He is an elderly amiable little Dutchman in a soft felt hat; his name is
BOSCH, and he is taking me about. _Why_ I engaged him I don't quite
know--unless from a general sense of helplessness in Holland, and a
craving for any kind of companionship. Now I have got him, I feel rather
more helpless than ever--a sort of composite of SANDFORD and MERTON,
with a didactic, but frequently incomprehensible Dutch BARLOW. My
SANDFORD half would like to exhibit an intelligent curiosity, but is
generally suppressed by MERTON, who has a morbid horror of useful
information. Not that BOSCH is remarkably erudite, but nevertheless he
contrives to reduce me to a state of imbecility, which I catch myself
noting with a pained surprise. There is a statue in the Plein, and the
SANDFORD element in me finds a satisfaction in recognising it aloud as
William the Silent. It is--but, as my MERTON part thinks, a fellow
_would_ be a fool if he didn't recognise William after a few hours in
Holland--his images, in one form or another, are tolerably numerous.
Still BOSCH is gratified. "Yass, dot is ole Volliam," he says,
approvingly, as to a precocious infant just beginning to take notice.
"Lokeer," he says, "you see dot Apoteek?" He indicates a chemist's shop
opposite, with nothing remarkable about it externally, except a Turk's
head with his tongue out over the door.
"Yes, I (speaking for SANDFORD and MERTON) see it--has it some
historical interest--did Volliam get medicine there, or what?"
"Woll, dis mornin dare vas two sairvans dere, and de von cot two blaces
out of de odder's haid, and afderwarts he go opstairs and vas hang
himself mit a pedbost."
BOSCH evidently rather proud of this as illustrating the liveliness of
The Hague.
"Was he mad?"
"Yass, he vas mard, mit a vife and seeks childrens."
"No, but was he out of his senses?"
"I tink it was oud of Omsterdam he vas com," says BOSCH.
"But how did it happen?"
"Wol-sare, de broprietor vas die, and leaf de
successor de pusiness, and he dells him in von mons he will go, begause
he nod egsamin to be a Chimigal--so he do it, and dey dake him to de
hosbital, and I tink _he_ vas die too by now!" adds BOSCH, cheerfully.
Very sad affair evidently--but a little complicated. SANDFORD would like
to get to the bottom of it, but MERTON convinced there is _no_ bottom.
So, between us, subject allowed to drop.
SANDFORD (now in the ascendant again) notices, as the clever boy,
inscription on house-front, "Hier woonden Groen Van Prinsterer,
1838-76."
"I suppose that means Van Prinsterer lived here, Bosch?"
"Yass, dot vas it."
"And who was he?"
"He vas--wol, he vos a Member of de Barliaments."
"Was he celebrated?"
"Celebrated? oh, yaas!"
"What did he _do_?" (I think MERTON gets this in.)
"Do?" says BOSCH, quite indignantly, "he nefer do _nodings_!"
BOSCH takes me into the Fishmarket, when he directs my attention to a
couple of very sooty live storks, who are pecking about at the refuse.
"Dose pirts are shtorks; hier dey vas oblige to keep alvays two shtorks
for de arms of de Haag. Vhen de yong shtorks porn, de old vons vas
kill."
SANDFORD shocked--MERTON sceptical.
"Keel dem? Oh, yaas, do anytings mit dem ven dey vas old," says BOSCH,
and adds:--"Ve haf de breference mit de shtorks, eh?"
What _is_ he driving at?
"Yaas--ven _ve_ vas old ve vas nod kill."
This reminds BOSCH--BARLOW-like--of an anecdote.
"Dere vas a vrent to me," he begins, "he com and say to me, 'Bosch, I am
god so shtout and my bark is so dick, I can go no more on my lacks--vat
vas I do?' To him I say, 'Wol, I dell you vat I do mit you--I dake you
at de booshair to be cot op; I tink you vas make vary goot shdeak-meat!"
Wonder whether this is a typical sample of BOSCH'S _badinage_.
"What did he say to that, Bosch?"
"Oh, he vas vair moch loff, a-course!" says BOSCH, with the natural
complacency of a successful humorist.
We go into the Old Prison, and see some horrible implements of torture,
which seem to exhilarate BOSCH.
"Lokeer!" he says, "Dis vas a pinition" (BOSCH for "punishment") "mit a
can. Dey lie de man down and vasten his foots, and efery dime he vas
shdrook mit de can, he jomp op and hit his vorehaid.... Hier dey lie
down de beoples on de back, and pull dis shdring queeck, and all dese
tings go roundt, and preak deir bones. Ven de pinition was feenish you
vas det." He shows where the Water-torture was practised. "Nottice 'ow
de vater vas vork a 'ole in de tile," he chuckles, "I tink de tile vas
vary hardt det, eh?" Then he points out a pole with a spiked prong.
"Tief-catcher--put 'em in de tief's nack--and get 'im!" Before a
grim-looking cauldron he halts appreciatively. "You know vat dat vas
for?" he says. "Dat vas for de blode-foots; put 'em in dere, yaas, and
light de vire onderneat."
No idea what "_blode-foots_" may be, but from the relish in BOSCH'S
tone, evidently something very unpleasant, so don't press him for
explanations. We go upstairs, and see some dark and very mouldy
dungeons, which BOSCH is very anxious that I should enter. Make him go
in _first_, for the surroundings seem to have excited his sense of the
humorous to such a degree, that he might be unable to resist locking me
in, and leaving me, if I gave him a chance.
Outside at last, thank goodness! The Groote Kerk, according to BOSCH,
"is not vort de see," so we don't see it. SANDFORD has a sneaking
impression that I ought to go in, but MERTON glad to be let off. We go
to see the pictures at the Mauritshuis instead. BOSCH exchanges
greetings with the attendants in Dutch. "Got _another_ of 'em in tow,
you see--and collar-work, _I_ can tell you!" would be a free
translation, I suspect, of his remarks. Must say that, in a
Picture-gallery, BOSCH is a superfluous luxury. He _does_ take my
ignorance just a trifle too much for granted. He _might_ give me credit
for knowing the story of Adam and Eve, at all events! "De Sairpan gif
Eva de opple, an' Eva gif him to Adam," BOSCH carefully informs me,
before a "_Paradise_," by Rubens and Brueghel.
This rouses my MERTON half to inquire what Adam did with it.
"Oh, _he_ ead him too!" says BOSCH in perfect good faith.
I do wish, too, he wouldn't lead me up to Paul Potter's "_Bull_," and
ask me enthusiastically if it isn't "real meat." I shouldn't mind it so
much if there were not several English people about, without
couriers--but there _are_. My only revenge is (as MERTON) to carefully
pick out the unsigned canvases and ask BOSCH who painted them; whereupon
BOSCH endeavours furtively to make out the label on the frames, and then
informs me in desperation, "it vas '_School_,'--yass, _he_ baint him!"
BOSCH kindly explains the subject of every picture in detail. He tells
me a Droochsloot represents a "balsham pedder." I suppose I look
bewildered, for he adds--"oppen air tance mit a village." "Hier dey vas
haf a tispute; dis man say de ham vas more value as de cheese--dere is
de cheese, and dere is de ham." "Hier is an old man dot marry a yong
vife, and two tevils com in, and de old man he ron avay." "Hier he dress
him in voman, and de vife is vrighten." "Hier is Jan Steen himself as a
medicine, and he veel de yong voman's polse, and say dere is nodings de
madder, and the modder ask him to trink a glass of vine." "Hier is de
beach at Skavening--now dey puild houses on de dunes--bot de beach is
schdill dere."
Such are BOSCH'S valuable and instructive comments, to which, as
representing SANDFORD and MERTON, I listen with depressed docility. All
the same, can't help coming to the conclusion that Art is _not_ BOSCH'S
strong point. Shall come here again--alone. We go on to the Municipal
Museum, where he shows me what _he_ considers the treasures of the
collection--a glass goblet, engraved "mit dails of tobaggo bipes," and
the pipes themselves; a painting of a rose, "mit ade beople's faces in
de leafs;" and a drawing of "two pirts mit only von foots."
Outside again. BOSCH shows me a house.
"Lokeer. In dot house leef an oldt lady all mit herself and ade
sairvans. She com from Friesland, yassir."
Really, I think BOSCH is going to be interesting--at last. There is a
sly twinkle in his eye, denoting some story of a scandalous but
infinitely humorous nature.
"Well, Bosch, go on--what about the old lady?" I ask eagerly, as MERTON.
"Wol, Sir," says BOSCH, "she nefer go noveres."...
That's _all_! "A devilish interesting story, _Sumph_, indeed!" to quote
Mr. Wagg.
But, as BOSCH frequently reminds me, "It vas pedder, you see, as a
schendlemans like you go apout mit me; I dell you tings dot vas not in
de guide-books." Which I am not in a position to deny.
[Illustration]