The night, on which sorrow and sickness had entered the Hoogstraten
mansion, was followed by a beautiful morning. Holland again became
pleasant to the storks, that with a loud, joyous clatter flew clown into
the meadows on which the sun was shining. It was one of those days the
end of April often bestows on men, as if to show them that they render
her too little, her successor too much honor. April can boast that
in her house is born the spring, whose vigor is only strengthened and
beauty developed by her blooming heir.
It was Sunday, and whoever on such a day, while the bells are ringing,
wanders in Holland over sunny paths, through flowery meadows where
countless cattle, woolly cheep, and idle horses are grazing, meeting
peasants in neat garments, peasant women with shining gold ornaments
under snow-white lace caps, citizens in gay attire and children released
from school, can easily fancy that even nature wears a holiday garb
and glitters in brighter green, more brilliant blue, and more varied
ornaments of flowers than on work-days.
A joyous Sunday mood doubtless filled the minds of the burghers, who
to-day were out of doors on foot, in large over-crowded wooden wagons,
or gaily-painted boats on the Rhine, to enjoy the leisure hours of the
day of rest, eat country bread, yellow butter, and fresh cheese, or
drink milk and cool beer, with their wives and children.
The organist, Wilhelm, had long since finished playing in the church,
but did not wander out into the fields with companions of his own age,
for he liked to use such days for longer excursions, in which walking
was out of the question.
They bore him on the wings of the wind over his native plains, through
the mountains and valleys of Germany, across the Alps to Italy. A
spot propitious for such forgetfulness of the present and his daily
surroundings, in favor of the past and a distant land, was ready.
His brothers, Ulrich and Johannes, also musicians, but who recognized
Wilhelm’s superior talent without envy and helped him develop it, had
arranged for him, during his stay in Italy, a prettily-furnished room
in the narrow side of the pointed roof of the house, from which a broad
door led to a little balcony. Here stood a wooden bench on which Wilhelm
liked to sit, watching the flight of his doves, gazing dreamily into
the distance or, when inclined to artistic creation, listening to the
melodies that echoed in his soul.
This highest part of the house afforded a beautiful prospect; the view
was almost as extensive as the one from the top of the citadel, the old
Roman tower situated in the midst of Leyden. Like a spider in its web,
Wilhelm’s native city lay in the midst of countless streams and canals
that intersected the meadows. The red brick masonry of the city wall,
with its towers and bastions, washed by a dark strip of water, encircled
the pretty place as a diadem surrounds a young girl’s head; and like a
chaplet of loosely-bound thorns, forts and redoubts extended in wider,
frequently broken circles around the walls. The citizens’ herds of
cattle grazed between the defensive fortifications and the city wall,
while beside and beyond them appeared villages and hamlets.
On this clear April day, looking towards the north, Haarlem lake was
visible, and on the west, beyond the leafy coronals of the Hague woods,
must be the downs which nature had reared for the protection of the
country against the assaults of the waves. Their long chain of hillocks
offered a firmer and more unconquerable resistance to the pressure
of the sea, than the earthworks and redoubts of Alfen, Leyderdorp and
Valkenburg, the three forts situated close to the banks of the Rhine,
presented to hostile armies. The Rhine! Wilhelm gazed down at the
shallow, sluggish river, and compared it to a king deposed from his
throne, who has lost power and splendor and now kindly endeavors to
dispense benefits in little circles with the property that remains. The
musician was familiar with the noble, undivided German Rhine; and often
followed it in imagination towards the south but more often still his
dreams conveyed him with a mighty leap to Lake Lugano, the pearl of the
Western Alps, and when he thought of it and the Mediterranean, beheld
rising before his mental vision emerald green, azure blue, and golden
light; and in such hours all his thoughts were transformed within his
breast into harmonies and exquisite music.
And his journey from Lugano to Milan! The conveyance that bore him
to Leonardo’s city was plain and overcrowded, but in it he had found
Isabella. And Rome, Rome, eternal, never-to-be-forgotten Rome, where so
long as we dwell there, we grow out of ourselves, increase in strength
and intellectual power, and which makes us wretched with longing when it
lies behind us.
By the Tiber Wilhelm had first thoroughly learned what art, his glorious
art was; here, near Isabella, a new world had opened to him, but a sharp
frost had passed over the blossoms of his heart that had unfolded in
Rome, and he knew they were blighted and could bear no fruit--yet to-day
he succeeded in recalling her in her youthful beauty, and instead of the
lost love, thinking of the kind friend Isabella and dreaming of a sky
blue as turquoise, of slender columns and bubbling fountains, olive
groves and marble statues, cool churches and gleaming villas, sparkling
eyes and fiery wine, magnificent choirs and Isabella’s singing.
The doves that cooed and clucked, flew away and returned to the cote
beside him, could now do as they chose, their guardian neither saw nor
heard them.
Allertssohn, the fencing-master, ascended the ladder to his watch-tower,
but he did not notice him until he stood on the balcony by his side,
greeting him with his deep voice.
“Where have we been, Herr Wilhelm?” asked the old man. “In this
cloth-weaving Leyden? No! Probably with the goddess of music on Olympus,
if she has her abode there.”
“Rightly guessed,” replied Wilhelm, pushing the hair back from his
forehead with both hands. “I have been visiting her, and she sends you a
friendly greeting.”
“Then offer one from me in return,” replied the other, “but she usually
belongs to the least familiar of my acquaintances. My throat is better
suited to drinking than singing. Will you allow me?”
The fencing-master raised the jug of beer which Wilhelm’s mother filled
freshly every day and placed in her darling’s room, and took a long
pull. Then wiping his moustache, he said:
“That did me good, and I needed it. The men wanted to go out pleasuring
and omit their drill, but we forced them to go through it, Junker von
Warmond, Duivenvoorde and I. Who knows how soon it may be necessary
to show what we can do. Roland, my fore man, such imprudence is like a
cudgel, against which one can do nothing with Florentine rapiers, clever
tierce and quarto. My wheat is destroyed by the hail.”
“Then let it be, and see if the barley and clover don’t do better,”
replied Wilhelm gaily, tossing vetches and grains of wheat to a large
dove that had alighted on the parapet of his tower.
“It eats, and what use is it?” cried Allertssohn, looking at the dove.
“Herr von Warmond, a young man after God’s own heart, has just brought
me two falcons; do you want to see how I tame them?”
“No, Captain, I have enough to do with my music and my doves.”
“That is your affair. The long-necked one yonder is a queer-looking
fellow.”
“And of what country is he probably a native? There he goes to join the
others. Watch him a little while and then answer me.”
“Ask King Soloman that; he was on intimate terms with birds.”
“Only watch him, you’ll find out presently.”
“The fellow has a stiff neck, and holds his head unusually high.”
“And his beak?”
“Curved, almost like a hawk’s! Zounds, why does the creature strut about
with its toes so far apart? Stop, bandit! He’ll peck that little dove to
death. As true as I live, the saucy rascal must be a Spaniard!”
“Right, it is a Spanish dove. It flew to me, but I can’t endure it and
drive it away; for I keep only a few pairs of the same breed and try to
get the best birds possible. Whoever raises many different kinds in the
same cote, will accomplish nothing.”
“That gives food for thought. But I believe you haven’t chosen the
handsomest species.”
“No, sir. What you see are a cross between the carrier and tumblers,
the Antwerp breed of carrier pigeons. Bluish, reddish, spotted birds.
I don’t care for the colors, but they must have small bodies and large
wings, with broad quills on their flag-feathers, and above all ample
muscular strength. The one yonder stop, I’ll catch him--is one of my
best flyers. Try to lift his pinions.”
“Heaven knows the little thing has marrow in its bones! How the tiny
wing pinches; the falcons are not much stronger.”
“It’s a carrier-dove too, that finds its way alone.”
“Why do you keep no white tumblers? I should think they could be watched
farthest in their flight.”
“Because doves fare like men. Whoever shines very brightly and is seen
from a distance, is set upon by opponents and envious people, and birds
of prey pounce upon the white doves first. I tell you, Captain, whoever
has eyes in his head, can learn in a dove-cote how things come to pass
among Adam and Eve’s posterity on earth.”
“There is quarrelling and kissing up here just as there is in Leyden.”
“Yes, exactly the same, Captain. If I mate an old dove with one much
younger, it rarely turns out well. When the male dove is in love, he
understands how to pay his fair one as many attentions, as the most
elegant gallant shows the mistress of his heart. And do you know what
the kissing means? The suitor feeds his darling, that is, seeks to win
her affection by beautiful gifts. Then the wedding comes, and they build
a nest. If there are young birds, they feed them together in perfect
harmony. The aristocratic doves brood badly, and we put their eggs under
birds of more ordinary breed.”
“Those are the noble ladies, who have nurses for their infants.”
“Unmated doves often make mischief among the mated ones.”
“Take warning, young man, and beware of being a bachelor. I’ll say
nothing against the girls who remain unmarried, for I have found among
them many sweet, helpful souls.”
“So have I, but unfortunately some bad ones too, as well as here in the
dove-cote. On the whole my wards lead happy married lives, but if it
comes to a separation--”
“Which of the two is to blame?”
“Nine times out of ten the little wife.”
“Roland, my fore man, exactly as it is among human beings,” cried the
fencing-master, clapping his hands.
“What do you mean by your Roland, Herr Allerts? You promised me a short
time ago--but who is coming up the ladder?”
“I hear your mother.”
“She is bringing me a visitor. I know that voice and yet. Wait. It’s old
Fraulein Van Hoogstraten’s steward.”
“From Nobelstrasse? Let me go, Wilhelm, for this Glipper crew--”
“Wait a little while, there is only room for one on the ladder,” said
the musician, holding out his hand to Belotti to guide him from the last
rung into his room.
“Spaniards and the allies of Spain,” muttered the fencing-master, opened
the door, and called while descending the ladder: “I’ll wait down below
till the air is pure again.”
The steward’s handsome face, usually smoothly shaven with the most
extreme care, was to-day covered with a stubbly beard, and the old man
looked sad and worn, as he began to tell Wilhelm what had occurred in
his mistress’s house since the evening of the day before.
“Years may make a hot-tempered person weaker, but not calmer,” said the
Italian, continuing his story. “I can’t look on and see the poor angel,
for she isn’t far from the Virgin’s throne, treated like a sick dog that
is flung out into the court-yard, so I got my discharge.”
“That does you honor, but was rather out of place just now. And has the
young lady really been carried to the damp room?”
“No, sir. Father Damianus came and made the old excellenza understand
what the holy Virgin expected of a Christian, and when the padrona still
tried to carry out her will, the holy man spoke to her in words so
harsh and stern that she yielded. The signorina is now lying in bed with
burning cheeks, raving in delirium.”
“And who is attending the patient?”
“I came to you about the physician, my dear sir, for Doctor de Bout, who
instantly obeyed my summons, was treated so badly by the old excellenza,
that he turned his back upon her and told me, at the door of the house,
he wouldn’t come again.”
Wilhelm shook his head, and the Italian continued, “There are other
doctors in Leyden, but Father Damianus says de Bont or Bontius, as they
call him, is the most skilful and learned of them all, and as the old
excellenza herself had an attack of illness about noon, and certainly
won’t leave her bed very speedily, the way is open, and Father Damianus
says he’ll go to Doctor Bontius himself if necessary. But as you are a
native of the city and acquainted with the signorina, I wanted to spare
him the rebuff he would probably meet from the foe of our holy Church.
The poor man has enough to suffer from good-for-nothing boys and
scoffers, when he goes through the city with the sacrament.”
“You know people are strictly forbidden to disturb him in the exercise
of his calling.”
“Yet he can’t show himself in the street without being jeered. We two
cannot change the world, sir. So long as the Church had the upper hand,
she burned and quartered you, now you have the power here, our priests
are persecuted and scorned.”
“Against the law and the orders of the magistrates.”
“You can’t control the people, and Father Damianus is a lamb, who bears
everything patiently, as good a Christian as many saints before whom we
burn candles. Do you know the doctor?”
“A little, by sight.”
“Oh, then go to him, sir, for the young lady’s sake,” cried the old man
earnestly. “It is in your power to save a human life, a beautiful young
life.”
The steward’s eyes glittered with tears. As Wilhelm laid his hand on
his arm, saying kindly: “I will try,” the fencing-master called: “Your
council is lasting too long for me. I’ll come another time.”
“No, Meister, come up a minute, This gentleman is here on account of
a poor sick girl. The poor, helpless creature is now lying without any
care, for her aunt, old Fraulein Van Hoogstraten, has driven Doctor de
Bont from her bed because he is a Calvinist.”
“From the sick girl’s bed?”
“It’s abominable enough, but the old lady is now ill herself.”
“Bravo, bravo!” cried the fencing-master, clapping his hands. “If the
devil himself isn’t afraid of her and wants to fetch her, I’ll pay for
his post-horses. But the girl, the sick girl?”
“Herr Belotti begs me to persuade de Bont to visit her again. Are you on
friendly terms with the doctor?”
“I was, Wilhelm, I was; but--last Friday we had some sharp words about
the new morions, and now the learned demi-god demands an apology from
me, but to sound a retreat isn’t written here--”
“Oh, my dear sir,” cried Belotti, with touching earnestness. “The poor
child is lying helpless in a raging fever. If Heaven has blessed you
with children--”
“Be calm, old man, be calm,” replied the fencing master, stroking
Belotti’s grey hair kindly. “My children are nothing to you, but
we’ll do what we can for the young girl. Farewell till we meet again,
gentlemen. Roland, my fore man, what shall we live to see! Hemp is still
cheap in Holland, and yet such a monster has lived amongst us to be as
old as a raven.”
With these words he went down the ladder. On reaching the street, he
pondered over the words in which he should apologize to Doctor Bontius,
with a face as sour as if he had wormwood in his mouth; but his eyes and
bearded lips smiled.
His learned friend made the apology easy for him, and when Belotti came
home, he found the doctor by the sick girl’s bed.