Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch

by H. Rider Haggard

  CHAPTER V

  THE DREAM OF DIRK

  On the day following Montalvo's interview with Black Meg Dirk receiveda message from that gentleman, sent to his lodging by an orderly, whichreminded him that he had promised to dine with him this very night. Nowhe had no recollection of any such engagement. Remembering with shame,however, that there were various incidents of the evening of the supperwhereof his memory was most imperfect, he concluded that this must beone of them. So much against his own wishes Dirk sent back an answer tosay that he would appear at the time and place appointed.

  This was the third thing that had happened to annoy him that day. Firsthe had met Pieter van de Werff, who informed him that all Leyden wastalking about Lysbeth and the Captain Montalvo, to whom she was said tohave taken a great fancy. Next when he went to call at the house in theBree Straat he was told that both Lysbeth and his cousin Clara had goneout sleighing, which he did not believe, for as a thaw had set in thesnow was no longer in a condition suitable to that amusement. Moreover,he could almost have sworn that, as he crossed the street, he caughtsight of Cousin Clara's red face peeping at him from between thecurtains of the upstairs sitting-room. Indeed he said as much to Greta,who, contrary to custom, had opened the door to him.

  "I am sorry if Mynheer sees visions," answered that young womanimperturbably. "I told Mynheer that the ladies had gone out sleighing."

  "I know you did, Greta; but why should they go out sleighing in a wetthaw?"

  "I don't know, Mynheer. Ladies do those things that please them. It isnot my place to ask their reasons."

  Dirk looked at Greta, and was convinced that she was lying. He put hishand in his pocket, to find to his disgust that he had forgotten hispurse. Then he thought of giving her a kiss and trying to melt the truthout of her in this fashion, but remembering that if he did, she mighttell Lysbeth, which would make matters worse than ever, refrained. Sothe end of it was that he merely said "Oh! indeed," and went away.

  "Great soft-head," reflected Greta, as she watched his retreatingform, "he knew I was telling lies, why didn't he push past me, or--doanything. Ah! Mynheer Dirk, if you are not careful that Spaniard willtake your wind. Well, he is more amusing, that's certain. I am tired ofthese duck-footed Leydeners, who daren't wink at a donkey lest he shouldbray, and among such holy folk somebody a little wicked is rather achange." Then Greta, who, it may be remembered, came from Brussels, andhad French blood in her veins, went upstairs to make a report to hermistress, telling her all that passed.

  "I did not ask you to speak falsehoods as to my being out sleighing andthe rest. I told you to answer that I was not at home, and mind you saythe same to the Captain Montalvo if he calls," said Lysbeth with someacerbity as she dismissed her.

  In truth she was very sore and angry, and yet ashamed of herself becauseit was so. But things had gone so horribly wrong, and as for Dirk, hewas the most exasperating person in the world. It was owing to hisbad management and lack of readiness that her name was coupled withMontalvo's at every table in Leyden. And now what did she hear in a notefrom the Captain himself, sent to make excuses for not having calledupon her after the supper party, but that Dirk was going to dine withhim that night? Very well, let him do it; she would know how to pay himback, and if necessary was ready to act up to any situation which he hadchosen to create.

  Thus thought Lysbeth, stamping her foot with vexation, but all the timeher heart was sore. All the time she knew well enough that she lovedDirk, and, however strange might be his backwardness in speaking out hismind, that he loved her. And yet she felt as though a river was runningbetween them. In the beginning it had been a streamlet, but now it wasgrowing to a torrent. Worse still the Spaniard was upon her bank of theriver.

  After he had to some extent conquered his shyness and irritation Dirkbecame aware that he was really enjoying his dinner at Montalvo'squarters. There were three guests besides himself, two Spanish officersand a young Netherlander of his own class and age, Brant by name. He wasthe only son of a noted and very wealthy goldsmith at The Hague, who hadsent him to study certain mysteries of the metal worker's art undera Leyden jeweller famous for the exquisite beauty of his designs. Thedinner and the service were both of them perfect in style, but betterthan either proved the conversation, which was of a character that Dirkhad never heard at the tables of his own class and people. Not thatthere was anything even broad about it, as might perhaps have beenexpected. No, it was the talk of highly accomplished and travelled menof the world, who had seen much and been actors in many moving events;men who were not overtrammelled by prejudices, religious or other, andwho were above all things desirous of making themselves agreeable andinstructive to the stranger within their gates. The Heer Brant also, whohad but just arrived in Leyden, showed himself an able and polishedman, one that had been educated more thoroughly than was usual among hisclass, and who, at the table of his father, the opulent Burgomaster ofThe Hague, from his youth had associated with all classes and conditionsof men. Indeed it was there that he made the acquaintance of Montalvo,who recognising him in the street had asked him to dinner.

  After the dishes were cleared, one of the Spanish officers rose andbegged to be excused, pleading some military duty. When he had salutedhis commandant and gone, Montalvo suggested that they should play a gameof cards. This was an invitation which Dirk would have liked to decline,but when it came to the point he did not, for fear of seeming peculiarin the eyes of these brilliant men of the world.

  So they began to play, and as the game was simple very soon he pickedup the points of it, and what is more, found them amusing. At firstthe stakes were not high, but they doubled themselves in some automaticfashion, till Dirk was astonished to find that he was gambling forconsiderable sums and winning them. Towards the last his luck changed alittle, but when the game came to an end he found himself the richer byabout three hundred and fifty florins.

  "What am I do to with this?" he asked colouring up, as with sighs, whichin one instance were genuine enough, the losers pushed the money acrossto him.

  "Do with it?" laughed Montalvo, "did anybody ever hear such an innocent!Why, buy your lady-love, or somebody else's lady-love, a present. No,I'll tell you a better use than this, you give us to-morrow night atyour lodging the best dinner that Leyden can produce, and a chance ofwinning some of this coin back again. Is it agreed?"

  "If the other gentlemen wish it," said Dirk, modestly, "though myapartment is but a poor place for such company."

  "Of course we wish it," replied the three as with one voice, and thehour for meeting having been fixed they parted, the Heer Brant walkingwith Dirk to the door of his lodging.

  "I was going to call on you to-morrow," he said, "to bring to you aletter of introduction from my father, though that should scarcely beneeded as, in fact, we are cousins--second cousins only, our mothershaving been first cousins."

  "Oh! yes, Brant of The Hague, of whom my mother used to speak, sayingthat they were kinsmen to be proud of, although she had met them butlittle. Well, welcome, cousin; I trust that we shall be friends."

  "I am sure of it," answered Brant, and putting his arm through Dirk'she pressed it in a peculiar fashion that caused him to start and lookround. "Hush!" muttered Brant, "not here," and they began to talk oftheir late companions and the game of cards which they had played,an amusement as to the propriety of which Dirk intimated that he haddoubts.

  Young Brant shrugged his shoulders. "Cousin," he said, "we live in theworld, so it is as well to understand the world. If the risking of afew pieces at play, which it will not ruin us to lose, helps us tounderstand it, well, for my part I am ready to risk them, especially asit puts us on good terms with those who, as things are, it is wise weshould cultivate. Only, cousin, if I may venture to say it, be carefulnot to take more wine than you can carry with discretion. Better lose athousand florins than let drop one word that you cannot remember."

  "I know, I know," answered Dirk, thinking of Lysbeth's supper, and atthe door of his lodgings the
y parted.

  Like most Netherlanders, when Dirk made up his mind to do anything hedid it thoroughly. Thus, having undertaken to give a dinner party, hedetermined to give a good dinner. In ordinary circumstances his firstidea would have been to consult his cousins, Clara and Lysbeth. Afterthat monstrous story about the sleighing, however, which by inquiry fromthe coachman of the house, whom he happened to meet, he ascertained tobe perfectly false, this, for the young man had some pride, he did notfeel inclined to do. So in place of it he talked first to his landlady,a worthy dame, and by her advice afterwards with the first innkeeper ofLeyden, a man of resource and experience. The innkeeper, well knowingthat this customer would pay for anything which he ordered, threwhimself into the affair heartily, with the result that by five o'clockrelays of cooks and other attendants were to be seen streaming up Dirk'sstaircase, carrying every variety of dish that could be supposed totempt the appetite of high-class cavaliers.

  Dirk's apartment consisted of two rooms situated upon the first floorof an old house in a street that had ceased to be fashionable. Once,however, it had been a fine house, and, according to the ideas of thetime, the rooms themselves were fine, especially the sitting chamber,which was oak-panelled, low, and spacious, with a handsome fireplacecarrying the arms of its builder. Out of it opened his sleepingroom--which had no other doorway--likewise oak-panelled, with tallcupboards, not unlike the canopy of a tomb in shape and generalappearance.

  The hour came, and with it the guests. The feast began, the cooksstreamed up and down bearing relays of dishes from the inn. Above thetable hung a six-armed brass chandelier, and in each of its socketsguttered a tallow candle furnishing light to the company beneath,although outside of its bright ring there was shadow more or less dense.Towards the end of dinner a portion of the rush wick of one of thesecandles fell into the brass saucer beneath, causing the molten greaseto burn up fiercely. As it chanced, by the light of this sudden flare,Montalvo, who was sitting opposite to the door, thought that he caughtsight of a tall, dark figure gliding along the wall towards the bedroom.For one instant he saw it, then it was gone.

  "_Caramba_, my friend," he said, addressing Dirk, whose back was turnedtowards the figure, "have you any ghosts in this gloomy old room ofyours? Because, if so, I think I have just seen one."

  "Ghosts!" answered Dirk, "no, I never heard of any; I do not believe inghosts. Take some more of that pasty."

  Montalvo took some more pasty, and washed it down with a glass ofwine. But he said no more about ghosts--perhaps an explanation of thephenomenon had occurred to him; at any rate he decided to leave thesubject alone.

  After the dinner they gambled, and this evening the stakes began wherethose of the previous night left off. For the first hour Dirk lost, thenthe luck turned and he won heavily, but always from Montalvo.

  "My friend," said the captain at last, throwing down his cards,"certainly you are fated to be unfortunate in your matrimonialadventures, for the devil lives in your dice-box, and his highness doesnot give everything. I pass," and he rose from the table.

  "I pass also," said Dirk following him into the window place, for hewished to take no more money. "You have been very unlucky, Count," hesaid.

  "Very, indeed, my young friend," answered Montalvo, yawning, "in fact,for the next six months I must live on--well--well, nothing, except therecollection of your excellent dinner."

  "I am sorry," muttered Dirk, confusedly, "I did not wish to take yourmoney; it was the turn of those accursed dice. See here, let us say nomore about it."

  "Sir," said Montalvo, with a sudden sternness, "an officer and agentleman cannot treat a debt of honour thus; but," he added with alittle laugh, "if another gentleman chances to be good enough to chargea debt of honour for a debt of honour, the affair is different. If,for instance, it would suit you to lend me four hundred florins, which,added to the six hundred which I have lost to-night, would make athousand in all, well, it will be a convenience to me, though should itbe any inconvenience to you, pray do not think of such a thing."

  "Certainly," answered Dirk, "I have won nearly as much as that, and hereat my own table. Take them, I beg of you, captain," and emptying a rollof gold into his hand, he counted it with the skill of a merchant, andheld it towards him.

  Montalvo hesitated. Then he took the money, pouring it carelessly intohis pocket.

  "You have not checked the sum," said Dirk.

  "My friend, it is needless," answered his guest, "your word is ratherbetter than any bond," and again he yawned, remarking that it wasgetting late.

  Dirk waited a few moments, thinking in his coarse, business-like waythat the noble Spaniard might wish to say something about a writtenacknowledgment. As, however, this did not seem to occur to him, andthe matter was not one of ordinary affairs, he led the way back to thetable, where the other two were now showing their skill in card tricks.

  A few minutes later the two Spaniards took their departure, leaving Dirkand his cousin Brant alone.

  "A very successful evening," said Brant, "and, cousin, you won a greatdeal."

  "Yes," answered Dirk, "but all the same I am a poorer man than I wasyesterday."

  Brant laughed. "Did he borrow of you?" he asked. "Well, I thought hewould, and what's more, don't you count on that money. Montalvo is agood sort of fellow in his own fashion, but he is an extravagant manand a desperate gambler, with a queer history, I fancy--at least, nobodyknows much about him, not even his brother officers. If you ask themthey shrug their shoulders and say that Spain is a big kettle full ofall sorts of fish. One thing I do know, however, that he is over headand ears in debt; indeed, there was trouble about it down at The Hague.So, cousin, don't you play with him more than you can help, and don'treckon on that thousand florins to pay your bills with. It is a mysteryto me how the man gets on, but I am told that a foolish old vrouw inAmsterdam lent him a lot till she discovered--but there, I don'ttalk scandal. And now," he added, changing his voice, "is this placeprivate?"

  "Let's see," said Dirk, "they have cleared the things away, and the oldhousekeeper has tidied up my bedroom. Yes, I think so. Nobody ever comesup here after ten o'clock. What is it?"

  Brant touched his arm, and, understanding the truth, Dirk led the wayinto the window-place. There, standing with his back to the room, andhis hands crossed in a peculiar fashion, he uttered the word, "_Jesus_,"and paused. Brant also crossed his hands and answered, or, rather,continued, "_wept_." It was the password of those of the New Religion.

  "You are one of us, cousin?" said Dirk.

  "I and all my house, my father, my mother, my sister, and the maidenwhom I am to marry. They told me at The Hague that I must seek of you orthe young Heer Pieter van de Werff, knowledge of those things which weof the Faith need to know; who are to be trusted, and who are not tobe trusted; where prayer is held, and where we may partake of the pureSacrament of God the Son."

  Dirk took his cousin's hand and pressed it. The pressure was returned,and thenceforward brother could not have trusted brother morecompletely, for now between them was the bond of a common and burningfaith.

  Such bonds the reader may say, tie ninety out of every hundred peopleto each other in the present year of grace, but it is not to be observedthat a like mutual confidence results. No, because the circumstanceshave changed. Thanks very largely to Dirk van Goorl and his fellows ofthat day, especially to one William of Orange, it is no longer necessaryfor devout and God-fearing people to creep into holes and corners, likefelons hiding from the law, that they may worship the Almighty aftersome fashion as pure as it is simple, knowing the while that if they arefound so doing their lot and the lot of their wives and children willbe the torment and the stake. Now the thumbscrew and the rack asinstruments for the discomfiture of heretics are relegated to thedusty cases of museums. But some short generations since all this wasdifferent, for then a man who dared to disagree with certain doctrineswas treated with far less mercy than is shown to a dog on thevivisector's table.

  Little wonder, therefor
e, that those who lay under such a ban, those whowere continually walking in the cold shadow of this dreadful doom, clungto each other, loved each other, and comforted each other to the last,passing often enough hand-in-hand through the fiery gates to thatcountry in which there is no more pain. To be a member of the NewReligion in the Netherlands under the awful rule of Charles the Emperorand Philip the King was to be one of a vast family. It was not "sir"or "mistress" or "madame," it was "my father" and "my mother," or "mysister" and "my brother;" yes, and between people who were of verydifferent status and almost strangers in the flesh; strangers in theflesh but brethren in spirit.

  It will be understood that in these circumstances Dirk and Brant,already liking each other, and being already connected by blood, werenot slow in coming to a complete understanding and fellowship.

  There they sat in the window-place telling each other of their families,their hopes and fears, and even of their lady-loves. In this, as inevery other respect, Hendrik Brant's story was one of simple prosperity.He was betrothed to a lady of The Hague, the only daughter of a wealthywine-merchant, who, according to his account, seemed to be as beautifulas she was good and rich, and they were to be married in the spring. Butwhen Dirk told him of his affair, he shook his wise young head.

  "You say that both she and her aunt are Catholics?" he asked.

  "Yes, cousin, this is the trouble. I think that she is fond of me, or,at any rate, she was until a few days since," he added ruefully, "buthow can I, being a 'heretic,' ask her to plight her troth to me unlessI tell her? And that, you know, is against the rule; indeed, I scarcelydare to do so."

  "Had you not best consult with some godly elder who by prayer and wordsmay move your lady's heart till the light shines on her?" asked Brant.

  "Cousin, it has been done, but always there is the other in the way,that red-nosed Aunt Clara, who is a mad idolator; also there isthe serving-woman, Greta, whom I take for little better than a spy.Therefore, between the two of them I see little chance that Lysbeth willever hear the truth this side of marriage. And yet how dare I marry her?Is it right that I should marry her and therefore, perhaps, bring hertoo to some dreadful fate such as may wait for you or me? Moreover, nowsince this man Montalvo has crossed my path, all things seem to havegone wrong between me and Lysbeth; indeed but yesterday her door wasshut on me."

  "Women have their fancies," answered Brant, slowly; "perhaps he hastaken hers; she would not be the first who walked that plank. Or,perhaps, she is vexed with you for not speaking out ere this; for, man,not knowing what you are, how can she read your mind?"

  "Perhaps, perhaps," said Dirk, "but I know not what to do," and in hisperplexity he struck his forehead with his hand.

  "Then, brother, in that case what hinders that we should ask Him Who cantell you?" said Brant, calmly.

  Dirk understood what he meant at once. "It is a wise thought, and a goodone, cousin. I have the Holy Book; first let us pray, and then we canseek wisdom there."

  "You are rich, indeed," answered Brant; "sometime you must tell me howand where you came by it."

  "Here in Leyden, if one can afford to pay for them, such goods are nothard to get," said Dirk; "what _is_ hard is to keep them safely, forto be found with a Bible in your pocket is to carry your owndeath-warrant."

  Brant nodded. "Is it safe to show it here?" he asked.

  "As safe as anywhere, cousin; the window is shuttered, the door is, orwill be, locked, but who can say that he is safe this side of the stakein a land where the rats and mice carry news and the wind bears witness?Come, I will show you were I keep it," and going to the mantelpiecehe took down a candle-stick, a quaint brass, ornamented on its massiveoblong base with two copper snails, and lit the candle. "Do you like thepiece?" he asked; "it is my own design, which I cast and filed out inmy spare hours," and he gazed at the holder with the affection of anartist. Then without waiting for an answer, he led the way to the doorof his sitting-room and paused.

  "What is it?" asked Brant.

  "I thought I heard a sound, that is all, but doubtless the old vrouwmoves upon the stairs. Turn the key, cousin, so, now come on."

  They entered the sleeping chamber, and having glanced round and madesure that it was empty, and the window shut, Dirk went to the head ofthe bed, which was formed of oak-panels, the centre one carved witha magnificent coat-of-arms, fellow to that in the fireplace of thesitting-room. At this panel Dirk began to work, till presently it slidaside, revealing a hollow, out of which he took a book bound in boardscovered with leather. Then, having closed the panel, the two young menreturned to the sitting-room, and placed the volume upon the oak tablebeneath the chandelier.

  "First let us pray," said Brant.

  It seems curious, does it not, that two young men as a _finale_ to adinner party, and a gambling match at which the stakes had not been low;young men who like others had their weaknesses, for one of them, at anyrate, could drink too much wine at times, and both being human doubtlesshad further sins to bear, should suggest kneeling side by side to offerprayers to their Maker before they studied the Scriptures? But then inthose strange days prayer, now so common (and so neglected) an exercise,was an actual luxury. To these poor hunted men and women it was a joyto be able to kneel and offer thanks and petitions to God, believingthemselves to be safe from the sword of those who worshipped otherwise.Thus it came about that, religion being forbidden, was to them a veryreal and earnest thing, a thing to be indulged in at every opportunitywith solemn and grateful hearts. So there, beneath the light of theguttering candles, they knelt side by side while Brant, speaking forboth of them, offered up a prayer--a sight touching enough and in itsway beautiful.

  The words of his petition do not matter. He prayed for their Church; heprayed for their country that it might be made strong and free; he evenprayed for the Emperor, the carnal, hare-lipped, guzzling, able Hapsburgself-seeker. Then he prayed for themselves and all who were dear tothem, and lastly, that light might be vouchsafed to Dirk in his presentdifficulty. No, not quite lastly, for he ended with a petition thattheir enemies might be forgiven, yes, even those who tortured them andburnt them at the stake, since they knew not what they did. It may bewondered whether any human aspirations could have been more thoroughlysteeped in the true spirit of Christianity.

  When at length he had finished they rose from their knees.

  "Shall I open the Book at a hazard," asked Dirk, "and read what my eyefalls on?"

  "No," answered Brant, "for it savours of superstition; thus did theancients with the writings of the poet Virgilius, and it is not fittingthat we who hold the light should follow the example of those blindheathen. What work of the Book, brother, are you studying now?"

  "The first letter of Paul to the Corinthians, which I have never readbefore," he answered.

  "Then begin where you left off, brother, and read your chapter. Perhapswe may find instruction in it; if not, no answer is vouchsafed to usto-night."

  So from the black-letter volume before him Dirk began to read theseventh chapter, in which, as it chances, the great Apostle deals withthe marriage state. On he read, in a quiet even voice, till he came tothe twelfth and four following verses, of which the last three run: "Forthe unbelieving husband is sanctified by the wife, and the unbelievingwife is sanctified by the husband: else were your children unclean;but now they are holy. But if the unbelieving depart, let him depart.A brother or a sister is not under bondage in such cases; but God hascalled us to peace. For what knowest thou, O wife, whether thou shaltsave thy husband? or how knowest thou, O man, whether thou shalt savethy wife?" Dirk's voice trembled, and he paused.

  "Continue to the end of the chapter," said Brant, so the reader went on.

  There is a sound. They do not hear it, but the door of the bedchamberbehind them opens ever so little. They do not see it, but between doorand lintel something white thrusts itself, a woman's white face crownedwith black hair, and set in it two evil, staring eyes. Surely,when first he raised his head in Eden, Satan might have wo
rn such acountenance as this. It cranes itself forward till the long, thin neckseems to stretch; then suddenly a stir or a movement alarms it, and backthe face draws like the crest of a startled snake. Back it draws, andthe door closes again.

  The chapter is read, the prayer is prayed, and strange may seem theanswer to that prayer, an answer to shake out faith from the hearts ofmen; men who are impatient, who do not know that as the light takes longin travelling from a distant star, so the answer from the Throne to thesupplication of trust may be long in coming. It may not come to-dayor to-morrow. It may not come in this generation or this century; theprayer of to-day may receive its crown when the children's children ofthe lips that uttered it have in their turn vanished in the dust. Andyet that Divine reply may in no wise be delayed; even as our libertyof this hour may be the fruit of those who died when Dirk van Goorl andHendrik Brant walked upon the earth; even as the vengeance that but nowis falling on the Spaniard may be the reward of the deeds of shame thathe worked upon them and upon their kin long generations gone. For theThrone is still the Throne, and the star is still the star; from the oneflows justice and from the other light, and to them time and space arenaught.

  Dirk finished the chapter and closed the Book.

  "It seems that you have your answer, Brother," said Brant quietly.

  "Yes," replied Dirk, "it is written large enough:--'The unbelieving wifeis sanctified by the husband . . . how knowest thou, O man, whether thoushalt save thy wife?' Had the Apostle foreseen my case he could not haveset the matter forth more clearly."

  "He, or the Spirit in him, knew all cases, and wrote for every man thatever shall be born," answered Brant. "This is a lesson to us. Had youlooked sooner you would have learned sooner, and mayhap much troublemight have been spared. As it is, without doubt you must make haste andspeak to her at once, leaving the rest with God."

  "Yes," said Dirk, "as soon as may be, but there is one thing more; oughtI tell her all the truth?"

  "I should not be careful to hide it, friend, and now, good night. No,do not come to the door with me. Who can tell, there may be watcherswithout, and it is not wise that we should be seen together so late."