THE LODGINGS WHICH WERE PAID FOR
And once again Chance set to with a will and forged yet another link in
that mighty chain which she had in hand.
For was it not in the natural course of things that the three
philosophers, weary and thirsty as they were, should go and seek solace
and material comfort under the pleasing roof of the "Lame Cow"--which as
I remarked before was reputed one of the best conducted hostelries in
Haarlem, and possessing a cellar full of wines and ales which had not
its equal even in Amsterdam.
And was it not equally natural since the Lord of Stoutenburg lodged not
far from that self-same hostelry--again I repeat one of the soberest in
Haarlem--that his friends should choose to join him in the tap-room
there ere parting from one another on this eventful night.
Stoutenburg and his family were but little known in these parts and the
hue and cry after the escaped traitor had somewhat abated these few
months past: moreover he was well disguised with beard and cloak and he
kept a broad-brimmed hat pulled well down over his brow. On watch-night
too, the burghers and their vrouws as well as the civic and military
dignitaries of the town had plenty to do to think on their own enjoyment
and the entertainment of their friends: they certes were not on the
look-out for conspiracies and dangerous enemies within their gates.
Stoutenburg had sat well screened from general observation within a dark
recess of the monumental fireplace. Nicolaes Beresteyn, the most
intimate of all his friends, sat close to him, but neither of them
spoke much. Beresteyn was exceptionally moody; he appeared absorbed in
thought and hardly gave answer to those who attempted to draw him into
conversation. Stoutenburg, on the other hand affected a kind of grim
humour, and made repeated allusions to scaffold or gallows as if he had
already wholly resigned himself to an inevitable fate.
The others sipped their mulled wine and tried to cheat themselves out of
the burning anxiety which Jongejuffrouw Beresteyn's presence in the
cathedral had awakened in their hearts. They had made great efforts not
to seem pre-occupied and to be outwardly at least as gay as any of the
other watch-night revellers in the room.
But with their thoughts fixed upon that vision of awhile ago--a woman
appearing before them within twenty paces of the spot where death to the
Stadtholder had just been loudly proclaimed amongst them--with that
vision fixed upon their minds, they found light conversation and
ordinary manner very difficult to keep up.
The peroration of the young adventurer had proved a welcome diversion:
it had immediately aroused Stoutenburg's interest. He it was who first
drew Beresteyn's attention to it, and he again who checked the angry
words which more than once rose to his friend's lips at the insolent
attitude affected by the knave.
And now when the latter finally swaggered out of the room it was
Stoutenburg who made a sign to Beresteyn and then immediately rose to
go.
Beresteyn paid his account and went out too, in the wake of his friend.
With the advent of the small morning hours the snow once more began to
fall in large sparse flakes that lay thick and glistening where they
fell. At the end of the Kleine Hout Straat where the two men presently
found themselves, the feeble light of a street lamp glimmered through
this white fluttering veil: with its help the group of foreign
mercenaries could be dimly seen in the distance as they took leave of
one another.
The tall form of Diogenes, crowned with his plumed hat, was easily
distinguishable amongst them. He with his two special friends, fat
Pythagoras and lean Socrates, remained standing for a few moments at the
corner of the street after the others had departed: then only did the
three of them turn and walk off in the direction of the Oude Gracht.
For some reason, as unexplainable as that which had guided their conduct
at the "Lame Cow," Beresteyn and Stoutenburg, quite unconscious of the
cold, elected to follow.
Was it not Chance that willed it so? Chance who was busy forging a chain
and who had need of these two men's extraordinary interest in a nameless
adventurer in order to make the links of that chain fit as neatly as she
desired.
At the bottom of the Kleine Hout Straat, where it abuts on the Oude
Gracht, the three philosophers had again paused, obviously this time in
order to take leave of one another. The houses here were of a peculiarly
woe-begone appearance, with tiny windows which could not possibly have
allowed either air or light to penetrate within, and doors that were
left ajar and were creaking on their hinges, showing occasional glimpses
of dark unventilated passages beyond and of drifts of snow heaped up
against the skirting of the worm-eaten, broken-down wooden floors. They
were miserable lodging-houses of flimsy construction and low rentals,
which the close proximity of the sluggish canal rendered undesirable.
The ground floor was in most instances occupied by squalid-looking
shops, from which fetid odours emanated through the chinks and cracks of
the walls. The upper rooms were let out as night-lodgings to those who
were too poor to afford better quarters.
Diogenes with all his swagger and his airs of an out-at-elbows gentleman
evidently was one of those, for he was now seen standing on the
threshold of one of these dilapidated houses and his two friends were
finally bidding him good-night.
By tacit consent Beresteyn and Stoutenburg drew back further into the
shadow of the houses opposite. There appeared to be some understanding
between these two men, an understanding anent a matter of supremely
grave import, which caused them to stand here on the watch with feet
buried in the snow that lay thick in the doorways, silently taking note
of every word spoken and of every act that occurred on the other side of
this evil-smelling street.
There seemed to be no need for speech between them; for the nonce each
knew that the other's thoughts were running in the same groove as his
own; and momentarily these thoughts were centred into a desire to
ascertain definitely if it was the tallest and youngest of those three
knaves over there who lodged in that particular house.
It was only when the fat man and the lean one had finally turned away
and left their comrade on the doorstep that the watchers appeared
satisfied and nodding silently to one another made ready to go home.
They had turned their steps once more toward the more salubrious and
elegant quarter of the city, and had gone but a few steps in that
direction when something occurred behind them which arrested their
attention and caused them to look back once more.
The Something was a woman's cry, pitiful in the extreme: not an unusual
sound in the streets of a prosperous city surely, and one which under
ordinary circumstances would certainly not have aroused Stoutenburg's or
Beresteyn's interest. But the circumstances were not ordinary; the cry
came from the very spot where the two men had last seen the young
stranger standing in the doorway of his lodgings and the appeal was
obviously directed toward him.
"Kind sir," the woman was saying in a quavering voice, "half a guilder I
entreat you for the love of Christ."
"Half a guilder, my good woman," Diogenes said in response, "'Tis a
fortune to such as I. I have not a kreutzer left in my wallet, 'pon my
honour!"
Whereupon the two men who watched this scene from the opposite side of
the street saw that the woman fell on her knees, and that beside her
there stood an old man who made ready to follow her example.
"It's no use wearing out your stockings on this snow-covered ground, my
good girl," said Diogenes good-humouredly. "All the kneeling in the
world will not put half a guilder into my pocket nor apparently into
yours."
"And father and I must sleep under the canal bridge and it is so
bitterly cold," the woman moaned more feebly.
"Distinctly an uncomfortable place whereat to spend a night," rejoined
the philosopher, "I have slept there myself before now, so I know."
Seemingly he made an attempt to turn incontinently on his heel, for the
woman put out her hands and held on to his cloak.
"Father is crippled with ague, kind sir, he will die if he sleeps out
there to-night," she cried.
"I am afraid he will," said Diogenes blandly.
In the meanwhile, Pythagoras and Socrates, who evidently had not gone
very far, returned in order to see what was going on, on their friend's
doorstep. It was Pythagoras who first recognized the wench.
"Thunder and lightning," he exclaimed, "'tis the Papist!"
"Which Papist?" queried Diogenes.
"Yes, gentle sirs," said the woman piteously, "you rescued me nobly this
evening from that awful, howling mob. My father and I were able to go to
midnight mass in peace. May God reward you all. But," she added naïvely,
"'twas no good preventing those horrid men from killing us, if we are to
die from cold and hunger under the bridge of the canal."
All of which was not incomprehensible to the two men on the watch who
had heard a graphic account of the affray in Dam Straat as it was told
by Pythagoras in the tap-room of the "Lame Cow." And they both drew a
little nearer so as not to lose a word of the scene which they were
watching with ever growing interest. Neither of them attempted to
interfere in it, however, though Beresteyn at any rate could have poured
many a guilder in the hands of those two starving wretches, without
being any the poorer himself and though he was in truth not a
hard-hearted man.
"The wench is right," now said Diogenes firmly, "the life which we
helped to save, we must not allow to be frittered away. I talked
of stockings, girl," he added lightly, "but I see thy feet are
bare.... Brrr! I freeze when I look at thee...."
"For a quarter guilder father and I could find a lodging...."
"But Dondersteen!" he exclaimed, "did I not tell thee that I have not
one kreutzer in my wallet, and unless my friends can help thee...."
"Diogenes thou speakest trash," interposed Pythagoras softly.
"We must both starve of cold this night," moaned the woman in despair.
"Nay ye shall not!" said Diogenes with sudden decision. "There is a room
in this very house which has been paid for three nights in advance. Go
to it, wench, 'tis at the very top of the stairs, crawl thither as fast
as thou canst, dragging thy ramshackle parent in thy wake. What ho
there!" he shouted at the top of his ringing voice, "what ho my worthy
landlord! What ho!"
And with his powerful fists he began pounding against the panels of the
door which swung loosely under the heavy blows.
Stoutenburg and Beresteyn drew yet a little nearer: they were more
deeply interested than ever in all that was going on outside this
squalid lodging house.
The three philosophers were making a sufficiency of noise to wake half
the street and within a very few minutes they succeeded in their
purpose. Through one or two of the narrow frames overhead heads appeared
enveloped in shawls or cloaks, and anon the landlord of the house came
shuffling down the passage, carrying a lighted, guttering taper.
The two silent watchers could not see this man, but they could hear him
grumbling and scolding audibly in short jerky sentences which he
appeared to throw somewhat tentatively at his rowdy lodger.
"Late hour of the night," they heard him muttering. "New Year's
morning.... Respectable house ... noise to attract the town guard...."
"Hadst thou turned out of thy bed sooner, O well-beloved lord of this
abode of peace," said Diogenes cheerily, "there would have been less
noise outside its portals. Had I not loved thee as I do, I would not
have wakened thee from thy sleep, but would have acted in accordance
with my rights and without bringing to thy ken a matter which would
vastly have astonished thee in the morning."
The man continued to mutter, more impatiently this time:
"New Year's morning ... respectable citizen ... work to do in the
morning ... undesirable lodgers...."
"All lodgers are desirable who pay for their lodging, O wise landlord,"
continued Diogenes imperturbably, "I have paid thee for mine, for three
nights from this day and I herewith desire thee to place my palatial
residence at the disposal of this jongejuffrouw and of mynheer her
father."
The man's mutterings became still more distinct.
"Baggage ... how do I know?... not bound to receive them...."
"Nay! but thou art a liar, Master Landlord," quoth Diogenes still
speaking quite pleasantly, "for the lodgings being mine, I have the
right to receive in them anybody whom I choose. Therefore now do I give
thee the option, either to show my guests straightway and with
meticulous politeness into my room, or to taste the power and weight of
my boot in the small of thy back and the hardness of my sword-hilt
across thy shoulders."
This time the man's mutterings became inaudible. Nicolaes Beresteyn and
Stoutenburg could only guess what was passing in the narrow corridor of
the house opposite. The one moment there was a heart-rending howl, which
suggested that the landlord's obduracy had lasted a few moments too long
for the impatient temper of a philosopher; but the howl was not repeated
and soon Diogenes' clear voice rang out lustily again:
"There! I knew that gentle persuasion would prevail. Dearly beloved
landlord, now I pray thee guide the jongejuffrouw and mynheer her father
to my sleeping chamber. It is at thy disposal, wench, for three nights,"
he added airily, "make the most of it; and if thou hast aught to
complain of my friend the landlord, let me know. I am always to be found
at certain hours of the day within the congenial four walls of the 'Lame
Cow.' Good-night then and pleasant dreams."
What went on after that the watchers could, of course, not see. The
wench and the old man had disappeared inside the house, where, if they
had a spark of gratitude in them, they would undoubtedly be kneeling
even now at the feet of their whimsical benefactor.
The next moment the interested spectators of this stirring little scene
beheld the three philosophers once more standing together at the corner
of the street under the feebly flickering lamp and the slowly falling
snow; the door of the lodging-house had been slammed to behind them and
the muffled heads had disappeared from out the framework of the windows
above.
"And now, perhaps you will tell us what you are going to do," said
Pythagoras in flute-like tones.
"There is not a bed vacant in the dormitory where I sleep," said
Socrates.
"Nor would I desire to sleep in one of those kennels fit only for dogs
which I cannot imagine how you both can stomach," quoth Diogenes
lightly; "the close proximity of Pythagoras and yourself and of all
those who are most like you in the world would chase pleasing sleep from
mine eyelids. I prefer the Canal."
"You cannot sleep out of doors in this h----l of a cold night," growled
Socrates.
"And I cannot go back to the 'Lame Cow' for I have not a kreutzer left
in my wallet wherewith to pay for a sip."
"Then what the d----l are you going to do?" reiterated Pythagoras
plaintively.
"I have a friend," said Diogenes after a slight pause.
"Hm?" was the somewhat dubious comment on this fairly simple statement.
"He will give me breakfast early in the morning."
"Hm!"
"'Tis but a few hours to spend in lonely communion with nature."
"Hm!"
"The cathedral clock has struck three, at seven my good Hals will ply me
with hot ale and half his hunk of bread and cheese."
"Hals?" queried Socrates.
"Frans Hals," replied Diogenes; "he paints pictures and contrives to
live on the proceeds. If his wife does not happen to throw me out, he
will console me for the discomforts of this night."
"Bah!" ejaculated Pythagoras in disgust, "a painter of pictures!"
"And a brave man when he is sober."
"With a scold for a wife! Ugh! what about your playing the part of a
gentleman now?"
"The play was short, O wise Pythagoras," retorted Diogenes with
imperturbable good humour, "the curtain has already come down upon the
last act. I am once more a knave, a merchant ready to flatter the
customer who will buy his wares: Hech there, sir, my lord! what are your
needs? My sword, my skin, they are yours to command! so many guilders,
sir, and I will kill your enemy for you, fight your battles, abduct the
wench that pleases you. So many guilders! and when they are safely in my
pocket I can throw my glove in your face lest you think I have further
need of your patronage."
"'Tis well to brag," muttered Pythagoras, "but you'll starve with cold
this night."
"But at dawn I'll eat a hearty breakfast offered me by my friend Frans
Hals for the privilege of painting my portrait."
"Doth he really paint thy portrait, O handsome Diogenes?" said
Pythagoras unctuously.
"Aye! thou ugly old toad. He has begun a new one, for which I have
promised to sit. I'll pay for the breakfast he gives me, by donning a
gorgeous gold embroidered doublet which he once stole from somewhere,
by putting my hand on my hip, tilting my hat at a becoming angle, and
winking at him by the hour whilst he paints away."
"Hm! after a night of wandering by the canal in the fog and snow and
sharing the meagre breakfast of a half-starved painter, methinks the
portrait will be that of a knight of the rueful countenance."
"Indeed not, old compeer," said Diogenes with a hearty laugh, "it shall
be the portrait of a Laughing Cavalier."