THE OWNER OF THE BLUE DAFFODIL
Vrouw Snieder, the notary's wife, sat by her window at work on a long
strip of red crochet lace. From her place she could see all who came
up the street, and, there being a piece of looking-glass set outside,
at right angles to the pane, also most who came down it. This, though
doubtless very informing, did not help the progress of the lace; but
that was of no consequence, Mevrouw always had some red lace in
making, and it might as well be one piece as another. With her, were
her two daughters, Denah and Anna, though Anna had no business there,
being supposed just then to be preparing vegetables for dinner. She
had only come into the room to fetch keys, but a remark from her
mother brought her to the window.
"There goes Vrouw Van Heigen's English miss," the old lady said, and
both her daughters looked at once.
"She has been marketing, I see; she seems a good housewife."
"She walks in the road," Denah observed critically; "It is so
conspicuous, I could not do it; besides, one might be run over."
"The English always walk in the road," her sister answered; "they
think everything will get out of their way, and they do not at all
mind being conspicuous."
"The English miss should mind," Denah said, "for she is not pretty; no
one looks at her to admire; besides she is poor and has to work
hard."
"Yes, yes," her mother agreed placidly; "she is a fine worker. Vrouw
Van Heigen is full of her praises; such a cook--she has twenty new
dishes, and everything is done quickly, one cannot tell how; it is
like having a magician in the house, so she says. Ah, there is Herr
Van de Greutz's Marthe going into the apothecary's. I wonder now--"
But her daughters were not interested in Marthe; the English girl at
the Van Heigens' interested them a great deal more. They continued to
talk about her a great deal afterwards, Denah going back with her
sister to the kitchen and the vegetables, so as to be able to do so
undisturbed.
"I will help you with these," she said; "then we can go out."
She sat down and took up a knife. "It is strange how much Vrouw Van
Heigen thinks of that girl," she said. "She has been there but one
month and already there is no one like her. She does not keep her in
her place very well; were she a daughter more could not be said. I
wonder how Mijnheer likes it."
"It was Mijnheer who engaged her," Anna said. "It is not likely that
he regrets. I hear that she has written some English letters for him
since one of the clerks has been ill. My father says she can cook like
a Frenchwoman, and that is something. As for Joost, it is surely of
little importance to him, he is too quiet to say anything to her; she
talks little; she must be shy."
Denah had nothing to say to this, although, seeing in which person her
own interest in the Van Heigens lay, she possibly found some comfort
in the assurance. After a little she remarked, "That girl has no
accomplishments; she is as old-fashioned as our Aunt Barje, a
_huisvrouw_, no more. It is strange, for the English women make fun
of us for this, and pretend that they are educated and advanced above
us; she is not, she can do nothing but speak a few languages; she
cannot sing nor play, she has read no science, she cannot draw, nor
model in wax, nor make paper flowers, nor do bead work; she could not
even crochet till I showed her how. I wonder if she has made any
progress with the pattern I gave her. Shall we go and see by and by? I
might set her right if she is in a difficulty, and we could at the
same time inquire after Mevrouw's throat; she had a weakness, I
noticed, on Tuesday."
Anna agreed; she was a most obliging sister, and a while later they
set out together for the Van Heigens' house. They did not walk in the
wide, clean road, but were careful to keep to the path, pausing a
moment to consult before starting for the other side when it was
necessary to cross over.
The Van Heigens' house stood on the outskirts of the town, a long way
back from the road. The bulb garden lay all round it, though
immediately in front was a lawn so soft and green that no one ever
walked on it. The house was of wood, painted white, and had a
high-pitched roof of strange, dark-coloured tiles; a canal lay on two
sides, which ought to have made it damp, but did not.
Vrouw Van Heigen was pleased to see the girls, and received them with
an effusiveness which might have suggested that a longer time than
four days had elapsed since they last met. She kissed them on both
cheeks, and led them in by the hand; she asked particularly how they
were, and how their mother was, and how their father was, and if they
were not very tired with their walk, and would they not have
lemonade--yes, they must have lemonade. "Julia, Julia," she called,
"bring lemonade, bring glasses and the lemonade."
Julia came from a little room which led off the sitting-room, carrying
the things required on a papier-maché tray. She wore a large,
blue-print apron, for she had been shelling shrimps when she was
called, and though she stayed to wash her hands, she did not think it
necessary to remove her apron. She had observed it to be the custom
hereabouts to wear an apron of some sort all day long, and she did not
differentiate between the grades of aprons as Denah and Anna did. She
set down the tray and shook hands ceremoniously with the sisters and
made all the proper inquiries in the properest way; she had also
observed that to be the custom of the place. Then she poured out the
lemonade and handed it round, and was afterwards sent to fetch a glass
for herself and a little round tray to set it on--every one had a
little tray for fear of spoiling the crimson plush table-cover. Julia
cannot be said to have been anxious for lemonade; Vrouw Van Heigen's
growing affection for her often found expression in drinks at odd
times, a good deal more often than she appreciated. On this occasion,
since she was doing the pouring out herself, she was able to get off
with half a glass.
They all sat round the table and talked; Julia talked a great deal the
least, but that did not matter, the others had so much to say. She
listened, admiring the way in which one little incident--a dog running
on the tram line and being called off just in time by its
owner--served them for a quarter of an hour. What economy of ideas it
was, and how little strain to make conversation! Then came Mevrouw's
throat, the little hoarseness Denah had noticed on Tuesday. It was
nothing, the good lady declared, she had not felt it. Oh, if they
insisted on noticing it, she would own to a weakness but no more than
was usual to her when the dust was about, and truly the dust was
terrible now, she could not remember when it had been so bad so early
in June. And so on, and so on, until they somehow came round to
crochet lace, when Julia was obliged to confess that she had not made
much progress with the pattern. She exhibited a very small piece with
several mistakes in it.
"Why," cried Denah, "I have done already almost half a metre of the
piece I began at the same time. Is it difficult for you?"
Julia said it was, and Vrouw Van Heigen added by way of apology for
her, that she had been busy making a cool morning dress.
"For yourself?" Anna asked. "Do you make your dresses?"
"This is for Mevrouw," Julia answered; "but I can make my own."
The Polkingtons had had to, and also to put an immense amount of
thought and work into it, because they were bound to get a fine effect
for a small expense, and that is not possible without a large outlay
of time and consideration. Julia did not explain this to the present
company, it would have been rather incomprehensible to them.
Anna was at once fired with a desire to make herself a cool morning
dress, and asked a dozen questions as to how, while Denah's busy
fingers undid the faulty crochet work, and her tongue explained the
mistakes. Mevrouw did not listen much to either, but noticing the
glasses were empty, pressed the visitors in vain to have more
lemonade. They refused, and finding them quite obdurate she toddled
into the little room where Julia had been doing the shrimps, to come
back again, bearing a large bladder-covered bottle of peach-brandy.
The girls declined this very firmly, but Julia was sent for more
glasses, and soon they were all sipping the rich flavoured liqueur
without protestation.
It was over this that they planned an expedition to the wood. No one
knew quite who suggested it; when people all talk at once it is not
easy to say who originates an idea; anyhow, it was agreed that the
weather was so dry and the trees so lovely and Mevrouw so seldom went
out. She really felt--did she not?--that she would enjoy making a
small excursion, she was so wonderfully well--for her. What did Anna
think her mother would say? Perhaps they might join together for a
drive?
Anna thought her mother would be delighted; indeed, she often spoke of
the charms of a country excursion; Denah was called upon to
corroborate, and did so volubly. Where should they go? Half-a-dozen
different places were suggested; why not go here, or there, or to the
wood? Yes, the wood, that would be lovely. They could take their tea
out; if they were well wrapped up, of course, protected from the damp
and the wind, might it not be possible?
So by degrees the plan was brought to the first stage. Denah and Anna
were to talk it over with their mother, and if she thought favourably
of it, then "we must see." By that time Denah had set the crochet work
quite straight, and with kisses and hand-shakings the visitors
departed. Julia went back to the little room where first she washed
the glasses that had been used, afterwards she finished the shrimps
and washed them and put them ready for supper in a china dish like a
large soap dish on three feet. When that was done, it was necessary to
lay the table for dinner and superintend the getting of that meal.
The Van Heigens dined at four. It had taken Julia all the month she
had been with them to in any way get used to that time. Mijnheer and
the only son, Joost, came in from the office for two hours then. The
office joined the house and the great dim orderly bulb barns joined
the office, so the father and son had not far to come in whichever
place they might be. Julia and Mevrouw fetched the food from the
kitchen and cleared the table, as well as getting their own meal; but
that was nothing when you were used to it, any more than was the
curious butter and nutmeg sauce that always seemed to play a part at
dinner.
Mijnheer had a good deal to say to Julia, principally about his
business. The letters she had written for him during the illness of
the clerk who usually did his English correspondence, had given her
some little insight into it. This she had profited by, being in the
first instance really interested, and, in the second, not slow to see
that the old man, far from resenting it, had been pleased. He talked a
good deal about his affairs now, giving her little bits of information
and explaining rather proudly his method of doing business, and his
father's and his grandfather's before him. Joost, as usual, said
little or nothing; he must have been five or six and twenty, but he
had hardly ever left the parental roof, and was usually so hard at
work that he had little time or inclination for frivolity. He had
earnest child-like blue eyes that Julia did not care to look at, any
more than she did the round yellow face of Mr. Gillat's watch. This
was rather a pity as she could not always avoid it, and certainly he
looked at her a good deal, in fact whenever he thought he was not
observed. Of course he always was observed, by her at least; that was
a foregone conclusion; the observation gave her some uneasiness.
After dinner the father and son went to sit on the veranda, and
Mevrouw helped Julia take the dishes into the white marble kitchen and
the glasses into the little off-room. Later, Julia came to sit on the
veranda, too--it was somewhat stuffy being all closed in with glass
windows. There they drank pale tea, the pot kept simmering on a
spirit-stove, and read the foreign papers which had just come. Mevrouw
did not read, she made tea and did crochet work, a strip like Vrouw
Snieder's, only yellow instead of red. Julia, it is to be feared, did
not try to master the pattern so kindly set right by Denah; she could
not resist the breath from the outside world which the papers brought.
At six o'clock Mijnheer and his son went back to the office, and
Julia, having washed the tea-cups, joined Mevrouw in the sitting-room.
It was never very light in that room, for the walls were covered with
a crimson flock paper and the woodwork was black; while the windows,
which looked on the canal, were always shaded till dark. They sat here
at work on the morning gown, till supper time. Mijnheer sometimes came
in an hour before supper, as early as half-past eight; Joost had
usually too much to do to come in before half-past nine. After supper,
when the things were cleared away, they had prayers; Mijnheer read a
chapter from the Bible, and they sat round the table and listened, and
afterwards he said, "Now we will pray," and they sat a while in
silence. Julia sat, too, her keen, observing eyes cast down and a
curious stillness about her. After that every one went to bed; Julia
and the maidservant had two little rooms right up in the eaves of the
house; the family slept on the floor below. Julia was glad of this,
though it was possible to imagine her room would be very hot in summer
and very cold in winter. But she was glad to be well above the
sleeping house, and to be able to look from her window across the wide
country, over the dark bulb gardens--laid out like a Chinese puzzle
with their eight-foot hedges--to the lights of the town on the one
hand, and, better still, to the dim curve of the Dunes on the other.
It is to be feared she sometimes spent a longer time at her window
than was wise, seeing the early hour at which she had to rise; but no
one was troubled by it, for she was careful to take off her shoes
first thing; the rooms were unceiled, and it was necessary to tread
lightly if one would not disturb people below.
On the day after that of Anna and Denah's visit, Herr Van Heigen
offered to show Julia the bulb barns. It was a Saturday, and so after
dinner, the workmen having all gone home, there was no one about and
she could ascend the steep barn ladders without any suffering in her
modesty. At least that was what Mijnheer thought; Julia, her modesty
being of a very serviceable order, may have given the matter less
consideration, but she accepted the offer.
The barns were very large and high, many of them three storeys and
each storey lofty. The light inside was dim, a sort of dun colour, and
the air very dry and full of a strange, not unpleasant smell.
Everything was as clean as clean could be; no litter, no dirt, the
floor nicely swept, the shelves that ran all round and rose, tier upon
tier, in an enormous stand that occupied the whole centre of the
place, all perfectly orderly. On the shelves the bulbs lay, every one
smooth and clean and dry, sorted according to kind and quality;
Mijnheer knew them all; he could, like a book-lover with his books,
put his hand upon any that he wished in the dark. It seemed to Julia
that there were hundreds upon hundreds of different sorts. Not only
hyacinths and tulips and such well-known ones in endless sizes and
varieties, but little roots with six and seven syllable names she had
never heard before, and big roots, too, and strange cornery roots, a
never-ending quantity.
Mijnheer told her they were not yet all in; many were in the ground
and had still to be lifted. This she knew, for she had seen the dead
tops of some in the little enclosed squares where they grew; from her
bedroom window, too, she saw others still in bloom--a patch, the size
of a tennis-lawn squared, of scarlet ranunculous, little blood-red
rosettes, sheltered by a high close-clipped hedge. And another patch
of iris hispanica, fairy flowers of palest gold and lavender,
quivering at the top of their grey-green stalks like tropical
dragon-flies hovering over a field of growing oats. These it seemed,
and many others, would be brought in by and by, then the great barns
would be really full. Mijnheer took up a root here and there, telling
her something of the history of each; explaining how the narcissus
increased and the tulips grew; showing her hyacinth bulbs cut in
half-breadthways with all the separate severed layers distended by
reason of the growing and swelling of the seeds between.
"Each little seed will be a bulb by and by," he said, "but not yet.
When we cut the root first, we set it in the ground and these begin to
grow and become in time as you see them now. Afterwards they grow
bigger and bigger till their parent can no longer contain them."
"Does it take long for them to grow full size?" Julia asked.
"It takes five years to grow the finest hyacinth bulbs," Mijnheer
answered, "but inferior ones are more quick. And when the bulb is
grown, there is one bloom--fine, magnificent, a truss of
flowers--after that it deteriorates, it is, one may say, over. Ah, but
it is magnificent while it is there! There is no flower like the
hyacinth; had I my way, I would grow nothing else, but people will not
have them now. They must have novelties. 'Give us narcissus,' they
say; 'they are so graceful'--I do not see the grace--'Or iris'--well,
some are fine, I allow, but they do not last in bloom as do hyacinths.
The mourn iris of Persia is very beautiful; we have not one flowering
yet, but we shall have by and by. I will show you then; you will think
it very handsome. When it blooms I go to it in the morning and dust
the sand from the petals. I feel that I can reverence that flower; it
is most beautiful."
"Is it very scarce?" Julia asked.
"Somewhat," Mijnheer answered; "but we have things that are more so,
we have many novelties so called. Ah, but we have one novelty that is
a true one, it is a wonder, it has no price, it is priceless!" He drew
a deep breath of almost awed pride. "It is the greatest rarity that
has ever been reared in Holland, a miracle, in fact--a blue daffodil!"
Julia refrained from mentioning that she had heard of the rarity
before; she leaned against the centre stand and listened while the old
man grew eloquent, with the eloquence of the connoisseur, not the
tradesman, over his treasure. There was no need for her to say much,
only to put a question here and there, or make a sympathetic comment;
with little or no effort she learned a good deal about the wonderful
bulb. It seemed that it really had been grown in the Van Heigens'
gardens, and not imported from Asia, as Mr. Cross thought. There were
six roots by this time; not so many as had been hoped and expected, it
did not increase well, and was evidently going to be difficult to
grow.
"Would you like to know the name which it will immortalise?" the old
man asked at last. "It is called Narcissus Triandrus Azurem Vrouw Van
Heigen."
"You named it in honour of Mevrouw, I suppose?" Julia said.
"I did not; Joost did."
"Mijnheer Joost?" she repeated.
"Yes," the father answered. "It is his, not mine; to him belongs the
honour. It is he who has produced this marvel. How? That is a secret;
perhaps even I could not tell you if I would; Nature is wonderful in
her ways; we can only help her, we cannot create. Yes, yes, it is
Joost who has done this. He seemed to you a retiring youth? Yet he is
the most envied and most honoured man of our profession. I would
sooner--there are many men in Holland who would sooner--have produced
this flower than have a thousand pounds. And he is my son--you may
well believe that I am proud."
And Mijnheer beamed with satisfaction in his son and his blue
daffodil. But Julia leaned against the stand in the dry twilight,
saying nothing. Money, it appeared, was not then the measure of all
things; neither intrinsically, as with Mr. Alexander Cross, nor for
what it represented in comfort and position, as with her own family,
did it rank with these bulb growers. They, these people whom her
mother would have called market gardeners, tradespeople, it seemed,
loved and reverenced their work; they thought about it and for it,
were proud of it and valued distinction in it, and nothing else. The
blue daffodil was no valuable commercial asset, it was an honour and
glory, an unparalleled floral distinction--no wonder Cross could not
buy or exploit it. In a jump Julia comprehended the situation more
fully than that astute business man ever could; but at the same time
she felt a little bitter amusement--it was this, this treasured
wonder, that she thought to obtain.
The next day, Sunday, Julia went to church with Mijnheer and Joost;
Mevrouw did not find herself well enough for church, but she insisted
that Julia should not stay at home on her account. Accordingly the
girl accompanied father and son to the Groote Kerk and listened to
the rather dull service there. For the most part she sat with her eyes
demurely cast down, though once or twice she looked round the old
barn-like place, and wondered if there were any frescoes under the
whitewash of the walls and whence came the faint, all pervading smell,
like a phantom of incense long forgotten. When service was over and
they came out into the sunny street, Mijnheer announced that he was
going to see a friend. Julia, of course, must hurry home to set the
table for the mid-day coffee drinking, and afterwards prepare for
dinner. Joost was going back, likewise, and to her it was so natural a
thing they should go together that she never thought about it. It did
not, however, seem so to him, and after walking a few paces in
embarrassment, he said--
"You would perhaps prefer I did not walk with you?"
"Oh, no," she answered, in some surprise; "I shall be pleased, if you
are going the same way, that is."
He fidgeted, becoming more embarrassed. "You are sure you do not
mind?" he said. "It is a little conspicuous for you."
Then she understood, and looked up with twinkling eyes. "I am afraid I
am conspicuous, anyhow," she said.
This was true enough, for her clothes, fitting like an Englishwoman's,
and put on like a Frenchwoman's (the Polkingtons all knew how to
dress), were unlike any others in sight. Her face, too, dark and thin
and keenly alert, was unlike, and her light, easy walk; and if this
was not enough it must be added that she was now walking in the road
because the pavement was so crowded.
Joost stepped off the path to make room for her and she saw by his
face that his mind was not at ease.
"Pray, Mijnheer," she said, in her softest tones, and her voice had
many tones as her companion had not failed to notice, though he was
not aware that the softest was also usually the most mischievous,
"will you not walk the other side of the way? Then you will not be
conspicuous at all."
"I do not mind it," he said, blushing, and Julia decided that his
father's description of him as a retiring youth was really short of
the mark. They walked along together down the quiet, bright streets;
there were many people about, but nobody in a hurry, and all in Sunday
clothes, bent on visiting or decorous pleasure-making. Everywhere was
sunny and everything looked as if it had had its face washed; week
days in the town always looked to Julia like Sundays, and Sundays,
this Sunday in particular, looked like Easter.
In time they came to the trees that bordered the canal; there were old
Spanish houses here, a beautiful purplish red in colour, and with
carving above the doors. Julia looked up at her favourite doorpiece--a
galleon in full sail, a veritable picture in relief, unspoiled by
three hundred years of wind and weather.
"I think this is the most beautiful town I was ever in," she said. Her
companion looked surprised.
"Do you like it?" he asked. "It must be quite unlike what you are used
to, all of it must be."
"It is," she answered, "all of it, as you say--the place, the ways,
the people."
"And you like it? You do not think it--you do not think us what you
call slow, stupid?"
She was a little surprised, it had never occurred to her that he, any
more than the others, would think about her point of view. "No," she
answered, "I admire it all very much, it is sincere, no one appears
other than he is, or aims at being or seeming more. Your house is the
same back and front, and you, none of you have a wrong side, the
whole life is solid right through."
Joost did not quite understand; had she not guessed that to be likely
she would hardly have spoken so frankly. "I fear I do not understand
you," he said; "it is difficult when we do not know each other's
language perfectly."
"We know it very well," Julia answered; "as well as possible. If we
were born in the same place, in the same house, we should not
understand it better."
He still looked puzzled; he was half afraid she was laughing at him.
"You think I am stupid?" he said, gravely.
She denied it, and they walked on a little in silence. They were in
the quieter part of the town now and could talk undisturbed; after a
little he spoke again, musingly.
"Often I wonder what you think of, you have such great, shining eyes,
they eat up everything; they see everything and through everything, I
think. They sweep round the room, or the persons or the place, and
gather all--may I say it?--like some fine net--to me it seems they
draw all things into your brain, and there you weave them and weave
them into thoughts."
Julia swallowed a little exclamation, and by an effort contrived not
to appear as surprised as she was by this too discerning remark. She
was so young that she did not before know that children and child-like
folk sometimes divine by instinct the same conclusions that very
clever people arrive at by much reasoning and observation. She felt
decidedly uncomfortable at this explanation of Joost's frequent
contemplations of herself.
"You seem to think me very clever," she said.
"Of course," he answered simply, "you are clever."
"No, I am not," she returned; "ask your mother; ask Denah Snieder;
they do not think me clever. What can I do, except cook? Oh, yes, and
speak a few foreign language as you can yourself? I cannot paint, or
draw, or sing; I do not understand music; why, when you play Bach, I
wish to go out of the room."
"That is true," he admitted; "I have felt it."
Julia bit her lip; she had never before expressed her opinion of Bach,
and she did not feel in the least gratified that he had found it out
for himself.
"It is absurd to call me clever," she said. "I have little learning
and no accomplishments. I cannot even get on with the crochet work
Denah showed me, and I do not know how to make flowers of paper."
"But why should one make flowers of paper?" he asked, in his serious
way. "They are not at all beautiful."
"Denah makes them beautifully," she answered.
The argument did not seem to carry weight, but Julia advanced no
other; she thought silence the wisest course. They had almost reached
home now; a little before they came to the gate, Joost opened the
subject of herself again. "I think sometimes you must make fun of us;
do you not sometimes in your heart laugh just a little bit?"
"I laugh at everything sometimes," she said; "myself most of all. Do
you never laugh at yourself? I expect not; you are very serious. I
will tell you what it is like: a little goblin comes out of your head
and stands in front of you; the goblin is you, a sort of you; the
other part, the part people know, sits opposite, and the goblin laughs
at it because it sees how ridiculous the other is, how grotesque and
how futile. My goblin came out into my room last night and laughed and
laughed; you would almost have heard him if you had been there."
They had reached the gate now, and as Joost held it open for her to
pass through, she saw that he had blushed to the ears at the lightly
spoken words--if he had been in her room last night; the impropriety
of them to him was evident. For a moment she blushed, too, then she
recovered herself and grew impatient with one so artificial--and yet
so simple, so self-conscious--and yet so unconscious, so desperately
stupid--and yet so uncomfortably clear-sighted.