relief to the besieged city are somewhere here in Leyden. I really
should like to see them. Just think of it! At the very height of the
trouble if the wind didn't turn, and blow in the waters, and drown
hundreds of the Spaniards, and enable the Dutch boats to sail in right
over the land with men and provisions to the very gates of the city. The
pigeons, you know, did great service, in bearing letters to and fro. I
have read somewhere that they were reverently cared for from that day,
and, when they died, they were stuffed, and placed for safe keeping in
the Town Hall. We must be sure to have a look at them."
Van Mounen laughed. "On that principle, Ben, I suppose when you go to
Rome you'll expect to see the identical goose who saved the Capitol. But
it will be easy enough to see the pigeons. They are in the same building
with Van der Werf's portrait. Which was the greatest defence, Ben, the
siege of Leyden or the siege of Haarlem?"
"Well," replied Ben, thoughtfully, "Van der Werf is one of my heroes; we
all have our historical pets, you know, but I really think the siege of
Haarlem brought out a braver, more heroic resistance even, than the
Leyden one; besides they set the Leyden sufferers an example of courage
and fortitude, for their turn came first."
"I don't know much about the Haarlem siege," said Lambert, "except that
it was in 1573. Who beat?"
"The Spaniards," said Ben. "The Dutch had stood out for months. Not a
man would yield nor a woman either for that matter. They shouldered arms
and fought gallantly beside their husbands and fathers. Three hundred of
them did duty under Kanau Hesselaer, a great woman, and brave as Joan of
Arc. All this time the city was surrounded by the Spaniards under
Frederic of Toledo, son of that beauty, the Duke of Alva. Cut off from
all possible help from without, there seemed to be no hope for the
inhabitants, but they shouted defiance over the city walls. They even
threw bread into the enemy's camps to show that they were not afraid of
starvation. Up to the last they held out bravely, waiting for the help
that never could come--growing bolder and bolder until their provisions
were exhausted. Then it was terrible. In time hundreds of famished
creatures fell dead in the streets, and the living had scarcely strength
to bury them. At last, they made the desperate resolution, that rather
than perish by lingering torture, the strongest would form in a square,
placing the weakest in the centre, and rush in a body to their death,
with the faint chance of being able to fight their way through the
enemy. The Spaniards received a hint of this, and believing there was
nothing the Dutch would not dare to do, they concluded to offer terms."
"High time, I should think."
"Yes, with falsehood and treachery they soon obtained an entrance into
the city, promising protection and forgiveness to all except those whom
the citizens themselves would acknowledge as deserving of death."
"You don't say so!" said Lambert, quite interested; "that ended the
business, I suppose."
"Not a bit of it," returned Ben, "for the Duke of Alva had already given
his son orders to show mercy to none."
"Ah! there was where the great Haarlem massacre came in. I remember now.
You can't wonder that the Hollanders dislike Spain when you read of the
way they were butchered by Alva and his hosts, though I admit that our
side sometimes retaliated terribly. But as I have told you before, I
have a very indistinct idea of historical matters. Everything is utter
confusion--from the Flood to the battle of Waterloo. One thing is plain,
however, the Duke of Alva was about the worst specimen of a man that
ever lived."
"That gives only a faint idea of him," said Ben, "but I hate to think of
such a wretch. What if he _had_ brains, and military skill, and all
that sort of thing! Give me such men as Van der Werf, and--what now?"
"Why," said Van Mounen, who was looking up and down the street, in a
bewildered way. "We've walked right past the Museum, and I don't see the
boys. Let us go back."
XXV
LEYDEN
The boys met at the Museum, and were soon engaged in examining its
extensive collection of curiosities, receiving a new insight into
Egyptian life ancient and modern. Ben and Lambert had often visited the
British Museum, but that did not prevent them from being surprised at
the richness of the Leyden collection. There were household utensils,
wearing apparel, weapons, musical instruments, sarcophagi, and mummies
of men, women, and cats, ibexes and other creatures. They saw a massive
gold armlet that had been worn by an Egyptian King at a time when some
of these same mummies, perhaps, were nimbly treading the streets of
Thebes; and jewels and trinkets such as Pharaoh's daughter wore, and the
children of Israel borrowed when they departed out of Egypt.
There were other interesting relics, from Rome and Greece, and some
curious Roman pottery which had been discovered in digging near the
Hague--relics of the days when the countrymen of Julius Caesar had
settled there. Where have they not settled? I for one would hardly be
astonished if relics of the ancient Romans should some day be found deep
under the grass growing round the Bunker-hill monument.
When the boys left this Museum, they went to another and saw a wonderful
collection of fossil animals, skeletons, birds, minerals, precious
stones and other natural specimens, but as they were not learned men,
they could only walk about and stare, enjoy the little knowledge of
natural history they possessed, and wish with all their hearts they had
acquired more. Even the skeleton of the mouse puzzled Jacob. What
wonder? He was not used to seeing the cat-fearing little creatures
running about in their bones--and how could he ever have imagined their
necks to be so queer?
Besides the Museum of Natural History, there was Saint Peter's Church to
be visited, containing Professor Luzac's Memorial, and Boerhaave's
Monument of white and black marble, with its urn and carved symbols of
the four ages of life, and its medallion of Boerhaave, adorned with his
favorite motto "Simplex sigillum veri." They also obtained admittance to
a tea-garden, which in summer was a favorite resort of the citizens, and
passing naked oaks and fruit-trees, ascended a high mound which stood in
the centre. This was the site of a round tower now in ruins, said by
some to have been built by Hengist the Anglo Saxon king, and by others
to have been the castle of one of the ancient counts of Holland.
As the boys walked about on the top of its stone wall, they could get
but a poor view of the surrounding city. The tower stood higher when,
more than two centuries ago, the inhabitants of beleaguered Leyden
shouted to the watcher on its top their wild, despairing cries--"Is
there any help? Are the waters rising? What do you see?"
And for months he could only answer--"No help. I see around us nothing
but the enemy."
Ben pushed these thoughts away; and resolutely looking down into the
bare tea-garden, filled it in imagination with gay summer groups. He
tried to forget old battle-clouds, and picture only curling wreaths of
tobacco-smoke, rising from among men, women and children enjoying their
tea and coffee in the open air. But a tragedy came in spite of him.
Poot was bending over the edge of the high wall. It would be just like
him to grow dizzy and tumble off. Ben turned impatiently away. If the
fellow with his weak head knew no better than to be venturesome, why,
let him tumble. Horror! what meant that heavy, crashing sound?
Ben could not stir. He could only gasp:
"Jacob!"
"Jacob!" cried another startled voice and another. Ready to faint, Ben
managed to turn his head. He saw a crowd of boys on the edge of the wall
opposite--but Jacob was not there!
"Good Heaven!" he cried, springing forward, "where is my cousin?"
The crowd parted. It was only four boys, after all. There sat Jacob in
their midst, holding his sides and laughing heartily.
"Did I frighten you all?" he said in his native Dutch. "Well, I will
tell you how it was. There was a big stone lying on the wall and I put
my--my foot out just to push it a little, you see--and the first thing I
knew, down went the stone all the way to the bottom, and left me sitting
here on top with both my feet in the air. If I had not thrown myself
back at that moment, I certainly should have rolled over after the
stone. Well, it is no matter. Help me up, boys."
"You are hurt, Jacob!" said Ben, seeing a shade of seriousness pass over
his cousin's face as they lifted him to his feet.
Jacob tried to laugh again. "Oh, no--I feels little hurt ven I stant up,
but it ish no matter."
* * * * *
The monument to Van der Werf in the Hooglandsche Kerk was not accessible
that day; but the boys spent a few pleasant moments in the Stadhuis or
Town Hall, a long irregular structure somewhat in the Gothic style,
uncouth in architecture, but picturesque from age. Its little steeple,
tuneful with bells, seemed to have been borrowed from some other
building and hastily clapped on as a finishing touch.
Ascending the grand staircase the boys soon found themselves in rather a
gloomy apartment, containing the masterpiece of Lucas van Leyden, or
Hugens, a Dutch artist, born three hundred and seventy years ago, who
painted well when he was ten years of age, and became distinguished in
art when only fifteen. This picture, called the Last Judgment,
considering the remote age in which it was painted, is truly a
remarkable production. The boys, however, were less interested in
tracing out the merits of the work, than they were in the fact of its
being a triptych--that is, painted on three divisions, the two outer
ones swung on hinges so as to close, when required, over the main
portion.
The historical pictures by Harel de Moor and other famous Dutch artists
interested them for a while, and Ben had to be almost pulled away from
the dingy old portrait of Van der Werf.
The Town Hall, as well as the Egyptian Museum, is on the Breede Straat,
the longest and finest street in Leyden. It has no canal running through
it, and the houses, painted in every variety of color, have a
picturesque effect as they stand with their gable ends to the street;
some are very tall, with half of their height in their step-like roofs;
others crouch before the public edifices and churches. Being clean,
spacious, well-shaded and adorned with many elegant mansions, it
compares favorably with the finer portions of Amsterdam. It is kept
scrupulously neat; many of the gutters are covered with boards that open
like trap-doors; and it is supplied with pumps surmounted with shining
brass ornaments kept scoured and bright at the public cost. The city is
intersected by numerous water-roads formed by the river Rhine, there
grown sluggish, fatigued by its long travel; but more than one hundred
and fifty stone bridges reunite the dissevered streets. The same
world-renowned river, degraded from the beautiful, free-flowing Rhine,
serves as a moat around the rampart that surrounds Leyden, and is
crossed by draw-bridges at the imposing gateways that give access to the
city. Fine broad promenades, shaded by noble trees, border the canals,
and add to the retired appearance of the houses behind, heightening the
effect of scholastic seclusion that seems to pervade the place.
Ben as he scanned the buildings on the Rapenburg canal, was somewhat
disappointed in the appearance of the great University of Leyden. But
when he recalled its history--how, attended with all the pomp of a grand
civic display, it had been founded by the Prince of Orange as a tribute
to the citizens for the bravery displayed during the siege; when he
remembered the great men in religion, learning and science who had once
studied there, and thought of the hundreds of students now sharing the
benefits of its classes and its valuable scientific museums--he was
quite willing to forego architectural beauty, though, he could not help
feeling that no amount of it could have been misplaced on such an
institution.
Peter and Jacob regarded the building with even a deeper, more practical
interest, for they were to enter it as students, in the course of a few
months.
"Poor Don Quixote would have run a hopeless tilt in this part of the
world," said Ben, after Lambert had been pointing out some of the
oddities and beauties of the suburbs--"it is all windmills. You remember
his terrific contest with one, I suppose."
"No," said Lambert, bluntly.
"Well, I don't either, that is, not definitely. But there was something
of that kind in his adventures, and if there wasn't, there should have
been--Look at them, how frantically they whirl their great arms--just
the thing to excite the crazy knight to mortal combat. It bewilders one
to look at them; help me to count all those we can see, Van Mounen. I
want a big item for my note-book"--and after a careful reckoning,
superintended by all the party, Master Ben wrote in pencil, "Saw,
Dec.,--184-- ninety-eight windmills within full view of Leyden."
He would have been glad to visit the old brick mill in which the painter
Rembrandt was born; but he abandoned the project upon learning that it
would take them out of their way. Few boys as hungry as Ben was by this
time, would hesitate long between Rembrandt's home a mile off, and
tiffin close by. Ben chose the latter.
After tiffin, they rested a while, and then--took another, which, for
form sake, they called dinner. After dinner the boys sat warming
themselves, at the inn; all but Peter, who occupied the time in another
fruitless search for Dr. Boekman.
This over, the party once more prepared for skating. They were thirteen
miles from the Hague and not as fresh as when they had left Broek early
on the previous day; but they were in good spirits and the ice was
excellent.
XXVI
THE PALACE AND THE WOOD
As the boys skated onward, they saw a number of fine country seats, all
decorated and surrounded according to the Dutchest of Dutch taste, but
impressive to look upon, with their great, formal houses, elaborate
gardens, square hedges, and wide ditches--some crossed by a bridge,
having a gate in the middle to be carefully locked at night. These
ditches, everywhere traversing the landscape, had long ago lost their
summer film, and now shone under the sunlight, like trailing ribbons of
glass.
The boys traveled bravely, all the while performing the surprising feat
of producing gingerbread from their pockets and causing it to vanish
instantly.
Twelve miles were passed. A few more long strokes would take them to the
Hague, when Van Mounen proposed that they should vary their course, by
walking into the city through The Bosch.
"Agreed!" cried one and all--and their skates were off in a twinkling.
The Bosch is a grand park or wood, nearly two miles long, containing the
celebrated House in the Wood--_Huis in't Bosch_--sometimes used as a
royal residence.
This building, though plain outside for a palace, is elegantly furnished
within, and finely frescoed--that is, the walls and ceiling are covered
with groups and designs painted directly upon them while the plaster was
fresh. Some of the rooms are tapestried with Chinese silk, beautifully
embroidered. One contains a number of family portraits, among them a
group of royal children who in time were orphaned by a certain axe which
figures very frequently in European history. These children were painted
many times by the Dutch artist Van Dyck, who was court-painter to their
father, Charles the First of England. Beautiful children they were--what
a deal of trouble the English nation would have been spared, had they
been as perfect in heart and soul, as they were in form!
The park surrounding the palace is charming, especially in summer, for
flowers and birds make it bright as fairyland. Long rows of magnificent
oaks rear their proud heads, conscious that no profaning hand will ever
bring them low. In fact the Wood has for ages been held as an almost
sacred spot. Children are never allowed to meddle with its smallest
twig; the axe of the Woodman has never resounded there. Even war and
riot have passed it reverently, pausing for a moment in their
devastating way. Philip of Spain, while he ordered Dutchmen to be mowed
down by hundreds, issued a mandate that not a bough of the beautiful
Wood should be touched--and once when in a time of great necessity the
State was about to sacrifice it to assist in filling a nearly exhausted
treasury, the people rushed to the rescue, and nobly contributed the
required amount rather than that the Bosch should fall.
What wonder then that the oaks have a grand, fearless air? Birds from
all Holland have told them how, elsewhere, trees are cropped and bobbed
into shape--but _they_ are untouched. Year after year, they expand in
unclipped luxuriance and beauty; their wide-spreading foliage, alive
with song, casts a cool shade over lawn and pathway, or bows to its
image in the sunny ponds.
Meanwhile, as if to reward the citizens for allowing her to have her way
for once, Nature departs from the invariable level, wearing gracefully
the ornaments that have been reverently bestowed upon her--So the lawn
slopes in a velvety green; the paths wind in and out; flower-beds glow
and send forth perfume; and ponds and sky look at each other in mutual
admiration.
Even on that winter day the Bosch was beautiful. Its trees were bare,
but beneath them still lay the ponds, every ripple smoothed into glass.
The blue sky was bright overhead, and as it looked down through the
thicket of boughs, it saw another blue sky, not nearly so bright,
looking up from the dim thicket under the ice.
Never had the sunset appeared more beautiful to Peter than when he saw
it exchanging farewell glances with the windows and shining roofs of the
city before him. Never had the Hague itself seemed more inviting. He was
no longer Peter van Holp, going to visit a great city, nor a fine young
gentleman bent on sightseeing; he was a knight, an adventurer,
travel-soiled and weary, a Hop-o'-my-Thumb grown large, a Fortunatus
approaching the enchanted castle where luxury and ease awaited him--for
his own sister's house was not half a mile away.
"At last, boys," he cried, in high glee, "we may hope for a royal
resting-place--good beds, warm rooms and something fit to eat. I never
realized before what a luxury such things are. Our lodgings at the Red
Lion have made us appreciate our own homes."
XXVII
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 a while 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 caviare 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 of all 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
to-morrow 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 heart
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.