Chapter VIII
“Goodness, I’m glad to see you! And so early, too! Leetje, place a chair over there and get the footstool, but be in a hurry, or I’d rather do it myself. And how are you? Juffrouw Laps is coming too, you know—Myntje, you’d better be thinking of your dough and stop combing your head. That girl can’t keep her hands off of her hair when there’s company. But do take a seat—no, not in the corner; there’s a draft there.”
There was no more draft in this corner than is usual to corners; but Mrs. Stotter was only a Vrouw, and not a “Juffrouw.” She had no right to the seat of honour; for on all occasions a Juffrouw takes precedence of a Vrouw, just as a Mevrouw takes precedence of a Juffrouw. Everyone must keep his place, especially those in III, 7, b1; or c., where etiquette is observed more closely than at the court of Madrid. The care and anxiety of the mistress of ceremonies make her work most trying, and, too, not merely for Juffrouw Pieterse.
“Ah, my dear Juffrouw Pieterse, I was so surprised when Louwie came to invite me, for I had just remarked to Wimpje, who makes caps, you know—no, thank you, Pietje, I don’t care for any just now—I said to Wimpje, I wonder what Juffrouw Pieterse is doing, for I hadn’t heard from you in so long, you know—yes, just throw it aside, it’s my old one; I knew you wouldn’t mind my wearing my old one—and then Wimpje said——”
What Wimpje really said I don’t know. Mrs. Stotter’s garment, which she had described as her “old one,” was removed and placed on the foot of the bed in the back room. The children, who were piled together there like sardines, were duly admonished not to stretch out their feet, lest in doing so they injure Mrs. Stotter’s “old” garment.
“And now, my dear, be seated—yes, that’s for us, twice already. Leentje, where are you hiding now? Can’t you hear that somebody is ringing?—It’s probably Juffrouw Zipperman. Juffrouw Zipperman is coming, too, you know.”
Again I am at a loss: I don’t know whether it was Juffrouw Zipperman who had rung, or somebody else. But the reader need not scold me for writing a story that I don’t know myself. I cannot be sure whether it was Juffrouw Zipperman this time or Juffrouw Mabbel, from the bakery, or Juffrouw Krummel, whose husband is at the bourse, or Juffrouw Laps—but she didn’t need to ring, as she lived in the house. Anyway, by half past seven the entire company was assembled, and Stoffel was smoking his pipe as if his life depended upon it. Leentje had gone home without her piece of bread and butter. She “could get it to-morrow”; to-day there was “so much to do,” and “one can’t do everything at once, you know.”
“And then she got another one right away—don’t you know? One with a wart on her nose.”
“Ah, it’s an ordeal one has with girls,” said Juffrouw Pieterse. “Take another piece, don’t wait to be insisted upon; it’s a cake from your own dough.”
“Excusez,” said the Juffrouw from the bakery, with a mouth like a rabbit, a style of mouth signifying graciousness and good breeding.
“You must eat more, or I shall think you don’t like it.” She had baked it herself.
“Then I cannot refuse, Juffrouw Pieterse. Obligé and many thanks.”
“And you, Juffrouw Laps, what can I pass you?” Juffrouw Laps selected ginger cake.
“Fill the cups, Trudie! Yes, Mrs. Stotter, when you are here you must drink with us. You are welcome to anything we’ve got. Pietje, wipe off a table—such a girl! And now go and look after the baby, and tell her that I don’t want to hear any more noise. Ah, Juffrouw Mabbel, children are a great deal of trouble. And your little Sientje—how is her cough now?”
“We’ve got a magnetisier, but that isn’t enough. We must have the clairvoyange of the sonnebule.”
“You don’t say so! One can hardly believe it. And when is he coming, the cler—cleek—clar——”
“It’s in the nerves, Juffrouw Zipperman. But he has the little nightcap and nightgown, in which she has sweated, you know; and he says that it will come all right now.”
“Who would have thought it! What will you do now?”
“That’s just it; the sonnebule must tell us what to do.”
Juffrouw Laps could not agree to this.
“I wouldn’t do it—I wouldn’t do it—not for anything in the world! I tell you, what God does is all right. Just mark my words!”
“Yes, Juffrouw Laps; but the Juffrouw at the provision store did it, and her child is lots better.”
“That’s what you say, Juffrouw Mabbel, but I tell you there is something in her eye that I don’t like.”
“What then, Juffrouw Laps?”
“She has a look, a look—and it’s sin—I tell you it is. It’s wrong, it won’t do. What God does is all right.”
“Come, Stoffel, talk some. You sit there like a stone. Recite a poem, or tell us something about your school. Would you believe it, Juffrouw Mabbel, he knows a whole poem by heart. And he has memorized all the verbs of the feminine gender.”
“Mother, what are you talking about?” said Stoffel, displeased. “Don’t you see I’m smoking?”
“Yes, dear, I meant when you were through smoking. Then you can repeat the words. You will be surprised, Juffrouw Zipperman, and wonder where he learned it all. How does it go? ‘I would have been drunk, he would have been drunk’—of course, you know, he was not drunk, it belongs with the verbs. You will kill yourself laughing when he begins. Fill the cups, Trudie, and blow in the spout; there’s a leaf over it.”
The reader will not take it amiss, I trust, if I pass over the subsequent history of this leaf, and, too, make some deviations from the text of the conversation during the further course of Juffrouw Pieterse’s tea-evening. Stoffel spun off his conjugations and the ladies fairly shrieked when he related how “he had been drunk” and that “he would be drunk.” Thereupon followed general and particular criticism of the neighbors. The Juffrouw below received her share, as a matter of course: She was absent.
Religion and faith play an important part. Juffrouw Laps was for organizing a prayer-class. The preachers of to-day, she insisted, take their work too lightly and don’t sweep out all the corners.
“I tell you, it’s in the Bible that man is only man,” she cried; “that’s what I want to tell you. Man must not try to know better than God himself. Salvation comes through grace, and grace through faith; but if a man is not chosen, then he has no grace and can have no faith. That’s the way he is damned, don’t you see? I tell you, it’s just as certain as twice two—understand? And for that reason I want to have a prayer-class. Not for the sake of money or profit—God help me, no! At most just a trifle for the fair, or for New Year. What do you think of the plan, Juffrouw Mabbel?”
That lady expressed the opinion that her husband would be opposed to it, for he liked to go out of evenings, and then she must stay in the shop. Besides, it was so difficult to get through with the work. No one could imagine what a laborious occupation baking was.
“What do you say, Juffrouw Zipperman? Don’t you think it would be a go? I would serve coffee; and the people could leave something on the saucers. Really, I am not doing it for the money. We would begin with the Old Testament—and then—exercise, you know; practice—understand?”
Juffrouw Zipperman thought it would be very nice; but her son-in-law had said that the preachers are paid to do this, and that any additional “exercise” was merely an unnecessary expense.
“What do you say to it, Juffrouw Krummel? Don’t you think that such a class—just a small class——”
Juffrouw Krummel said she practiced with her husband when he came from the bourse.
Juffrouw Laps was now forced to turn to Mrs. Stotter, though she felt that she was letting herself down in appealing to a Vrouw.
“Ah, my dear Juffrouw Laps, if you had been a midwife as long as I have you’d take no interest in a prayer-class. Now there is M’neer Littelman in Prince Street. I’ve been at his house—always in respectable houses—and he always said—it’s a house with high steps, and in the hall there’s a big clock about the wind and rain—and he always said: ‘Vrouw Stotter,’ said he, ‘you’re a good woman,’ said he, ‘and a faithful midwife. I always tell the people that,’ said he, ‘and,’ said he, ‘all of my connection must send for you,’ said he, ‘but,’ said he, ‘when people tell you this you must act as if you didn’t hear it’—thank you, Juffrouw Pieterse, my cup is turned over. Just as I said: Everyone must know what he’s doing.”
“But just a little exercise like that, Mrs. Stotter!”
“It’s possible, it’s possible. But I’ve had so much experience in such things. I go my own way; and that’s the best way, too. For I’ve been in the home of M’neer Witte, who has an uncle in congress—for I always go to respectable places—and he always said, because he’s so funny: ‘Child-woman, child-woman, you’re nothing but a child-woman.’ I was just going to say that I know what I’m doing, for I’ve seen a lot in my life. There’s M’neer—what’s his name? There in Prince Street—no, no, Market Square. Oh, what is his name!”
The reader will have noticed that Mrs. Stotter digressed from the theme. But other folk do the same.
“And Juffrouw Pieterse, what do you think of the idea? Just a little exercise.”
“Ah, my dear, I have exercise enough with my children. You don’t know what it means to bring up nine. I always worship with the children, for the Bible says—Trudie, go to the baby; I hear her again.”
There was something noble in Trudie’s gait as she walked into that back room. One could see that she felt flattered by the transmission to her of maternal dignity. Little Kee, the baby, was less flattered.
“What were we talking about? Yes, that is my religious service. The children keep me busy. You don’t know anything about it; if I bring them up properly—run, Pietje, and straighten out Simon. He’s pinching his sister again; he always does it when there’s company.”
Simon was straightened out.
“Whenever we have company the children behave so badly. There it goes again. Myntje, go and see what’s the matter and tell them to go to sleep.”
Myntje went, returning immediately with the report that they had “turned something over.”
General indignation. Angry message from the Juffrouw below. It was unpleasant for the Juffrouw below when the children of the Juffrouw above turned over things and flooded the back room. Terrible excitement.
Finally the children were straightened out.
Juffrouw Zipperman again sat in the corner where there was such a “draft.” This only goes to show that earthly greatness has its dark side, and that a son-in-law in the insurance business entitles one to rheumatism.
Juffrouw Laps was greatly pleased with the hearty manner in which punishment was meted out to the children. It was exactly according to Scripture, she said; and then she cited a text or two in which the rod was prescribed. It’s in the Bible somewhere, I don’t know where. The Bible mentions everything, and the “rod” especially.
“Now, Stoffel,” said the hostess sweetly, “recite something for us.” She wanted to show that her children could do something else besides pinch and turn things over.
“I don’t know anything,” said Stoffel, but without a trace of Socratic arrogance.
“Just say for us what you said the other day. Come, Stoffel. That’s the way he always is, Juffrouw Mabbel. One has to pull him up on his feet before he will do anything. But then he goes all right. Forward, Stoffel! He’s tired now. Teaching in such a school is hard work. Yes, Juffrouw, he’s as smart as he can be. Would you believe it? All words are either masculine or feminine. Aren’t they, Stoffel?”
“No, mother.”
“No? But—and the other day you said—it’s only to get him started, you know, Juffrouw Zipperman, it takes a little time, because he’s worn out with his school work—but you said that all words——”
“No, mother. Masculine, feminine or neuter, I said.”
“Yes, and still more,” said Juffrouw Pieterse. “You will be astonished when you hear him. What do you suppose you are, Juffrouw Krummel?”
“I? What I am?”
“Yes, yes, what you are—what you really are.”
“I am Juffrouw Krummel,” she said, but doubtfully; for she read in the triumphant look of Juffrouw Pieterse and the tightly closed lips of Stoffel that she might easily be something entirely different from Juffrouw Krummel.
The tension did not need to be farther increased; so Juffrouw Pieterse passed now from the special to the general. Her glance took in the entire company.
“And you, too, Juffrouw Mabbel; and you, Juffrouw Laps; and you, Juffrouw Zipperman; and you, Mrs. Stotter—what do you all think you are?”
No one knew.
This will not be surprising to anyone who knows how difficult knowledge of the “self” is; but Stoffel had something else in mind. There was a deeper meaning involved.
Juffrouw Laps was the first to answer, and she spoke with proud self-sufficiency:
“I am Juffrouw Laps!”
“Wrong, wrong—entirely wrong!”
“But for Heaven sake, am I not Juffrouw Laps?”
“Y-e-s. Of course you are Juffrouw Laps; but Stoffel didn’t ask who you were, but what you were. There’s the fine point.”
“What I am? I’m Dutch Reform!”
“Y-e-s. That you are, too; but—it isn’t that. The question is, What are you? Help her out, Stoffel.”
Between puffs of smoke, and with the air of a professor, Stoffel proceeded to “help”:
“Juffrouw Laps, I wished to know what you were from a zoölogical standpoint.”
“I won’t have anything more to do with it,” said Juffrouw Laps in the tone of one who feels that he is going to be insulted.
“I am a midwife,” said Mrs. Stotter, “and I’m going to stick to it.”
“And I am the baker’s wife,” cried Juffrouw Mabbel, with a positiveness in her tone which showed her intention to hold to this opinion.
“Certainly, certainly, Juffrouw Mabbel; but I mean from a zoölogical standpoint.”
“If it’s going to be indecent, I prefer to go home.”
“I, too,” added Juffrouwen Krummel and Zipperman. “We came here to be entertained.”
“But you’re not going to get angry about it! I tell you, it’s in the book, Stoffel—you will laugh when you hear it, Juffrouw Mabbel; and the best part of it is, that it’s in the book, and one can’t say anything against it. Tell her, Stoffel!”
“Juffrouw Laps,” said Stoffel with dignity—an important moment in Juffrouw Pieterse’s tea-evening had arrived—“Juffrouw Laps, you are a sucking animal.”
I admit frankly that I cannot adequately describe the crisis that followed these two words. If Stoffel had only said mammal, perhaps then my task would have been easier.
Juffrouw Laps’s face took on all the different colors that are generally supposed to express anger. She had been attacked more openly than the others, it is true; but her attitude toward the prayer-class would go to show that she was naturally polemical.
In French novels people used to turn green; but Juffrouw Laps did not read French, so she stopped at a terrible violet and screamed—no, she didn’t. She didn’t scream anything; for she was choking for breath. But she did pulverize that piece of ginger cake; and she looked at Stoffel and his mother in a manner that would have been most damaging for her if those two persons had happened to die that night.
Imitating the trick of the cuttle-fish, no doubt unconsciously, Stoffel managed to escape this fatal stare by enveloping himself in a heavy cloud of smoke. Juffrouw Pieterse, however, not being a smoker, was at the mercy of Juffrouw Laps. She stammered humbly: “It’s in the book, really it’s in the book. Don’t be angry, it’s in the book.”
By this time Juffrouw Laps was getting a little air, so much that there was now no danger of her suffocating. She threw the mutilated remains of the ginger cake on the table and began:
“Juffrouw Pieterse, you are nothing but a low, vile, filthy—you may even be a sucking animal, you and your son too. I want you to understand that I’ve always been respectable. My father sold grain, and nobody’s ever been able to say anything against me! Ask everybody about me—if I’ve ever run with men-folk, and such things; and if I haven’t always paid my debts. He was manager I would have you understand, and we lived over the chapter-house, for he was in the grain business, and you can ask about me there. Thank God, you can ask about me everywhere—do you hear? But never, never, never, has such a thing happened to me. What you put on me! If it wasn’t for lowering myself I’d tell you what I think of you—you sucking animal, you and your son and your whole family. My father sold grain, and I’m too respectable for you to——”
“But—it’s in the book that way. For God’s sake believe me; it’s in the book.”
“Just hold your lip about your book. Anybody who sells God’s holy word on the Ouwebrug needn’t talk to me about books.”
This accusation was false; for Walter, and not his mother, had sold the Bible; but this was no time for such fine distinctions.
“Stoffel, go get the book and show Juffrouw—my God, what shall I do!”
“Go to the Devil with your book and your sucking animals. You’ve got nothing to show in your book. I know you—and your lout of a son, and your wenches of daughters, that are growing up like——”
Truitje, Myntje and Pietje, understanding from this that there was something radically wrong with their growth, began to screech too. Other members of the party bawled a word from time to time, as opportunity presented itself. Then came another message from the Juffrouw below. This time she threatened to call in the police. The children, taking advantage of the general excitement to break the ban under which they had been placed, had left the bed and were now listening at the keyhole. Juffrouw Pieterse was calling for the camphor bottle, declaring that she was going to die; Mrs. Stotter was clamoring for her wrap—her “old one”; and Stoffel was playing cuttle-fish as well as he could.
All had got up and were going to leave. They could “put up with a good deal,” but that was “too much”! Juffrouw Krummel was going to tell her husband; Juffrouw Zipperman was going to let everybody in the insurance business know about it; Mrs. Stotter was going to relate the whole story to the gentleman in Prince Street; and Juffrouw Mabbel—I forget whom she was going to tell it all to. In short, every one of them was going to see to it that the affair was well aired.
Who knows but what these threats would have been carried out, if the good genius of the Pieterses had not at that moment caused someone to ring the door-bell? It was that worthy gentleman whom we left in such a state of pious despair at the close of the last chapter.