It will be remembered that on this significant Friday a boat-race
had been arranged for the amusement of the visiting princes and
princesses. It had to be called off on account of a disinclination
on the side of the wind to fill its part of the program, or rather,
to fill the sails. For it was to have been a "sail." Rowing was not
in style then; it was not considered dignified and manly. Besides,
the boats were not built to be propelled in this way.
The boat-race had been canceled; but the crowd remained, and continued
to discharge its enthusiasm for royalty till a late hour. It was a
great day; and the populace perspired and shouted and howled.
It was so hot that kings and princesses perspired like ordinary
mortals. They flourished fans indolently. At that time there was a
special kind of fan: "joujoux de Normandie."
It was observed that the old countess-palatine manipulated her fan more
elegantly than anyone else. No doubt it was through this "gentle art"
that she exerted her greatest influence on humanity.
Gradually the carriages of the distinguished guests disappeared,
and the knightly horsemen tired of the saddle. The day drew to a
close. The populace pushed and crowded and sang and hurrahed and
drank. Fireworks were discharged, to express, so the newspapers said,
the inexpressible love of the people for princes and princesses.
Oh, those firecrackers, and the danger in them! Quick, quick--throw
it--a second longer and it will burst in your hand--hurrah!
It was magnificent--the danger and thrilling anxiety. There was
a tradition that somebody had once held a firecracker in his hand
too long and had been badly hurt by it. This traditional "somebody"
was now inspiring the revelers with fresh enthusiasm.
So it was on that evening, before the city authorities had prohibited
the use of fireworks. After the houses had been covered with slate,
it was thought that there was too much danger of fire in firecrackers,
but on that evening, when the houses still had thatch roofs, the
dangerous pleasure of Amsterdam youth was unrestrained.
And the other dangerous pleasures! How many lasses went home with their
skirts singed, some of them hardly getting home at all. Interesting
adventures! And a boy--"those boys have to have their noses in
everything"--yes, a youth came very near getting a load in his
face. Thrilling delight!
The crowd was now in the street where Juffrouw Laps resided. The
reader will recall that Walter was spending the night with her.
Boom! went a gun, or a cannon-cracker; and Walter awoke just as his
affectionate hostess and religious adviser was going to give him
a kiss.
Juffrouw Laps had burned her sinful lips. "Lord have mercy on us,
what is that!" she cried.
Both ran to the open window. Ordinarily a respectable Hollandish girl
never leaves her window open at night; but the extreme heat of the
evening must be urged in Juffrouw Laps's favor.
It was clear to them at once that they had not been fired upon by
those "murderers," for nobody paid any attention to them or showed any
interest in them. Other windows were open, as well; and on all sides
people were looking out. Right and left a cannonade of firecrackers
was going on.
In the interest of privacy Juffrouw Laps took the precaution to blow
out the light as quickly as possible. Another might have neglected
this.
Walter looked down on it all with the delight of a child. He forgot
the insistent kindness of his hostess; he thought of nothing but
the crowd below and their antics. The noise and tumult sobered him;
and it even had a quieting effect on Juffrouw Laps.
"How foolish the people are. They push one another hither and thither
and don't know themselves why they do it."
"Click, click!" answered an enthusiast with a gun. He was in the
midst of a bevy of girls, who scattered in an uproar.
"They're all drunk," said Juffrouw Laps. "I wish they would go
home. I'm tired--and it's two o'clock."
"Just a little more!" begged Walter. "I'm not tired--not a bit!"
"I'm afraid you're catching cold. For you know, the night air after
a hot day--well, put on your cap, dearest. I wouldn't have this night
air to give you a cold for everything in the world. Look, there goes
another one." It was a Roman candle.
"Amour ‡ la plus belle.
Honneur au plus vaillant----"
"Why don't they sing Dutch? Do you understand any of it?"
Walter knew something of the handsome Dunois, who slew so many Turks
and received as his reward the daughter of the duke, his master. How
would a knight be rewarded after he had already received one reward? Or
how would it have been if the master had had no daughter?
While Walter was asking his lady friend such difficult questions as
these, they heard an outburst of cries and abuse and oaths below. A
reaction had set in. It was a perfect riot. The crowd swayed first
one way then the other, according as one party or the other was in
the ascendency.
Non-combatants were pushing their way out; combatants, themselves
crowded, were crowding others. Cries of "help" were heard. Mothers,
with babies in their arms, attested their fear; women in delicate
health made their condition known.
The press was worst on the corner, whither the revelers were streaming
from three directions. Here was located a popular restaurant and
drinking-place, which was probably the destination of the stream coming
from Amstel Street. The second stream, coming from Utrecht Street,
evidently had the same objective in view. The strongest current
was flowing from the belligerent group, which was now squeezed into
close quarters.
From his recent experience Walter knew what it meant to be in such a
mob. Whoever fell was walked over. But it really wasn't so bad as that:
to fall was impossible. The danger was in being crowded off the street
into basements, where limbs and necks might be easily broken. In this
respect there was more danger than there had been the evening before
in Kalver Street.
"Christian souls!" cried Juffrouw Laps. "I'm getting right sick at
the stomach."
Walter's condition was about the same. All at once he seized her
arm. He thought that he saw somebody--somebody who looked like----
"That's right, dear. Hold fast to me. It's simply death and murder!"
Walter did not say anything.
"Isn't it enough to run anybody crazy?" continued the dear
Juffrouw. "Hold fast to me, and remember that I am your Christine."
He was remembering something else.
"Don't be afraid--Lord, that child's beside himself--nobody shall
hurt you. I will take care of you."
He held on to her arm all the tighter; otherwise he was as if turned
to stone.
"I wouldn't pay any attention to it, sweetheart. But--it is bad
enough. Do you see that girl there with the North Holland cap on? I
wouldn't like to be in her place."
"It is--Femke! O God, it is Femke!"
Shaking off Juffrouw Laps, who attempted to hold him back, he rushed
down the steps and in a few minutes was in the thickest of the fray.
He fought his way through the crowd like a mad-man, soon reaching the
point where he had seen Femke. She, however, had disappeared. A man
with flashy cap and sailor's jacket, who from above had looked like
her escort, was still contending with the crowd. It seemed as if the
two had come arm in arm through Amstel Street.
"Is there a girl here with a North Holland cap on?"
The man was too busy fighting and wrestling for standing-room to make
answer. Meanwhile, Walter noticed that the fellow was struggling
toward the "Herberge," and concluded that his lady must have taken
refuge there.
Walter paid no more attention to the punches and blows he received. He
was only concerned to give as many blows as were necessary to hasten
his arrival at the restaurant. The place was about as badly crowded
as the street, but there was no fighting going on.
Yes, Walter had made a good beginning: yesterday in the "Polish
Coffeehouse," to-day in the "Juniper Berry"--thrown in there, fighting
his way in here.
He was in the restaurant at last, looking for Femke. Now he thought
that he had discovered her, standing on a step, or something of the
kind. With lips tightly closed, her arms crossed, the girl was looking
quietly down on the multitude as if in silent contempt. The rim was
torn from her cap and was hanging down. Walter thought that he even
saw blood on her face--Femke's dear face!
He was exhausted and could not reach her. He looked at her. She did
not see him.
She stood there proud and haughty. He called to her. She did not hear.
"O God! she despises me. I deserve it for my cowardice at Holsma's."
"Boy," said the woman behind the bar, "we don't have any bellowing
here. If you want to bellow go to your mother."
Easier said than done. He couldn't move a peg, such was the press. He
was shoved against the counter; and it was impossible for him to keep
sight of Femke. The tears began to roll down his cheeks.
"What are you doing in such a crowd anyway?" continued the woman,
"when you're so weak. You look as flimsy as a dish-rag. What have
you been doing? Let me give you a glass of cognac."
He would have been only too glad to pay for his place; but, as he
"received at home everything that he needed," he did not have
the wherewithal. Still, there was no danger of his being thrown
out. The crowd, which was threatening to expend its remaining
energy in destroying the liquids of the place, was now occupying the
barmaid's attention. I should say Mrs. Goremest's attention. She was
the proprietress.
The girl continued to hold her position of advantage. There was
something scornful in her features. "Who dares!" she seemed to say.
Walter was feeling bad. She looked over in his direction, but without
seeing him. He called; but she did not hear.
Then the fellow with the flashy cap and sailor jacket appeared in the
door. He had not been one of the belligerents; but he had suffered
the fate of neutral powers. As his clothing testified, both parties
had been his enemies.
So intent was the fellow on getting in that he did not even take time
to return the shoves and cuffs that he received. Twice, three times
he was crowded back; for where so many want the same thing, it isn't
easy to obtain. Nevertheless, he had one advantage over the others,
who sought only a resting-place and a glass of liquor. He was incited
by something else.
Walter hoped with all his heart that the fellow would succeed in
reaching Femke. She looked so lonely in the midst of that wild mob. If
he had been stronger, he would have--but she wouldn't have anything to
do with him. Wouldn't she push him off, just as she did the insolent
fellow who first caught hold of her apron?
The girl seemed now to spy the sailor. She nodded to him and smiled,
as if to encourage him. Or was she thanking him for his fidelity? Her
smile bore the message that she was uninjured, and fearless. Yes,
she stood there a statute of repose.
The sailor nodded back.
He would never have denied her, Walter thought.
Mrs. Goremest happened to see the new arrival; and, from the way she
greeted him, he seemed to be a frequent visitor to her place:
"Hello, Klaas. Are you there too? You're out of breath, aren't you?"
She gave orders to let him through, and even came out a few steps
and helped open up the way for him.
Thus it happened that Klaas Verlaan found standing-room at the counter
not far from Walter.
"Well, they've made the most of you!"
He saw it the same way. He was never certain of a moment's recreation
before bedtime. Walter, as well as the girl who still maintained her
elevated position in the corner, agreed with the bar-woman's verdict.
"Had a good day?" continued the woman. "It was bad about the
boat-race."
Klaas placed his finger on his mouth, as if he were going to tell
her a secret. He wanted to tell of an adventure with Princess Erika.
"A glass of corn?" translated the bar-woman, but without guessing
the right thing.
"Half and half?"
"Nor that either."
"Red?"
This time Klaas was particularly dainty and hard to please. He declined
regularly whatever she suggested and continued to exert himself to
draw her into a more confidential talk. He had had the pleasure of
pulling Princess Erika out of the water.
On the outside they were still singing, "Amour ‡ la plus belle."
"The devil take those Welsh songs!" cried one of the drinkers. "We
are Dutchmen forever!"
"Yes, we are Dutchman forever----"
"And our prince----"
"Sh!"
"I will sing what I please; and, if anybody doesn't want to sing"--he
struck himself on the chest, and the whole party was Dutch and
enthusiastic over royalty. "Our Prince" was sung lustily, and to
a finish.
"Hurrah!"
"Yes, when we were still true Dutchmen----"
"Yes, when we were still true Dutchmen----"
"And under the republic!"
"Long live the republic!"
"You all ought to have seen a yacht-race then."
"And our prince----"
"Under the republic all men were equal."
"Equal. No difference at all."
"Down with the tyrants!"
"They're not a bit better than we are!"
"They suck the life out of the people."
"Yes, they bleed us."
"And why? Because you're all cowardly dogs."
"Yes, they're all cowardly dogs."
"You put your necks under the yoke."
"Whenever a king comes around, or an emperor, or a prince, then all
of you are so frightened you tremble like an aspen leaf."
"Yes, like an aspen leaf!"
"If you fellows were----"
"All men are born free."
"Yes, we were born free and equal."
"And true Dutch hearts--what say you, Mrs. Goremest? What do you think,
that's a daughter of M'neer----"
The name died on the speaker's lips. He became pale.
"A daughter of M'neer----!"
"Certainly. Ask Verlaan."
Verlaan nodded.
"Is that so, Klaas? Really and truly? Why then does she stand there
dressed that way--like an ordinary girl?"
"Oh, those clothes came from my Gertie, you know. Rich people have----"
"Come, boys, we must go home now. Mother Goremest needs sleep,
too. We are not made of iron; we are flesh and blood."
"Down with the tyrants! We were born free. True Dutch hearts----"
"Sh! The young lady----"
"What? That girl? What then?"
"Sh! The daughter of--but don't say a word. Damme if it isn't so--the
daughter of M'neer--Kopperlith!"
"Kopperlith on Keizersgracht? What are you talking about,
man! Kopperlith--on Keizersgracht!"
"Yes, of course. Come, we're going."
"His daughter? His----natural daughter?"
"That's right. You understand it now; but keep quiet about it."
The true Dutch hearts and republicans paid and left the bar.
It was a sudden whim of Klaas Verlaan's to make his ward a child of
Keizersgracht; but it brought him in more ducats than he cared to
admit afterward.
Kopperlith? Kopperlith? on Keizersgracht? Femke on Keizersgracht! And
on the day after to-morrow he was to begin work for this wealthy
gentleman.
His head swam. Was he still Walter Pieterse? He doubted it. Before
he had quite come to himself, he was forced through the door with
other late stragglers. It was time for Mrs. Goremest to close.
The street was comparatively quiet now. Walter remained near the
"Herberge," which to him was a sort of temple where his Goddess was
being worshiped. Now and then somebody else was pitched out the door,
who would have been glad to stay longer. It was not every day that
one got an opportunity to see a daughter of M'neer Kopperlith. Some
wanted to join the triumvirate of Verlaan, the republican speaker,
and Mrs. Goremest; but the three felt themselves strong enough to do
the work and share the rewards.
At last the outflow ceased, and Walter was just going to peep through
the curtains of the glass door, when the door opened again and the
republican emerged. Walter heard Klaas call to him:
"There on the corner in Paarden Street, you know. If it costs a dollar
more, that's all right. Tell the cabby----"
Walter understood. The republican was to get a cab--for Femke?
Walter waited. In the meanwhile, Mrs. Goremest had locked the door and
drawn the curtains, so that it was impossible for him to look in now.
In a short time a carriage drove up, and the republican sprang out
of it. The door of Mrs. Goremest's establishment opened again, and
Klaas Verlaan with the ostensible daughter of Kopperlith appeared.
"Femke, I am here!" Walter cried, hurrying to her. "I am here. Oh,
Femke, don't go with the strange men!"
"What in the devil are you doing here again!" snorted Verlaan, seizing
Walter by the collar to pull him back into the restaurant. "What do
you want? And who are you?"
"Femke, don't go with the strange men. I will take you home, I,
Walter."
"The boy is weak in the upper story," affirmed Mrs. Goremest. "He's
been bellowing around her the whole evening like a calf, and he hasn't
spent a doit."
Walter reached for Femke's hand; and then he noticed how curiously
she was rigged out. She was completely covered. Of her head,
face, shoulders, figure--nothing was to be seen. Mrs. Goremest
had contributed her cloak; but what would one not do for a
Kopperlith? Still, she was saving: Only the stump of one tallow
candle was burning. It flickered strangely, giving to everything a
ghostly appearance.
"Is it you, Erich?" the girl asked.
"Femke, Femke, for God's sake, don't go with those strange men!"
Tearing himself away from Verlaan, he threw himself at Femke's feet. He
pulled aside her cloak and covered her hand with tears and kisses.
"Just like I tell you," declared Mrs. Goremest. "The boy is as crazy
as a bedbug."
"Femke, I will never deny you again. Strike me, tread on me, kill me,
but--don't go with those strange men."
"Light!" cried the girl peremptorily--a word that even a Dutchman
understands.
The republican took the candle from the counter and held it so that
the light fell on Walter's face. The boy was still kneeling. Through
an opening in her hood the girl looked down on him and was silent. She
did not withdraw the hand that Walter held closely pressed to his lips.
Verlaan made a motion as if to remove the intruder; but the girl
stopped him with a look. Then she laid her free hand on Walter's head,
saying simply:
"My brother!"
"Another descendant of Kopperlith!" growled the republican. The young
people have strange ideas about how to spend the night."
When Walter came to his senses, he was in the street again. The
carriage had driven away--whether with her, or without her; whether
with the two men, or without them--that he did not know. It made
no difference to him: she had called him "brother," seriously,
solemnly. She had spoken clearly and distinctly.
"O God! I thank thee. Thou art kind and compassionate. I didn't
know that Femke could speak like that. She must have felt it down in
her heart."
To-morrow, he thought, he would become immensely wealthy--in
"business"--and, of course, he was going to be a king again, and
still more: For Femke he would be more than a brother! Juffrouw Laps
had awakened in him--well, something, he did not know himself what it
was. His heart rejoiced; he walked upon stilts, as tired as he was,
and wondered that his head did not bump against the clouds.