CHAPTER IX
Margaret cut off a huge piece of venison, and ran to the window andthrew it out to the green eyes of fire. They darted on to it with asavage snarl; and there was a sound of rending and crunching: at thismoment, a hound uttered a bay so near and loud it rang through thehouse; and the three at the window shrank together. Then the leopardfeared for her supper, and glided swiftly and stealthily away with ittowards the woods, and the very next moment horses and men and dogs camehelter-skelter past the window, and followed her full cry. Martin andhis companions breathed again: the leopard was swift, and would notbe caught within a league of their house. They grasped hands. Margaretseized this opportunity, and cried a little; Gerard kissed the tearsaway.
To table once more, and Gerard drank to woman's wit: "'Tis stronger thanman's force," said he.
"Ay," said Margaret, "when those she loves are in danger; not else."
To-night Gerard stayed with her longer than usual, and went home prouderthan ever of her, and happy as a prince. Some little distance from home,under the shadow of some trees, he encountered two figures: they almostbarred his way.
It was his father and mother.
Out so late! what could be the cause?
A chill fell on him.
He stopped and looked at them: they stood grim and silent. He stammeredout some words of inquiry.
"Why ask?" said the father; "you know why we are here."
"Oh, Gerard!" said his mother, with a voice full of reproach yet ofaffection.
Gerard's heart quaked: he was silent.
Then his father pitied his confusion, and said to him:
"Nay, you need not to hang your head. You are not the first young foolthat has been caught by a red cheek and a pair of blue eyes."
"Nay, nay!" put in Catherine, "it was witchcraft; Peter the Magician iswell known for that."
"Come, Sir Priest," resumed his father, "you know you must not meddlewith women folk. But give us your promise to go no more to Sevenbergen,and here all ends: we won't be hard on you for one fault."
"I cannot promise that, father."
"Not promise it, you young hypocrite!"
"Nay, father, miscall me not: I lacked courage to tell you what I knewwould vex you; and right grateful am I to that good friend, whoever hebe, that has let you wot. 'Tis a load off my mind. Yes, father, I loveMargaret; and call me not a priest, for a priest I will never be. I willdie sooner."
"That we shall see, young man. Come, gainsay me no more; you will learnwhat 'tis to disrespect a father."
Gerard held his peace, and the three walked home in gloomy silence,broken only by a deep sigh or two from Catherine.
From that hour the little house at Tergou was no longer the abode ofpeace. Gerard was taken to task next day before the whole family; andevery voice was loud against him, except little Kate's and the dwarf's,who was apt to take his cue from her without knowing why. As forCornelis and Sybrandt, they were bitterer than their father. Gerardwas dismayed at finding so many enemies, and looked wistfully into hislittle sister's face: her eyes were brimming at the harsh words showeredon one who but yesterday was the universal pet. But she gave him noencouragement: she turned her head away from him and said:
"Dear, dear Gerard, pray to Heaven to cure you of this folly!"
"What, are you against me too?" said Gerard, sadly; and he rose with adeep sigh, and left the house and went to Sevenbergen.
The beginning of a quarrel, where the parties are bound by affectionthough opposed in interest and sentiment, is comparatively innocent:both are perhaps in the right at first starting, and then it is thata calm, judicious friend, capable of seeing both sides, is a gift fromHeaven. For the longer the dissension endures, the wider and deeper itgrows by the fallibility and irascibility of human nature: these arenot confined to either side, and finally the invariable end isreached--both in the wrong.
The combatants were unequally matched: Elias was angry, Cornelis andSybrandt spiteful; but Gerard, having a larger and more cultivated mind,saw both sides where they saw but one, and had fits of irresolution,and was not wroth, but unhappy. He was lonely, too, in this struggle.He could open his heart to no one. Margaret was a high-spirited girl:he dared not tell her what he had to endure at home; she was capable ofsiding with his relations by resigning him, though at the cost of herown happiness. Margaret Van Eyck had been a great comfort to him onanother occasion but now he dared not make her his confidant. Her ownhistory was well known. In early life she had many offers of marriage;but refused them all for the sake of that art, to which a wife's andmother's duties are so fatal: thus she remained single and painted withher brothers. How could he tell her that he declined the benefice shehad got him, and declined it for the sake of that which at his age shehad despised and sacrificed so lightly?
Gerard at this period bade fair to succumb. But the other side had ahorrible ally in Catherine, senior. This good-hearted but uneducatedwoman could not, like her daughter, act quietly and firmly: still lesscould she act upon a plan. She irritated Gerard at times, and so helpedhim; for anger is a great sustainer of the courage: at others she turnedround in a moment and made onslaughts on her own forces. To takea single instance out of many: one day that they were all at home,Catherine and all, Cornelis said: "Our Gerard wed Margaret Brandt? Why,it is hunger marrying thirst."
"And what will it be when you marry?" cried Catherine. "Gerard canpaint, Gerard can write, but what can you do to keep a woman, ye lazyloon? Nought but wait for your father's shoon. Oh we can see why you andSybrandt would not have the poor boy to marry. You are afraid he willcome to us for a share of our substance. And say that he does, and saythat we give it him, it isn't yourn we part from, and mayhap never willbe."
On these occasions Gerard smiled slily, and picked up heart, andtemporary confusion fell on Catherine's unfortunate allies. But at last,after more than six months of irritation, came the climax. The fathertold the son before the whole family he had ordered the burgomasterto imprison him in the Stadthouse rather than let him marry Margaret.Gerard turned pale with anger at this, but by a great effort held hispeace. His father went on to say, "And a priest you shall be before theyear is out, nilly-willy."
"Is it so?" cried Gerard. "Then, hear me, all. By God and St. Bavon Iswear I will never be a priest while Margaret lives. Since force is todecide it, and not love and duty, try force, father; but force shall notserve you, for the day I see the burgomaster come for me, I leave Tergoufor ever, and Holland too, and my father's house, where it seems I havebeen valued all these years, not for myself, but for what is to be gotout of me."
And he flung out of the room white with anger and desperation.
"There!" cried Catherine, "that comes of driving young folks too hard.But men are crueller than tigers, even to their own flesh and blood.Now, Heaven forbid he should ever leave us, married or single."
As Gerard came out of the house, his cheeks pale and his heart panting,he met Reicht Heynes: she had a message for him: Margaret Van Eyckdesired to see him. He found the old lady seated grim as a judge. Shewasted no time in preliminaries, but inquired coldly why he had notvisited her of late: before he could answer, she said in a sarcastictone, "I thought we had been friends, young sir."
At this Gerard looked the picture of doubt and consternation.
"It is because you never told her you were in love," said Reicht Heynes,pitying his confusion.
"Silence, wench! Why should he tell us his affairs? We are not hisfriends: we have not deserved his confidence."
"Alas! my second mother," said Gerard, "I did not dare to tell you myfolly."
"What folly? Is it folly to love?"
"I am told so every day of my life."
"You need not have been afraid to tell my mistress; she is always kindto true lovers."
"Madam--Reicht I was afraid because I was told..."
"Well, you were told--?"
"That in your youth you scorned love, preferring art."
"I did, boy; and what is
the end of it? Behold me here a barren stock,while the women of my youth have a troop of children at their side, andgrandchildren at their knee I gave up the sweet joys of wifehood andmotherhood for what? For my dear brothers. They have gone and left melong ago. For my art. It has all but left me too. I have the knowledgestill, but what avails that when the hand trembles. No, Gerard; I lookon you as my son. You are good, you are handsome, you are a painter,though not like some I have known. I will not let you throw your youthaway as I did mine: you shall marry this Margaret. I have inquired, andshe is a good daughter. Reicht here is a gossip. She has told me allabout it. But that need not hinder you to tell me."
Poor Gerard was overjoyed to be permitted to praise Margaret aloud, andto one who could understand what he loved in her.
Soon there were two pair of wet eyes over his story; and when the poorboy saw that, there were three.
Women are creatures brimful of courage. Theirs is not exactly the samequality as manly courage; that would never do, hang it all; we shouldhave to give up trampling on them. No; it is a vicarious courage. Theynever take part in a bull-fight by any chance; but it is remarked thatthey sit at one unshaken by those tremors and apprehensions for thecombatants to which the male spectator--feeble-minded wretch!--issubject. Nothing can exceed the resolution with which they have beenknown to send forth men to battle: as some witty dog says,
"Les femmes sont tres braves avec le peur d'autrui."
By this trait Gerard now profited. Margaret and Reicht were agreed thata man should always take the bull by the horns. Gerard's only course wasto marry Margaret Brandt off-hand; the old people would come to aftera while, the deed once done. Whereas, the longer this misunderstandingcontinued on its present footing, the worse for all parties, especiallyfor Gerard.
"See how pale and thin they have made him amongst them."
"Indeed you are, Master Gerard," said Reicht. "It makes a body sad tosee a young man so wasted and worn. Mistress, when I met him in thestreet to-day, I had liked to have burst out crying: he was so changed.
"And I'll be bound the others keep their colour; ah, Reicht? such as itis."
"Oh, I see no odds in them."
"Of course not. We painters are no match for boors. We are glass, theyare stone. We can't stand the worry, worry, worry of little minds; andit is not for the good of mankind we should be exposed to it. It is hardenough, Heaven knows, to design and paint a masterpiece, without havinggnats and flies stinging us to death into the bargain."
Exasperated as Gerard was by his father's threat of violence, helistened to these friendly voices telling him the prudent course wasrebellion. But though he listened, he was not convinced.
"I do not fear my father's violence," he said, "but I do fear hisanger. When it came to the point he would not imprison me. I would marryMargaret to-morrow if that was my only fear. No; he would disown me. Ishould take Margaret from her father, and give her a poor husband,who would never thrive, weighed down by his parent's curse. Madam! Isometimes think if I could marry her secretly, and then take her awayto some country where my craft is better paid than in this; and aftera year or two, when the storm had blown over, you know, could come backwith money in my purse, and say, 'My dear parents, we do not seek yoursubstance, we but ask you to love us once more as you used, and as wehave never ceased to love you'--but, alas! I shall be told these are thedreams of an inexperienced young man."
The old lady's eyes sparkled.
"It is no dream, but a piece of wonderful common-sense in a boy;it remains to be seen whether you have spirit to carry out your ownthought. There is a country, Gerard, where certain fortune awaits youat this moment. Here the arts freeze, but there they flourish, as theynever yet flourished in any age or land."
"It is Italy!" cried Gerard. "It is Italy!"
"Ay, Italy! where painters are honoured like princes, and scribes arepaid three hundred crowns for copying a single manuscript. Know you notthat his Holiness the Pope has written to every land for skilful scribesto copy the hundreds of precious manuscripts that are pouring into thatfavoured land from Constantinople, whence learning and learned men aredriven by the barbarian Turks?"
"Nay, I know not that; but it has been the dream and hope of my life tovisit Italy, the queen of all the arts; oh, madam! But the journey, andwe are all so poor."
"Find you the heart to go, I'll find the means. I know where to lay myhand on ten golden angels: they will take you to Rome: and the girl withyou, if she loves you as she ought."
They sat till midnight over this theme. And, after that day, Gerardrecovered his spirits, and seemed to carry a secret talisman against allthe gibes and the harsh words that flew about his ears at home.
Besides the money she procured him for the journey, Margaret Van Eyckgave him money's worth. Said she, "I will tell you secrets that Ilearned from masters that are gone from me, and have left no fellowbehind. Even the Italians know them not; and what I tell you now inTergou you shall sell here in Florence. Note my brother Jan's pictures:time, which fades all other paintings, leaves his colours bright as theday they left the easel. The reason is, he did nothing blindly, ina hurry. He trusted to no hireling to grind his colours; he did ithimself, or saw it done. His panel was prepared and prepared again--Iwill show you how--a year before he laid his colour on. Most of them arequite content to have their work sucked up and lost, sooner than notbe in a hurry. Bad painters are always in a hurry. Above all, Gerard,I warn you use but little oil, and never boil it: boiling it melts thatvegetable dross into its heart which it is our business to clear away;for impure oil is death to colour. No; take your oil and pour it intoa bottle with water. In a day or two the water will turn muddy: that ismuck from the oil. Pour the dirty water carefully away and add fresh.When that is poured away, you will fancy the oil is clear. You'remistaken. Reicht, fetch me that!" Reicht brought a glass trough with aglass lid fitting tight. "When your oil has been washed in bottle, putit into this trough with water, and put the trough in the sun all day.You will soon see the water turbid again. But mark, you must not carrythis game too far, or the sun will turn your oil to varnish. When it isas clear as crystal, not too luscious, drain carefully, and cork it uptight. Grind your own prime colours, and lay them on with this oil, andthey shall live. Hubert would put sand or salt in the water to clear theoil quicker. But Jan used to say, 'Water will do it best; give watertime.' Jan Van Eyck was never in a hurry, and that is why the world willnot forget him in a hurry."
This and several other receipts, quae nunc perscribere longum est,Margaret gave him with sparkling eyes, and Gerard received them likea legacy from Heaven, so interesting are some things that readuninteresting. Thus provided with money and knowledge, Gerard decided tomarry and fly with his wife to Italy. Nothing remained now but to informMargaret Brandt of his resolution, and to publish the banns as quietlyas possible. He went to Sevenbergen earlier than usual on both theseerrands. He began with Margaret; told her of the Dame Van Eyck'sgoodness, and the resolution he had come to at last, and invited herco-operation.
She refused it plump.
"No, Gerard; you and I have never spoken of your family, but when youcome to marriage--" She stopped, then began again. "I do think yourfather has no ill-will to me more than to another. He told PeterBuyskens as much, and Peter told me. But so long as he is bent on yourbeing a priest (you ought have told me this instead of I you), I couldnot marry you, Gerard, dearly as I love you."
Gerard strove in vain to shake this resolution. He found it very easyto make her cry, but impossible to make her yield. Then Gerard wasimpatient and unjust.
"Very well!" he cried; "then you are on their side, and you will driveme to be a priest, for this must end one way or another. My parents hateme in earnest, but my lover only loves me in jest."
And with this wild, bitter speech, he flung away home again, and leftMargaret weeping.
When a man misbehaves, the effect is curious on a girl who loves himsincerely. It makes her pity him. This, to some of us males, seems
anything but logical. The fault is in our own eye; the logic is tooswift for us. The girl argues thus:--"How unhappy, how vexed, how poorhe must be to misbehave! Poor thing!"
Margaret was full of this sweet womanly pity, when, to her greatsurprise, scarce an hour and a half after he left her, Gerard camerunning back to her with the fragments of a picture in his hand, andpanting with anger and grief.
"There, Margaret! see! see! the wretches! Look at their spite! They havecut your portrait to pieces."
Margaret looked, and, sure enough, some malicious hand had cut herportrait into five pieces. She was a good girl, but she was not ice; sheturned red to her very forehead.
"Who did it?"
"Nay, I know not. I dared not ask; for I should hate the hand that didit, ay, till my dying day. My poor Margaret! The butchers, the ruffians!Six months' work cut out of my life, and nothing to show for it now.See, they have hacked through your very face; the sweet face that everyone loves who knows it. Oh, heartless, merciless vipers!"
"Never mind, Gerard," said Margaret, panting. "Since this is how theytreat you for my sake--Ye rob him of my portrait, do ye? Well, then, heshall have the face itself, such as it is."
"Oh, Margaret!"
"Yes, Gerard; since they are so cruel, I will be the kinder: forgiveme for refusing you. I will be your wife: to-morrow, if it is yourpleasure."
Gerard kissed her hands with rapture, and then her lips; and in a tumultof joy ran for Peter and Martin. They came and witnessed the betrothal;a solemn ceremony in those days, and indeed for more than a centurylater, though now abolished.
The Cloister and the Hearth Page 9
