CHAPTER XXXIX
Rude travel is enticing to us English. And so are its records; eventhough the adventurer be no pilgrim of love. And antique friendship hasat least the interest of a fossil. Still, as the true centre of thisstory is in Holland, it is full time to return thither, and to thoseordinary personages and incidents whereof life has been mainly composedin all ages.
Jorian Ketel came to Peter's house to claim Margaret's promise; butMargaret was ill in bed, and Peter, on hearing his errand, affronted himand warned him off the premises, and one or two that stood by were forducking him; for both father and daughter were favourites, and thewhole story was in every mouth, and Sevenbergens in that state of hot,undiscriminating irritation which accompanies popular sympathy.
So Jorian Ketel went off in dudgeon, and repented him of his good deed.This sort of penitence is not rare, and has the merit of being sincere.Dierich Brower, who was discovered at "The Three Kings," making achatterbox drunk in order to worm out of him the whereabouts of MartinWittenhaagen, was actually taken and flung into a horsepond, andthreatened with worse usage, should he ever show his face in the burghagain; and finally, municipal jealousy being roused, the burgomasterof Sevenbergen sent a formal missive to the burgomaster of Tergou,reminding him he had overstepped the law, and requesting him to apply tothe authorities of Sevenbergen on any future occasion when he might havea complaint, real or imaginary, against any of its townsfolk.
The wily Ghysbrecht, suppressing his rage at this remonstrance,sent back a civil message to say that the person he had followed toSevenbergen was a Tergovian, one Gerard, and that he had stolen the townrecords: that Gerard having escaped into foreign parts, and probablytaken the documents with him, the whole matter was at an end.
Thus he made a virtue of necessity. But in reality his calmness was buta veil: baffled at Sevenbergen, he turned his views elsewhere he set hisemissaries to learn from the family at Tergou whither Gerard had fled,and "to his infinite surprise" they did not know. This added tohis uneasiness. It made him fear Gerard was only lurking in theneighbourhood: he would make a certain discovery, and would come backand take a terrible revenge. From this time Dierich and others that wereabout him noticed a change for the worse in Ghysbrecht Van Swieten. Hebecame a moody irritable man. A dread lay on him. His eyes cast furtiveglances, like one who expects a blow, and knows not from what quarterit is to come. Making others wretched had not made him happy. It seldomdoes.
The little family at Tergou, which, but for his violent interference,might in time have cemented its difference without banishing spem gregisto a distant land, wore still the same outward features, but within wasno longer the simple happy family this tale opened with. Little Kateknew the share Cornelis and Sybrandt had in banishing Gerard, andthough, for fear of making more mischief still, she never told hermother, yet there were times she shuddered at the bare sight of them,and blushed at their hypocritical regrets. Catherine, with a woman'svigilance, noticed this, and with a woman's subtlety said nothing, butquietly pondered it, and went on watching for more. The black sheepthemselves, in their efforts to partake in the general gloom and sorrow,succeeded so far as to impose upon their father and Giles: but thedemure satisfaction that lay at their bottom could not escape thesefeminine eyes--
"That, noting all, seem nought to note."
Thus mistrust and suspicion sat at the table, poor substitutes forGerard's intelligent face, that had brightened the whole circle,unobserved till it was gone. As for the old hosier his pride had beenwounded by his son's disobedience, and so he bore stiffly up, and didhis best never to mention Gerard's name; but underneath his Spartancloak, Nature might be seen tugging at his heart-strings. One anxiety henever affected to conceal. "If I but knew where the boy is, and that hislife and health are in no danger, small would be my care," would he say;and then a deep sigh would follow. I cannot help thinking that if Gerardhad opened the door just then, and walked in, there would have been manytears and embraces for him, and few reproaches, or none.
One thing took the old couple quite by surprise--publicity. Ere Gerardhad been gone a week, his adventures were in every mouth; and to makematters worse, the popular sympathy declared itself warmly on the sideof the lovers, and against Gerard's cruel parents, and that old busybodythe burgomaster, who must put his nose into a business that nowiseconcerned him.
"Mother," said Kate, "it is all over the town that Margaret is down witha fever--a burning fever; her father fears her sadly."
"Margaret? what Margaret?" inquired Catherine, with a treacherousassumption of calmness and indifference.
"Oh, mother! whom should I mean? Why, Gerard's Margaret."
"Gerard's Margaret," screamed Catherine; "how dare you say such a wordto me? And I rede you never mention that hussy's name in this house,that she has laid bare. She is the ruin of my poor boy, the flower ofall my flock. She is the cause that he is not a holy priest in the midstof us, but is roaming the world, and I a desolate broken-hearted mother.There, do not cry, my girl, I do ill to speak harsh to you. But oh,Kate! you know not what passes in a mother's heart. I bear up beforeyou all; it behoves me swallow my fears; but at night I see him in mydreams, and still some trouble or other near him: sometimes he is tornby wild beasts; other times he is in the hands of robbers, and theircruel knives uplifted to strike his poor pale face, that one shouldthink would move a stone. Oh! when I remember that, while I sit herein comfort, perhaps my poor boy lies dead in some savage place, and allalong of that girl: there, her very name is ratsbane to me. I trembleall over when I hear it."
"I'll not say anything, nor do anything to grieve you worse, mother,"said Kate tenderly; but she sighed.
She whose name was so fiercely interdicted in this house was much spokenof, and even pitied elsewhere. All Sevenbergen was sorry for her, andthe young men and maidens cast many a pitying glance, as they passed, atthe little window where the beauty of the village lay "dying for love."In this familiar phrase they underrated her spirit and unselfishness.Gerard was not dead, and she was too loyal herself to doubt hisconstancy. Her father was dear to her and helpless; and but for bodilyweakness, all her love for Gerard would not have kept her from doingher duties, though she might have gone about them with drooping head andheavy heart. But physical and mental excitement had brought on an attackof fever so violent, that nothing but youth and constitution savedher. The malady left her at last, but in that terrible state of bodilyweakness in which the patient feels life a burden.
Then it is that love and friendship by the bedside are mortal angelswith comfort in their voice, and healing in their palms.
But this poor girl had to come back to life and vigour how she could.Many days she lay alone, and the heavy hours rolled like leaden wavesover her. In her enfeebled state existence seemed a burden, and life athing gone by. She could not try her best to get well. Gerard was gone.She had not him to get well for. Often she lay for hours quite still,with the tears welling gently out of her eyes.
One day, waking from an uneasy slumber, she found two women in her room,One was a servant, the other by the deep fur on her collar and sleeveswas a person of consideration: a narrow band of silvery hair, beingspared by her coiffure, showed her to be past the age when women ofsense concealed their years. The looks of both were kind and friendly.Margaret tried to raise herself in the bed, but the old lady placed ahand very gently on her.
"Lie still, sweetheart; we come not here to put you about, but tocomfort you, God willing. Now cheer up a bit, and tell us, first, whothink you we are?"
"Nay, madam, I know you, though I never saw you before: you are thedemoiselle Van Eyck, and this is Reicht Heynes. Gerard has oft spoken ofyou, and of your goodness to him. Madam, he has no friend like you nearhim now," and at this thought she lay back, and the tears welled out ofher eyes in a moment.
The good-natured Reicht Heynes began to cry for company; but hermistress scolded her. "Well, you are a pretty one for a sick-room," saidshe; and she put out a world of innocent art to cheer the pati
ent; andnot without some little success. An old woman, that has seen life andall its troubles, is a sovereign blessing by a sorrowful young woman'sside. She knows what to say, and what to avoid. She knows how to sootheher and interest her. Ere she had been there an hour, she had Margaret'shead lying on her shoulder instead of on the pillow, and Margaret's softeyes dwelling on her with gentle gratitude.
"Ah! this is hair," said the old lady, running her fingers through it."Come and look at it, Reicht!"
Reicht came and handled it, and praised it unaffectedly. The poorgirl that owned it was not quite out of the reach of flattery; owingdoubtless to not being dead.
"In sooth, madam, I did use to think it hideous; but he praised it, andever since then I have been almost vain of it, saints forgive me. Youknow how foolish those are that love."
"They are greater fools that don't," said the old lady, sharply.
Margaret opened her lovely eyes, and looked at her for her meaning.
This was only the first of many visits. In fact either Margaret Van Eyckor Reicht came nearly every day until their patient was convalescent;and she improved rapidly under their hands. Reicht attributed thisprincipally to certain nourishing dishes she prepared in Peter'skitchen; but Margaret herself thought more of the kind words and eyesthat kept telling her she had friends to live for.
Martin Wittenhaagen went straight to Rotterdam, to take the bull by thehorns. The bull was a biped, with a crown for horns. It was Philipthe Good, duke of this, earl of that, lord of the other. Arrived atRotterdam, Martin found the court was at Ghent. To Ghent he went, andsought an audience, but was put off and baffled by lackeys and pages. Sohe threw himself in his sovereign's way out hunting, and contrary toall court precedents, commenced the conversation--by roaring lustily formercy.
"Why, where is the peril, man?" said the duke, looking all round andlaughing.
"Grace for an old soldier hunted down by burghers!"
Now kings differ in character like other folk; but there is one traitthey have in common they are mightily inclined to be affable to menof very low estate. These do not vie with them in anything whatever,so jealousy cannot creep in; and they amuse them by their bluntness andnovelty, and refresh the poor things with a touch of nature--a rarity incourts. So Philip the Good reined in his horse and gave Martin almost atete-a-tete, and Martin reminded him of a certain battlefield where hehad received an arrow intended for his sovereign. The duke rememberedthe incident perfectly, and was graciously pleased to take a cheerfulview of it. He could afford to, not having been the one hit. ThenMartin told his majesty of Gerard's first capture in the church, hisimprisonment in the tower, and the manoeuvre by which they got him out,and all the details of the hunt; and whether he told it better thanI have, or the duke had not heard so many good stories as you have,certain it is that sovereign got so wrapt up in it, that, when a numberof courtiers came galloping up and interrupted Martin, he swore likea costermonger, and threatened, only half in jest, to cut off the nexthead that should come between him and a good story; and when Martin haddone, he cried out--
"St. Luke! what sport goeth on in this mine earldom, ay! in my ownwoods, and I see it not. You base fellows have all the luck." And hewas indignant at the partiality of Fortune. "Lo you now! this was aman-hunt," said he. "I never had the luck to be at a man-hunt."
"My luck was none so great," replied Martin bluntly: "I was on the wrongside of the dogs' noses."
"Ah! so you were; I forgot that." And royalty was more reconciled to itslot. "What would you then?"
"A free pardon, your highness, for myself and Gerard."
"For what?"
"For prison-breaking."
"Go to; the bird will fly from the cage. 'Tis instinct. Besides, coop ayoung man up for loving a young woman? These burgomasters must be voidof common sense. What else?"
"For striking down the burgomaster."
"Oh, the hunted boar will turn to bay. 'Tis his right; and I hold himless than man that grudges it him. What else?"
"For killing of the bloodhounds."
The duke's countenance fell.
"'Twas their life or mine," said Martin eagerly.
"Ay! but I can't have, my bloodhounds, my beautiful bloodhounds,sacrificed to--
"No, no, no! They were not your dogs."
"Whose dogs, then?"
"The ranger's."
"Oh. Well, I am very sorry for him, but as I was saying I can't havemy old soldiers sacrificed to his bloodhounds. Thou shalt have thy freepardon."
"And poor Gerard."
"And poor Gerard too, for thy sake. And more, tell thou this burgomasterhis doings mislike me: this is to set up for a king, not a burgomaster.I'll have no kings in Holland but one. Bid him be more humble; or by St.Jude I'll hang him before his own door, as I hanged the burgomasterof what's the name, some town or other in Flanders it was; no, 'twas'somewhere in Brabant--no matter--I hanged him, I remember that much--foroppressing poor folk."
The duke then beckoned his chancellor, a pursy old fellow that rode likea sack, and bade him write out a free pardon for Martin and one Gerard.
This precious document was drawn up in form, and signed next day, andMartin hastened home with it.
Margaret had left her bed some days, and was sitting pale and pensiveby the fireside, when he burst in, waving the parchment, and crying, "Afree pardon, girl, for Gerard as well as me! Send for him back when youwill; all the burgomasters on earth daren't lay a finger on him."
She flushed all over with joy and her hands trembled with eagernessas she took the parchment and devoured it with her eyes, and kissed itagain and again, and flung her arms round Martin's neck, and kissed him.When she was calmer, she told him Heaven had raised her up a friend inthe dame Van Eyck. "And I would fain consult her on this good news; butI have not strength to walk so far."
"What need to walk? There is my mule."
"Your mule, Martin?"
The old soldier or professional pillager laughed, and confessed hehad got so used to her, that he forgot at times Ghysbrecht had a priorclaim. To-morrow he would turn her into the burgomaster's yard, butto-night she should carry Margaret to Tergou.
It was nearly dusk; so Margaret ventured, and about seven in the eveningshe astonished and gladdened her new but ardent friend, by arriving ather house with unwonted roses on her cheeks, and Gerard's pardon in herbosom.
The Cloister and the Hearth Page 39
