Chapter XIX
Walter had been to church: that was now behind him. Stoffel thought the pastor had preached a beautiful sermon, and said that “in a way all he said could be accepted.” He hoped that it would “bear fruit.”
“Yes,” said the mother, “and he mustn’t tear his new breeches again. They cost too much hard work for that.”
As a matter of fact the “hard work” done in the Pieterse family might be regarded as a negligible quantity. There was the necessary housework, and the usual complaining—or boasting, if you will—but this was to be expected.
That Walter had postponed his visit to go to church was a result of the frightful threats of Juffrouw Laps. She cited Second Chronicles xvi. 12, and in the face of this text the Pieterses were not able successfully to defend their new and more liberal position. Juffrouw Pieterse could only say that the Bible was not to be interpreted that way, as if everything in it applied to a given individual.
But Juffrouw Laps stuck to it, that if one has faith and grace one may come through all right; whereupon Juffrouw Pieterse expressed her willingness at all times to take advice.
“Those are the essential things; through them we are saved! And—send him to me the first of the week. Or he can come Sunday, but after church. Then he can tell me about the sermon, even if the pastors are—but what does a child know about it!”
Juffrouw Laps didn’t think much of pastors. She held that people with grace in their hearts can understand God’s word without Greek and Latin.
“Yes, Sunday after church. I will count upon it.” And in order to make her invitation more insistent she mentioned certain sweets that she usually served her guests at that time.
Supposing that Juffrouw Laps was really anxious for Walter to come, we must admit that she showed deep knowledge of boy-nature.
As for Walter, he was afraid to be alone with this pious lady. For him she was the living embodiment of all the plagues that are made use of in the Old Testament to convert rebellious tribes to the true faith. For instance, thunder and lightning, pestilence, abysses, boils, flaming swords, etc.
If he had had the courage he would have asked her just to deposit the promised dainties somewhere outside of her flat. He would find them then. But he didn’t have the courage.
“And why didn’t you go?” asked the mother when Stoffel’s enthusiasm over the sermon had begun to die down.
Walter said he had a pain in his stomach, which children always have when they want to bridge over disagreeable duties. With a better understanding between the parents and children this disease would be less frequent.
“I don’t believe you have any pain in your stomach,” declared the mother. “It’s only because you’re a bad child and never do what you’re told to do.”
Stoffel agreed with her; and then a council of war was held. Walter was condemned to go to Juffrouw Laps’s at once; and he went.
Expecting some terrible ordeal, he was greatly embarrassed and confused by the show of friendliness with which he was received.
“And you did come, my dear boy! But you are so late! Church has been out a long time. See what I have for you, expressly for you!”
She thrust him into a chair at the table and shoved all sorts of sweets over to him. Walter’s embarrassment increased; and he felt even less at ease when she began to stroke him and call him pet names.
“Now, tell me about the sermon,” she said, when the child tried to escape the tenderness and affection to which he was not accustomed. “What did the pastor say?”
“The text——”
“But that’s all right—afterwards, when your mouth is empty. You must eat a few cakes first. Nobody can do everything at once. There is chocolate; and you’re to have a little dram, too. I’ve always said that you are a nice boy; but they’re forever plaguing you so. But you’re not eating enough; do just as if you were at home.”
For Walter that was not the right expression. At home!
His first surprise over Walter began to be possessed by a feeling of fear. Why, he could not have told to save him.
Suddenly he got up and declared that his mother had told him not to stay long.
There wasn’t a word of truth in it. Juffrouw Laps protested, but Walter held his ground. Despite all of that kindness Walter was able to escape from the enemy.
Promising “to come back soon” he ran down the steps and into the street.
An indescribable feeling of freedom regained thrilled through him. He had escaped. It was incomprehensible even to him. Never had he been received so kindly, so cordially; never had he been treated in a manner approaching this. But why his antipathy? When he left she was going to kiss him, but he managed to dodge her. Why? He didn’t know. But it made him shudder to think of it.
Should he go home now? What excuse could he give for coming back so soon?
Involuntarily he bent his steps toward Ash Gate. It was not his intention to visit Femke—not at all, really not! For he didn’t have his Ophelia with him—proof conclusive that when he left home he had not thought of Femke.
And when he came in sight of his mills on the Buitensingel—oh, they were silent! Was there no wind? Or were they observing Sunday?
The Buitensingel was full of people taking a Sunday stroll. Walter followed the small stream, which led him towards Femke’s house. Soon he stood before the low enclosure; but he did not dare to go in. Why? He put the blame on the absent Ophelia.
“If I only had that picture here I’d certainly go in!”
That is questionable. Even with the picture he would have probably been just as shy. He didn’t know what he ought to say—or, better, whether he could say anything, or not. He reflected. Suppose Femke’s mother should ask, “Did you want anything?”
We—yes, the “gentle reader” and I—we should have known what to answer. I wonder if our wisdom would have been wiser than the stupidity of the child, who stood irresolute and hesitating before the fence?
He stood staring at the house, his mouth wide open. His knees trembled, his heart fluttered, his tongue was dry.
A small column of smoke curling up from the chimney aroused him. What if a fire should break out! Then he would have to go in. He would rescue her, and carry her away in his arms—far, far away—to the end of the world, or at least outside of the town! Just anywhere where the people wear red velvet and green silk, where the gentlemen carry big swords and the ladies wear long trains. They would be so becoming to Femke. And she should ride horseback, and he would follow her—no, he would ride by her side, with a falcon on his hand!
If a fire should break out!
But Walter saw that the house was in no danger. This smoke came from the kitchen. He noticed other houses in the neighborhood where cooking seemed to be going on, and everywhere the chimneys were bearing witness to activities below which were presumably similar to those of Femke.
Finally a crowd of fellows came along who had evidently been stopping at one of those establishments where “refreshments” are served. They had been greatly refreshed, and in their exuberance of freshness, so to say, they crowded Walter away from the fence and took him along with them for a little way.
He was easily reconciled to this; for why, he thought, should he stand there and watch the smoke? There wasn’t going to be any fire; and then he didn’t have Ophelia with him.
But to-morrow! To-morrow he would bring that picture with him! And then he wouldn’t stand at the fence like a baby.
He felt ashamed when he thought of his friends in their gay colors, or in armor, with plumes and swords. Those kings and knights and pages—they had been courageous, otherwise they never would have received such high orders and distinctions. Unless there were some change, he felt that he would never be pictured like that.
However, he expected that such a change would come—without doubt, surely, certainly, truly! The further he went, the more determined he became to go in the next day and put on a bold front and say: “Good-day, Juffrouw, how do you do?”
It was more difficult for him to decide what he would say to Femke.
He made up various little speeches in the manner of Floris the Fifth. In case Femke shouldn’t like them he was going to say, “Why, that is from our greatest poet.”
And then he would ask her to explain a lot of mysterious words in Floris that he hadn’t understood—for instance, “fast fellow,” “coverture,” “chastity,” and others.
Walter’s development was determined by his desire to know things. His feeling for Femke, which was hardly real love, was subordinated to his thirst for knowledge. He knew that he couldn’t get much from her, especially book-learning; but it was a pleasure merely to discuss things with her, even if she knew nothing about them.
He was curious to know all that she might have to tell him, or to ask him; for no doubt she too had been saving up her impressions for her first friend. But, alas! he was not so certain of her friendship! True, when he was sick she had asked about him; but perhaps she was just passing by, and thought how easy it would be to ring the bell and ask, “How is Walter?”
Still it had taken courage to do it. What would Mungo Park have said if he had seen him hesitating before the gate! Walter knew that wasn’t the way to conquer the world.
And if anybody had asked Mungo Park: “What do you want in Africa?”
Well, he would have answered. Such a traveller in such a book is never embarrassed.
Then Walter began to address all sorts of remarks to negro kings that he had conquered with lance and sword. All the women kissed his hand as he rode by on his bay, with fiery red caparison. He inquired patronizingly after those good girls who had nursed him in his illness, “because the strange white man was far from mother and sisters and had no home.” He would reward them princely.
In all this conquered land Walter was king and Femke was—queen! How magnificent the big red velvet cloak would look on her—and the gold crown!
Conquering continents was easy. He was scarcely thirteen; and yet he was afraid that somebody might get ahead of him while he was being detained by the treacherous Pennewip with declensions and conjugations. And, then there were still more things to learn before one could be king, even of a small country. Pocket-change would have to be increased too, for, with all possible economy, six doits a week were insufficient. The Hallemans—well, they had more; but fortunately they were not thinking of Africa. For the present he was not afraid of any competition from that quarter; but other children, nearer the “grown-up” stage, might get the idea in their heads! And then, what would he do to keep his mother from guessing when he made his trips into the “interior” longer, and stayed out later than was allowed by the regulations of the Pieterse household?
It was a difficult matter, but he would manage it.
All that might happen to him and Femke in Africa would be read afterwards in pretty little books with colored pictures. He already saw himself sitting on a throne, and Femke by his side. She was not proud; she was willing for everybody to know—all those kneeling before her—that she had been a poor wash-girl. She had become queen because Walter had loved her; and now they needn’t kneel any more.
On special occasions—well, of course, that was different; for instance, when his mother and Stoffel came to visit him. They should see how all the people honored him—and Femke whom they had treated so badly. But once would be enough; then he would forgive them everything and build them a big house with water-barrels and wash-tubs. For Pennewip he would build a big schoolhouse, with desks and ink-bottles and copy-books and wall maps of Europe and tables of the new weights and measures. Then the old master could give instruction from early in the morning till late at night—or even all night.
He was just puzzling over how he was going to reconcile Master Pennewip and the dusky young African to one another when Leentje opened the door.
Without noticing it he had got home and rung the door-bell. Unsuspectingly he fell into an environment quite different from that in which he had moved for the last half hour. He scarcely understood what his mother meant when she asked him how the visit turned out, and whether Juffrouw Laps was satisfied with his report on the sermon.
Sermon? Laps? He was unprepared for such an examination. He stammered out a sort of miscellaneous and irrelevant jumble of words, but fortunately containing nothing about Africa.
It now developed that in the meantime there had been a sudden change in certain details of religious belief.
“You see, mother?” said Stoffel. “Just as I’ve always said, it would take a lawyer to explain anything to suit her. She always knows better——”
“That’s so,” answered the mother. “She’s cracked or crazy. Now, just tell me, Stoffel, if anyone can expect such a child to remember everything a preacher says. I can’t do it myself; and you can’t do it, either. Master Pennewip can’t do it. I tell you, nobody can do it. And to require that of such a child! She just wants to play the professor; that’s the reason she does it.”
Stoffel was of the same opinion. Encouraged by his sympathy the mother became eloquent.
“I would like to know what she’s thinking about; or if she thinks she’s a pastor. With all her biblical quotations! And then to torment a child hardly out of a sick bed—it’s a disgrace. You don’t need to go to her. What business have you got with her? I tell you——”
Here it occurred to her that she herself had compelled Walter to go, and she interrupted this line of thought to scold Walter and tell him to get out of his Sunday breeches. Her dissatisfaction with herself expressed itself further in a funeral oration on Walter’s last suit, which had cost so much “hard work.”
“And then to let that child sit there for an hour without anything to eat or drink! She would——”
Walter’s feeling for justice couldn’t let that pass. He assured them that on the contrary—and then that excessive kindness got in his way again. In his confusion he went into all the details of the chocolate.
“Well! Why didn’t you say so at once? But it’s all the same. I was going to add that she ought to have given you something to eat. That’s the way such folks are—always grumbling about others and they won’t see themselves. I believe in grace too, and when I have my housework done I like to hear the Scripture read—but to be everlastingly and eternally prating about it? No, that isn’t religion. What do you say, Stoffel? One must work part of the time. Walter! aren’t you going to pull off those new breeches? I’ve told him a dozen times. Trudie, give him his old ones!”
Walter changed his breeches; but he promised himself that in Africa he would wear Sunday breeches every day.