Puppets at Large Part 8

MRS. M.-J. Only crying!

_The Sequel._

"The judges appointed by the spirited proprietors of _All Sorts_ to decide the 'Model Husband Contest'--which was established on lines similar to one recently inaugurated by one of our New York contemporaries--have now issued their award. Two compet.i.tors have sent in certificates which have been found equally deserving of the prize; viz., Mrs. Cornelia Galahad-Green, Graemair Villa, Peckham, and Mrs.

Griselda Monarch-Jones, Aspen Lodge, Lords.h.i.+p Lane. The sum of twenty pounds will consequently be divided between these two ladies, to whom, with their respective spouses, we beg to tender our cordial felicitations."--(_Extract from Daily Paper, some six months hence._)

[Ill.u.s.tration]

THE COURIER OF THE HAGUE.

He is an elderly amiable little Dutchman in a soft felt hat; his name is BOSCH, and he is taking me about. _Why_ I engaged him I don't quite know--unless from a general sense of helplessness in Holland, and a craving for any kind of companions.h.i.+p. Now I have got him, I feel rather more helpless than ever--a sort of composite of SANDFORD and MERTON, with a didactic, but frequently incomprehensible Dutch BARLOW. My SANDFORD half would like to exhibit an intelligent curiosity, but is generally suppressed by MERTON, who has a morbid horror of useful information. Not that BOSCH is remarkably erudite, but nevertheless he contrives to reduce me to a state of imbecility, which I catch myself noting with a pained surprise. There is a statue in the Plein, and the SANDFORD element in me finds a satisfaction in recognising it aloud as William the Silent. It is--but, as my MERTON part thinks, a fellow _would_ be a fool if he didn't recognise William after a few hours in Holland--his images, in one form or another, are tolerably numerous.

Still BOSCH is gratified. "Ya.s.s, dot is ole Volliam," he says, approvingly, as to a precocious infant just beginning to take notice.

"Lokeer," he says, "you see dot Apoteek?" He indicates a chemist's shop opposite, with nothing remarkable about it externally, except a Turk's head with his tongue out over the door.

"Yes, I (speaking for SANDFORD and MERTON) see it--has it some historical interest--did Volliam get medicine there, or what?"

"Woll, dis mornin dare vas two sairvans dere, and de von cot two blaces out of de odder's haid, and afderwarts he go opstairs and vas hang himself mit a pedbost."

BOSCH evidently rather proud of this as ill.u.s.trating the liveliness of The Hague.

"Was he mad?"

"Ya.s.s, he vas mard, mit a vife and seeks childrens."

"No, but was he out of his senses?"

"I tink it was oud of Omsterdam he vas com," says BOSCH.

"But how did it happen?"

"Wol-sare, de broprietor vas die, and leaf de successor de pusiness, and he dells him in von mons he will go, begause he nod egsamin to be a Chimigal--so he do it, and dey dake him to de hosbital, and I tink _he_ vas die too by now!" adds BOSCH, cheerfully.

Very sad affair evidently--but a little complicated. SANDFORD would like to get to the bottom of it, but MERTON convinced there is _no_ bottom.

So, between us, subject allowed to drop.

SANDFORD (now in the ascendant again) notices, as the clever boy, inscription on house-front, "Hier woonden Groen Van Prinsterer, 1838-76."

"I suppose that means Van Prinsterer lived here, Bosch?"

"Ya.s.s, dot vas it."

"And who was he?"

"He vas--wol, he vos a Member of de Barliaments."

"Was he celebrated?"

"Celebrated? oh, yaas!"

"What did he _do_?" (I think MERTON gets this in.)

"Do?" says BOSCH, quite indignantly, "he nefer do _nodings_!"

BOSCH takes me into the Fishmarket, when he directs my attention to a couple of very sooty live storks, who are pecking about at the refuse.

"Dose pirts are shtorks; hier dey vas oblige to keep alvays two shtorks for de arms of de Haag. Vhen de yong shtorks p.o.r.n, de old vons vas kill."

SANDFORD shocked--MERTON sceptical.

"Keel dem? Oh, yaas, do anytings mit dem ven dey vas old," says BOSCH, and adds:--"Ve haf de breference mit de shtorks, eh?"

What _is_ he driving at?

"Yaas--ven _ve_ vas old ve vas nod kill."

This reminds BOSCH--BARLOW-like--of an anecdote.

"Dere vas a vrent to me," he begins, "he com and say to me, 'Bosch, I am G.o.d so shtout and my bark is so d.i.c.k, I can go no more on my lacks--vat vas I do?' To him I say, 'Wol, I dell you vat I do mit you--I dake you at de booshair to be cot op; I tink you vas make vary goot shdeak-meat!"

Wonder whether this is a typical sample of BOSCH'S _badinage_.

"What did he say to that, Bosch?"

"Oh, he vas vair moch loff, a-course!" says BOSCH, with the natural complacency of a successful humorist.

We go into the Old Prison, and see some horrible implements of torture, which seem to exhilarate BOSCH.

"Lokeer!" he says, "Dis vas a pinition" (BOSCH for "punishment") "mit a can. Dey lie de man down and vasten his foots, and efery dime he vas shdrook mit de can, he jomp op and hit his vorehaid.... Hier dey lie down de beoples on de back, and pull dis shdring queeck, and all dese tings go roundt, and preak deir bones. Ven de pinition was feenish you vas det." He shows where the Water-torture was practised. "Nottice 'ow de vater vas vork a 'ole in de tile," he chuckles, "I tink de tile vas vary hardt det, eh?" Then he points out a pole with a spiked p.r.o.ng.

"Tief-catcher--put 'em in de tief's nack--and get 'im!" Before a grim-looking cauldron he halts appreciatively. "You know vat dat vas for?" he says. "Dat vas for de blode-foots; put 'em in dere, yaas, and light de vire onderneat."

No idea what "_blode-foots_" may be, but from the relish in BOSCH'S tone, evidently something very unpleasant, so don't press him for explanations. We go upstairs, and see some dark and very mouldy dungeons, which BOSCH is very anxious that I should enter. Make him go in _first_, for the surroundings seem to have excited his sense of the humorous to such a degree, that he might be unable to resist locking me in, and leaving me, if I gave him a chance.

Outside at last, thank goodness! The Groote Kerk, according to BOSCH, "is not vort de see," so we don't see it. SANDFORD has a sneaking impression that I ought to go in, but MERTON glad to be let off. We go to see the pictures at the Mauritshuis instead. BOSCH exchanges greetings with the attendants in Dutch. "Got _another_ of 'em in tow, you see--and collar-work, _I_ can tell you!" would be a free translation, I suspect, of his remarks. Must say that, in a Picture-gallery, BOSCH is a superfluous luxury. He _does_ take my ignorance just a trifle too much for granted. He _might_ give me credit for knowing the story of Adam and Eve, at all events! "De Sairpan gif Eva de opple, an' Eva gif him to Adam," BOSCH carefully informs me, before a "_Paradise_," by Rubens and Brueghel.

This rouses my MERTON half to inquire what Adam did with it.

"Oh, _he_ ead him too!" says BOSCH in perfect good faith.

I do wish, too, he wouldn't lead me up to Paul Potter's "_Bull_," and ask me enthusiastically if it isn't "real meat." I shouldn't mind it so much if there were not several English people about, without couriers--but there _are_. My only revenge is (as MERTON) to carefully pick out the unsigned canvases and ask BOSCH who painted them; whereupon BOSCH endeavours furtively to make out the label on the frames, and then informs me in desperation, "it vas '_School_,'--ya.s.s, _he_ baint him!"

BOSCH kindly explains the subject of every picture in detail. He tells me a Droochsloot represents a "balsham pedder." I suppose I look bewildered, for he adds--"oppen air tance mit a village." "Hier dey vas haf a tispute; dis man say de ham vas more value as de cheese--dere is de cheese, and dere is de ham." "Hier is an old man dot marry a yong vife, and two tevils com in, and de old man he ron avay." "Hier he dress him in voman, and de vife is vrighten." "Hier is Jan Steen himself as a medicine, and he veel de yong voman's polse, and say dere is nodings de madder, and the modder ask him to trink a gla.s.s of vine." "Hier is de beach at Skavening--now dey puild houses on de dunes--bot de beach is schdill dere."

Such are BOSCH'S valuable and instructive comments, to which, as representing SANDFORD and MERTON, I listen with depressed docility. All the same, can't help coming to the conclusion that Art is _not_ BOSCH'S strong point. Shall come here again--alone. We go on to the Munic.i.p.al Museum, where he shows me what _he_ considers the treasures of the collection--a gla.s.s goblet, engraved "mit dails of tobaggo bipes," and the pipes themselves; a painting of a rose, "mit ade beople's faces in de leafs;" and a drawing of "two pirts mit only von foots."