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 solemnlyrequested 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 mostimportant 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]andhe 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 theexceptions 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 oftheirold 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.”
“Is that a reason, mamma? Let us take, as our fundamental principle, 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, thinkingabout 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 investigationin 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 theseven 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 arenil.
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 thetea-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 wasyourplace. 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 makeit harder for you. But, just say now, whenwouldit 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, Imusthave 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;hedoesn’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 givento 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 thesalon, 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 alwayswelcome, 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 hisimportant 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? Hemusthave 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.”
“Mijnheer Van Teuten would like to speak to you.”
“Van Teuten?—I’m busy—well, one minute, then. Tell him to come in.”
The man ushered into the private room wrote a magnificent hand. For the moment that was nothing to the point—yet, after all, it was something, for Van Teuten owed his career to it—“the best hand in the department.” He did not write quickly—that was beneath his dignity—but for really beautiful writing no one could come near him.
Van Teuten was visibly disturbed, as he stood facing Van Arlen, who sat leaning over his desk. The cash-box was shut.
“Well, Mr Van Teuten?”
“Mr Van Arlen—I’m come—I hope you’ll excuse it. I’ve come to make a request, on which my future depends.”
Van Arlen looked up from his paper, and coughed importantly,fixing his dark eyes on the chief clerk, as though he suspected him of high treason.
“You know perhaps that—that I have absolutely no means of my own, and, with the title of assistant secretary (which I owe to my handwriting)”—here Van Teuten raised his head with a certain pride—“in spite of my handwriting, still only draw the salary of chief clerk.”
“Do you want to be promoted, Mr Van Teuten?”
“Promoted—that is to say, sir—not exactly; but, Mr Van Arlen, I can’t live! I’m poor, sir, and—if I write a good hand—Heaven forbid, sir, that I should boast of it; but, well, it is hard that one should have one’s merits, and be forced to suffer from poverty.”
Van Arlen gazed fixedly at the owner of the fine handwriting, and asked him for a definite statement of what he wanted—his time was valuable.
“Do excuse me, sir; but I’m nervous—I’m agitated. I shall have to pay my rent on Saturday—three-quarters’ rent, sir,—and I’ve nothing—nothing—not so much asthat!”
“Very sad for you, Mr Van Teuten, but you know that I can be of no use to you in this matter.”
“Nay, Mr Van Arlen, you can. I only want two hundred guilders—nothing more, and then I am saved—saved! And, you see, if I stood alone, sir, I shouldn’t care—I should find some way out of it,—but I have a wife and five children. Oh, God! Mr Van Arlen, it’s my last hope. Don’t let me go like this!”
Van Teuten pulled out a red pocket-handkerchief, and dried a few tears with it. Van Arlen stared at him, still lost in thought, and forgot the man’s request in the comparison he was drawing in his own mind, between this case and his own. At last he asked slowly, “What do you want me to do?”
“Lend me two hundred guilders, sir,—that’s all that I hope, I entreat, I beg of you——”
“Just listen to me, my good Van Teuten, and don’t get excited,—tears are not becoming in a man of your age. We’ve all got to work for our families, and some men in this world happen to be better off than others—but that’s no reason for giving way to passionate grief. As to your request, it’s out of my power to grant it. Next time there is any question of increase in salaries, I will do my best to improve your position, but for the moment I cannot help you. If I did, I should have all your colleagues asking me for the same thing to-morrow, and my position will not allow of my coming to the assistance of officials in this way.”
Van Teuten was searching his mind for a word—a sentence. To-morrow, when he did not want them, he might think of hundreds; now, he could find none that would add force to his entreaty. He soon gave up the effort, and tried another tack:
“The Minister is rich, sir,—don’t you think he might give or lend me two hundred guilders?”
Van Arlen looked straight at him. True, the Minister was rich, and what he refused Van Teuten he might yet be induced to grant to Van Arlen.
“If you would only speak for me, Mr Van Arlen,—I don’t want to exalt myself—and yet, I believe—don’t take it ill of me if I say so—I think my services are worth something—and if His Excellency would be willing to give me the money, I should be saved.”
“Probably His Excellency would have the same reasons for declining as myself; but I cannot conceive, Mr Van Teuten, that there is not one of your colleagues who would be willing to help you out of a temporary inconvenience.”
Would Van Arlen himself have found one so quickly?
“Oh! plenty!—but they want security—they want a guarantee; and ... do you think His Excellency would become security for me?—or you, sir—your name will do anything you like.”
“My good friend, you understand that I, in my position, cannot afford to get mixed up with any such affair, nor can the Minister either. Try and come to some arrangement with your landlord, but don’t expect anything fromthesequarters, under such circumstances. We can’t have anything to do with such matters.”
Van Teuten bowed his head—he had exhausted his arguments, and all to no purpose; he had completely forgotten the eloquent address, thought out last night; the courage with which he had armed himself had oozed away—he went out silently. But suddenly he turned back.
“If it wereoutsidethe official circle, sir, could you help me then? I could get money at an interest of one per cent. per month—only I must have the security of one of the superior officials.”
“I have told you, Mr Van Teuten, that I, in my position, cannot occupy myself with any matters of the kind. I am sorry for you, but I can do nothing.”
The man with the fine hand went away, slowly and dejectedly, and Van Arlen was once more alone with—or rather without—his thousand guilders.
It is a mistake to suppose that, for the preparation of jugged hare, a hare is necessary. Mrs Van Arlen understood very well how to give a dinner, which, to the uninitiate, seemed the finest kind of “company” dinner, and yet consisted of the most commonplace everyday dishes. But there is an infinite difference between rice in a dish and rice in a mould—more especially when the latter is served with lemon sauce. The ham was preparedà la mayonnaise—Van Arlen was so fond of that dish,—he always partook of it when on those mysterious journeys of his; and then—you need not have a whole ham for it, a few slices are quite enough. Moreover, there stood, on the side-table, besides the never-failing ginger and cheese, a silver dish with tenlittle halfpenny tarts on it. It was quite a splendid dinner; papa and uncle had each a bottle to himself, and besides the ordinary wine glasses there were others of smaller size for the better wine.
But, with all this magnificence, a certain gloom prevailed among the Van Arlens. This is the way with the great ones of the earth; they enjoy wealth and ease without appreciating them.
Prigson, on the other hand, was, as usual, in excellent spirits. He felt in nowise overawed by the splendour of the feast, or the eight silk skirts which rustled round about him.
“You see, it’s just our ordinary family dinner,” said madame, with a pleasant little laugh. Prigson gave the obligatory answer, and paid no attention whatever to the material part of the dinner.
“Which of you girls are going out with me this evening?” he asked. “I can’t take all seven—three is the maximum—or else your father will have to come too.”
“You know, Prigson, my position is such that I cannot devote a single hour to mere enjoyment.”
Madame sighed, and said, in a compassionate tone, that brother could form no idea of the life Van Arlen led.
“No doubt,” said Prigson; “but I admit that it is far from appearing to most people what it really is.” Prigson made the remark entirely without sarcastic intention, and went on, with a smile, “I would bet something that you haven’t even read the paper yet, Van Arlen.”
Van Arlen usually read his daily paper from title to imprint while taking his breakfast; but to-day he had entirely forgotten it.
“I haven’t once looked into it; and here’s the proof,” he said, taking it still unopened from his pocket.
“So you haven’t seen my advertisement?”
“Your advertisement?—no—did you insert one?”
“Do you remember our talk at your office?”
Van Arlen had not forgotten it for one moment, and if Prigson had paid more attention to him, and less to Caroline and Leida (who, in fact, were very pretty girls), he would have noticed that Van Arlen’s looks continually took the vague direction which indicated that his mind was elsewhere. His wife, who noticed it, ascribed it to the responsibilities of his office; his daughters were thinking, this evening, more of their uncle than of him. Certainly papa was the very type of a handsome man, but uncle had something very distinguished about him—especially since Leida had told them about seeing him in the club.
“What advertisement is that, brother?” asked Mrs Van Arlen.
“Oh, my dear Hortense, it belongs to those matters which ladies can’t understand; but if it comes to anything, and Van Arlen is willing to take a hand in it, he has only to say the word. You can make your fortune over it, Van Arlen.”
The word “fortune” awakened in the Van Arlens a feeling which used to come over them day by day, and had as regularly to be suppressed. Now, however, they were able to give way to it for a moment, and Van Arlen himself—still under the influence of what he had endured that afternoon—looked at Van Noost Prigson with interest.
“How could that be done?” asked Mrs Van Arlen almost indifferently; while all the girls, holding their breath, looked at Prigson in order to form their own conclusions as to whether his project were practicable.
“In the first place, you would have to give up your situation; in the next, to leave the place; and in the third, to work rather harder than you do at present; but, on the other hand, you would earn six times as much money.”
“You evidently don’t know what the life of a Government official is,” said Van Arlen, with a contemptuous smile at the mention of harder work than his.
“Oh, dear, no!” said his wife; and the daughters looked in consternation at the man who had dared to cast the slightest doubt on the extent and importance of papa’s duties.
“Well, what now, Van Arlen?” said Prigson, seeing that his brother-in-law seemed once more lost in a brown study, “are you off to that office of yours again? You had better come to the opera with us this evening; that is to say, if these ladies are inclined to come.”
A cold shudder—but it was one of delight—completely overpowered the self-control of Frederica and Marie. They scarcely knew the opera, except by name,—papa never went there,—and it was very long since they had been invited by any one else.
“The opera?” said Van Arlen, “I don’t care about that; it’s a sin against common sense.”
“I beg your pardon?” asked Prigson, perplexed.
“Why, all the people there die singing—I can’t get over that.”
“Eh?” said Prigson, evidently much taken aback; “well, I never thought about that. But now I do think about it, I should say that the opera is the most natural picture of life. There are so many people that weep and wail all their lives; is that so very much more unnatural than that they should sing when they die? But, granting that it is as you say, let’s go to an opera in which nobody dies. Isn’tDon Pasqualeon to-night, young ladies?”
“I think so, uncle,” answered Frederica, blushing, for none of the girls even thought of looking at the theatrical announcements. What was the good?
“Yes, yes—Don Pasquale. Come, Van Arlen—that’s a comic opera—just the thing for you!”
Van Arlen shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t mind a comic opera—not if it’sreallycomic,” he said.
“Come along, then—you’re sure to likeDon Pasquale.”
“No, I can’t—another time, perhaps—I’ve too much todo to-night,” said Van Arlen, absently looking at the alabaster clock that did not go, but nevertheless seemed able to tell him that it was nowhistime.
“Yes,” said his wife, “and if we’re to go to the opera we shall have to dress.”
“Hortense! Hortense!” said Prigson, with a mischievous glance.
“What do you mean, Prigson? Of course I can’t let the girls go to the opera with a strange gentleman. I’ve always done my best, brother, to give my daughters agoodbringing-up.”
Prigson was too polite to answer; Van Arlen had folded his hands,—his wife did the same, and soliloquised in silence.
“Six of the ten tarts left over ... perhaps the confectioner would take them back ... at any rate, one might try. Leentje might go and see.... The opera ... that has not happened in the last ten years—what are we to do about dresses?—we shall have to be quick about it.... Amen.”
Her reflections were brought to an abrupt conclusion, for Van Arlen had opened his eyes with a sigh, and once more saw Prigson before him. Oh! what would he not have given not to see him—to have opened his eyes in the consciousness that he had been sleeping! Sleeping, from the moment of meeting his brother-in-law in the street; sleeping, when the latter reminded him of the debt, when he had been alone after Prigson’s departure, when Van Teuten stood over him; sleeping, too, that last quarter of an hour, when he stood before his desk after Van Teuten had left him.... But he had not slept—all, all was real ... and then to go to a comic opera on the top of that!
“Excuse me, Prigson, but I must go back to work immediately, there are some documents wanted in a hurry.”
“Oh! so thingsaresometimes wanted in a hurry at a Government office?” asked Prigson. “No, thank you—takeone of my cigars—real Havannah, fifteen cents—delicious—just try one.”
“Oh, uncle, it’s positively sinful!” said Leida, who had nearly forgotten etiquette so far as to hand him a light, which at a ceremonial dinner would have been highly unfitting.
“Sinful is it?... How old are you now, Leida?”
“Eighteen next birthday, uncle.”
“Good-bye, then—till later—no, don’t apologise. But don’t go to sleep, Van Arlen,” Prigson shouted jocularly after his host, and then added, turning to Leida, “A happy time of life, Leida, I wish it were mine still;—but when I was that age, I didn’t think fifteen cents too much to pay for anything I liked.”
“How do you mean, uncle?”
“Just what I say, my dear girl. What is life, after all? isn’t it always seeking for what you like, whether you understand by that the smoking of a good Havannah, or the consciousness of having done a good action? Enjoyment means just what people like—and the older they are, the more they want of it. It’s unjust of old people to say that it’s the young ones that always want to enjoy themselves—the old ones are just as set on it, but they get their enjoyment out of other things. Well, any man who can get himself one enjoyment for fifteen cents is certainly not cheated out of his money.”
“But, uncle, must one always have money to enjoy one’s self?” asked Leida, naïvely, but very muchà contre cœur—for her whole life was in evidence to prove that, as a rule, one must.
“Certainly not, my very charming Leida,” said Prigson, rising, and added, as he embraced his niece, “That’s a treat for nothing, do you see?”
“Not for me, uncle,” said Leida, laughing mischievously, as she ran out of the room.
“It’s really a pity that Van Arlen’s such a harlequin!” muttered Van Noost Prigson to himself, and then went to join his elder nieces at the window.
Van Arlen was once more in his room, and had locked the door—but he didn’t go to sleep. He had his hand in his breast-pocket, and his fingers were clutching a little packet that seemed to burn them.
Borrowed? No—not borrowed; it was stolen—it was not his. And yet he was not a thief—he had already as good as put it back,—only the execution was awanting to complete his intention. He strained his ears listening for Prigson and the others to go out at the front door. As soon as they were gone, he would hurry to the office and put back the money! Why were they dawdling like that? If anything happened to prevent his going—if he were to find the lock out of order. Why did they not start? If there were a fire in a street he had to pass—if he were to meet with an accident.... Do be quick, Prigson! the money is burning me—if I start now, we shall be in the street at the same time—then I shall have to go with him, and he will have to walk slowly on account of the ladies. Which way shall I go? My hat—where did I put my hat? If Prigson were to take my hat by mistake—happily it has a mourning band on it. Why don’t you go, Prigson? Have you given up the plan?
There was a knock at the door, and his wife entered.
“Are you going out, Van Arlen?”
“No, my dear, no.”
“I thought you looked as if you were going to start.”
“Certainly not, certainly not! Go now, make haste, or you’ll be late.”
“Perhaps you’re going to give us a surprise.”
“No, no—I’ve too much to do—and I don’t care about operas, where people die singing. Good-bye, Hortense, good-bye! Don’t let the girls come up, I’m too busy.”
At last, at last, he heard the door close! and when Caroline,as the eldest available daughter, came to bring papa his cup of tea, his room was empty.
“Papa has surely gone too,” she said, as she went down again.
“I don’t think it’s very nice of him if he has. Why, he said that if he went we should go too.”
“Papa doesn’t care for operas.”
“Oh!Ithink he likes them well enough, really—only——”
She stopped herself just in time, keeping back the word, the great word, which might be thought, but never spoken, in the Van Arlen household.
When the family came home that night Van Arlen was even more silent than he had been at dinner, but his silence was a dull apathetic calm. The ladies had enjoyed themselves “awfully”; their flushed cheeks and dancing eyes spoke volumes for the effect of this unwonted gaiety.
“Oh, papa, youmustgo some time!”
“Was it comic opera?” asked papa.
“Oh, yes! indeed it was—awfully!”
“Yes—butreallycomic,goodcomedy?”
“Oh, yes, very good,” said mamma.
Van Arlen’s position was too important for him to let himself be guided by any chance person who chose to label an opera as comic. A thing must really be what it is given out for.
“I suppose you care nothing at all for tragedy, then?” remarked Prigson.
“Well, not altogether that, but a tragedy must bereallytragic.”
The conversation, of which some fragments are thus reported, will scarcely make the reader long to hear the rest. The Van Arlens consistently kept up their depreciation of sour grapes, to the great delight of Prigson, who amused himself by defending all sorts of paradoxes. But though the hands of the alabaster clock unchangeably pointed to half-pastone, it was getting late. Uncle Van Noost Prigson prepared to take his leave, and Van Arlen made no great effort to detain him. He thought his brother-in law a good fellow, and, under certain circumstances, an indispensable person; to-day, however, Prigson reminded him of so much that he would willingly have forgotten, that his presence became well-nigh intolerable. He breathed more freely when Prigson got up to go; and it was with a certain cheerfulness that he remarked, as he looked out at the front door at the stars, “I see you’ve a fine night.”
“We’ll hope so,” said Prigson; “but now, business for a moment. I asked you for something this morning—not for the sake of embarrassing you, but of getting myself out of a hole. When can I have that money?”
“Will to-morrow evening do?” asked Van Arlen, with a sigh of thankfulness that it was no longer in his pocket.
“Don’t let it be later than that—you know you’ve always told me I could have it when I liked, otherwise I shouldn’t have asked at such a moment.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble to me!” said Van Arlen, though he was wondering all the time where the money was to come from.
“Now for my plan. I will guarantee that you get the money back three days after the King has signed this concession—but then you will have to work the Minister!”
“I?”
“No one is in a better position to do it; the business is honest enough, but, like all business, it has a shady side to it: and the authorities have a nasty way of seeing the black before the white. Thereissome black about it, I won’t deny; but if you can manage to show up the white, we shall be that thousand guilders to the good.”
“But I don’t see——”
“No need you should, for the moment. Take the papers to your room, read them, think over them, and, once more,three days after the granting of the concession, your debt is no longer in existence.”
“Prigson!”
“Van Arlen!”
“What you ask—can it be reconciled with an honest man’s conscience?”
“What do you take me for, Van Arlen?”
Van Arlen was silent for a moment, and then said slowly, “For a man who wants to be rich.”
“Quite right, my dear fellow, and you should do the same. With this concession your fortune is made. You will have a situation with a salary of ten thousand guilders.” And with a cheerful “Good-night,” Prigson departed, while Van Arlen went up to his room.
It was many hours before he rose from his chair. The sun was shining in at the window, but he had no inclination to sleep; he had been absorbed in the documents. He read from beginning to end, thought for a while, folded them up, and muttered—
“Heaven preserve me from it!”
Thoughtfully he went to his office that morning. He could find no solution to the Prigson question, and there was nothing to help him.
He was summoned to the Minister’s presence, and found him extraordinarily amiable—a bad sign.
“Sit down, Mr Van Arlen, sit down,” said His Excellency. Van Arlen obeyed.
“Mr Van Arlen—it is possible I may be mistaken—but it seems to me as if, just lately, you had shown—passez-moi le mot—less zeal for business than I formerly thought was the case with you.”
“Your Excellency, I was not aware that I had felt less zeal for my duties than at any other time.”
“Is there anything worrying you? Your health?”
“It is excellent, thank you.”
“Domestic trouble?—it might be indiscreet to inquire—but I take an interest in all my subordinates. Is there perhaps any financial trouble? Just tell me freely. Our salaries are not high, I know, but, if I am rightly informed, you have some private means.”
“At your Excellency’s service,” assented Van Arlen.
“I thought so, otherwise we might have thought of offering you some assistance in this respect. But as it is, I suppose the extent of your work is such that it presses too heavily on one man; and so I have been considering the feasibility of appointing one more official to my department, subject to His Majesty’s approval of my nomination.”
Van Arlen turned deathly pale; now he understood the Minister’s friendliness, and the fate that lay before him; he understood also that the first offer was by way of gilding the pill. He had refused the gilding from pride, but had to swallow the pill all the same.
“I assure your Excellency that I do not know what work could be entrusted to such an official.”
“That is quite a minor detail,” said His Excellency, naïvely. “However, I wished to consult you first about the matter, and perhaps you will be so kind as to have the proposal drawn up. Baron Regenstein is the person meant.”
“The son of your colleague?”
“I believe so; but he is a man of great acquirements, whose help will be extremely useful to you. I shall want the paper before two o’clock.”
Van Arlen bowed and rose.
“Oh, as to salary, we shall give him eighteen hundred guilders.”
“Your Excellency will allow me to remark, that in that case you will have exceeded the estimate for the department.”
“Then we must see how we can manage with thesmaller salaries. Didn’t some one die a month or two back?”
“Yes, an assistant secretary.”
“Very good; and I just heard this morning that we’ve probably lost another. Van Teuten left town quietly last night.”
“Van Teuten!” exclaimed Van Arlen, in consternation.
“Yes. Do you know anything in particular about him?”
“He came and asked me for two hundred guilders yesterday.”
“Well, why couldn’t you let him have an advance? or you might have sent him to me; if necessary, we could have helped him by getting up a collection. But you’re too busy to attend to such things; it’s a good thing we’re going to have some extra help. Good-morning, Mr Van Arlen.”
“That, too!” said Van Arlen, when he was back in his own room, and then called out to the messenger that he could see no one.
“A gentleman has been here; he said he would come back.”
“Can’t see any one to-day.”
“Mr Van Arlen!” said a voice, just as the door was closing.
“Impossible, sir, the Minister is in a hurry.”
The door was shut, and the voice—and all persons with whom it subsequently came in contact—were aware that there was “something up,” perhaps a reorganisation of the whole department.... So much only was certain, that no one knew what it was but the Minister and Van Arlen, which still further increased the latter’s importance.