Walter Pieterse Part 49

"Hm! Better say one of the second."

"He's a poet of the seventh cla.s.s."

"Why, then, one of his plays? We have poets whose song is as clear as a bell!"

"Of course, Bilderdyk! A Phoenix!"

"Oh, these foreigners don't understand a word of it anyway, and it doesn't make any difference what the play is."

"It's a pity about Floris."

"Oh, there's something behind that."

"Yes, Bilderdyk is a patriot."

"A genuine Hollander!"

"A genuine----"

"He will give those foreigners something to think about."

"s.h.!.+---- ... not much flattery. No Hollander is going to do that."

"s.h.!.+"

Everybody stood up. A footman appeared in the royal box, probably to see whether the cus.h.i.+ons were straight on the chairs, or not.

"The idea, the very idea of standing up before a lackey!"

It was enough to make them indignant; but they had done it, even those who protested loudest. There were city aldermen in the number, and doctors, and professors, and prominent business men, including, perhaps, the great Kopperlith.

Another period of babbling and waiting; then another footman appeared. Again everybody sprang to his feet. Again all, except the silent Holsmas, railed at such stupidity.

The crowd became more restless. Innumerable times were they fooled by some footman or other, who opened a door to break the monotony. The people were already beginning to complain, but softly, cautiously.

Walter was carried away with the elegance and magnificence of it all. One thing, however, jarred upon his sense of propriety: he wondered how such swell folk could say such commonplace things. The Holsmas said nothing. Only once, when Uncle Sybrand pointed to a certain box, did they join in the general hubbub.

"She will sit there, I think."

"I shall be sorry if I have left little Erich all for nothing,"

said Mevrouw Holsma.

"He's safe with Femke."

"Yes, but I had rather be with him myself. The child is sick. I'm not going to wait much longer."

"It's doubtful whether she will come with the others. I've heard that she's full of moods and mischief. She cares nothing for convention. It seems to run in the blood."

"If she isn't here by ten o'clock I'm going. I don't care much about it, anyway."

This conversation occupied Walter for a short time. Who was this person on whose account Mevrouw Holsma had left the bedside of her sick child?

The tension of expectancy was broken, and a momentary excitement pulsed through the mult.i.tude. All arose to their feet, and remained standing.

An emperor, or something of the kind, entered the royal box. Walter could see little; but he inferred what was going on from whisperings he heard about him. His majesty had made a quick rush for his chair, turning over a few other chairs in so doing. That was a habit of his. Then he looked about the auditorium for a moment with squinted eyes, jerked up his chair and fell into it. He was in a hurry. The public was now at liberty to take their seats.

The other boxes were now filled quickly, as if by a stroke of magic. Remarkable costumes were on exhibition. There were bodices three inches wide, with skirts of as many yards. Voluptuous bosoms hovered between chin and girdle. Scanty sleevelets did not know whether they were to cover arms or shoulders. The ladies wore kid gloves reaching to their armpits, and on their heads were turbans and flower-gardens. The uniforms of the gentlemen were even more conspicuous. Those shakos! The enemy would have run at the sight of them.

The orchestra began to play. It was that song about the brave Dunois, of course.

"Arise!" someone called; and all scrambled to their feet again in honor of the brave hero.

The curtain went up.

"Yes, Minos, on the present that I gave to thee---- 'Twas stolen from the church----"

"What church?" asked Walter.

"s.h.!.+" from William. "Poetic license. You will see how it is."

"----hangs Nisus' crown and life."

"Qu'est-ze qu'elle changte?" cried the countess-palatine. Then she let herself out on costumes, speaking in a noisy voice.

Walter listened like a finch. Not that he understood very well; but everything strange interested him intensely.

Not a soul was touched by the tragic bravery of King Minos; no one was listening. Poor Rotgans! Afterwards it was said that Napoleon had been especially pleased with "our Snoel" and with "our Watlier." Goodness, Napoleon! When he was to be crowned he had Talma the mimic to drill him for the ceremony--instead of saying to Talma: "Look, this is the way an emperor appears when he's crowned!"

Walter listened attentively; even though he sometimes felt that he could make such verses himself.

During the performance another commotion arose. One of their majesties had asked for a gla.s.s of orange lemonade; and this was something the buffetier did not have. A runner was dispatched to the drug-store post haste. He returned with a bottle of lemon-syrup. The situation became threatening. The news spread like fire that they were making a "Majesty" wait for such a trifle. King Minos declared:

"Feelings of pleasure thrill my inner man--"

"De l'eau de fleur d'orange! que diantre!" cried a chamberlain. And Minos noticed that n.o.body was interested in what was going on in his interior.

A confectioner up on "Olympus" allowed his light to flash out and gave some valuable information; but the police had him by the collar in a jiffy. He was to be dragged away and put in confinement for the present. The technical charge was, "Making a demonstration for the House of Orange." At that time the House of Orange was in exile, and Napoleon's brother was king of Holland.

"Feelings of pleasure thrill my inner man--"

repeated Minos with gusto. The conductor of the orchestra seized his baton and was going to play, "Hail to the Emperor." Many stood up in readiness to escape in case of danger.