第 二十六 章 · The Merchant Prince and the Sister-Princess

. The Merchant Prince and the Sister-Princess

Well might Peter feel that his sister’s house was like an enchanted

castle. Large and elegant as it was, a spell of quiet hung over it. The

very lion crouching at its gate seemed to have been turned into

stone through magic. Within, it was guarded by genii, in the shape of

red-faced servants, who sprang silently forth at the summons of bell

or knocker. There was a cat also, who appeared as knowing as any

Puss-in-Boots, and a brass gnome in the hall whose business it was to

stand with outstretched arms ready to receive sticks and umbrellas. Safe

within the walls bloomed a Garden of Delight, where the flowers firmly

believed it was summer, and a sparkling fountain was laughing merrily

to itself because Jack Frost could not find it. There was a Sleeping

Beauty, too, just at the time of the boys’ arrival, but when Peter, like

a true prince, flew lightly up the stairs and kissed her eyelids, the

enchantment was broken. The princess became his own good sister, and

the fairy castle just one of the finest, most comfortable houses of The

Hague.

As may well be believed, the boys received the heartiest of welcomes.

After they had conversed awhile with their lively hostess, one of the

genii summoned them to a grand repast in a red-curtained room, where

floor and ceiling shone like polished ivory, and the mirrors suddenly

blossomed into rosy-cheeked boys as far as the eye could reach.

They had caviar now, and salmagundi, and sausage and cheese, besides

salad and fruit and biscuit and cake. How the boys could partake of such

a medley was a mystery to Ben, for the salad was sour, and the cake was

sweet; the fruit was dainty, and the salmagundi heavy with onions and

fish. But, while he was wondering, he made a hearty meal, and was

soon absorbed in deciding which he really preferred, the coffee or the

anisette cordial. It was delightful too--this taking one’s food from

dishes of frosted silver and liqueur glasses from which Titania herself

might have sipped. The young gentleman afterward wrote to his mother

that, pretty and choice as things were at home, he had never known what

cut glass, china, and silver services were until he visited The Hague.

Of course, Peter’s sister soon heard all of the boys’ adventures. How

they had skated over forty miles and seen rare sights on the way; how

they had lost their purse and found it again. How one of the party had

fallen and given them an excuse for a grand sail in an ice boat; how,

above all, they had caught a robber and so, for a second time, saved

their slippery purse.

“And now, Peter,” said the lady when the story was finished, “you must

write at once to tell the good people of Broek that your adventures have

reached their height, that you and your fellow travelers have all been

taken prisoners.”

The boys looked startled.

“Indeed, I shall do no such thing,” laughed Peter. “We must leave

tomorrow at noon.”

But the sister had already decided differently, and a Holland lady is

not to be easily turned from her purpose. In short, she held forth

such strong temptations and was so bright and cheerful and said so many

coaxing and unanswerable things, both in English and Dutch, that the

boys were all delighted when it was settled that they should remain at

The Hague for at least two days.

Next the grand skating race was talked over; Mevrouw van Gend gladly

promised to be present on the occasion. “I shall witness your triumph,

Peter,” she said, “for you are the fastest skater I ever knew.”

Peter blushed and gave a slight cough as Carl answered for him.

“Ah, mevrouw, he is swift, but all the Broek boys are fine skaters--even

the rag pickers,” and he thought bitterly of poor Hans.

The lady laughed. “That will make the race all the more exciting,” she

said. “But I shall wish each of you to be the winner.”

At this moment her husband Mynheer van Gend came in, and the enchantment

falling upon the boys was complete.

The invisible fairies of the household at once clustered about them,

whispering that Jasper van Gend had a heart as young and fresh as their

own, and if he loved anything in this world more than industry, it

was sunshine and frolic. They hinted also something about his having a

hearty full of love and a head full of wisdom and finally gave the boys

to understand that when mynheer said a thing, he meant it.

Therefore his frank “Well, now, this is pleasant,” as he shook hands

with them all, made the boys feel quite at home and as happy as

squirrels.

There were fine paintings in the drawing room and exquisite statuary,

and portfolios filled with rare Dutch engravings, besides many beautiful

and curious things from China and Japan. The boys felt that it would

require a month to examine all the treasures of the apartment.

Ben noticed with pleasure English books lying upon the table. He saw

also over the carved upright piano, life-sized portraits of William of

Orange and his English queen, a sight that, for a time, brought England

and Holland side by side in his heart. William and Mary have left a halo

round the English throne to this day, he the truest patriot that ever

served an adopted country, she the noblest wife that ever sat upon a

British throne, up to the time of Victoria and Albert the Good. As

Ben looked at the pictures he remembered accounts he had read of King

William’s visit to The Hague in the winter of 1691. He who sang the

Battle of Ivry had not yet told the glowing story of that day, but Ben

knew enough of it to fancy that he could almost hear the shouts of the

delighted populace as he looked from the portraits to the street,

which at this moment was aglow with a bonfire, kindled in a neighboring

square.

That royal visit was one never to be forgotten. For two years William of

Orange had been monarch of a foreign land, his head working faithfully

for England, but his whole heart yearning for Holland. Now, when

he sought its shores once more, the entire nation bade him welcome.

Multitudes flocked to The Hague to meet him--“Many thousands came

sliding or skating along the frozen canals from Amsterdam, Rotterdam,

Leyden, Haarlem, Delft.” *{Macaulay’s History of England.} All day long

the festivities of the capital were kept up, the streets were gorgeous

with banners, evergreen arches, trophies, and mottoes of welcome and

emblems of industry. William saw the deeds of his ancestors and scenes

of his own past life depicted on banners and tapestries along the

streets. At night superb fireworks were displayed upon the ice. Its

glassy surface was like a mirror. Sparkling fountains of light sprang

up from below to meet the glittering cascades leaping upon it. Then a

feathery fire of crimson and green shook millions of rubies and emeralds

into the ruddy depths of the ice--and all this time the people were

shouting, “God bless William of Orange! Long live the king!” They were

half mad with joy and enthusiasm. William, their own prince, their

stadtholder, had become the ruler of three kingdoms; he had been

victorious in council and in war, and now, in his hour of greatest

triumph, had come as a simple guest to visit them. The king heard their

shouts with a beating heart. It is a great thing to be beloved by one’s

country. His English courtiers complimented him upon his reception.

“Yes,” said he, “but the shouting is nothing to what it would have been

if Mary had been with me!”

While Ben was looking at the portraits, Mynheer van Gend was giving the

boys an account of a recent visit to Antwerp. As it was the birthplace

of Quentin Matsys, the blacksmith who for love of an artist’s daughter

studied until he became a great painter, the boys asked their host if he

had seen any of Matsys’ works.

“Yes, indeed,” he replied, “and excellent they are. His famous triptych

in a chapel of the Antwerp cathedral, with the Descent from the Cross

on the center panel, is especially fine, but I confess I was more

interested in his well.”

“What well, mynheer?” asked Ludwig.

“One in the heart of the city, near this same cathedral, whose lofty

steeple is of such delicate workmanship that the French emperor said it

reminded him of Mechlin lace. The well is covered with a Gothic canopy

surmounted by the figure of a knight in full armor. It is all of metal

and proves that Matsys was an artist at the forge as well as at the

easel; indeed, his great fame is mainly derived from his miraculous

skill as an artificer in iron.”

Next, mynheer showed the boys some exquisite Berlin castings, which

he had purchased in Antwerp. They were IRON JEWELRY, and very

delicate--beautiful medallions designed from rare paintings, bordered

with fine tracery and open work--worthy, he said, of being worn by the

fairest lady of the land. Consequently the necklace was handed with a

bow and a smile to the blushing Mevrouw van Gend.

Something in the lady’s aspect, as she bent her bright young face over

the gift, caused mynheer to say earnestly, “I can read your thoughts,

sweetheart.”

She looked up in playful defiance.

“Ah, now I am sure of them! You were thinking of those noblehearted

women, but for whom Prussia might have fallen. I know it by that proud

light in your eye.”

“The proud light in my eye plays me false, then,” she answered. “I had

no such grand matter in my mind. To confess the simple truth, I was only

thinking how lovely this necklace would be with my blue brocade.”

“So, so!” exclaimed the rather crestfallen spouse.

“But I CAN think of the other, Jasper, and it will add a deeper value

to your gift. You remember the incident, do you not, Peter? How when

the French were invading Prussia and for lack of means the country was

unable to defend itself against the enemy, the women turned the scale by

pouring their plate and jewels into the public treasury--”

Aha! thought mynheer as he met his vrouw’s kindling glance. The proud

light is there now, in earnest.

Peter remarked maliciously that the women had still proved true to their

vanity on that occasion, for jewelry they would have. If gold or silver

were wanted by the kingdom, they would relinquish it and use iron, but

they could not do without their ornaments.

“What of that?” said the vrouw, kindling again. “It is no sin to love

beautiful things if you adapt your material to circumstances. All I have

to say is, the women saved their country and, indirectly, introduced a

very important branch of manufacture. Is not that so, Jasper?”

“Of course it is, sweetheart,” said mynheer, “but Peter needs no word of

mine to convince him that all the world over women have never been

found wanting in their country’s hour of trial, though”--(bowing to

mevrouw)--“his own country women stand foremost in the records of female

patriotism and devotion.”

Then, turning to Ben, the host talked with him in English of the fine

old Belgian city. Among other things he told the origin of its name. Ben

had been taught that Antwerp was derived from ae’nt werf (on the wharf),

but Mynheer van Gend gave him a far more interesting derivation.

It appears that about three thousand years ago, a great giant, named

Antigonus, lived on the river Scheld, on the site of the present city of

Antwerp. This giant claimed half the merchandise of all navigators who

passed his castle. Of course, some were inclined to oppose this simple

regulation. In such cases, Antigonus, by way of teaching them to

practice better manners next time, cut off and threw into the river

the rights hands of the merchants. Thus handwerpen (or hand-throwing),

changed to Antwerp, came to be the name of the place. The escutcheon

or arms of the city has two hands upon it; what better proof than this

could one have of the truth of the story, especially when one wishes to

believe it!

When Mynheer van Gend had related in two languages this story of

Antwerp, he was tempted to tell other legends--some in English, some in

Dutch; and so the moments, borne upon the swift shoulders of gnomes and

giants, glided rapidly away toward bedtime.

It was hard to break up so pleasant a party, but the Van Gend household

moved with the regularity of clockwork. There was no lingering at the

threshold when the cordial “Good night!” was spoken. Even while our

boys were mounting the stairs, the invisible household fairies again

clustered around them, whispering that system and regularity had been

chief builders of the master’s prosperity.

Beautiful chambers with three beds in them were not to be found in this

mansion. Some of the rooms contained two, but each visitor slept alone.

Before morning, the motto of the party evidently was, “Every boy his own

chrysalis,” and Peter, at least, was not sorry to have it so.

Tired as he was, Ben, after noting a curious bell rope in the

corner, began to examine his bedclothes. Each article filled him with

astonishment--the exquisitely fine pillow spread trimmed with costly

lace and embroidered with a gorgeous crest and initial, the dekbed cover

(a great silk bag, large as the bed, stuffed with swan’s down), and

the pink satin quilts, embroidered with garlands of flowers. He

could scarcely sleep for thinking what a queer little bed it was, so

comfortable and pretty, too, with all its queerness. In the morning

he examined the top coverlet with care, for he wished to send home

a description of it in his next letter. It was a beautiful Japanese

spread, marvelous in texture as well as in its variety of brilliant

coloring, and worth, as Ben afterward learned, not less than three

hundred dollars.

The floor was of polished wooden mosaic, nearly covered with a rich

carpet bordered with thick black fringe. Another room displayed a margin

of satinwood around the carpet. Hung with tapestry, its walls of crimson

silk were topped with a gilded cornice which shot down gleams of light

far into the polished floor.

Over the doorway of the room in which Jacob and Ben slept was a bronze

stork that, with outstretched neck, held a lamp to light the guests

into the apartment. Between the two narrow beds of carved whitewood and

ebony, stood the household treasure of the Van Gends, a massive oaken

chair upon which the Prince of Orange had once sat during a council

meeting. Opposite stood a quaintly carved clothespress, waxed and

polished to the utmost and filled with precious stores of linen; beside

it a table holding a large Bible, whose great golden clasps looked poor

compared with its solid, ribbed binding made to outlast six generations.

There was a ship model on the mantleshelf, and over it hung an old

portrait of Peter the Great, who, you know, once gave the dockyard cats

of Holland a fine chance to look at a king, which is one of the special

prerogatives of cats. Peter, though czar of Russia, was not too proud to

work as a common shipwright in the dockyards of Saardam and Amsterdam,

that he might be able to introduce among his countrymen Dutch

improvements in ship building. It was this willingness to be thorough

even in the smallest beginnings that earned for him the title of Peter

the Great.

Peter the little (comparatively speaking) was up first, the next

morning; knowing the punctual habits of his brother-in-law, he took good

care that none of the boys should oversleep themselves. A hard task he

found it to wake Jacob Poot, but after pulling that young gentleman out

of bed, and, with Ben’s help, dragging him about the room for a while,

he succeeded in arousing him.

While Jacob was dressing and moaning within him because the felt

slippers, provided him as a guest, were too tight for his swollen feet,

Peter wrote to inform their friends at Broek of the safe arrival of

his party at The Hague. He also begged his mother to send word to Hans

Brinker that Dr. Boekman had not yet reached Leyden but that a letter

containing Hans’s message had been left at the hotel where the doctor

always lodged during his visits to the city. “Tell him, also,” wrote

Peter, “that I shall call there again, as I pass through Leyden. The

poor boy seemed to feel sure that ‘the meester’ would hasten to save

his father, but we, who know the gruff old gentleman better, may be

confident he will do no such thing. It would be a kindness to send a

visiting physician from Amsterdam to the cottage at once, if Jufvrouw

*{In Holland, women of the lower grades of society do not take the title

of Mrs. (or Mevrouw) when they marry, as with us. They assume their

husbands’ names but are still called Miss (Jufvrouw, pronounced

Yuffrow).} Brinker will consent to receive any but the great king of the

meesters, as Dr. Boekman certainly is.

“You know, Mother,” added Peter, “that I have always considered Sister

van Gend’s house as rather quiet and lonely, but I assure you, it is not

so now. He says we make him wish that he had a houseful of boys of his

own. He has promised to let us ride on his noble black horses. They are

gentle as kittens, he says, if one have but a firm touch at the rein.

Ben, according to Jacob’s account, is a glorious rider, and your son

Peter is not a very bad hand at the business; so we two are to go out

together this morning mounted like knights of old. After we return,

Brother van Gend says he will lend Jacob his English pony and obtain

three extra horses; and all of the party are to trot about the city in

a grand cavalcade, led on by him. He will ride the black horse which

Father sent him from Friesland. My sister’s pretty roan with the

long white tail is lame, and she will ride none other; else she would

accompany us. I could scarcely close my eyes last night after Sister

told me of the plan. Only the thought of poor Hans Brinker and his sick

father checked me, but for that I could have sung for joy. Ludwig has

given us a name already--the Broek Cavalry. We flatter ourselves that we

shall make an imposing appearance, especially in single file....”

The Broek Cavalry were not disappointed. Mynheer van Gend readily

procured good horses; and all the boys could ride, though none was as

perfect horsemen (or horseboys) as Peter and Ben. They saw The Hague

to their hearts’ content, and The Hague saw them--expressing its

approbation loudly, through the mouths of small boys and cart dogs;

silently, through bright eyes that, not looking very deeply into things,

shone as they looked at the handsome Carl and twinkled with fun as a

certainly portly youth with shaking cheeks rode past bumpetty, bumpetty,

bump!

On their return, the boys pronounced the great porcelain stove in the

family sitting room a decidedly useful piece of furniture, for they

could gather around it and get warm without burning their noses or

bringing on chilblains. It was so very large that, though hot elsewhere,

it seemed to send out warmth by the houseful. Its pure white sides

and polished brass rings made it a pretty object to look upon,

notwithstanding the fact that our ungrateful Ben, while growing

thoroughly warm and comfortable beside it, concocted a satirical

sentence for his next letter, to the effect that a stove in Holland

must, of course, resemble a great tower of snow or it wouldn’t be in

keeping with the oddity of the country.

To describe all the boys saw and did on that day and the next would

render this little book a formidable volume indeed. They visited the

brass cannon foundry, saw the liquid fire poured into molds, and watched

the smiths, who, half naked, stood in the shadow, like demons playing

with flame. They admired the grand public buildings and massive private

houses, the elegant streets, and noble Bosch--pride of all beauty-loving

Hollanders. The palace with its brilliant mosaic floors, its frescoed

ceilings, and gorgeous ornaments, filled Ben with delight; he was

surprised that some of the churches were so very plain--elaborate

sometimes in external architecture but bare and bleak within with their

blank, whitewashed walls.

If there were no printed record, the churches of Holland would almost

tell her story. I will not enter into the subject here, except to say

that Ben--who had read of her struggles and wrongs and of the terrible

retribution she had from time to time dealt forth--could scarcely tread

a Holland town without mentally leaping horror-stricken over the bloody

stepping-stones of its history. He could not forget Philip of Spain nor

the Duke of Alva even while rejoicing in the prosperity that followed

the Liberation. He looked into the meekest of Dutch eyes for something

of the fire that once lit the haggard faces of those desperate,

lawless men who, wearing with pride the title of “Beggars,” which their

oppressors had mockingly cast upon them, became the terror of land and

sea. In Haarlem he had wondered that the air did not still resound with

the cries of Alva’s three thousand victims. In Leyden his heart had

swelled in sympathy as he thought of the long procession of scarred

and famished creatures who after the siege, with Adrian van der Werf

at their head, tottered to the great church to sing a glorious anthem

because Leyden was free! He remembered that this was even before they

had tasted the bread brought by the Dutch ships. They would praise

God first, then eat. Thousands of trembling voices were raised in glad

thanksgiving. For a moment it swelled higher and higher, then suddenly

changed to sobbing--not one of all the multitude could sing another

note. But who shall say that anthem, even to its very end, was not heard

in heaven!

Here, in The Hague, other thoughts came to Ben--of how Holland in later

years unwillingly put her head under the French yoke, and how, galled

and lashed past endurance, she had resolutely jerked it out again. He

liked her for that. What nation of any spirit, thought he, could be

expected to stand such work, paying all her wealth into a foreign

treasury and yielding up the flower of her youth under foreign

conscription. It was not so very long ago, either, since English guns

had been heard booming close by in the German Ocean; well--all the

fighting was over at last. Holland was a snug little monarchy now in her

own right, and Ben, for one, was glad of it. Arrived at this charitable

conclusion, he was prepared to enjoy to the utmost all the wonders of

her capital; he quite delighted Mynheer van Gend with his hearty and

intelligent interest--so, in fact, did all the boys, for a merrier, more

observant party never went sight-seeing.