
of short stories. The specimens in the present volume are taken
from “Family Life in the East Indies.” She has great power of
observation, a fine sense of humour, and an easy flowing style of
narrative, though sometimes her stories are defective in
construction. Her pictures of colonial life are admirable. For the
translation of the story “Unbidden Guests,” I am indebted to Miss
Margaret Farquharson, of Selkirk.
HUYGENS, CONSTANTIJN, born 1596, at the Hague. His godfathers were the
Admiral Justinus von Nassau and the City of Breda; he was named
after the “constancy” shown by the latter to the House of Orange.
He enjoyed a singularly complete and brilliant education, studied
law at Leyden, and became, in 1625, private secretary to Prince
Frederick Henry. He was on friendly terms with Hooft, Cats, and
the beautiful and talented daughters of Roemer Visscher,—Anna and
Tesselschade. Like Cats, he had visited England (in 1618), where
he made the acquaintance of John Donne, whose poems he afterwards
translated, and whose influence is visible in his writings. He was
knighted by James I. in 1622. He married in 1627, and the loss of
his wife, ten years later, was the great affliction of his life.
He had four sons, the second being the celebrated mathematician,
Christian Huygens, and one daughter. He continued his political
activity till 1672, when, being to a certain extent superseded on
account of his advanced age, he devoted himself to literature and
(like most Dutch gentlemen) to gardening at his villa of Hofwijk,
near the Hague; he died there in 1687. His works are of various
kinds,—didactic and descriptive poems (“Batava Tempe”), satires
(“The Costly Request”), epigrams (we give a few translations), the
frightfully coarse farce of “Trijntje Cornelis” (taste of the
times again!), &c. His best poem is “Oogentrost” (Eye Comfort),
dedicated, in 1647, to a friend, Lucretia van Trello, who feared
she was going blind. He also wrote a Latin autobiography, under
the title “De Vita Propria Sermones.” He published his collected
poems under the title “Corn Flowers.” Personally he seems to have
been in every way worthy of respect, and is described as “one of
the most lovable men that ever lived.”
KELLER, GERARD, born at Gouda, February 13, 1829. He was for some time
stenographer to the Dutch parliament, and afterwards editor of the
_Arnheimsche Courant_. He is a clever journalist, and voluminous
writer of fiction, in which latter department he would appear to
have been influenced by Dickens. His earliest novel, “The Tutor’s
Family,” appeared in 1857; “Overkompleet,” the sketch from which
our extract is taken, appeared in a volume with other short
stories in 1871, but has been reprinted in a complete edition of
his “Novellen,” of which three volumes have already seen the
light. Among his other novels we may mention “The Mortgage on
Wasenstein” (1866), “The History of a Halfpenny, and other
Stories” (1872), “Off the Rails” (1872), &c. He is also the author
of several volumes of travel-sketches, among which we may mention
four illustrated quarto volumes, “Amerika in Beeld en Schrift,”
and a lively description of a tour in Scotland (“Een Uitstapje
naar de Schotsche Hooglanden”), which has appeared quite recently.
Keller acted as a newspaper correspondent in France during the
Franco-German War, and his experiences there resulted in two
books, “Paris Besieged” and “Paris Murdered.” Besides all this he
has written several comedies, and numerous contributions to
periodical literature, and is now, we believe, the editor of the
monthly magazine, _Vreemd en Eigen_, having previously edited, at
different times, _Kunst Kroniek_ and the _Geldersche Almanach_.
His style has a lightness of touch, perhaps due to French
influence, and conspicuously wanting in all but some of the most
recent Dutch authors, with the exception of Multatuli.
LAMBERTS-HURRELBRINCK, L. H. J., is a young writer, living at Leyden,
who has published more than one collection of short stories,
mostly dealing with the province of Limburg and its people. His
first volume, “Limburgsche Novellen,” was reviewed, with perhaps
undue severity, in _De Gids_ for July 1890—a judgment which, it is
said, was not altogether uninfluenced by party spirit. A later
volume is “Van Limburg’s Bodem.” The sketch in the text appeared
in _Elsevier’s Maandschrift_ for September 1892, and is to a
certain extent founded on fact.
LENNEP, JACOB VAN, one of the best known of modern Dutch writers.
Belonging to a literary family, he was born at Amsterdam in 1802,
studied at Leyden, and took a law degree in 1824, and settled as a
lawyer at Amsterdam. In 1854–56 he was a member of the Second
Chamber of the States-General. He died at Oosterbeek (Gelderland)
on August 25, 1868. His literary industry was so prodigious that
we cannot attempt to give a list of his works, which were chiefly
poems, novels (published in a collected edition of 19 vols.),
plays, and historical studies. Perhaps his best novel is “Klaasje
Zevenster,” from which the bit of description we have quoted is
taken. We give his comedy, “The Village on the Frontier,” entire.
SEIPGENS, EMILE ANTON HUBERT, born at Roermond (Limburg), August 16,
1837. He was at first in the brewing business, but is now a
teacher of German language and literature in the “Rijks Hoogere
Burgerschool” of his native town. He has written several plays,
some of them in the Roermond dialect, and two or three volumes of
short stories, most of them strongly “Limburgsch” in local colour.
The extract here given is taken from the volume entitled “In en om
het klein Stadje” (Amsterdam, 1887). Another collection is
entitled “Langs Maas en Geul.” He is an occasional contributor to
the monthly magazine _De Gids_, and also to Elsevier’s
“Illustrated.”
-----
Footnote 1:
The oldest “Chambers of Rhetoric” (or _Collèges de Rhétorique_—the
name probably originated in the French influence introduced by the
House of Burgundy) date back to about 1400, or some years previous.
The oldest would seem to be the “Alpha and Omega,” at Ypres, and the
Antwerp “Violieren” (wall-flowers). The most famous, perhaps, is the
Amsterdam association, “De Eglantier,” better known perhaps under the
name of its motto, “In Liefde Bloeiende” (Blooming in Love). They held
poetical competitions, placed upon the stage (usually with great
magnificence) plays written and acted by their members, and arranged
the most splendid pageants and processions on the occasion of any
festival or public rejoicing. They also celebrated festivals of their
own, the most important of which were known by the name of
_Landjuweelen_. In 1496 a great Landjuweel was held at Antwerp by
twenty-eight societies, at which the Eglantier gained the first prize.
But the most famous of all was the Landjuweel of 1561, also held at
Antwerp, beginning on the 3rd August, when the chambers of Brabant and
Flanders vied with one another in magnificence. The Brussels society,
“The Book,” was represented by 340 members, all on horseback in
crimson mantles. This festival was revived on the occasion of the
jubilee of the Belgian Academy of Antiquities, August 1892.
Footnote 2: