CHAPTER LI
MARGARET BRANDT had always held herself apart from Sevenbergen; and herreserve had passed for pride; this had come to her ears, and she knewmany hearts were swelling with jealousy and malevolence. How would theytriumph over her when her condition could no longer be concealed! Thisthought gnawed her night and day. For some time it had made her buryherself in the house, and shun daylight even on those rare occasionswhen she went abroad.
Not that in her secret heart and conscience she mistook her moralsituation, as my unlearned readers have done perhaps. Though notacquainted with the nice distinctions of the contemporary law, she knewthat betrothal was a marriage contract, and could no more be legallybroken on either side than any other compact written and witnessed: andthat marriage with another party than the betrothed had been formallyannulled both by Church and State; and that betrothed couples often cametogether without any further ceremony, and their children werelegitimate.
But what weighed down her simple mediaeval mind was this: that verycontract of betrothal was not forthcoming. Instead of her keeping it,Gerard had got it, and Gerard was far, far away. She hated and despisedherself for the miserable oversight, which had placed her at the mercyof false opinion.
For though she had never heard of Horace's famous couplet _Segniusirritant_, &c., she was Horatian by the plain, hard, positiveintelligence, which strange to say characterizes the judgment of hersex, when feeling happens not to blind it altogether. She gauged theunderstanding of the world to a T. Her marriage lines being out ofsight, and in Italy, would never prevail to balance her visiblepregnancy, and the sight of her child when born. What sort of a tale wasthis to stop slanderous tongues? "I have got my marriage lines, but Icannot show them you." What woman would believe her? or even pretend tobelieve her? And, as she was in reality one of the most modest girls inHolland, it was women's good opinion she wanted, not men's.
Even barefaced slander attacks her sex at a great advantage; but herewas slander with a face of truth. "The strong-minded woman" had not yetbeen invented; and Margaret, though by nature and by having been earlymade mistress of a family, she was resolute in some respects, was weakas water in others, and weakest of all in this. Like all the elite ofher sex she was a poor little leaf trembling at each gust of the world'sopinion, true or false. Much misery may be contained in few words; Idoubt if pages of description from any man's pen could make any humancreature, except virtuous women (and these need no such aid) realize theanguish of a virtuous woman foreseeing herself paraded as a frail one.Had she been frail at heart, she might have brazened it out. But she hadnot that advantage. She was really pure as snow, and saw the pitchcoming nearer her and nearer. The poor girl sat listless hours at atime, and moaned with inner anguish. And often, when her father wastalking to her and she giving mechanical replies, suddenly her cheekwould burn like fire, and the old man would wonder what he had said todiscompose her. Nothing. His words were less than air to her. It was theever present dread sent the colour of shame into her burning cheek, nomatter what she seemed to be talking and thinking about. But both shameand fear rose to a climax when she came back that night from MargaretVan Eyck's. Her condition was discovered, and by persons of her own sex.The old artist, secluded like herself, might not betray her: butCatherine, a gossip in the centre of a family, and a thickneighbourhood? One spark of hope remained. Catherine had spoken kindly,even lovingly. The situation admitted no half course. Gerard's motherthus roused must either be her best friend or worst enemy. She waitedthen in racking anxiety to hear more. No word came. She gave up hope.Catherine was not going to be her friend. Then she would expose her,since she had no strong and kindly feeling to balance the natural loveof babbling.
Then it was, the wish to fly from this neighbourhood began to grow andgnaw upon her, till it became a wild and passionate desire. But howpersuade her father to this? Old people cling to places. He was very oldand infirm to change his abode. There was no course but to make him herconfidant; better so than to run away from him: and she felt that wouldbe the alternative. And now between her uncontrollable desire to fly andhide, and her invincible aversion to speak out to a man, even to herfather, she vibrated in a suspense full of lively torture. And presentlybetwixt these two came in one day the fatal thought "end all!" Thingsfoolishly worded are not always foolish; one of poor Catherine'sbugbears, these numerous canals, did sorely tempt this poor fluctuatinggirl. She stood on the bank one afternoon, and eyed the calm deep water.It seemed an image of repose, and she was so harassed. No more trouble.No more fear of shame. If Gerard had not loved her, I doubt she hadended there.
As it was, she kneeled by the waterside, and prayed fervently to God tokeep such wicked thoughts from her. "Oh! selfish wretch," said she, "toleave thy father. Oh wicked wretch to kill thy child, and make thy poorGerard lose all his pain and peril undertaken for thy sight. I will tellfather all, ay ere this sun shall set." And she went home with eagerhaste lest her good resolution should ooze out ere she got there.
Now in matters domestic the learned Peter was simple as a child, andMargaret from the age of sixteen had governed the house gently butabsolutely. It was therefore a strange thing in this house, thefaltering irresolute way in which its young but despotic mistressaddressed that person, who in a domestic sense was less important thanMartin Wittenhaagen, or even than the little girl, who came in themorning and for a pittance washed the vessels, &c., and went home atnight.
"Father, I would speak to thee."
"Speak on, girl."
"Wilt listen to me? And--and--not--and try to excuse my faults."
"We have all our faults, Margaret, thou no more than the rest of us; butfewer, unless parental feeling blinds me."
"Alas, no, father: I am a poor foolish girl, that would fain do well,but have done ill, most ill, most unwisely: and now must bear the shame.But, father, I love you, with all my faults, and will not you forgive myfolly, and still love your motherless girl?"
"That ye may count on," said Peter, cheerfully.
"Oh, well, smile not. For then how can I speak and make you sad?"
"Why, what is the matter?"
"Father, disgrace is coming on this house: it is at the door. And I theculprit. Oh, father, turn your head away. I--I--father, I have letGerard take away my marriage lines."
"Is that all? 'Twas an oversight."
"'Twas the deed of a mad woman. But woe is me! that is not the worst."
Peter interrupted her. "The youth is honest, and loves you dear. You areyoung. What is a year or two to you? Gerard will assuredly come back andkeep troth."
"And meantime, know you what is coming?"
"Not I, except that I shall be gone first for one."
"Worse than that. There is worse pain than death. Nay, for pity's sake,turn away your head, father."
"Foolish wench!" muttered Peter, but turned his head.
She trembled violently, and with her cheeks on fire began to falter out,"I did look on Gerard as my husband--we being betrothed--and he was inso sore danger, and I thought I had killed him, and I-- Oh, if you werebut my mother I might find courage: you would question me. But you saynot a word."
"Why, Margaret, what is all this coil about? and why are thy cheekscrimson, speaking to no stranger but to thy old father?"
"Why are my cheeks on fire? Because--because--Father, kill me! send meto heaven! bid Martin shoot me with his arrow! And then the gossips willcome and tell you why I blush so this day. And then, when I am dead, Ihope you will love your girl again for her mother's sake."
"Give me thy hand, mistress," said Peter, a little sternly.
She put it out to him trembling. He took it gently, and began with someanxiety in his face to feel her pulse.
"Alas, nay!" said she. "'Tis my soul that burns, not my body with fever.I cannot, will not, bide in Sevenbergen." And she wrung her handsimpatiently.
"Be calm now," said the old man, soothingly, "nor torment thyself fornought. Not bide in Sevenbergen? What need to bide a day, as it v
exesthee, and puts thee in a fever: for fevered thou art, deny it not."
"What!" cried Margaret, "would you yield to go hence, and--and ask noreason but my longing to be gone?" and, suddenly throwing herself on herknees beside him, in a fervour of supplication she clutched his sleeve,and then his arm, and then his shoulder, while imploring him to quitthis place, and not ask her why. "Alas! what needs it? You will soon seeit. And I could never say it. I would liever die."
"Foolish child! Who seeks thy girlish secrets? Is it I, whose life hathbeen spent in searching Nature's? And, for leaving Sevenbergen, what isthere to keep me in it, thee unwilling? Is there respect for me here, orgratitude? Am I not yclept quacksalver by those that come not near me,and wizard by those I heal? And give they not the guerdon and the honourthey deny me, to the empirics that slaughter them? Besides, what is't tome where we sojourn? Choose thou that, as did thy mother before thee."
Margaret embraced him tenderly, and wept upon his shoulder.
She was respited.
Yet as she wept, respited, she almost wished she had had the courage totell him.
After a while nothing would content him but her taking a medicament hewent and brought her. She took it submissively, to please him. It wasthe least she could do. It was a composing draught, and thoughadministered under an error, and a common one, did her more good thanharm: she awoke calmed by a long sleep, and that very day began herpreparations.
Next week they went to Rotterdam, bag and baggage, and lodged above atailor's shop in the Brede-Kirk Straet.
Only one person in Tergou knew whither they were gone.
The Burgomaster.
He locked the information in his own breast.
The use he made of it ere long, my reader will not easily divine: for hedid not divine it himself.
But time will show.
The Cloister and the Hearth: A Tale of the Middle Ages Page 52
