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."[24] 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!"
[Footnote 24: Macaulay's History of England.]
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 centre 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 add 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 noble-hearted
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 countrywomen 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
right hands of the merchants. Thus hand-werpen (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!
The giant was finally conquered and thrown into the Scheld by a hero
called Brabo, who in turn gave a name to the district known as Brabant.
Since then the Dutch merchants have traveled the river in peace; but I
for one thank old Antigonus for giving the city so romantic an origin.
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 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 satin-wood 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 who, with outstretched neck, held a lamp to light the guests into
the apartment. Between the two narrow beds, of carved white-wood 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 clothes-press, 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 mantel-shelf, 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 in
even 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' 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[25] Brinker will consent to receive any but the great king of
the meesters, as Dr. Boekman certainly is.
[Footnote 25: 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 husband's name, but are still called Miss (Jufvrouw,
pronounced Yuffrow).]
"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. Sister says our presence has warmed it for the whole winter.
Brother van Gend is very kind to us all. 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 scarce 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 were 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
certain 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 round it and get warm without burning their noses or
bringing on chilblains. It was so very large that, though hot no-where,
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 moulds 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 ornament, 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 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 in 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 the 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 sightseeing.
XXVIII
THROUGH THE HAGUE
The picture gallery, in the Maurits Huis,[26] one of the finest in the
world, seemed only to have flashed by the boys during a two hours'
visit, so much was there to admire and examine. As for the Royal Cabinet
of curiosities, in the same building, they felt that they had but
glanced at it though they were there nearly half a day. It seemed to
them that Japan had poured all her treasures within its walls. For a
long period, Holland, always foremost in commerce, was the only nation
allowed to have any intercourse with Japan. One can well forego a
journey to that country if he can but visit the Museum at the Hague.
[Footnote 26: A building erected by Prince Maurice of Nassau.]
Room after room is filled with collections from the Hermit
Empire--Costumes peculiar to various ranks and pursuits, articles of
ornament, household utensils, weapons, armor and surgical instruments.
There is also an ingenious Japanese model of the Island of Desina, the
Dutch factory in Japan. It appears almost as the Island itself would if
seen through a reversed opera-glass, and makes one feel like a Gulliver
coming unexpectedly upon a Japanese Lilliput. There you see hundreds of
people in native costumes, standing, kneeling, stooping, reaching--all
at work, or pretending to be--and their dwellings, even their very
furniture, spread out before you, plain as day. In another room a huge
tortoise shell baby-house fitted up in Dutch style and inhabited by
dignified Dutch dolls, stands ready to tell you at a glance how people
live in Holland.
Gretel, Hilda, Katrinka, even the proud Rychie Korbes, would have been
delighted with this; but Peter and his gallant band passed it by without
a glance. The war implements had the honor of detaining them for an
hour; such clubs, such murderous krits, or daggers, such firearms, and,
above all, such wonderful Japanese swords, quite capable of performing
the accredited Japanese feat, of cutting a man in two at a single
stroke!
There were Chinese and other oriental curiosities in the collection.
Native historical relics, too, upon which our young Dutchmen gazed very
soberly, though they were secretly proud to show them to Ben.
There was a model of the cabin at Saardam in which Peter the Great lived
during his short career as a ship-builder. Also, wallets and bowls--once
carried by the "Beggar" Confederates who, uniting under the Prince of
Orange, had freed Holland from the tyranny of Spain; the sword of
Admiral Van Speyk who about ten years before had perished in voluntarily
blowing up his own ship; and Van Tromp's armor with the marks of bullets
upon it. Jacob looked around, hoping to see the broom which the plucky
admiral fastened to his mast-head--but it was not there. The waistcoat
which William Third[27] of England wore during the last days of his
life, possessed great interest for Ben; and one and all gazed with a
mixture of reverence and horror-worship at the identical clothing worn
by William the Silent[27] when he was murdered at Delft by Balthazar
Geraerts. A tawny leather doublet and plain surcoat of gray cloth, a
soft felt hat, and a high neck-ruff from which hung one of the
"Beggars'" medals--these were not in themselves very princely objects,
though the doublet had a tragic interest from its dark stains, and
bullet holes. Ben could readily believe, as he looked upon the garments,
that the Silent Prince, true to his greatness of character, had been
exceedingly simple in his attire. His aristocratic prejudices were,
however, decidedly shocked when Lambert told him of the way in which
William's bride first entered the Hague.
[Footnote 27: William, Prince of Orange, who became King of England, was
a great grandson of William the Silent, Prince of Orange, who was
murdered by Geraerts (or Gerard) July 10th, 1584.]
"The beautiful Louisa de Coligny, whose father and former husband both
had fallen at the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, was coming to be fourth
wife to the Prince, and of course," said Lambert, "we Hollanders were
too gallant to allow the lady to enter the town on foot. No, sir, we
sent (or rather my ancestors did) a clean, open post-wagon to meet her,
with a plank across it for her to sit upon!"
"Very gallant indeed!" exclaimed Ben with almost a sneer in his polite
laugh--"and she the daughter of an Admiral of France."
"Was she? Upon my word I had nearly forgotten that. But, you see Holland
had very plain ways in the good old time, in fact we are a very simple,
frugal people to this day. The Van Gend establishment is a decided
exception, you know."
"A very agreeable exception, I think," said Ben.
"Certainly, certainly. But, between you and me, Mynheer van Gend, though
he has wrought his own fortunes, can afford to be magnificent, and yet
be frugal."
"Exactly so," said Ben profoundly; at the same time stroking his upper
lip and chin, which latterly he believed had been showing delightful
and unmistakable signs of coming dignities.
While tramping on foot through the city, Ben often longed for a good
English sidewalk. Here, as in the other towns, there was no curb, no
raised pavement for foot travelers--but the streets were clean and even,
and all vehicles were kept scrupulously within a certain tract. Strange
to say, there were nearly as many sleds as wagons to be seen, though
there was not a particle of snow. The sleds went scraping over the
bricks or cobblestones; some provided with an apparatus in front for
sprinkling water, to diminish the friction, and some rendered less
musical by means of a dripping oil rag, which the driver occasionally
applied to the runners.
Ben was surprised at the noiseless way in which Dutch laborers do their
work. Even around the warehouses and docks there was no bustle, no
shouting from one to another. A certain twitch of the pipe, or turn of
the head or, at most, a raising of the hand, seemed to be all the signal
necessary. Entire loads of cheeses or herrings are pitched from cart or
canal-boat into the warehouses without a word; but the passer-by must
take his chance of being pelted, for a Dutchman seldom looks before or
behind him while engaged at work.
Poor Jacob Poot, who seemed destined to bear all the mishaps of the
journey, was knocked nearly breathless by a great cheese, which a fat
Dutchman was throwing to a fellow-laborer; but he recovered himself, and
passed on without evincing the least indignation.
Ben professed great sympathy on the occasion, but Jacob insisted that it
was "notting."
"Then why did you screw your face so when it hit you?"
"What for screw mine face?" repeated Jacob soberly; "vy, it vash
de--de----"
"The what?" insisted Ben, maliciously.
"Vy, de--de--vat you call dis, vat you taste mit de nose?"
Ben laughed.
"Oh, you mean the smell."
"Yesh. Dat ish it," said Jacob eagerly--"it wash de shmell. I draw mine
face for dat!"
"Ha! ha!" roared Ben, "that's a good one. A Dutch boy smell a cheese.
You can never make me believe _that_!"
"Vell, it ish no matter," replied Jacob, trudging on beside Ben in
perfect good humor--"vait till you hit mit cheese--dat ish all."
Soon he added pathetically--"Penchamin, I no likes be call Tutch--dat
ish no goot. I bees a Hollander."
Just as Ben was apologizing, Lambert hailed him.
"Hold up! Ben. Here is the Fish Market. There is not much to be seen at
this season. But we can take a look at the storks if you wish."