Het Jongetje

He is a boy who already wears the trappings of a grown‑up – a long trouser, a crisp black coat, a tiny hat with silk ribbon – yet his heart still beats like that of a child. In the bustling streets of The Hague he struts through schoolyards, gathering ribbons and flower petals as trophies from the girls he admires, completely convinced that he is a little prince on a secret quest. His world is a mixture of polished manners and the shy, trembling wonder he feels whenever a silk‑trimmed dress passes by, and he clings to the notion that each girl is a delicate, almost holy creature worth defending.

When school is out on Saturdays and Wednesdays he escapes to the zoo, slipping pieces of fresh bread from his mother’s kitchen to share with the birds and the shy deer. He keeps a diary of these afternoons, noting every detail with the seriousness of a chronicler, and on a July afternoon in 1883 something unexpected catches his eye in a newly built enclosure. The scene is bright, fragrant with roses, and it promises a small adventure that will linger in his memory long after the day ends.