CHAPTER XIII.
On the afternoon of the sixteenth of May, Burgomaster Van der Werff’s wife was examining chests and boxes. Her husband was at the town-hall, but had told her that towards evening, the Prince’s commissioner, Herr Dietrich Van Bronkhorst, the two Seigneurs von Nordwyk, the city clerk Van Hout, and several other heads of municipal affairs and friends of freedom would meet at his house for a confidential consultation. Maria had the charge of providing the gentlemen with a nice collation, wine, and many similar cares.
This invitation had a very cheering influence on the young wife. It pleased her to be able to play the hostess, according to the meaning of the word in her parents’ house. How long she had been debarred from hearing any grave, earnest conversation. True, there had been no lack of visitors: the friends and relatives of her husband’s family, who called upon her and talked with Barbara, often begged her to come to their houses; among them were many who showed themselves kindly disposed and could not help respecting her worth, but not one to whom she was attracted by any warm affection. Maria, whose life was certainly not crowded with amusements, dreaded their coming, and when they did call, endured their presence as an unavoidable evil. The worthy matrons were all much older than herself and, while sitting over their cakes, stewed fruit, and hippocras, knitting, spinning or netting, talked of the hard times during the siege, of the cares of children and servants, washing and soap-making, or subjected to a rigid scrutiny the numerous incomprehensible and reprehensible acts other women were said to have committed, to be committing, or to desire to commit, until Maria’s heart grew heavy and her lonely room seemed to her a peaceful asylum.
She could find words only when the conversation turned upon the misery of the country and the sacred duty of bearing every privation a second time, if necessary for the freedom of the nation, and then she gladly listened to the sturdy women, who evidently meant what they said; but when the hours were filled with idle gossip, it caused her actual pain. Yet she dared not avoid it and was obliged to wait until the departure of the last acquaintance; for after she had ventured to retire early several times, Barbara kindly warned her against it, not concealing that she had had great difficulty in defending her against the reproach of pride and incivility.
“Such chat,” said the widow, “is pleasant and strengthens the courage, and whoever leaves the visitors while they are together, can pray the Lord for a favorable report.”
One lady in Leyden pleased the burgomaster’s wife. This was the wife of Herr Van Hout, the city clerk, but the latter rarely appeared in company, for though a delicate, aristocratic-looking woman, she was obliged to be busy from morning till night, to keep the children and household in good order on a narrow income.
Maria felt brighter and happier than she had done for many days, as she stood before the shelf that contained the table-furniture and the cupboard where the silver was kept. All the handsome dishes belonging to the house were bright and shining, free from every grain of dust, so too were the white linen cloths, trimmed with lace. She selected what she needed, but many of the pewter, glass, and silver articles did not please her; for they did not match, and she found scratches and cracks on numerous pieces.
When her mother had begun to prepare her wedding-outfit, Peter expressed a desire that in these hard times the money should be kept and no useless things purchased. There was an abundance of household articles of every kind in his home, and he would have thought it wrong to buy even a plate. In fact there was no lack of anything on the shelves and cupboards, but she had not selected and bought them herself; they belonged to her, but not entirely, and what was worse, her eyes, accustomed to prettier things, could find no pleasure in these dull, scratched pewter plates, these pitchers, cups and tankards painted in coarse figures with glaring colors. The clumsy glass, too, did not suit her taste, and, while looking it over and selecting what was necessary, she could not help thinking of her recently-wedded friends, who, with sparkling eyes, had showed her their spick-and-span new table-furniture as proudly and happily, as if each piece had been their own work. But, even with the articles she possessed, a table could be set very prettily and daintily.
She had gone out with Adrian before dinner to cut some flowers in the garden by the city wall, and also gathered some delicate grasses in the meadow before the gate. These gifts of May were now tastefully arranged, mixed with peacock-feathers, and placed in vases, and she was delighted to see even the clumsiest dishes win a graceful aspect from the garlands she twined around them. Adrian watched her in astonishment. He would not have marvelled if, under her hands, the dark dining-room had been transformed into a hall of mother-of-pearl and crystal.
When the table was laid, Peter returned home for a moment. He was going to ride out to Valkenburg with Captain Allertssohn, Janus Dousa, and other gentlemen, to inspect the fortifications before his guests appeared. As he passed through the dining-room, he waved his hand to his wife and glancing over the table, said:
“This decoration was not necessary, least of all the flowers. We expect to hold a serious consultation, and you have arranged a wedding-banquet.”
Perceiving that Maria cast down her eyes, he exclaimed kindly:
“But it can remain so for aught I care,” and left the room.
Maria stood irresolutely before her work. Bitter emotions were again beginning to stir in her mind, and she was already extending her hand defiantly towards one particularly beautiful vase, when Adrian raised his large eyes to her face, exclaiming in a tone of earnest entreaty:
“No, mother, you mustn’t do that, it looks quite too pretty.”
Maria smiled, passed her hand over the boy’s curls, took two cakes from a dish, gave them to him, and said:
“One for you, the other for Bessie; our flowers shall stay.”
Adrian hurried off with the sweet gifts, but Maria glanced over the table once more, saying:
“Peter never wants anything but what is absolutely necessary; yet that surely isn’t all, or God would have made all the birds with grey feathers.”
After helping Barbara in the kitchen, she went to her own room. There she arranged her hair, put a fresh, beautifully-starched ruff around her neck and carefully-plaited lace in the open bosom of her dress, but wore her every-day gown, for her husband did not wish to give the assembly at his house a festal aspect.
Just as she had put the last gold pin in her hair, and was considering whether the place of honor at the table belonged to Herr Van Bronkhorst, as representative of the Prince, or to the older Herr von Nordwyk, Trautchen knocked at the door and informed her, that Doctor Bontius wished to see the burgomaster on urgent business. The maid-servant had told the physician that her master had ridden out, but he would not be put off, and asked permission to see her mistress.
Maria instantly went to Peter’s room. The doctor seemed to be in haste. His only greeting was to point with the gold head of his long staff towards the peaked black hat, that never left his head, even beside the sickbed, and asked in a curt, hurried tone:
“When will Meister Peter come home?”
“In an hour,” replied Maria. “Sit down, Doctor.”
“Another time. It will keep me too long to wait for your husband. After all, you can come with me even without his consent.”
“Certainly; but we are expecting visitors.”
“Yes. If I find time, I shall come too. The gentlemen can do without me, but you are necessary to the sick person to whom I wish to take you.”
“I have no idea of whom you are speaking.”
“Haven’t you? Then once more, it is of some one who is suffering, and that will be enough for you at first.”
“And you think I could—”
“You can do far more than you know. Barbara is attending to affairs in the kitchen, and now I tell you again: You must help a sufferer.”
“But, Doctor—”
“I must beg you to hurry, for my time is limited. Do you wish to make yourself useful; yes or no?” The door of the dining-room had remained open. Maria again glanced at the table, and all the pleasures she had anticipated this evening passed through her mind. But as the doctor was preparing to go, she stopped him, saying:
“I will come.”
The manners of this blunt, but unselfish and clever man were familiar to Maria who, without waiting for a reply, brought her shawl, and led the way downstairs. As they passed by the kitchen, Bontius called to Barbara:
“Tell Meister Peter, I have taken his wife to see Fraulein Van Hoogstraten in Nobelstrasse.”
Maria could scarcely keep up with the doctor’s rapid strides and had some difficulty in understanding him, as in broken sentences he told her that all the Glipper friends of the Hoogstraten family had left the city, the old Fraulein was dead, the servants had run away from fear of the plague, which had no existence, and Henrica was now deserted. She had been very ill with a severe fever, but was much better during the past few days. “Misfortune has taken up its abode in the Glipper nest,” he added. “The scythe-man did the old lady a favor when he took her. The French maid, a feeble nonentity, held out bravely, but after watching a few nights broke down entirely and was to have been carried to St. Catharine’s hospital, but the Italian steward, who is not a bad fellow, objected and had her taken to a Catholic laundress. He has followed to nurse her. No one is left in the deserted house to attend to the young lady, except Sister Gonzaga, a good little nun, one of the three who were allowed to remain in the old convent near you, but early this morning, to cap the climax of misfortune, the kind old woman scalded her fingers while heating a bath. The Catholic priest has faithfully remained at his post, but what can we men do in nursing the sick girl! You doubtless now suspect why I brought you with me. You ought not and cannot become the stranger’s nurse permanently; but if the young lady is not to sink after all, she must now have some face about her which she can love, and God has blessed you with one. Look at the sick girl, talk with her, and if you are what I believe you—but here we are.”
The air of the dark entrance hall of the Hoogstraten residence was filled with a strong odor of musk. The old lady’s death had been instantly announced at the town-hall by Doctor Bontius’ representative, and an armed man was marching up and down in the hall, keeping guard, who told the physician that Herr Van Hout had already been here with his men and put seals on all the doors.
On the staircase Maria seized her guide’s arm in terror; for through an open door-way of the second story, to which she was ascending with her companion, she saw in the dusk a shapeless figure, moving strangely hither and thither, up and down. Her tone was by no means confident as, pointing towards it with her finger, she asked the doctor:
“What is that?”
The physician had paused with her, and seeing the strange object to which the burgomaster’s wife pointed, recoiled a step himself. But the cool-headed man quickly perceived the real nature of the ghostly apparition, and leading Maria forward exclaimed smiling:
“What in the world are you doing there on the floor, Father Damianus?”
“I am scouring the boards,” replied the priest quietly.
“Right is right,” cried the doctor indignantly. “You are too good for maid-servant’s work, Father Damianus, especially when there is plenty of money without an owner here in the house, and we can find as many scrubbing-women as we want to-morrow.”
“But not to-day, doctor; and the young lady won’t stay in yonder room any longer. You ordered her to go to sleep yourself, and Sister Gonzaga says she won’t close her eyes so long as she is next door to the corpse.”
“Then Van Hout’s men ought to have carried her on her bed into the old lady’s beautiful sitting-room.”
“That’s sealed, and so are all the other handsome chambers on this story. The men were obliging and tried to find scrub-women, but the poor things are afraid of the plague.”
“Such rumors grow like wire-grass,” cried the doctor. “Nobody sows it, yet who can uproot it when it is once here?”
“Neither you nor I,” replied the priest. “The young lady must be brought into this room at once; but it looked neglected, so I’ve just set it to rights. It will do the invalid good, and the exercise can’t hurt me.” With these words Father Damianus rose, and seeing Maria, said:
“You have brought a new nurse? That’s right. I need not praise Sister Gonzaga, for you know her; but I assure you Fraulein Henrica won’t allow her to remain with her long, and I shall leave this house as soon as the funeral is over.”
“You have done your duty; but what does this news about the Sister mean?” cried the physician angrily. “I’d rather have your old Gonzaga with her burnt fingers than—what has happened?”
The priest approached and, hastily casting a side glance at the burgomaster’s wife, exclaimed:
“She speaks through her nose, and Fraulein Henrica said just now it made her ache to hear her talk; I must keep her away.”
Doctor Bontius reflected a moment, and then said: “There are eyes that cannot endure a glare of light, and perhaps certain tones may seem unbearable to irritated ears. Frau Van der Werff, you have been kept waiting a long time, please follow me.”
It had grown dark. The curtains of the sick-room were lowered and a small lamp, burning behind a screen, shed but a feeble light.
The doctor approached the bed, felt Henrica’s pulse, said a few words in a low tone to prepare her for her visitor, and then took the lamp to see how the invalid looked.
Maria now beheld a pale face with regular outline, whose dark eyes, in their size and lustre, formed a striking contrast to the emaciated cheeks and sunken features of the sick girl.
After old Sister Gonzaga had restored the lamp to its former place, the physician said:
“Excellent! Now, Sister, go and change the bandage on your arm and lie down.” Then he beckoned Maria to approach.
Henrica’s face made a strange impression upon the burgomaster’s wife. She thought her beautiful, but the large eyes and firmly-shut lips seemed peculiar, rather than attractive. Yet she instantly obeyed the physician’s summons, approached the bed, said kindly that she had been glad to come to stay with her a short time, and asked what she desired.
At these words, Henrica raised herself and with a sigh of relief, exclaimed:
“That does me good! Thanks, Doctor. That’s a human voice again. If you want to please me, Frau Van der Werff keep on talking, no matter what you say. Please come and sit down here. With Sister Gonzaga’s hands, your voice, and the doctor’s—yes, I will say with Doctor Bontius’ candor, it won’t be difficult to recover entirely.”
“Good, good,” murmured the physician. “Kind Sister Gonzaga’s injuries are not serious and she will stay with you, but when it is time for you to sleep, you will be moved elsewhere. You can remain here an hour, Frau Van der Werff, but that will be enough for to-day. I’ll go to your house and send the servant for you with a lantern.”
When the two ladies were left alone together, Maria said:
“You set great value on the sound of voices; so do I, perhaps more than is desirable. True, I have never had any serious illness—”
“This is my first one too,” replied Henrica, “but I know now what it is to be compelled to submit to everything we don’t like, and feel with two-fold keenness everything that is repulsive. It is better to die than suffer.”
“Your aunt is dead,” said Maria sympathizingly.
“She died early this morning. We had little in common save the tie of blood.”
“Are your parents no longer living?”
“Only my father; but what of that?”
“He will rejoice over your recovery; Doctor Bontius says you will soon be perfectly well.”
“I think so too,” replied Henrica confidently, and then said softly, without heeding Maria’s presence: “There is one beautiful thing. When I am well again, I shall once more—Do you practise music?”
“Yes, dear Fraulein.”
“Not merely as a pastime, but because you feel you cannot live without it?”
“You must keep quiet, Fraulein. Music;—yes, I think my life would be far poorer without it than it is.”
“Do you sing?”
“Very seldom here; but when a girl in Delft we sung every day.”
“Of course you were the soprano?”
“Yes, Fraulein.”
“Let the Fraulein drop, and call me Henrica.”
“With all my heart, if you will call me Maria, or Frau Maria.”
“I’ll try. Don’t you think we could practise many a song together?”
Just as these words were uttered, Sister Gonzaga entered the room, saying that the wife of Receiver General Cornelius had called to ask if she could do anything for the sick lady.
“What does that mean?” asked Henrica angrily. “I don’t know the woman.”
“She is the mother of Herr Wilhelm, the musician,” said the young wife.
“Oh!” exclaimed Henrica. “Shall I admit her, Maria?”
The latter shook her head and answered firmly “No, Fraulein Henrica. It is not good for you to have more than one visitor at this hour, and besides—”
“Well?”
“She is an excellent woman, but I fear her blunt manner, heavy step, and loud voice would not benefit you just now. Let me go to her and ask what she desires.”
“Receive her kindly, and tell her to remember me to her son. I am not very delicate, but I see you understand me; such substantial fare would hardly suit me just now.”
After Maria had performed her errand and talked with Henrica for a time, Frau Van Hout was announced. Her husband, who had been present when the doors of the house of death were sealed, had told her about the invalid and she came to see if the poor girl needed anything.
“You might receive her,” said Maria, “for she would surely please you; but the bell is ringing again, and you have talked enough for to-day. Try to sleep now. I’ll go home with Frau Van Hout and come again tomorrow, if agreeable to you.”
“Come, pray come!” exclaimed the young girl.
“Do you want to say anything more to me?”
“I should like to do so, Fraulein Henrica. You ought not to stay in this sad house. There is plenty of room in ours. Will you be our guest until your father—”
“Yes, take me home with you!” cried the invalid, tears sparkling in her eyes. “Take me away from here, only take me away—and I will be grateful to you all my life.”
CHAPTER XIV.
Maria had not mounted the stairs so joyously for weeks as she did to-day. She would have sung, had it been seemly, though she felt a little anxious; for perhaps her husband would not think she had done right to invite, on her own authority, a stranger, especially a sick stranger, who was a friend of Spain, to be their guest.
As she passed the dining-room, she heard the gentlemen consulting together. Then Peter began to speak. She noticed the pleasant depth of his voice, and said to herself that Henrica would like to hear it. A few minutes after she entered the apartment, to greet her husband’s guests, who were also hers. Joyous excitement and the rapid walk through the air of the May evening, which, though the day had been warm, was still cool, had flushed her cheeks and, as she modestly crossed the threshold with a respectful greeting, which nevertheless plainly revealed the pleasure afforded by the visit of such guests, she looked so winning and lovely, that not a single person present remained unmoved by the sight. The older Herr Van der Does clapped Peter on the shoulder and then struck the palm of his hand with his fist, as if to say: “I won’t question that!” Janus Dousa whispered gaily to Van Hout, who was a good Latin scholar:
“Oculi sunt in amore duces.”
Captain Allertssohn started up and raised his hand to his hat with a military salute; Van Bronkhorst, the Prince’s Commissioner, gave expression to his feelings in a courtly bow, Doctor Bontius smiled contentedly, like a person who has successfully accomplished a hazardous enterprise, and Peter proudly and happily strove to attract his wife’s attention to himself. But this was not to be, for as soon as Maria perceived that she was the mark for so many glances, she lowered her eyes with a deep blush, and then said far more firmly than would have been expected from her timid manner:
“Welcome, gentlemen! My greeting comes late, but I would have gladly offered it earlier.”
“I can bear witness to that,” cried Doctor Bontius, rising and shaking hands with Maria more cordially than ever before. Then he motioned towards Peter, and exclaimed to the assembled guests: “Will you excuse the burgomaster for a moment?”
As soon as he stood apart with the husband and wife at the door, he began:
“You have invited a new visitor to the house, Frau Van der Werff; I won’t drink another drop of Malmsey, if I’m mistaken.”
“How do you know?” asked Maria gaily. “I see it in your face.”
“And the young lady shall be cordially welcome to me,” added Peter.
“Then you know?” asked Maria.
“The doctor did not conceal his conjecture from me.”
“Why yes, the sick girl will be glad to come to us, and to-morrow—”
“No, I’ll send for her to-day,” interrupted Peter. “To-day? But dear me! It’s so late; perhaps she is asleep, the gentlemen are here, and our spare bed—” exclaimed Maria, glancing disapprovingly and irresolutely from the physician to her husband.
“Calm yourself; child,” replied Peter. “The doctor has ordered a covered litter from St. Catharine’s hospital, Jan and one of the city-guard will carry her, and Barbara has nothing more to do in the kitchen and is now preparing her own chamber for her.”
“And,” chimed in the physician, “perhaps the sick girl may find sleep here. Besides, it will be far more agreeable to her pride to be carried through the streets unseen, under cover of the darkness.”
“Yes, yes,” said Maria sadly, “that may be so; but I had been thinking—People ought not to do anything too hastily.”
“Will you be glad to receive the young lady as a guest?” asked Peter.
“Why, certainly.”
“Then we won’t do things by halves, but show her all the kindness in our power. There is Barbara beckoning; the litter has come, Doctor. Guide the nocturnal procession in God’s name, but don’t keep us waiting too long.”
The burgomaster returned to his seat, and Bontius left the room.
Maria followed him. In the entry, he laid his hand on her arm and asked:
“Will you know next time, what I expect from you?”
“No,” replied the burgomaster’s wife, in a tone which sounded gay, though it revealed the disappointment she felt; “no—but you have taught me that you are a man who understands how to spoil one’s best pleasures.”
“I will procure you others,” replied the doctor laughing and descended the stairs. He was Peter’s oldest friend, and had made many objections to the burgomaster’s marriage with a girl so many years his junior, in these evil times, but to-day he showed himself satisfied with Van der Werff’s choice.
Maria returned to the guests, filled and offered glasses of wine to the gentlemen, and then went to her sister-in-law’s room, to help her prepare everything for the sick girl as well as possible. She did not do so unwillingly, but it seemed as if she would have gone to the work with far greater pleasure early the next morning.
Barbara’s spacious chamber looked out upon the court-yard. No sound could be heard there of the conversation going on between the gentlemen in the dining-room, yet it was by no means quiet among these men who, though animated by the same purpose, differed widely about the ways and means of bringing it to a successful issue.
There they sat, the brave sons of a little nation, the stately leaders of a small community, poor in numbers and means of defence, which had undertaken to bid defiance to the mightiest power and finest armies of its age. They knew that the storm-clouds, which had been threatening for weeks on the horizon, would rise faster and faster, mass together, and burst in a furious tempest over Leyden, for Herr Van der Werff had summoned them to his house because a letter addressed to himself and Commissioner Van Bronkhorst by the Prince, contained tidings, that the Governor of King Philip of Spain had ordered Senor del Campo Valdez to besiege Leyden a second time and reduce it to subjection. They were aware, that William of Orange could not raise an army to divert the hostile troops from their aim or relieve the city before the lapse of several months; they had experienced how little aid was to be expected from the Queen of England and the Protestant Princes of Germany, while the horrible fate of Haarlem, a neighboring and more powerful city, rose as a menacing example before their eyes. But they were conscious of serving a good cause, relied upon the faith, courage and statesmanship of Orange, were ready to die rather than allow themselves to be enslaved body and soul by the Spanish tyrant. Their belief in God’s justice was deep and earnest, and each individual possessed a joyous confidence in his own resolute, manly strength.
In truth, the men who sat around the table, so daintily decked with flowers by a woman’s hand, understood how to empty the large fluted goblets so nimbly, that jug after jug of Peter’s Malmsey and Rhine wine were brought up from the cellar, the men who made breaches in the round pies and huge joints of meat, juicier and more nourishing than any country except theirs can furnish—did not look as if pallid fear had brought them together.
The hat is the sign of liberty, and the free man keeps his hat on. So some of the burgomaster’s guests sat at the board with covered heads, and how admirably the high plaited cap of dark-red velvet, with its rich ornaments of plumes, suited the fresh old face of the senior Seigneur of Nordwyk and the clever countenance of his nephew Janus Dousa; how well the broad-brimmed hat with blue and orange ostrich-feathers—the colors of the House of Orange—became the waving locks of the young Seigneur of Warmond, Jan Van Duivenvoorde. How strongly marked and healthful were the faces of the other men assembled here! Few countenances lacked ruddy color, and strong vitality, clear intellect, immovable will and firm resolution flashed from many blue eyes around the table. Even the black-robed magistrates, whose plaited ruffs and high white collars were very becoming, did not look as if the dust of documents had injured their health. The moustaches and beards on the lips of each, gave them also a manly appearance. They were all joyously ready to sacrifice themselves and their property for a great spiritual prize, yet looked as if they had a firm foothold in the midst of life; their hale, sensible faces showed no traces of enthusiasm; only the young Seigneur of Warmond’s eyes sparkled with a touch of this feeling, while Janus Dousa’s glance often seemed turned within, to seek things hidden in his own heart; and at such moments his sharply-cut, irregular features possessed a strange charm.
The broad, stout figure of Commissioner Van Bronkhorst occupied a great deal of room. His body was by no means agile, but from the round, closely shaven head looked forth a pair of prominent eyes, that expressed unyielding resolution.
The brightly-lighted table, around which such guests had gathered, presented a gay, magnificent spectacle. The yellow leather of the doublets worn by Junker von Warmond, Colonel Mulder, and Captain Allertssohn, the colored silk scarfs that adorned them, and the scarlet coat of brave Dirk Smaling contrasted admirably with the deep black robes of Pastor Verstroot, the burgomaster, the city clerk, and their associates! The violet of the commissioner’s dress and the dark hues of the fur-bordered surcoats worn by the elder Herr Van der Does and Herr Van Montfort blended pleasantly and harmonized the light and dark shades. Everything sorrowful seemed to have been banished far from this brilliant, vigorous round table, so words flowed freely and voices sounded full and strong enough.
Danger was close at hand. The Spanish vanguard might appear before Leyden any day. Many preparations were made. English auxiliaries were to garrison the fortifications of Alfen and defend the Gouda lock. The defensive works of Valkenburg had been strengthened and entrusted to other British troops, the city soldiers, the militia and volunteers were admirably drilled. They did not wish to admit foreign troops within the walls, for during the first siege they had proved far more troublesome than useful, and there was little reason to fear that a city guarded by water, walls and trees would be taken by storm.
What most excited the gentlemen was the news Van Hout had brought. Rich Herr Baersdorp, one of the four burgomasters, who had the largest grain business in Leyden, had undertaken to purchase considerable quantities of bread-stuffs in the name of the city. Several ship loads of wheat and rye had been delivered by him the day before, but he was still in arrears with three-quarters of what was ordered. He openly said that he had as yet given no positive orders for it, because owing to the prospect of a good harvest, a fall in the price of grain was expected in the exchanges of Rotterdam and Amsterdam, and he would still have several weeks time before the commencement of the new blockade.
Van Hout was full of indignation, especially as two out of the four burgomasters sided with their colleague Baersdorp.
The elder Herr von Nordwyk agreed with him, exclaiming:
“With all due respect to your dignity, Herr Peter, your three companions in office belong to the ranks of bad friends, who would willingly be exchanged for open enemies.”
“Herr von Noyelles,” said Colonel Mulder, “has written about them to the Prince, the good and truthful words, that they ought to be sent to the gallows.”
“And they will suit them,” cried Captain Allertssohn, “so long as hangmen’s nooses and traitors’ necks are made for each other.”
“Traitors—no,” said Van der Werff resolutely. “Call them cowards, call them selfish and base-minded—but not one of them is a Judas.”
“Right, Meister Peter, that they certainly are not, and perhaps even cowardice has nothing to do with their conduct,” added Herr von Nordwyk. “Whoever has eyes to see and ears to hear, knows the views of the gentlemen belonging to the old city families, who are reared from infancy as future magistrates; and I speak not only of Leyden, but the residents of Gouda and Delft, Rotterdam and Dortrecht. Among a hundred, sixty would bear the Spanish yoke, even do violence to conscience, if only their liberties and rights were guaranteed. The cities must rule and they themselves in them; that is all they desire. Whether people preach sermons or read mass in the church, whether a Spaniard or a Hollander rules, is a matter of secondary importance to them. I except the present company, for you would not be here, gentlemen, if your views were similar to those of the men of whom I speak.”
“Thanks for those words,” said Dirk Smaling, “but with all due honor to your opinion, you have painted matters in too dark colors. May I ask if the nobles do not also cling to their rights and liberties?”
“Certainly, Herr Dirk; but they are commonly of longer date than yours,” replied Van Bronkhorst. “The nobleman needs a ruler. He is a lustreless star, if the sun that lends him light is lacking. I, and with me all the nobles who have sworn fealty to him, now believe that our sun must and can be no other person than the Prince of Orange, who is one of ourselves, knows, loves, and understands us; not Philip, who has no comprehension of what is passing within and around us, is a foreigner and detests us. We will uphold William with our fortunes and our lives for, as I have already said, we need a sun, that is, a monarch—but the cities think they have power to shine and wish to be admired as bright stars themselves. True, they feel that, in these troublous times, the country needs a leader, and that they can find no better, wiser and more faithful one than Orange; but if it comes to pass—and may God grant it—that the Spanish yoke is broken, the noble William’s rule will seem wearisome, because they enjoy playing sovereign themselves. In short: the cities endure a ruler, the nobles gather round him and need him. No real good will be accomplished until noble, burgher and peasant cheerfully yield to him, and unite to battle under his leadership for the highest blessings of life.”
“Right,” said Van flout. “The well-disposed nobility may well serve as an example to the governing classes here and in the other cities, but the people, the poor hard-working people, know what is coming and, thank God, have not yet lost a hearty love for what you call the highest blessings of life. They wish to be and remain Hollanders, curse the Spanish butchers with eloquent hatred, desire to serve God according to the yearning of their own souls, and believe what their own hearts dictate-and these men call the Prince their Father William. Wait a little! As soon as trouble oppresses us, the poor and lowly will stand firm, if the rich and great waver and deny the good cause.”
“They are to be trusted,” said Van der Werff, “firmly trusted.”
“And because I know them,” cried Van Hout, “we shall conquer, with God’s assistance, come what may.” Janus Dousa had been looking into his glass. Now he raised his head and with a hasty gesture, said:
“Strange that those who toil for existence with their hands, and whose uncultured brains only move when their daily needs require it, are most ready to sacrifice the little they possess, for spiritual blessings.”
“Yes,” said the pastor, “the kingdom of heaven stands open to the simple-hearted. It is strange that the poor and unlearned value religion, liberty and their native land far more than the perishable gifts of this world, the golden calf around which the generations throng.”
“My companions are not flattered to-day,” replied Dirk Smaling; “but I beg you to remember in our favor, that we are playing a great and dangerous game, and property-holders must supply the lion’s share of the stake.”
“By no means,” retorted Van Hout, “the highest stake for which the die will be cast is life, and this has the same value to rich and poor. Those who will hold back—I think I know them—have no plain motto or sign, but a proud escutcheon over their doors. Let us wait.”
“Yes, let us wait,” said Van der Werff; “but there are more important matters to be considered now. Day after to-morrow will be Ascension Day, when the bells will ring for the great fair. More than one foreign trader and traveller has passed through the gates yesterday and the day before. Shall we order the booths to be set up, or have the fair deferred until some other time? If the enemy hastens his march, there will be great confusion, and we shall perhaps throw a rich prize into his hands. Pray give me your opinion, gentlemen.”
“The traders ought to be protected from loss and the fair postponed,” said Dirk Smaling.
“No,” replied Van Hout, “for if this prohibition is issued, we shall deprive the small merchants of considerable profit and prematurely damp their courage.”
“Let them have their festival,” cried Janus Dousa. “We mustn’t do coming trouble the favor of spoiling the happy present on its account. If you want to act wisely, follow the advice of Horace.”
“The Bible also teaches that ‘sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,’” added the pastor, and Captain Allertssohn exclaimed:
“On my life, yes! My soldiers, the city-guard and volunteers must have their parade. Marching in full uniform, with all their weapons, while beautiful eyes smile upon them, the old wave greetings, and children run before with exultant shouts, a man learns to feel himself a soldier for the first time.”
So it was determined to let the fair be held. While other questions were being eagerly discussed, Henrica found a loving welcome in Barbara’s pleasant room. When she had fallen asleep, Maria went back to her guests, but did not again approach the table; for the gentlemen’s cheeks were flushed and they were no longer speaking in regular order, but each was talking about whatever he chose. The burgomaster was discussing with Van Hout and Van Bronkhorst the means of procuring a supply of grain for the city, Janus Dousa and Herr von Warmond were speaking of the poem the city clerk had repeated at the last meeting of the poets’ club, Herr Van der Does senior and the pastor were arguing about the new rules of the church, and stout Captain Allertssohn, before whom stood a huge drinking-horn drained to the dregs, had leaned his forehead on Colonel Mulder’s shoulder and, as usual when he felt particularly happy over his wine, was shedding tears.
CHAPTER XV.
The next day after the meeting of the council, Burgomaster Van der Werff, Herr Van Hout, and a notary, attended by two constables, went to Nobelstrasse to set old Fraulein Van Hoogstraten’s property in order. The fathers of the city had determined to seize the Glippers’ abandoned dwellings and apply the property found in them to the benefit of the common cause.
The old lady’s hostility to the patriots was known to all, and as her nearest relatives, Herr Van Hoogstraten and Matanesse Van Wibisma, had been banished from Leyden, the duty of representing the heirs fell upon the city. It was to be expected that only notorious Glippers would be remembered in the dead woman’s will, and if this was the case, the revenue from the personal and real estate would fall to the city, until the deserters mended their ways, and adopted a course of conduct that would permit the magistrates to again open their gates to them. Whoever continued to cling to the Spaniards and oppose the cause of liberty, would forfeit his share of the inheritance. This was no new procedure. King Philip had taught its practice, nay not only the estates of countless innocent persons who had been executed, banished or gone into voluntary exile for the sake of the new religion, but also the property of good Catholic patriots had been confiscated for his benefit. After being anvil so many years, it is pleasant to play hammer; and if that was not always done in a proper and moderate way, people excused themselves on the ground of having experienced a hundred-fold harsher and more cruel treatment from the Spaniards. It might have been unchristian to repay in the same coin, but they dealt severe blows only in mortal conflict, and did not seek the Glippers’ lives.
At the door of the house of death, the magistrates met the musician Wilhelm Corneliussohn and his mother, who had come to offer Henrica a hospitable reception in their house. The mother, who had at first refused to extend her love for her neighbor to the young Glipper girl, now found it hard to be deprived of the opportunity to do a good work, and gave expression to these feelings in the sturdy fashion peculiar to her.
Belotti was standing in the entry, no longer attired in the silk hose and satin-bordered cloth garments of the steward, but in a plain burgher dress. He told the musician and Peter, that he remained in Leyden principally because he could not bear to leave the sick maid, Denise, in the lurch; but other matters also detained him, especially, though he was reluctant to acknowledge it, the feeling, strengthened by long years of service, that he belonged to the Hoogstraten house. The dead woman’s attorney had said that his account books were in good order, and willingly paid the balance due him. His savings had been well invested, and as he never touched the interest, but added to the capital, had considerably increased. Nothing detained him in Leyden, yet he could not leave it until everything was settled in the house where he had so long ruled.
He had daily inquired for the sick lady, and after her death, though Denise began to recover, still lingered in Leyden; he thought it his duty to show the last honors to the dead by attending her funeral.
The magistrates were glad to find Belotti in the house. The notary had managed his little property, and respected him as an honest man. He now asked him to act as guide to his companions and himself. The most important matter was to find the dead woman’s will. Such a document must be in existence, for up to the day after Henrica’s illness it had been in the lawyer’s possession, but was then sent for by the old lady, who desired to make some changes in it. He could give no information about its contents, for his dead partner, whose business had fallen to him, had assisted in drawing it up.
The steward first conducted the visitors to the padrona’s sitting-room and boudoir, but though they searched the writing-tables, chests and drawers, and discovered many letters, money and valuable jewels in boxes and caskets, the document was not found.
The gentlemen thought it was concealed in a secret drawer, and ordered one of the constables to call a locksmith. Belotti allowed this to be done, but meantime listened with special attention to the low chanting that issued from the bedroom where the old lady’s body lay. He knew that the will would most probably be found there, but was anxious to have the priest complete the consecration of his mistress undisturbed. As soon as all was still in the death-chamber, he asked the gentlemen to follow him.
The lofty apartment into which he led them, was filled with the odor of incense. A large bedstead, over which a pointed canopy of heavy silk rose to the ceiling, stood at the back, the coffin in which the dead woman lay had been placed in the middle of the room. A linen cloth, trimmed with lace, covered the face. The delicate hands, still unwrinkled, were folded, and lightly clasped a well-worn rosary. The lifeless form was concealed beneath a costly coverlid, in the centre of which lay an exquisitely-carved ivory crucifix.
The visitors bowed mutely before the corpse. Belotti approached it and, as he saw the padrona’s well-known hands, a convulsive sob shook the old man’s breast. Then he knelt beside the coffin, pressed his lips, to the cold, slender fingers, and a warm tear, the only one shed for this dead form, fell on the hands now clasped forever.
The burgomaster and his companion did not interrupt him, even when he laid his forehead upon the wood of the coffin and uttered a brief, silent prayer. After he had risen, and an elderly priest in the sacerdotal robes had left the room, Father Damianus beckoned to the acolytes, with whom he had lingered in the background, and aided by them and Belotti put the lid on the coffin, then turned to Peter Van der Werff, saying:
“We intend to bury Fraulein Van Hoogstraten at midnight, that no offence may be given.”
“Very well, sir!” replied the burgomaster. “Whatever may happen, we shall not expel you from the city. Of course, if you prefer to go to the Spaniards—”
Damianus shook his head and, interrupting the burgomaster, answered modestly:
“No, sir; I am a native of Utrecht and will gladly pray for the liberty of Holland.”
“There, there!” exclaimed Van Hout. “Those were good words, admirable words! Your hand, Father.”
“There it is; and, so long as you don’t change the ‘haec libertatis ergo’ on your coins to ‘haec religionis ergo,’ not one of those words need be altered.”
“A free country and in it religious liberty for each individual, even for you and your followers,” said the burgomaster, “is what we desire. Doctor Bontius has spoken of you, worthy man; you have cared well for this dead woman. Bury her according to the customs of your church; we have come to arrange the earthly possessions she leaves behind. Perhaps this casket may contain the will.”
“No, sir,” replied the priest. “She opened the sealed paper in my presence, when she was first taken sick, and wrote a few words whenever she felt stronger. An hour before her end, she ordered the notary to be sent for, but when he came life had departed. I could not remain constantly beside the corpse, so I locked up the paper in the linen chest. There is the key.”
The opened will was soon found. The burgomaster quietly unfolded it, and, while reading its contents aloud, the notary and city clerk looked over his shoulder.
The property was to be divided among various churches and convents, where masses were to be read for her soul, and her nearest blood relations. Belotti and Denise received small legacies.
“It is fortunate,” exclaimed Van Hout, “that this paper is a piece of paper and nothing more.”
“The document has no legal value whatever,” added the notary, “for it was taken from me and opened with the explicit statement, that changes were to be made. Here is a great deal to be read on the back.”
The task, that the gentlemen now undertook, was no easy one, for the sick woman had scrawled short notes above and below, hither and thither, on the blank back of the document, probably to assist her memory while composing a new will.
At the very top a crucifix was sketched with an unsteady hand, and below it the words: “Pray for us! Everything shall belong to holy Mother Church.”
Farther down they read: “Nico, I like the lad. The castle on the downs. Ten thousand gold florins in money. To be secured exclusively to him. His father is not to touch it. Make the reason for disinheriting him conspicuous. Van Vliet of Haarlem was the gentleman whose daughter my cousin secretly wedded. On some pitiful pretext he deserted her, to form another marriage. If he has forgotten it, I have remembered and would fain impress it upon him. Let Nico pay heed: False love is poison. My life has been ruined by it—ruined.”
The second “ruined” was followed by numerous repetitions of the same word. The last one, at the very end of the sentence, had been ornamented with numerous curves and spirals by the sick woman’s pen.
On the right-hand margin of the sheet stood a series of short notes
“Ten thousand florins to Anna. To be secured to herself. Otherwise they will fall into the clutches of that foot-pad, d’Avila.
“Three times as much to Henrica. Her father will pay her the money—from the sum he owes me. Where he gets it is his affair. Thus the account with him would be settled.
“Belotti has behaved badly. He shall be passed over.
“Denise may keep what was given her.”
In the middle of the paper, written in large characters, twice and thrice underlined, was the sentence: “The ebony-casket with the Hoogstraten and d’Avila arms on the lid is to be sent to the widow of the Marquis d’Avennes. Forward it to Chateau Rochebrun in Normandy.”
The men, who had mutually deciphered these words, looked at each other silently, until Van Hout exclaimed:
“What a confused mixture of malice and feminine weakness. Let a woman’s heart seem ever so cold; glacier flowers will always be found in it.”
“I’m sorry for the young lady in your house, Herr Peter,” cried the notary, “it would be easier to get sparks from rye-bread, than such a sum from the debt-laden poor devil. The daughter’s portion will be curtailed by the father; that’s what I call bargaining between relations.”
“What can be in the casket?” asked the notary.
“There it is,” cried Van Hout.
“Bring it here, Belotti.”
“We must open it,” said the lawyer, “perhaps she is trying to convey her most valuable property across the frontiers.”
“Open it? Contrary to the dead woman’s express desire?” asked Van der Werff.
“Certainly!” cried the notary. “We were sent here to ascertain the amount of the inheritance. The lid is fastened. Take the picklock, Meister. There, it is open.” The city magistrates found no valuables in the casket, merely letters of different dates. There were not many. Those at the bottom, yellow with age, contained vows of love from the Marquis d’Avennes, the more recent ones were brief and, signed Don Louis d’Avila. Van Hout, who understood the Castilian language in which they were written, hastily read them. As he was approaching the end of the last one, he exclaimed with lively indignation:
“We have here the key of a rascally trick in our hands! Do you remember the excitement aroused four years ago by the duel, in which the Marquis d’Avennes fell a victim to a Spanish brawler? The miserable bravo writes in this letter that he has.... It will be worth the trouble; I’ll translate it for you. The first part of the note is of no importance; but now comes the point: ‘And now, after having succeeded in crossing swords with the marquis and killing him, not without personal danger, a fate he has doubtless deserved, since he aroused your displeasure to such a degree, the condition you imposed upon me is fulfilled, and to-morrow I hope through your favor to receive the sweetest reward. Tell Donna Anna, my adored betrothed, that I would fain lead her to the altar early to-morrow morning, for the d’Avennes are influential and the following day my safety will perhaps be imperilled. As for the rest, I hope I may be permitted to rely upon the fairness and generosity of my patroness.”
Van Hout flung the letter on the table, exclaiming “See, what a dainty hand the bravo writes. And, Jove’s thunder, the lady to whom this plotted murder was to have been sent, is doubtless the mother of the unfortunate marquis, whom the Spanish assassin slew.”
“Yes, Herr Van Hout,” said Belotti, “I can confirm your supposition. The marquise was the wife of the man, who broke his plighted faith to the young Fraulein Van Hoogstraten. She, who lies there, saw many suns rise and set, ere her vengeance ripened.”
“Throw the scrawl into the fire!” cried Van Hout impetuously.
“No,” replied Peter. “We will not send the letters, but you must keep them in the archives. God’s mills grind slowly, and who knows what good purpose these sheets may yet serve.”
The city clerk nodded assent and folding the papers, said: “I think the dead woman’s property will be an advantage to the city.”
“The Prince will dispose of it,” replied Van der Werff. “How long have you served this lady, Belotti?”
“Fifteen years.”
“Then remain in Leyden for a time. I think you may expect the legacy she originally left you. I will urge your claim.”
A few hours before the nocturnal burial of old Fraulein Van Hoogstraten, Herr Matanesse Van Wibisma and his son Nicolas appeared before the city, but were refused admittance by the men who guarded the gates, although both appealed to their relative’s death. Henrica’s father did not come, he had gone several days before to attend a tourney at Cologne.