without being invited, we could share the fun. I told how, early this
morning, Jan's Paranymphs had donned evening dress, according to old
custom, and driven in smart carriages (the horses' heads nodding with
plumes) to the railway station to meet their principal's father, mother,
sisters, and pretty cousins; how the party had then come to these rooms,
where Jan had received them, half shamefaced in his "swallow-tail"; how,
not long before we arrived at the University, Jan had gone through his
torture in the "sweating-room," and before the examiners with his
relatives present; how the ladies, after seeing the town, had been
ungallantly packed off home, before the best fun began. How Jan had
returned, to cast away his evening things at the time when most people
think of putting them on, and rush to the Students' Club in morning
dress. How his Paranymphs and friends had met him, and at a big round
table--soon to be covered with glasses--the Professors' servant (called
"Pedel" of the University) had handed the new Doctor his official
appointment, in return for a fee of ten gulden. How the dinner had begun
in speech-making and music, with an adjournment after the first part, to
the garden for coffee, liqueurs, and cigars; how, when the table had
been cleared and rearranged, everybody had marched back to risk their
lives by eating lobster and quantities of indigestible things. How Jan
would then have had to make his "palaver," thanking his friends for
their speeches in his honor; and how, while he was speaking, the waiters
would be placing a large napkin at the plate of each man--a mere napkin,
but destined for an outlandish purpose. "By this time," I went on
mysteriously, "those napkins are fulfilling their destiny, and if you
would like to see what it is, you've only to follow me."
They were on their feet in an instant. We scrambled down the narrow
stairs, and out into the starlit night. Leiden was a city of the dead.
Not even a dog played sentinel for the sleeping townsfolk; not a cat
sprang out of the shadows as I led my band through a labyrinth of
canal-streets, floored as if with jet nailed down with stars. But
suddenly the spell of silence was broken by an explosion of sound which
crashed into it like breaking glass. A brassy blare of music that could
not drown young men's laughter, burst on us so unexpectedly that the
three ladies gave starts, and stifled cries. I stopped them at a corner,
and we huddled into the shadow, flattened against a wall.
"The Napkins are coming!" I said, and I had not got the words out before
the blue darkness was aflame with the red light of streaming torches, a
wild light which matched the band music. There was a trampling of feet,
and in the midst of smoke and ruddy flare sequined with flying sparks,
came torch-bearers and musicians, led by one man of solemn countenance,
holding in both hands a noble Nougat Tart--the historic, the
indispensable Nougat Tart. Then, with a measured trot that swung and
balanced with the music, followed the Napkins, wound turban-fashion
round the heads of their wearers, and floating like white banners with
the breeze of motion. First came a Paranymph thus adorned, then the
learned Doctor holding fast to the leader's coat-tails; behind him the
second Paranymph, and clinging to his coat the hero's father, with the
whole procession of turbaned friends tailing after.
They swept by us as a comet sweeps down the sky, and concerned
themselves with our group against the wall no more than a comet does
with such humble stars, dusting the outskirts of the Milky Way, as
shrink from his fiery path.
"A vision of goblins," said the Mariner, when he had got his breath.
"What fun! But why do they do it?" asked Miss Rivers.
"Why? I'm sure I don't know," I laughed, "except because they always
have, and I suppose always will, while there's a university at Leiden.
That's all we'll see, but it isn't all there is to see. By-and-by the
procession will go prancing back to the Club, where the next thing will
be to get over the big reading-table, then over the buffet of the bar,
without once breaking the chain of coat-tails, through passages and
kitchens to the club-room once more, where the chain will be split up,
but where the chairs in which the men will sit to drink champagne and
eat the Nougat Tart, must be _on_ the tables and not round them."
"And will that be the end?" inquired the Chaperon, who ever thirsts with
ardor for information.
"Not nearly," said I. "The third part of dinner will be due, and every
one's bound to eat it, even those whose chairs have fallen off from the
pyramids of small tables, and whose heads or bones have suffered.
They'll have dessert; and at dawn the best men will be taking a country
drive."
"I begin to understand," said Starr, "how your people exhausted the
Spaniards. Good heavens, you could wear out the Rock of Gibraltar! And I
see why, though you can eat all day and all night too, you don't put on
fat like your German cousins."
"When we begin a thing, we Dutchmen see it through," I replied
modestly.
"So do we Americans," remarked Miss Van Buren.
"I wonder which would win if the two interests were opposed?" I
hazarded, a propos of nothing--or of much.
"I should bet on America," said she.
"I _don't_ bet," I returned, with all the emphasis I dared give; though
perhaps it was not enough to tear up a deep-rooted impression; albeit
the seed had been sown for but four-and-twenty hours.
So ended the lesson for the first day.
It was not an easy lesson for me. But I regret nothing.
XIII
"Look here," said the Mariner next morning, rapping on my door at the
hotel, "how soon could we start for Katwyk?"
"I thought the expedition was given up," I answered, "as nobody spoke of
it last night."
"Not in your presence, but my worthy aunt rejoices in a sitting-room,
and we met there--some of us--to discuss the expedition. The girls
_think_ they're keen to go, but it's a case of hypnotism. _She_ wants a
thing, and in some curious way, known only to herself, she gives others
the impression that they are wanting it frantically."
"I've noticed that," said I.
"Oh, you have? Well, she's a wonderful woman. I daren't dwell upon the
things she's got out of me already, or ask myself what she'll get before
the play's finished. That sitting-room, for instance, I suppose it will
end in her always having one. Did you observe Tibe's collar? It cost
twenty-five dollars, and the queer part is that I _offered_ it to her. I
thought at the time I wanted him to have it. Now, I ask you, as man to
man, is it _canny_? And she has a traveling-bag with gold fittings. I
presented it under the delusion that I owed it to her as my--temporary
relative. Heavens, where is this to end? Not at Katwyk, with the Rhine.
But we've got to go there. Anything to please her."
Strange to say, the hypnotic influence must have stolen up from her
ladyship's room on the floor below, and along the corridor to mine, for
I found myself thinking: "She rather likes me, and can be useful, if she
dominates the two girls in this way. I must do my best to keep her on
my side."
No doubt this was the form the influence took, but I made no struggle
against it. On the contrary, I assured Starr that the expedition to
Katwyk would be a good expedition; that I would be dressed in ten
minutes; that I didn't mind about breakfast, but would have a cup of
coffee with Hendrik; that if the party came on board "Lorelei" in half
an hour, they would find her ready.
"All right, I'll tell them," said he. "I did want to stop and see a few
pictures, for it seems a burning shame to leave the town where Gerard
Douw, and Steen, and lots of other splendid chaps were born, without
worshiping at their shrines, but----"
"They're rather bare shrines at Leiden," I consoled him. "You've seen
much better specimens of their work elsewhere. You'd be disappointed."
"Just as well to think so. I'll give your message; but as there are
three ladies and one dog, you'd better expect us when you see us."
In spite of this fact I had little time to spare, though it appeared
that _en route_ to the boat a delay was caused by Tibe jumping into a
cab with two elderly ladies from Boston, who, so far from reciprocating
his overtures, nearly swooned with terror, and had to be soothed and
sustained by the entire party.
The canal that leads from Leiden to Katwyk-aan-Zee passes the houses of
Descartes and Spinoza; and altogether the short journey by water did not
lack interest, for Katwyk has become a colony of artists. Once there, we
walked to the sluice where the Rhine seeks its grave in the North Sea;
and as it happened that the tide was high, with a strong shore wind, I
could show the Cyclopean defenses of our coast at their best. With the
secret pleasure which I believe all men take in pointing out things to
women, I explained the great series of gates through which the river
passes to its death. All were closed against the raging waves, which
leaped and bellowed, demanding entrance, rearing their fierce heads
twelve feet or more above the level where the Rhine lay dying. When the
tide should turn, and the wild water retreat, the sluice-gates would be
opened, and the river would pour sea-ward, sweeping away the masses of
sand piled up in fury by the cheated waves.
We lunched on board the "Lorelei," I munching abjectly on deck, on duty
at the wheel, while from the cabin below came to my ears the tinkling of
girls' laughter, and the merry popping of corks. In theory I was better
off than Tantalus, for Tantalus had no beer or sandwiches; but, on the
other hand Tantalus was not in love with a girl whose voice he could
hear mingling with his rival's; so practically there was not much to
choose.
Luckily I had not to bear the strain for long. I did my best yesterday,
in talking of Haarlem, to awaken interest in the huge Haarlemmer-meer
Polder, and its importance in the modern scheme of the Netherlands. Now
my eloquence was rewarded, for they hurried through their luncheon, not
that they might cheer the skipper's loneliness, but that they might miss
no feature in the landscape.
We were skirting one side of the green plain which has been reclaimed
from the water, converting the meer into a "polder." Our canal flowed
many feet above the level of the surrounding land, so that we looked
down upon men tilling, upon white-sailed boats cutting through miniature
waterways as if they navigated meadows, and upon cows grazing knee-deep
in mist, which rose like blowing silver spray, over the pale-green waves
of grass.
These black-and-white cattle, according to Miss Van Buren, form the
upper circles of the cow-world in Holland. Not only do they live up to
their traditions by being cleaner and sleeker than the cows of other
countries, but they know themselves to be better connected than the mere
red-and-white creatures with whom they are occasionally forced to share
a meadow. To show that they understand what is due to their dignity,
they refuse to talk with the common herd, and stand with their backs to
any red-and-white nonentity that may presume to graze near, conversing
among themselves in refined monotones with the air of saying, "Who _was_
she?"
There's little in the history of the Netherlands which Miss Van Buren
does not know, for she is proud of her Dutch blood, though she won't say
so before me. The others are frankly ignorant; but the Chaperon has read
a book of Rider Haggard's called "Lysbeth," and was deeply interested in
the Haarlemmer-meer, where the "treasure" of that story lay hid; but it
was news to her that the great inland sea had once sent a destructive
flood to the gates of Amsterdam, and that as punishment it had been
drained away. Miss Van Buren--whom I think of as "Nell"--knew all this,
including the very day in 1840 when the work was begun, and how many
months the pumps had taken to drink the monstrous cup dry; but the
mysterious little lady who rules us all, and is ruled by Tibe, expected
to find the Haarlemmer-meer still a lake, and was disappointed to learn
the meaning of "polder." She thought thirty-nine months too long for
draining it, and was sure that in America (where she quickly added that
she had "once been") they would have done the work in half the time.
Every one fell in love with the outskirts of Haarlem, as "Lorelei" swam
into the River Spaarne. Though the glory of the tulips was extinguished
(like fairy-lamps at dawn) three months ago, the flowers of summer
blazed in their stead, a brilliant mosaic of jewels.
"The Dutch don't seem a nation to have gone mad over a tulip; but
perhaps they were different in the seventeenth century," said Miss
Rivers, looking at me, as if I stood to represent my people.
"And the English don't seem the kind to have lost their heads over a
South Sea Bubble, but they did," retorted Nell, as if she were defending
us.
They liked the houses along the river-side, houses big and little, which
look as if the front and back walls of their lower stories had been
knocked out, and the space filled in with glass. They were amused by the
rounded awnings over the balconies, which Nell likened to the covers of
giant babies' perambulators; and they laughed at the black-painted doors
picked out with lines of pale green, which contrasted with a whitewashed
facade.
At Haarlem I had another surprise for them, which I arranged before
leaving Rotterdam. It was one which would cost nothing in trouble,
little enough in money, and would give pleasure to everybody--except to
my chauffeur, who is in love with my mother's French maid, and no doubt
was reveling in the thought of a long holiday at Liliendaal.
When I'd brought "Lorelei" through the bridge, and hove her to by the
broad quay, there stood close at hand a handsome, dark-blue motor-car.
"What a beauty!" exclaimed Nell. "That's much grander than Robert's."
Then she glanced at me. "I beg your pardon," said she, demurely. "I'm
afraid the car my cousin has is yours."
"So is this," said I.
"Dear me, what is It doing here?" she demanded, sorry to have praised a
possession of the enemy's.
"It's waiting to take you round Haarlem," I replied. "I thought it would
be a nice way for you to see the place, as the suburbs are its
speciality, so to speak, and motoring saves time."
"You're a queer chap, Alb," remarked the Mariner. "You have such a way
of keeping things up your sleeve, and springing them on one. You ought
to be called 'William the Silent.'"
"Why, that's what he is called, didn't you know? Mr. van Buren told us,"
exclaimed Phyllis, and ended up her sentence with a stifled shriek which
could have meant nothing but a surreptitious pinch.
I would not have glanced at either of the girls for anything; but I
would have given something to know how Nell was looking.
"Have you any more belongings here?" asked the Chaperon, gaily. "Such as
an ancestral castle, where you could give us another surprise feast?"
I laughed. "As a matter of fact, I have an ancestral castle in the
neighborhood. It isn't mine, but it was my ancestors', and if I can't
exactly entertain you in it, I can give you tea close by at a country
inn. Perhaps you've read about the Chateau of Brederode, within a drive
of Haarlem?"
I saw by Nell's face that she had, but she was the only one who did not
answer, and the others hadn't informed themselves of its existence.
Hendrik, helped by my chauffeur, got out the small luggage which is kept
ready for shore duty--the Chaperon's splendidly-fitted dressing-bag
making everything else look shabby--and the five of us (six with Tibe)
got into the car, I taking the driver's seat.
The streets of Haarlem being too good to slight, I drove leisurely
toward the heart of the old town, meaning to engage rooms and leave all
belongings at the quaint Hotel Funckler, which I thought they would like
better than any other; but passing the cathedral, Miss Phyllis begged to
stop, and I slowed down the car. After Gouda's wonderful glass, they
would have found the Haarlem church disappointing, had it not been for
the two or three redeeming features left in the cold, bare structure;
the beautiful screen of open brass-work, with its base of dark wood, on
which brightly-painted, mystic beasts disport themselves among the
coats-of-arms of divers ancient towns; and the carved choir-stalls.
Nell and the Mariner were so fascinated by a wooden gentleman wearing
his head upside down, and a curiously mixed animal carrying its
offspring in a cloak, that I found time to send secretly for the
organist; and before my friends knew what was happening, the cold white
cathedral was warmed and lighted too, by such thrilling music as few
organs and few organists can make.
When it was over, and only fleeting echoes left, Miss Rivers came and
thanked me.
"That was your thought, of course," said she. "None of us will ever
forget."
My chauffeur had kept Tibe, and when we reappeared, was surprised in the
act of fitting a pair of spare goggles on to the dog. Aunt Fay was
delighted with the effect, and a photograph was taken before we were
allowed to start, though time was beginning to be an object. But, as the
Chaperon cheerfully remarked, "Tibe and tide wait for no man."
"What does 'groote oppruiming' mean, written up everywhere in the
shops?" she inquired eagerly, as the car flashed through street after
street.
I told her that in a Dutch town it was equivalent to the "summer sales"
in London, and she seemed satisfied, though I doubt if she knows more of
London than of Rotterdam. But she and the girls wanted everything that
they saw in the show windows, and I found that, before we left Haarlem,
the Mariner's purse would again be opened wide by the hypnotic spell of
Aunt Fay.
In a thirty horse-power car we were not long on the way out to
Brederode, though I took her slowly through the charming Bloemendaal
district, giving the strangers plenty of time to admire the quaintly
built, flower-draped country houses half drowned in the splendid forest
where Druids worshiped once, and to find out for themselves that the
dark yellow billows in the background were dunes hiding the sea.
We left the car in front of the shady inn, and ordered coffee to be
ready when we should come back--coffee, with plenty of cream, and a kind
of sugared cake, which has been loved by Haarlemers since the days when
the poor, deluded ladies of the town baked their best dainties for the
Spaniards who planned their murder.
It was natural to play guide on the way to the dear old copper and
purple and green-gold ruin, ivy-curtained from the tower roofs to the
mossy moat.
This was my first visit to the place for a year or two, and I longed to
take the One Girl apart, to tell her of my fantastic ancestor, the Water
Beggar, of whom I am proud despite his faults and eccentricities; to
recall stories of the past; the origin of our name "Brede Rode," broad
rood; how it, and the lands, were given as a reward, and many other
things. But instead, I made myself agreeable to the Chaperon, and saved
Tibe on three separate occasions from joining the bright reflections and
the water-lilies in the pond.
I sat by Nell at a table afterwards, however, and she had to pour coffee
for me, because she was doing that kind office for the rest; and as the
sugar tongs had been forgotten, she popped me in a lump of sugar with
her own fingers before she stopped to think. Then, she looked as if she
would have liked to fish it out again, but, being softer than her heart,
it had melted, and I got it in spite of her.
We drove back through the forest in a green, translucent glimmer, like
light under the sea, and there was little time to dress for dinner when
I brought them to anchor for the night. The nice old hotel, with its
Delft plates half covering the walls, its alcoves and unexpected
stairways with green balusters, and its old dining-room looking on a
prim garden, pleased the eyes which find all things in Hollow Land
interesting.
It was a long dinner, with many courses, such as Dutchmen love; still,
when we finished, daylight lingered. In the fantastic square with its
crowding varieties of capricious Dutch architecture, the cathedral was
cut black and sharp out of a sky of beaten gold, and Coster's statue
wore a glittering halo. Under their archways of green, the canals were
on fire with sunset, their flames quenched in the thick moss which
clothed their walls; the red-brown color of paved streets, and the
houses with their pointed facades in many steps, burned also, as if they
were made of rose-and-purple porphyry instead of common bricks, while
each pane of each window blazed like a separate gem.
It was a good ending to a good day, and though I had accomplished
nothing definite, I was happy.
Next morning I had the car ready early, and took every one for a spin
through the Hout, which reminded them of the Bois, or what the Bois
would be if pretty houses were scattered over it like fallen leaves.
We stopped in Haarlem after that last spin only long enough to do
reverence to Franz Hals, and the collection of his work which is the
immediate jewel of the city's soul.
[Illustration: _We stopped at Haarlem only long enough to do reverence
to Franz Hals_]
It was pretty to watch Nell scraping acquaintance with the bold,
good-humored officers and archers, and bland municipal magnates whom
Hals has made to live on canvas. She looked the big, stalwart fellows in
the eye, but half shyly, as a girl regards a man to whom she thinks, yet
is not quite sure, she ought to bow.
"Why, their faces are familiar. I seem to have known them," I heard her
murmur, and ventured an explanation of the mystery, over her shoulder.
"You do know them," I said. "Their eyes are using the eyes of their
descendants for windows, every day in the streets. Holland isn't making
new types."
She turned to look me up and down, with a flicker of long lashes. Then
she sighed----
"What a pity!"
Perhaps I deserved it, for I had brought it on myself. Nevertheless,
sweet Phyllis pitied me.
"What surprise have you got for us next, Sir Skipper?" she asked
brightly. "Mr. Starr says that no day will be complete without a
surprise from you; and we depend upon you for our route as part of the
surprise."
"I thought Mr. Starr was making out our route," remarked Nell to a tall
archer of Franz Hals.
"If I've contrived to create that impression, I've been clever," said
the Mariner. "In fact, I would have preferred you to think me
responsible, as long as the route proved satisfactory. Of course,
whenever anything went wrong, I should have casually let drop that it
was Alb's idea. But, as you mention the subject in his presence, I must
admit that he has made several suggestions, and I've humored him by
adopting them, subject to your approval."
"Does the name of Aalsmeer convey anything to your minds?" I asked. But
all shook their heads except Nell, who appeared absorbed in making a
spy-glass of her hand, through which to gaze at her jolly archer.
"Then it shall be this day's surprise," I said. "I won't tell you
anything; but you needn't be ashamed of ignorance, for all the world is
in the same boat, and you won't find Aalsmeer in guide-books. Yet there
isn't a place in the Netherlands prettier or more Dutch."
"Good-by, Franz Hals, perhaps forever. We leave you to seek pastures
new," said Starr. "Come along, Miss Van Buren."
So she came, and I drove them in the car to the quay, where I directed
my chauffeur to go on to Amsterdam, and be ready to report for order at
the harbor of the Sailing and Rowing Club.
XIV
There is nothing remarkable in the broad canal that connects Haarlem
with Amsterdam, and when we had started, Miss Van Buren read aloud to
the assembled party. Her book was Motley, and the subject that siege
which, though it ended in tragic failure, makes as fine music in history
as the siege of Leiden. Meanwhile, as she read, we skimmed through the
bright water, which tinkled like shattered crystals as we broke its
clear mirror with our prow.
There were few houses along shore, but far in the distance, seen across
wide, flat expanses, shadow villages and tapering spires were painted in
violet on the horizon--such a shimmering horizon as we of the lowlands
love, and yearn for when we sojourn in mountain lands. At Halfweg, a
little cluster of humble dwellings, I turned out of the main canal,
skirting the side of the Haarlemmer-meer Polder, opposite to that which
we had followed yesterday.
"When is the surprise coming?" asked Phyllis at last, her curiosity
piqued by the slowness of progress in this small canal.
"Now," said I, smiling, as I stopped at an insignificant landing-place;
"this is where we go on shore to find it."
"Methinks, Alb, you are playing us false," said the Mariner. "You're
about to lead us into a trap of dulness."
"I've a mind to stop on board and finish the chapter," said Nell.
"You'll repent it if you do," I ventured. Yet I think she would have
stayed if her stepsister had not urged.
We walked along an ordinary village street for some distance; it was
dusty and unbeautiful. Even Miss Rivers had begun to look doubtful, when
suddenly we came in sight of a toy fairyland--a Dutch fairyland, yet a
place to excite the wonder even of a Dutchman used to living half in,
half out of water.