"THE soup is hot," said Gerard.
"But how are we to get it to our mouths?" inquired the senior,
despondingly.
"Father, the young man has brought us straws." And Margaret smiled
slily.
"Ay, ay!" said the old man: "but my poor bones are stiff, and indeed the
fire is too hot for a body to kneel over with these short straws. St.
John the Baptist, but the young man is adroit!"
For, while he stated his difficulty, Gerard removed it. He untied in a
moment the knot on his breast, took his hat off, put a stone in each
corner of it, then wrapping his hand in the tail of his jerkin, whipped
the flask off the fire, wedged it in between the stones, and put the hat
under the old man's nose with a merry smile. The other tremulously
inserted the pipe of rye-straw and sucked. Lo and behold his wan, drawn
face was seen to light up more and more, till it quite glowed; and, as
soon as he had drawn a long breath:
"Hippocrates and Galen!" he cried, "'tis a soupe au vin--the
restorative of restoratives. Blessed be the nation that invented it,
and the woman that made it, and the young man who brings it to fainting
folk. Have a suck, my girl, while I relate to our young host the history
and virtues of this his sovereign compound. This corroborative, young
sir, was unknown to the ancients: we find it neither in their treatises
of medicine, nor in those popular narratives, which reveal many of their
remedies, both in chirurgery and medicine proper. Hector, in the Ilias,
if my memory does not play me false,--"
_Margaret._ "Alas! he's off."
"--was invited by one of the ladies of the poem to drink a draught of
wine; but he declined, on the plea that he was just going into battle,
and must not take aught to weaken his powers. Now, if the 'soupe au vin'
had been known in Troy, it is clear that in declining 'vinum merum' upon
that score, he would have added in the next hexameter. 'But a "soupe au
vin," madam, I will degust, and gratefully.' Not only would this have
been but common civility--a virtue no perfect commander is wanting
in--but not to have done it would have proved him a shallow and
improvident person, unfit to be trusted with the conduct of a war; for
men going into a battle need sustenance and all the possible support, as
is proved by this, that foolish generals, bringing hungry soldiers to
blows with full ones, have been defeated, in all ages, by inferior
numbers. The Romans lost a great battle in the north of Italy to
Hannibal the Carthaginian, by this neglect alone. Now, this divine
elixir gives in one moment force to the limbs and ardour to the spirits;
and taken into Hector's body at the nick of time, would, by the aid of
Phoebus, Venus, and the blessed saints, have most likely procured the
Greeks a defeat. For, note how faint and weary and heart-sick I was a
minute ago; well, I suck this celestial cordial, and now behold me brave
as Achilles and strong as an eagle."
"Oh father, now? an eagle; alack!"
"Girl, I defy thee and all the world. Ready, I say, like a foaming
charger, to devour the space between this and Rotterdam, and strong to
combat the ills of life, even poverty and old age, which last
philosophers have called the 'summum malum.' Negatur; unless the man's
life has been ill-spent--which, by the by, it generally has. Now for the
moderns."
"Father! dear father!"
"Fear me not, girl, I will be brief, unreasonably and unseasonably
brief. The 'soupe au vin' occurs not in modern science; but this is only
one proof more, if proof were needed, that for the last few hundred
years physicians have been idiots, with their chicken broth and their
decoction of gold, whereby they attribute the highest qualities to that
meat which has the least juice of any meat, and to that metal which has
less chemical qualities than all the metals; mountebanks! dunces!
homicides! Since, then, from these no light is to be gathered, go we to
the chroniclers; and first we find that Duguesclin, a French knight,
being about to join battle with the English--masters, at that time, of
half France, and sturdy strikers by sea and land--drank, not one, but
three, 'soupes au vin,' in honour of the Blessed Trinity. This done, he
charged the islanders; and as might have been foretold, killed a
multitude, and drove the rest into the sea. But he was only the first of
a long list of holy and hard-hitting ones who have, by this divine
restorative, been sustentated, fortified, corroborated, and consoled."
"Dear father, prithee add thyself to that venerable company ere the soup
cools." And Margaret held the hat imploringly in both hands till he
inserted the straw once more.
This spared them the "modern instances," and gave Gerard an opportunity
of telling Margaret how proud his mother would be her soup had profited
a man of learning.
"Ay! but," said Margaret, "it would like her ill to see her son give all
and take none himself. Why brought you but two straws?"
"Fair mistress, I hoped you would let me put my lips to your straw,
there being but two."
Margaret smiled, and blushed. "Never beg that you may command," said
she. "The straw is not mine, 'tis yours: you cut it in yonder field."
"I cut it, and that made it mine; but, after that, your lip touched it,
and that made it yours."
"Did it? Then I will lend it you. There--now it is yours again: _your_
lip has touched it."
"No, it belongs to us both now. Let us divide it."
"By all means; you have a knife."
"No, I will not cut it--that would be unlucky. I'll bite it. There. I
shall keep my half: you will burn yours, once you get home, I doubt."
"You know me not. I waste nothing. It is odds but I make a hair-pin of
it, or something."
This answer dashed the novice Gerard instead of provoking him to fresh
efforts, and he was silent. And now, the bread and soup being disposed
of, the old scholar prepared to continue his journey. Then came a little
difficulty: Gerard the adroit could not tie his ribbon again as
Catherine had tied it. Margaret, after slily eyeing his efforts for some
time, offered to help him; for at her age girls love to be coy and
tender, saucy and gentle, by turns, and she saw she had put him out of
countenance but now. Then a fair head, with its stately crown of auburn
hair, glossy and glowing through silver, bowed sweetly towards him; and,
while it ravished his eye, two white supple hands played delicately upon
the stubborn ribbon, and moulded it with soft and airy touches. Then a
heavenly thrill ran through the innocent young man, and vague glimpses
of a new world of feeling and sentiment opened on him. And these new and
exquisite sensations Margaret unwittingly prolonged: it is not natural
to her sex to hurry aught that pertains to the sacred toilet. Nay, when
the taper fingers had at last subjugated the ends of the knot, her mind
was not quite easy, till, by a manoeuvre peculiar to the female hand,
she had made her palm convex, and so applied it with a gentle pressure
to the centre of the knot--a sweet little coaxing hand-kiss, as much as
to say, "Now be a good knot, and stay so." The palm-kiss was bestowed on
the ribbon, but the wearer's heart leaped to meet it.
"There, that is how it was," said Margaret, and drew back to take one
last keen survey of her work; then, looking up for simple approval of
her skill, received full in her eyes a longing gaze of such ardent
adoration, as made her lower them quickly and colour all over. An
indescribable tremor seized her, and she retreated with downcast lashes
and tell-tale cheeks, and took her father's arm on the opposite side.
Gerard, blushing at having scared her away with his eyes, took the other
arm; and so the two young things went downcast and conscious, and
propped the eagle along in silence.
They entered Rotterdam by the Schiedamze Poort; and, as Gerard was
unacquainted with the town, Peter directed him the way to the Hoog
Straet, in which the Stadthouse was. He himself was going with Margaret
to his cousin, in the Ooster-Waagen Straet, so, almost on entering the
gate, their roads lay apart. They bade each other a friendly adieu, and
Gerard dived into the great town. A profound sense of solitude fell upon
him, yet the streets were crowded. Then he lamented too late that, out
of delicacy, he had not asked his late companions who they were and
where they lived.
"Beshrew my shamefacedness!" said he. "But their words and their
breeding were above their means, and something did whisper me they would
not be known. I shall never see her more. Oh! weary world, I hate you
and your ways. To think I must meet beauty and goodness and
learning--three pearls of price,--and never see them more!"
Falling into this sad reverie, and letting his body go where it would,
he lost his way; but presently meeting a crowd of persons all moving in
one direction, he mingled with them, for he argued they must be making
for the Stadthouse. Soon the noisy troop that contained the moody Gerard
emerged, not upon the Stadthouse, but upon a large meadow by the side of
the Maas; and then the attraction was revealed. Games of all sorts were
going on: wrestling the game of palm, the quintain, legerdemain,
archery, tumbling, in which art, I blush to say, women as well as men
performed, to the great delectation of the company. There was also a
trained bear, who stood on his head, and marched upright, and bowed with
prodigious gravity to his master; and a hare that beat a drum, and a
cock that strutted on little stilts disdainfully. These things made
Gerard laugh now and then; but the gay scene could not really enliven
it, for his heart was not in tune with it. So, hearing a young man say
to his fellow that the duke had been in the meadow, but was gone to the
Stadthouse to entertain the burgomasters and aldermen and the
competitors for the prizes, and their friends, he suddenly remembered he
was hungry, and should like to sup with a prince. He left the
river-side, and this time he found the Hoog Straet, and it speedily led
him to the Stadthouse. But when he got there he was refused, first at
one door, then at another, till he came to the great gate of the
court-yard. It was kept by soldiers, and superintended by a pompous
major-domo, glittering in an embroidered collar and a gold chain of
office, and holding a white staff with a gold knob. There was a crowd of
persons at the gate endeavoring to soften this official rock. They came
up in turn like ripples, and retired as such in turn. It cost Gerard a
struggle to get near him, and when he was within four heads of the gate,
he saw something that made his heart beat: there was Peter, with
Margaret on his arm, soliciting humbly for entrance.
"My cousin the alderman is not at home. They say he is here."
"What is that to me, old man?"
"If you will not let us pass in to him, at least take this leaf from my
tablet to my cousin. See I have written his name: he will come out to
us."
"For what do you take me? I carry no messages. I keep the gate."
He then bawled, in a stentorian voice, inexorably:
"No strangers enter here but the competitors and their companies."
"Come, old man," cried a voice in the crowd, "you have gotten your
answer; make way."
Margaret turned half round imploringly:
"Good people, we are come from far, and my father is old; and my cousin
has a new servant that knows us not, and would not let us sit in our
cousin's house."
At this the crowd laughed hoarsely. Margaret shrank as if they had
struck her. At that moment a hand grasped hers--a magic grasp: it felt
like heart meeting heart, or magnet steel. She turned quickly around at
it, and it was Gerard. Such a little cry of joy and appeal came from her
bosom, and she began to whimper prettily.
They had hustled her and frightened her for one thing; and her cousin's
thoughtlessness, in not even telling his servant they were coming, was
cruel; and the servant's caution, however wise and faithful to her
master, was bitterly mortifying to her father and her. And to her so
mortified, and anxious and jostled, came suddenly this kind hand and
face. "Hinc illæ lacrimæ."
"All is well now," remarked a coarse humourist; "she hath gotten her
sweetheart."
"Haw! haw! haw!" went the crowd.
She dropped Gerard's hand directly, and turned round, with eyes flashing
through her tears:
"I have no sweetheart, you rude men. But I am friendless in your boorish
town, and this is a friend; and one who knows, what you know not, how to
treat the aged and the weak."
The crowd was dead silent. They had only been thoughtless, and now felt
the rebuke, though severe, was just. The silence enabled Gerard to treat
with the porter.
"I am a competitor, sir."
"What is your name?" and the man eyed him suspiciously.
"Gerard, the son of Elias."
The janitor inspected the slip of parchment he held in his hand:
"Gerard Eliassoen can enter."
"With my company; these two?"
"Nay; those are not your company: they came before you."
"What matter? they are my friends, and without them I go not in."
"Stay without, then."
"That will I not."
"That we will see."
"We will, and speedily." And with this, Gerard raised a voice of
astounding volume and power, and shouted, so that the whole street rang:
"HO! PHILIP EARL OF HOLLAND!"
"Are you mad?" cried the porter.
"HERE IS ONE OF YOUR VARLETS DEFIES YOU."
"Hush, Hush!"
"AND WILL NOT LET YOUR GUESTS PASS IN."
"Hush! murder! The duke's there. I'm dead," cried the janitor, quaking.
Then suddenly trying to overpower Gerard's thunder, he shouted, with all
his lungs:
"OPEN THE GATE, YE KNAVES! WAY THERE FOR GERARD ELIASSOEN AND HIS
COMPANY! (the friends go with him!)"
The gate swung open as by magic. Eight soldiers lowered their pikes half
way, and made an arch, under which the victorious three marched in
triumphant. The moment they had passed, the pikes clashed together
horizontally to bar the gateway, and all but pinned an abdominal citizen
that sought to wedge in along with them.
Once passed the guarded portal, a few steps brought the trio upon a
scene of Oriental luxury. The court-yard was laid out in tables loaded
with rich meats, and piled with gorgeous plate. Guests in rich and
various costumes sat beneath a leafy canopy of fresh cut branches
fastened tastefully to golden, silver, and blue silken cords that
traversed the area; and fruits of many hues, including some artificial
ones of gold, silver, and wax, hung pendent, or peeped like fair eyes
among the green leaves of plane-trees and lime-trees. The duke's
minstrels swept their lutes at intervals, and a fountain played red
Burgundy in six jets that met and battled in the air. The evening sun
darted its fires through those bright and purple wine spouts, making
them jets and cascades of molten rubies, then passing on, tinged with
the blood of the grape, shed crimson glories here and there on fair
faces, snowy beards, velvet, satin, jewelled hilts, glowing gold,
gleaming silver, and sparkling glass. Gerard and his friends stood
dazzled, spell bound. Presently a whisper buzzed around them, "Salute
the duke! Salute the duke!" They looked up, and there on high, under the
dais, was their sovereign, bidding them welcome with a kindly wave of
the hand. The men bowed low, and Margaret curtsied with a deep and
graceful obeisance. The duke's hand being up, he gave it another turn,
and pointed the newcomers out to a knot of valets. Instantly seven of
his people, with an obedient start, went headlong at our friends, seated
them at a table, and put fifteen many coloured soups before them, in
little silver bowls, and as many wines in crystal vases.
"Nay, father, let us not eat until we have thanked our good friend,"
said Margaret, now first recovering from all this bustle.
"Girl, he is our guardian angel."
Gerard put his face into his hands.
"Tell me when you have done," said he, "and I will reappear and have my
supper, for I am hungry. I know which of us three is the happiest at
meeting again."
"Me?" inquired Margaret.
"No: guess again."
"Father?"
"No."
"Then I have no guess which it can be;" and she gave a little crow of
happiness and gaiety. The soup was tasted, and vanished in a twirl of
fourteen hands, and fish came on the table in a dozen forms, with
patties of lobster and almonds mixed, and of almonds and cream, and an
immense variety of "brouets," known to us as "rissoles." The next trifle
was a wild boar, which smelt divine. Why, then, did Margaret start away
from it with two shrieks of dismay, and pinch so good a friend as
Gerard? Because the duke's "cuisinier" had been too clever; had made
this excellent dish too captivating to the sight as well as taste. He
had restored to the animal, by elaborate mimicry with burnt sugar and
other edible colours, the hair and bristles he had robbed him of by fire
and water. To make him still more enticing, the huge tusks were
carefully preserved in the brute's jaw, and gave his mouth the winning
smile that comes of tusk in man or beast: and two eyes of coloured sugar
glowed in his head. St. Argus! what eyes! so bright, so blood-shot, so
threatening--they followed a man and every movement of his knife and
spoon. But, indeed, I need the pencil of Granville or Tenniel to make
you see the two gilt valets on the opposite side of the table putting
the monster down before our friends, with a smiling, self-satisfied,
benevolent obsequiousness--for this ghastly monster was the flower of
all comestibles--old Peter clasping both hands in pious admiration of
it; Margaret wheeling round with horror-stricken eyes and her hand on
Gerard's shoulder, squeaking and pinching; his face of unwise delight at
being pinched, the grizzly brute glaring sulkily on all, and the guests
grinning from ear to ear.
"What's to do?" shouted the duke, hearing the signals of female
distress. Seven of his people with a zealous start went headlong and
told him. He laughed and said, "Give her of the beef-stuffing, then, and
bring me Sir Boar." Benevolent monarch! The beef-stuffing was his own
private dish. On these grand occasions an ox was roasted whole, and
reserved for the poor. But this wise as well as charitable prince had
discovered, that whatever venison, hares, lamb, poultry, &c., you
skewered into that beef cavern, got cooked to perfection, retaining
their own juices and receiving those of the reeking ox. These he called
his beef-stuffing, and took delight therein, as did now our trio; for,
at his word, seven of his people went headlong, and drove silver
tridents into the steaming cave at random, and speared a kid, a cygnet,
and a flock of wild fowl. These presently smoked before Gerard and
company; and Peter's face sad and slightly morose at the loss of the
savage hog, expanded and shone. After this, twenty different tarts of
fruits and herbs, and last of all, confectionery on a Titanic scale;
cathedrals of sugar, all gilt and painted in the interstices of the
bas-reliefs; castles with their moats, and ditches, imitated to the
life; elephants, camels, toads; knights on horseback, jousting; kings
and princesses looking on; trumpeters blowing; and all these personages
delicious eating, and their veins filled with sweet-scented juices:
works of art made to be destroyed. The guests breached a bastion,
crunched a crusader and his horse and lance, or cracked a bishop, cope,
chasuble, crosier and all, as remorselessly as we do a caraway comfit;
sipping, meanwhile, hippocras and other spiced drinks, and Greek and
Corsican wines, while every now and then little Turkish boys, turbaned,
spangled, jewelled, and gilt, came offering on bended knee golden
troughs of rose-water and orange-water to keep the guests' hands cool
and perfumed.
But long before our party arrived at this final stage, appetite had
succumbed, and Gerard had suddenly remembered he was the bearer of a
letter to the Princess Marie, and, in an undertone, had asked one of the
servants if he would undertake to deliver it. The man took it with a
deep obeisance: "He could not deliver it himself, but would instantly
give it one of the princess's suite, several of whom were about."
It may be remembered that Peter and Margaret came here not to dine, but
to find their cousin. Well, the old gentleman ate heartily, and being
much fatigued dropped asleep, and forgot all about his cousin. Margaret
did not remind him, we shall hear why.
Meantime, that cousin was seated within a few feet of them, at their
backs, and discovered them when Margaret turned round and screamed at
the boar. But he forbore to speak to them, for municipal reasons.
Margaret was very plainly dressed and Peter inclined to threadbare. So
the alderman said to himself,
"'Twill be time to make up to them when the sun sets and the company
disperses: then I will take my poor relations to my house, and none will
be the wiser."
Half the courses were lost on Gerard and Margaret. They were no great
eaters, and just now were feeding on sweet thoughts that have ever been
unfavourable to appetite. But there is a delicate kind of sensuality, to
whose influence these two were perhaps more sensitive than any other
pair in that assembly; the delights of colour, music, and perfume, all
of which blended so fascinatingly here.
Margaret leaned back and half closed her eyes, and murmured to Gerard:
"What a lovely scene! the warm sun, the green shade, the rich dresses,
the bright music of the lutes and the cool music of the fountain, and
all faces so happy and gay! and then, it is to you we owe it."
Gerard was silent all but his eyes; observing which--
"Now, speak not to me," said Margaret languidly; "let me listen to the
fountain: what are you a competitor for?"
He told her.
"Very well! You will gain one prize, at least."
"Which? Which? Have you seen any of my work?"
"I? no. But you will gain a prize."
"I hope so: but what makes you think so?"
"Because you were so good to my father."
Gerard smiled at the feminine logic, and hung his head at the sweet
praise, and was silent.
"Speak not," murmured Margaret. "They say this is a world of sin and
misery. Can that be? What is your opinion?"
"No! that is all a silly old song," explained Gerard. "'Tis a byword our
elders keep repeating, out of custom: it is not true."
"How can you know? you are but a child," said Margaret, with pensive
dignity.
"Why only look round! And then I thought I had lost you for ever; and
you are by my side: and now the minstrels are going to play again. Sin
and misery? Stuff and nonsense!"
[Illustration: SHE TURNED HER HEAD AWAY, AND HER LONG EYELASHES DROOPED
SWEETLY]
The lutes burst out. The court-yard rang again with their delicate
harmony.
* * * * *
"What do you admire most of all these beautiful things, Gerard?"
"You know my name? How is that?"
"White magic. I am a witch."
"Angels are never witches. But I can't think how you--"
"Foolish boy! was it not cried at the gate loud enough to deave one?"
"So it was. Where is my head? What do I admire most? If you will sit a
little more that way, I'll tell you."
"This way?"
"Yes; so that the light may fall on you. There. I see many fair things
here, fairer than I could have conceived; but the bravest of all to my
eye, is your lovely hair in its silver frame, and the setting sun
kissing it. It reminds me of what the Vulgate praises for beauty,
'_an apple of gold in a network of silver_,' and, O what a pity I did
not know you before I sent in my poor endeavours at illuminating! I
could illuminate so much better now. I could do everything better.
There, now the sun is full on it, it is like an aureole. So our Lady
looked, and none since her until to-day."
"O fie! it is wicked to talk so. Compare a poor, coarse-favoured girl
like me with the Queen of Heaven? O Gerard! I thought you were a good
young man." And Margaret was shocked apparently.
Gerard tried to explain. "I am no worse than the rest: but how can I
help having eyes; and a heart--Margaret!"
"Gerard?"
"Be not angry now!"
"Now, is it likely?"
"I love you."
"O for shame! you must not say that to me," and Margaret coloured
furiously at this sudden assault.
"I can't help it. I love you. I love you."
"Hush, hush! for pity's sake! I must not listen to such words from a
stranger. I am ungrateful to call you a stranger. O how one may be
mistaken! If I had known you were so bold--" And Margaret's bosom began
to heave, and her cheeks were covered with blushes, and she looked
towards her sleeping father, very much like a timid thing that meditates
actual flight.
Then Gerard was frightened at the alarm he caused. "Forgive me," said he
imploringly. "How could any one help loving you?"
"Well, sir, I will _try_ and forgive you--you are so good in other
respects; but then you must promise me never to say you--to say _that_
again."
"Give me your hand then, or you don't forgive me."
She hesitated; but eventually put out her hand a very little way, very
slowly, and with seeming reluctance. He took it, and held it prisoner.
When she thought it had been there long enough, she tried gently to draw
it away. He held it tight: it submitted quite patiently to force. What
_is_ the use resisting force? She turned her head away, and her long
eyelashes drooped sweetly. Gerard lost nothing by his promise. Words
were not heeded here: and silence was more eloquent. Nature was in that
day what she is in ours; but manners were somewhat freer. Then, as now,
virgins drew back alarmed at the first words of love; but of prudery
and artificial coquetry there was little, and the young soon read one
another's hearts. Everything was on Gerard's side: his good looks, her
belief in his goodness, her gratitude; and opportunity: for at the
duke's banquet this mellow summer eve, all things disposed the female
nature to tenderness: the avenues to the heart lay open; the senses were
so soothed and subdued with lovely colours, gentle sounds, and delicate
odours; the sun gently sinking the warm air, the green canopy, the cool
music of the now violet fountain.
* * * * *
Gerard and Margaret sat hand in hand in silence: and Gerard's eyes
sought hers lovingly; and hers now and then turned on him timidly and
imploringly: and presently two sweet unreasonable tears rolled down her
cheeks, and she smiled deliciously while they were drying: yet they did
not take long.
* * * * *
And the sun declined; and the air cooled, and the fountain plashed more
gently; and the pair throbbed in unison, and silence, and this weary
world looked heaven to them.