The Greater Glory. A story of high life

Front matter

a Stor? of trigb Xife BV MAARTEN MAARTENS AUTHOR OY THE SIN OF JOOST AVELINGH,' 'GOD'S FOOL,' 'IaN OLD MAIDS LOVE 'So doth the Greater Glory dim the les: A NEW EDITION LONDON RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON Publishers in '©rbimirg to .Jttajtsig the (Quten 1894 All rights reserved i ¥0 WENDELA NOTE Holland is a small country, and it is difficult to step out in it without treading on somebody's toes. I desire to declare, once for all, and most emphatically, that my books contain no allusions, covert or overt, to any real persons, living or dead. I am aware that great masters of fiction have thought fit to work from models ; that method must therefore possess its advantages : it is not mine. In this latest book, for instance, I have purposely avoided correct description of the various Court Charges, lest anyone should seek for some feeble coincidence.

Such search, after this statement, would be deliberately malicious. I describe manners and morals, not individual men. I furthermore desire to say — although, surely, this should be superfluous — that the morals I seek to describe are those of the entire human race. It is only by the merest accident that my scene is laid in Holland, a country whose inhabi tants, I suppose, are no better, nor worse, than their neighbours. My common sense tells me they cannot be, though my widely-travelled heart insists, with sweet unreason, that the land of my birth is the best and happiest spot on the globe. M. M. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. RINGS THE DE.ARTU RE-_ELL i II. YOUNG REINOUT - - - - - 9 III. DEYNUM ------- ig IV. THE REXELAERS OF DEYNUM - - . 26 V. THE STRANGER COMES TO DEYNUM - - 36 VI. THE WHITE BARONESS - - - - 40 VII.

HEUREUX EN MARIAGE - - - - - 49 VIII. A PRINCE OF THE BLOOD ROYAL - - - 54 IX. DISEASE ------- 61 X. A SHEPHERD AND TWO SHEEP - - - 6S XI. 'ENTRE L'ARBRE ET L'ECORCE ' -- - - 77 XII. THE HEIRESS AND HER SQUIRE - - -87 XIII. BARONIAL BUSINESS - - - - - 95 XIV. YOUNG REINOUT MEETS HIS UNKNOWN FRIEND AGAIN 102 XV. 'WHY NOT, M. LE MARQUIS?' - - - - 108 XVI. 'J'OSAIS'- - - - - - - Il8 XVII. NOT AS WE WILL, BUT AS WE WOULD, O LORD - 131 XVIII. AN ARISTOCRAT'S IDEA OF THE LAW - - I4I XIX. THE SPOILER AND THE SPOILED - - - I46 XX. THE MARQUIS'S HEIRS ----- 154 XXI. j'OSE ! - - - - - - 163 XXII. THE HOME OF POESY ----- 165 XXIII. AND OF STATECRAFT - - - - - 1 73 XXIV. A WINDOW OPENS - - - - - 1 83 XXV. MISS PIGGIE ------ 1S7 XXVI. SPLENDIDE MENDAX ... - - 191 XXVII. LOW LIFE, FOR A CHANGE ... - 200 XXVIII.

Chapter I. Rings The Departure-bell

This is a true story. It is what they call a story of high life. It is also a story of the life which is higher still. There be climbings which ascend to depths of infamy ; there be also — God is merciful !— most infamous fallings into heaven. The wise men, who explain this world, have taught us to consider it a round one ; doubtless they have wisely measured it. Then, as 't is round, should wisdom twist it topsy-turvy no one would be a whit the wiser, not even the wise men. And that, perhaps, is why — sometimes — to fools, our earthly high and low seem but a mighty matter of tweedledum and tweedledee. Fortune, the blind old hag, in her seat by the hearth, grins down vacantly at the wise men, whom she twiddles on her thumbs — like the fools. Like the fools, they go rising and sinking, rising and sinking, till, one after another, all drop away into the fire.

That, at any rate, is the end. We drop away into the fire. Yet never a traveller paused by the roadside to look back, in weariness or wonderment, but understood, if the valley / i spread wider, that his path leads him up. So be it. Presently, on the other side, the road slopes down again into another valley. But what matter the ups and downs of the journey to the traveller if his face be set firmly towards the goal ? Only he feels that descent is strangely easy, and wonders why God bade him climb. We say that the steadfast sun rises and sinks, like us. We see him do it ; such mysterious eyes are ours. Yet we know that it is otherwise. We, who know so little. In earth's tiny circle revolve earth's little high and low. God's high is a steadfast point. It is here : in the centre of this strange thing you do not understand, this thing you call yourself, the divinely-human heart.

Mine is a true story. It is a story of high life as they call it. It is also a story of the life which is highest of all. A moment's patience ! We shall be coming to the funny part presently. Is it my fault if the comedy begins at the wrong end ? So much the better for the other end, the right. The departure-bell clangs suddenly upon the silence. A score of drowsy figures creep forth from twilight corners into the radiance of a clear October afternoon. Yes, it was on the 6th of October that the old Belgian came to Deynum. My birthday, as it happens, my fifteenth birthday. Or was it the fourteenth, Wendela ? From where she sits by the window, in the fading summer sunset, mending one of Baby Gertrude's socks, Wendela tells me that she herself was twelve years old at the time. Then it must have been my fourteenth birthday, dearest.

Yet what does the trifling date concern us ? It is all so long ago, but that it is to-day. On that sixth of October, then, somewhere towards the first sink of the sun down a white-blue autumn sky, a hackney-cab drew up, with a farewell rattle, in front of an outlying Amsterdam railway-station, away on the desolate dyke. The silver daylight rested cold upon the wooden shed, upon the great grey square, with its solitary kiosque, upon the dull expanse of water beyond. Across the loneli ness a cruel little wind came persistently blowing. Inside the building a sudden bell rang out, with the very insolence of noise. 'This is not enough, sir,' said the cabman. He said it gently, for the Dutch remain calm under injustice. The old gentleman who had alighted from the vehicle continued his stolid ascent of the station-steps.

His servant, preparing to follow, paused on the pavement, in a confusion of wraps and traps. It was the servant who had proffered the offending coin. A Dutch railway-station is a scene of unruffled repose, inside and out. Half a dozen porters, in white blouses and brass badges, leant immovable by the entrance, sleepily perceptive. The platform-bell stopped with a jerk, and in the stillness of the square the solitary cab stood out against its own clear shadow, with its cab-like air of sudden collapse. ' Not enough,' repeated the driver, without raising his voice. The Dutch are as obstinate as they are gentle. He held up the half-florin he had received, between greasy finger and thumb, in the face of Heaven and the half a dozen porters. 'No, mynheer, it is not enough,' chimed in the youngest of the porters.

The elder five said nothing ; they under stood that information from a porter should never be gratuitous. The valet cast a timid scowl after the receding figure of his master. Then, motioning back all slow offers of assistance, and balancing his load of luggage as best he might, he laboriously extracted a whole florin from a little black velvet purse and handed it to the cabman. The purse, with its fat embroidered cross, looked queerly suggestive of an undersized offertory-bag. 'Thank you,' said the cabman, almost audibly, as he drove off. He did not say : ' This is more than enough.' He was only -a human cabman. ' Ten per cent.,' muttered the servant, in French, and hurried away into the station. The white porters stared passively in front of them. They could understand neither the too little nor the too much.

The old gentleman, meanwhile, had progressed straight across the entrance-hall. There was a convenient passage to the platform here, which officialism had reserved for luggage. Sub officialism called out. The stranger pointed a careless cane in the direction where his servant might have been. He was a distinguished-looking man, tall and straight, well oiled and well brushed, with a magnificent white moustache, and superlatively clad in a light-yellow ulster, such as young fellows wore in those days. 'A prince,' said one guard, by the gate, in an awe struck growl. ' Pshaw,' grumbled his comrade, a bilious man without any predilections. ' Prince or Pope, he had no right to pass through here ; barring he had been a portmanteau, which he wasn't.' ' Perhaps he was an Englishman,' said the first guard. ' Englishmen may do whatever they like.

And they do it.' The object of their unwilling admiration turned neither to right nor left. His movements were those of a man in a trance. His eyes were set in that glassy stare which sees nothing that is near. A line of empty carriages was drawn up along the plat form, waiting. He got into one of them, and closed the door. A silver-braided somebody sprang forward and opened it again. The old gentleman awoke to the action, and flushed. At that moment the station-bell rang out afresh. ' On sonne le depart,' he said aloud. ' Eh bien, I am ready to go. But not thus, great God ! Not thus.' And large beads of perspiration stood out upon his forehead. The deserted platform now began rapidly to fill. Little groups went wandering by, with bags and bundles ; a bright provincial dress shone out from time to time among the shoddy waterproofs.

Presently a scrubby, shoppy individual slipped into the compartment, an open paper of grapes in his hand. The stranger passed out and wrenched open the first door within his reach. But once more a conductor interposed. ' This compartment is reserved, Monsieur, in case any of the directors ' ' It is the only one takable and I take it,' replied the old gentleman, still in French. ' Antoine,' he turned fiercely upon his valet, who had just succeeded in finding him, 'you blockhead, where are you ? Pay for all the places, and see that they leave me in peace.' ' If Monsieur would but inform me where it is his in tention to betake himself ' began the valet, with a slight stutter over the word ' Monsieur.' The old man hesitated on the carriage-step. ' Get your tickets,' he burst out, with unreasoning fierceness, 'as far as the train goes.

And see that they leave me in peace.' No further molestation was offered him. At a few hurried words from the frightened valet, the protesting officials fell back, with discreet glances of half-vexed curiosity. ' These great personages !' said the inspector, shrugging his shoulders, and with his own hand he brought a card, marked ' Engaged.' ' This is not for Belgium ? This train ?' asked the old man, rousing himself. ' Certainly not, your Highness. The Belgian train does not leave till 6.40. This one is just starting. Might I ask ' ' My valet ! My valet will tell you,' replied the old man, with a repellant gesture. ' Morbleu, cannot you leave me in peace ?' They bustled in Antoine, still fumbling his change, and expostulating with everybody. Another moment and the train was off. ' I have tickets to the frontier, Monsieur le Marquis.' The old man took no notice.

His face, under its careful make up, was hideous with the horror of his thoughts. The valet remained standing at the farther end of the railway-carriage, steadying himself against the side with an air of respectful indifference. Presently he drew a couple of small note-books from his pocket, and began scribbling assiduously in them. One especially appeared to claim much of his attention ; it was lettered ' Debtor and Creditor ' in dull gold. The train ran on swiftly through the ashen twilight. All around, the flat country lay brown and bleak. Not a sound disturbed the listening silence, except once when the old man broke into a shuddering groan. The valet looked up quickly, then down again, and went on with his scribbling. ' Listen,' said the Marquis at last, abruptly, speaking as if he dreaded equally both silence and speech, ' I may as well tell someone.

I am dying.' A long stillness. ' I am dying — hein ?' ' I regret it sincerely for Monsieur le Marquis.' ' Ha, polisson, you will regret it for yourself.' Having once cast forth his secret, the sick man seemed to find relief in abuse of his companion. He heaped up angry words for some moments longer. The valet stood silent, ticking his pencil against the cover of his pocket-book. And the train ran smoothly on. ' You will gain nothing by my death. Do you understand?' ' I have always understood that perfectly, Monsieur le Marquis.' And the train ran smoothly on. Then a station was reached. During the long halt that ensued a number of inquisitive glances were attracted by the label in the window, a most unusual sight in Holland. People lingered near, a-tiptoe, peering. The valet stared back insolently, screening his master.

When the train was once more rushing forward, away among the fields, the Marquis resumed, with his eyes on the window beside him : ' At least you might have asked how long.' ' As it pleases Monsieur le Marquis,' said the valet. Again a heavy pause. And, beneath the deepening shadows, an increasing sense of chill. Miles upon miles of quiet meadows and monotonous cattle. The Marquis did not see them as he gazed. He saw nothing but that death warrant he had heard an hour ago, writ large across the steadfast heavens. And the weight of his solitude became unbearable to him. ' That cabman ?' he began anew. ' Did you pay him more than his proper fare ?' ' No, Monsieur le Marquis,' said the valet. ' It is good. I should have deducted the sum from your wages.' 'So I told myself, Monsieur le Marquis.' But Antoine smiled softly, as he fingered the little account-book in his pocket.

And he breathed on the pane before him, and wrote 'ten per cent.' across it with his singer, and gently rubbed the letters out, as the smooth train flew on. He did not look round again until a quick succession of gasps attracted his calm attention. Even then he did not turn immediately. He was hardly an evil man. He was only a menial. What sympathy of sorrow should he dare to have in common with his arrogant lord ? The Marquis was lying back, faintly struggling with the tightness of his collar and cravat. His features seemed wrenched awry in the violence of his pain. ' We must stop,' he whispered, 'at the next station. I can go no farther. Stop !' The valet drew near,- helplessly striving to help. ' But where then ?' he began, and checked himself. 'Where? Does it matter?' — the sufferer's voice rose to a momentary scream and immediately died down again. 'Anywhere.

Only stop.' They remained facing each other in the long greysunset, the servant uncertain, annoyed, swaying to and fro in the continuous motion ; the master crushed down among his foppish finery, vainly hoping to beat back the fierce flame from his breast. At last the engine slackened its pace, and drew up with a thud. Antoine thrust his head out into the sudden hush. An open shed stood forlorn, amid the shadow-smitten landscape, by the glistening rails. ' This is a station — this ? A village ?' cried the valet. ' Jawel, Mynheer,' replied a voice. ' Quick !' murmured the Marquis ; ' open the door. Quick. Before they start again !' The valet still delayed for a moment, with his hand nervously trying the lock. ' And the name ?' he called. The guard came running up in astonishment. 'You are mistaken !' he cried. 'This is nothing.

This is Deynum.' The old man started slightly as the name reached his ears. ' Deynum,' he repeated ; ' of all places ! That decides it.' He stumbled to his feet. 'Deynum! That must mean little Reinout. Here or anywhere. And what does it matter where, when the final summons comes !' The shrill station bell rang out its sudden warning across the listening fields.

Chapter II. Young Reinout

' Reinout !' Count Hilarius went across to the window and called to his son. It was a dull, sombre-curtained window, opening out upon the long, dull city-garden of a dull house at the Hague. The room was a 'study,' so named from the directories and Government almanacks which slept, uncut, on their shelves, against the wall. Count Hilarius smoothed his fair moustache, and a flush played across his cheeks. He cast a gratified look at his reflection in the window-pane, and a still more delighted one down on the document in his hand. 'Reinout! Come here immediately. I have something to tell you. Something you will like to hear.' The boy in the distance, who had been stooping over a rabbit-hutch, turned in hasty obedience to this reiterated summons and came running towards the house. As he ran, he continued to fondle a cumbersome black bunny, which hung, jammed up most miserably against his jacket, in cessantly twitching its little pink nose. ' I couldn't come at once, Papa,' he shouted. ' This animal had got its paw caught in the netting, and I had to unfasten it.

Poor beastie. Poor beastie.' He squeezed the rabbit energetically. ' I hate rabbits all the same,' he added. ' I shall give mine away on my birthday. Greedy creatures. They're no good to nobody but themselves.' ' And a very wise philosophy,' replied his father, laughing. ' Look here, Reinout ; something very important has happened. You're too young to understand about it rightly. Still, you can easily see that I am pleased.' ' I shall be fourteen next week, Papa,' said Reinout. Then a sudden burst of flame came pouring across his southern eyes. ' Are we to go back to Brazil ?' he asked. And dropped his rabbit. ' Far better than that ' the boy made a dash at the skipping, crouching quadruped — ' We shall never leave Holland again. For here, in my hand ' Count Hilarius's voice and countenance dropped in solemn unison — ' I hold my nomination to the Royal Household.

Child, your father will henceforward spend much of his time in attendance on the King.' He called out the final words, somewhat crossly, after his retreating offspring. But Reinout leaped back at a bound. ' Oh how splendid !' said Reinout. The Count smiled a complacent little smile. ' Monsieur de Souza always says,' continued the boy enthusiastically, [he was quoting his tutor,] ' that that's what I must do when I grow up. Serve the King ! There's nothing else worth doing in these days, he says. And you remember, the King can do no wrong, Papa. So he will always be able to tell you exactly what is right.' ' Child, how stupidly you sometimes talk. I am not to be Prime' Minister, thank Goodness. I am appointed one of the Lords Sub-Comptrollers of the Household. There ; that is what you can tell your playmates.

A Lord Sub- Comptroller of the Household. There are two of them. It sounds rather nice ; does it not ?' And he walked away from the window, pleasantly linger ing over the delightful words. Then, with one of the quick twists peculiar to his nervous figure — Count Hilarius was never more irritable than when gratified — he turned to say sharply : ' Don't talk nonsense about Brazil. You would like to live out in the country — wouldn't you ? — here in Holland, in a beautiful Castle with parks and pleasure-grounds, quite different from this poky bit of garden, where you could have dogs, and a pony, and lots of other pets ?' ' Oh a pony !' cried the son, not hearing the rest. ' Are you going to give me a pony for my birthday ? I don't want any other dog than Prince.' ' No, not just yet. But if ever I get Deynum, you shall have one.

There, run away now. I have letters to write.' ' To Mamma ?' asked the boy. 'Amongst others. Why do you ask? Do you want me to tell her to come back ?' 1 No ; it is not that. I was thinking she would like to hear that Prince's leg is well again.' 'Oh, rubbish. You had better write to her yourself.' ' I ?' said the boy. ' Why ?' And he ran away— he always either ran or crawled— with the rabbit against his cheek, overflowing his shoulders. At the farther end of his dusty playground he stopped abruptly. 'How splendid!' he repeated, and then he sal down on the bench by the single apple-tree, to think it out. The news had overwhelmed him, little eighteenth-century royalist that he was. Of the strange education which his parents had decreed should be his, more anon ; suffice it to say at present that its central idea had been the pomps and majesties of the Crown and its dependent Coronets, the glory of the Sun and of the Stars. ' Make a gentleman of him, not a scholar,' his father had said to the old Chevalier de Souza.

And with Count van Rexelaer a gentleman meant a man of the world. 'Tell your playmates.' Reinout reflected. Boy-friends chums — he had none. Away in Petropolis, where his father had helped, in a small way, to represent the Court of the Netherlands, his child-life had been one of absolute lordship among a confusion of servants and animals, with Monsieur de Souza ever ready to instruct him how to use, without abusing, his birthright of supremacy. And during the succeeding half dozen years at the Hague — school being forbidden by the ex-diplomat's theories — although he had certainly come into contact with a number of his equals, at fencing-classes, dancing classes, riding-schools, etc., the barrier of his isolation had always been maintained. 'Seek acquaintances and avoid friends,' was one of his father's favourite sayings. 'You want stepping-stones, not stumbling blocks.

I have known a man ruined for life by one friend.' Reinout, then, was steered clear of all compromising connections, high or low. ' But I may give my old rocking horse to the coachman's children ?' And white-headed Monsieur de Souza smiled down fondly on his impetuous pupil : ' Most certainly, mon petit, you must always be very gracious to the coachman's children.' But that was long ago. Reinout got off the seat again. ' Prince,' he called out, ' Prince !' He was not intending to whisper his story to the dog, he was too old for that ; but in all moments of super abundant feeling our thoughts most naturally flow out to whatever we love best. The dog did not make his appear ance, however, and Reinout, after referring to his watch to make the agreeable discovery that lessons were still distant, sank back dreamily, letting the massive gold time-keeper fall loose in his lap.

With this treasure, too costly an one for his age, was con nected the sole eventful episode of his dignified young existence. He loved to recall it. He loved the watch next best after Prince, because Prince was alive. But then so, to some indistinct extent, was the watch. The first summer after the return from South America had been spent at the Belgian sea-side resort of Blanken berghe. On one broiling July afternoon, when his more reasonable elders were dozing, Reinout, impervious to heat as only children can be, had slipped out for a good run with his hoop, beneath the blazing firmament, along a quiet, dusty lane. He had progressed for a long distance, in warmth and loneliness, when suddenly a turn of the road had brought him face to face with a swiftly advancing rider. The start, and an unexpected slope of the ground, had caused him to lose control over his bounding toy, and he saw it, a few yards in front, making straight for the horse's legs.

In one flash he had realized the danger to the rider and had flung himself after it, with set teeth, straining beyond his strength. Then had come a terrible rush of two seconds, a whirlwind of sand, and a great crash of thunder, as he fell aside and rolled over with the hoop in his arms. After the first moment of dazzlement, he had awakened to the fact that the horseman had drawn rein beside him, an old gentleman, high and haughty, on a magnificent charger, in a halo of dust. ' I beg your pardon, sir. I am very sorry,' said Reinout, sitting up. Of these words the old gentleman took no immediate notice. ' Why did you throw yourself under my horse's feet ?' he asked. •The hoop, Monsieur. I had to stop it. I couldn't — I am very sorry.' ' Of course. Most children would have stood and stared. Do you always know your duty and ' — with an amused smile — ' risk your life in doing it ?' No answer but a puzzled look. ' Where do you come from, little fool ?

What is your name ?' ' From Brazil, Monsieur. Reinout van Rexelaer. I mean I am a Hollander. I am very sorry.' The horse gave a plunge for which, this time, Reinout was in no wise responsible. ' You are a brave boy,' said the rider presently. ' It is good you are a small one, for I jumped you as you fell. So your name, of all others, is Rexelaer.' ' Yes, Monsieur,' acquiesced Reinout ; ' but, if you please, I did not do it on purpose.' The stranger sat looking down upon him for a moment. Then he said thoughtfully : ' I wonder — never mind. Here, catch hold ! As a memento of our meeting. And remember: "A gentilhomme devoir fait loi." Good-bye.' Reinout remained alone in the road, still seated on his hoop, white and shabby, the beautiful watch in his lap. 'What a lie I gave him to remember me by,' reflected the stranger, as he rode rapidly away. ' Well, these lies are the pillars of society.

A fine fellow, though I was foolish to give him my watch. Of course it is her child. The world is positively becoming too small to turn round in. I shall go back to Saint Leu to-night.' Reinout had kept his present, for — somewhat to his father's vexation — no effort had been successful in discovering the donor. By a storm of tears he had even extorted permission to wear it daily. He was immensely proud of it. And of the grand old gentleman, his mysterious acquaintance. And of : ' A gentilhomme devoir fait loi.' Count Hilarius had finished his letters, and was re-perusing the last. It was addressed to his Countess, at Spa, whither she had betaken herself for a course of the waters, the state of her nerves not permitting her son to accompany her. His father was willing enough for him to remain.

In his own manner, and for his own ambitious reasons, Count van Rexelaer was deeply attached to his only child and heir. 'Now, more earnestly than hitherto' — the Count had written — 'I shall make every effort with regard to Deynum. I must succeed. It has been the principal object of my life, as you know, and, at last, after all these years of economy, there is money enough.' ' By-the-bye !' remarked Count Hilarius, when he came to this passage, and he rose and rang the bell. ' Go to the Hotel des Etrangers, if you please, and ask whether Mynheer Strum, if he be in, could call in the course of the evening.' ' To the hotel — I beg your pardon, sir ?' said the man. ' I will write down the name for you ; that will be better,' replied his master suavely. And he did so, and then he added a postscript to the Spa letter : ' At this moment I have a better chance than ever of acquiring Deynum.' Then he stopped. ' Pooh ; she doesn't care as I do.

How could she?' he said. His son's voice came wafted to him from the garden. And he smiled. Ten minutes later he himself was on his way to the place whither he had despatched his servant. He found the man waiting in the hotel-entry. ' No use delaying till this evening,' he said half-apologetically. And the servant, knowing his master, touched his cap and departed. Mynheer Strum was in his room, a hotel-bedroom on the top-floor. ' If Mynheer would enter the reading-room ;' but Mynheer preferred to go up. The stairs were dark, and the apartment was modest, as befitted its temporary occu pant, a young country notary who had just succeeded to his father's practice. This personage, as his visitor entered, rose lingeringly from the bed upon which he had been lounging, a big, ungainly creature, with red hair, red hands and red, spectacled eyes, his whole frame-work suggestive of bones out of place. ' I am Count Rexelaer, upon whom you called a week ago ' began the ex-diplomat. ' I remember,' interrupted the Notary. ' Take a seat, Mynheer the Count,' and he pushed forward the one un encumbered chair, without any effort to tidy the others, as he propped himself up against the side of the bed. ' I was too much occupied with other important matters at the time to give your communication due consideration.