A DOUBLE PLEDGE
Cornelius Beresteyn had now only a few of his most intimate friends
beside him, and when Frans Hals had finished his supper he ventured to
approach the rich patron of arts and to present his own most respectful
expressions of sympathy.
Softened by grief the old man was more than usually gracious to the
artist.
"'Tis a bitter blow, my good Hals," he said dully.
"Please God, those devils have only an eye on your money, mynheer," said
the artist consolingly. "They will look on the jongejuffrouw as a
valuable hostage and treat her with the utmost deference in the hopes of
getting a heavy ransom from you."
"May you be speaking truly," sighed Cornelius with a disconsolate shake
of the head, "but think what she must be suffering now, while she is
uncertain of her own fate, poor child!"
"Alas!"
"This delay is killing me, Hals," continued the old man, who in the
midst of his more pompous friends seemed instinctively drawn to the
simple nature of this humble painter of pictures. "The burgomaster means
well but his methods are slow and ponderous. All my servants and
dependents have joined the first expedition toward Groningen, but God
knows how they will get on, now that Nicolaes no longer leads them. They
have had no training in such matters, and will hardly know how to
proceed."
"You really want some one who is daring and capable, mynheer, some one
who will be as wary as those vervloekte sea-wolves and beat them at
their own game. 'Tis not so much the numbers that you want as the one
brain to direct and to act."
"True! true, my good Hals! But our best men are all at the war fighting
for our religious and political liberties, while we--the older citizens
of our beloved country with our wives and our daughters--are left a prey
to the tyranny of malefactors and of pirates. The burgomaster hopes to
raise an efficient corps of volunteers by to-morrow ... but I doubt me
if he will succeed.... I have sent for help, I have spared no money to
obtain assistance ... but I am an old man myself, and my son alas! has
been rendered helpless at the outset, through no fault of his own...."
"But surely there are young men left in Haarlem whom wanton mischief
such as this would cause to boil with indignation."
"There are few young men left in Haarlem, my friend," rejoined Beresteyn
sadly, "the Stadtholder hath claimed the best of them. Those who are
left behind are too much engrossed in their own affairs to care greatly
about the grief of an old man, or a wrong done to an innocent girl."
"I'll not believe it," said Hals hotly.
"Alas, 'tis only too true! Men nowadays--those at any rate who are left
in our cities--no longer possess that spirit of chivalry or of adventure
which caused our forebears to give their life's blood for justice and
for liberty."
"You wrong them, mynheer," protested the artist.
"I think not. Think on it, Hals. You know Haarlem well; you know most
people who live in the city. Can you name me one man who would stand up
before me to-day and say boldly: 'Mynheer, you have lost your daughter:
evil-doers have taken her from her home. Here am I ready to do you
service, and by God do I swear that I will bring your daughter back to
you!' So would our fathers have spoken, my good Hals, before commerce
and prosperity had dulled the edge of reckless gallantry. By God! they
were fine men in those days--we are mere pompous, obese, self-satisfied
shopkeepers now."
There was a great deal of bitter truth in what Cornelius Beresteyn had
said: Hals--the artist--who had listened to the complacent talk that had
filled this room awhile ago--who knew of the commercial transactions
that nowadays went by the name of art-patronage--he knew that the old
man was not far wrong in his estimate of his fellow-countrymen in these
recent prosperous times.
It was the impulsive, artistic nature in him which caused him to see
what he merely imagined--chivalry, romance, primeval notions of bravery
and of honour.
He looked round the room--now almost deserted--somewhat at a loss for
words that would soothe Beresteyn's bitter spirit of resentment, and
casually his glance fell on the broad figure of his friend Diogenes,
who, leaning back in his chair, his plumed hat tilted rakishly across
his brow, had listened to the conversation between the two men with an
expression of infinite amusement literally dancing in his eyes. And it
was that same artistic, impulsive nature which caused Frans Hals then to
exclaim suddenly:
"Well, mynheer! since you call upon me and on my knowledge of this city,
I can give you answer forthwith. Yes! I do know a man, now in Haarlem,
who hath no thought of commerce or affairs, who possesses that spirit of
chivalry which you say is dead among the men of Holland. He would stand
up boldly before you, hat in hand and say to you: 'Mynheer, I am ready
to do you service, and by God do I swear that I will bring your daughter
back to you, safe and in good health!' I know such a man, mynheer!"
"Bah! you talk at random, my good Hals!" said Beresteyn with a shrug of
the shoulders.
"May I not present him to you, mynheer?"
"Present him? Whom?... What nonsense is this?" asked the old man, more
dazed and bewildered than before by the artist's voluble talk. "Whom do
you wish to present to me?"
"The man who I firmly believe would out of pure chivalry and the sheer
love of adventure do more toward bringing the jongejuffrouw speedily
back to you than all the burgomaster's levies of guards and punitive
expeditions."
"You don't mean that, Hals?--'twere a cruel jest to raise without due
cause the hopes of a grief-stricken old man."
"'Tis no jest, mynheer!" said the artist, "there sits the man!"
And with a theatrical gesture--for Mynheer Hals had drunk some very good
wine after having worked at high pressure all day, and his excitement
had gained the better of him--he pointed to Diogenes, who had heard
every word spoken by his friend, and at this dénouement burst into a
long, delighted, ringing laugh.
"Ye gods!" he exclaimed, "your Olympian sense of humour is even greater
than your might."
At an urgent appeal from Hals he rose and, hat in hand, did indeed
approach Mynheer Beresteyn, looking every inch of him a perfect
embodiment of that spirit of adventure which was threatening to be
wafted away from these too prosperous shores. His tall figure looked of
heroic proportions in this low room and by contrast with the small,
somewhat obese burghers who still sat close to Cornelius, having
listened in silence to the latter's colloquy with the artist. His bright
eyes twinkled, his moustache bristled, his lips quivered with the
enjoyment of the situation. The grace and elegance of his movements,
born of conscious strength, added dignity to his whole personality.
"My friend hath name Diogenes," said Frans Hals, whose romantic
disposition revelled in this presentation, "but there's little of the
philosopher about him. He is a man of action, an invincible swordsman,
a----"
"Dondersteen, my good Hals!" ejaculated Diogenes gaily, "you'll shame me
before these gentlemen."
"There's naught to be ashamed of, sir, in the eulogy of a friend," said
Cornelius Beresteyn with quiet dignity, "and 'tis a pleasure to an old
man like me to look on one so well favoured as yourself. Ah, sir! 'tis
but sorrow that I shall know in future.... My daughter ... you have
heard...?"
"I know the trouble that weighs on your soul, mynheer," replied Diogenes
simply.
"You have heard then what your friend says of you?" continued the
old man, whose tear-dimmed eyes gleamed with the new-born flicker
of hope. "Our good Hals is enthusiastic, romantic ... mayhap he hath
exaggerated ... hath in fact been mistaken...."
It was sadly pathetic to see the unfortunate father so obviously
hovering 'twixt hope and fear, his hands trembled, there was an appeal
in his broken voice, an appeal that he should not be deceived, that he
should not be thrown back from the giddy heights of hope to the former
deep abyss of despair.
"My daughter, sir ..." he murmured feebly, "she is all the world to
me ... her mother died when she was a baby ... she is all the world
to me ... they have taken her from me ... she is so young, sir ... so
beautiful ... she is all the world to me ... I would give half my
fortune to have her back safely in my arms...."
There was silence in the quaint old-world place after that--silence only
broken by the suppressed sobs of the unfortunate man who had lost his
only daughter. The others sat round the table, saying no word, for the
pathos evoked by Beresteyn's grief was too great for words. Hals' eyes
were fixed on his friend, and he tried in vain to read and understand
the enigmatical smile which hovered in every line of that mobile face.
The stillness only lasted a few seconds: the next moment Diogenes'
ringing voice had once more set every lurking echo dancing from rafter
to rafter.
"Mynheer!" he said loudly, "you have lost your daughter. Here am I to do
you service, and by God I swear that I will bring your daughter safely
back to you."
Frans Hals heaved a deep sigh of satisfaction. Cornelius Beresteyn,
overcome by emotion, could not at first utter a word. He put out his
hand, groping for that of the man who had fanned the flames of hope into
living activity.
Diogenes, solemnly trying to look grave and earnest, took the hand thus
loyally offered to him. He could have laughed aloud at the absurdity of
the present situation. He--pledged by solemn word of honour to convey
Jongejuffrouw Beresteyn to Rotterdam and there to place her into the
custody of Ben Isaje, merchant of that city, he--carrying inside his
doublet an order to Ben Isaje to pay him 3,000 guilders, he--known to
the jongejuffrouw as the author of the outrage against her person, he
was here solemnly pledging himself to restore her safely into her
father's arms. How this was to be fulfilled, how he would contrive to
earn that comfortable half of a rich Haarlem merchant's fortune, he
had--we may take it--at the present moment, not the remotest idea: for
indeed, the conveying of the jongejuffrouw back to Haarlem would be no
difficult matter, once his promise to Nicolaes Beresteyn had been
redeemed. The question merely was how to do this without being denounced
by the lady herself as an impudent and double-dealing knave, which
forsooth she already held him to be.
Cornelius and his friends, however, gave him no time now for further
reflection. All the thinking out would have to be done presently--no
doubt on the way between Haarlem and Houdekerk, and probably in a mist
of driving snow--for the nonce he had to stand under the fire of
unstinted eulogy hurled at him from every side.
"Well spoken, young man!"
"'Tis gallant bearing forsooth!"
"Chivalry, indeed, is not yet dead in Holland."
"Are you a Dutchman, sir?"
To this direct query he gave reply:
"My father was one of those who came in English Leicester's train, whose
home was among the fogs of England and under the shadow of her white,
mysterious cliffs. My mother was Dutch and he broke her heart...."
"Not an unusual story, alas, these times!" quoth a sober mynheer with a
sigh. "I know of more than one case like your own, sir. Those English
adventurers were well favoured and smooth tongued, and when they gaily
returned to their sea-girt island they left a long trail behind them of
broken hearts--of sorrowing women and forsaken children."
"My mother, sir, was a saint," rejoined Diogenes earnestly, "my father
married her in Amsterdam when she was only eighteen. She was his wife,
yet he left her homeless and his son fatherless."
"But if he saw you, sir, as you are," said Cornelius Beresteyn kindly,
"he would surely make amends."
"But he shall not see me, sir," retorted Diogenes lightly, "for I hate
him so, because of the wrong he did to my mother and to me. He shall
never even hear of me unless I succeed in carving mine own independent
fortune, or contrive to die like a gentleman."
"Both of which, sir, you will surely do," now interposed Beresteyn with
solemn conviction. "Your acts and words do proclaim you a gentleman, and
therefore you will die one day, just as you have lived. In the
meanwhile, I am as good as my word. My daughter's safety, her life and
her honour are worth a fortune to me. I am reputed a wealthy man. My
business is vast, and I have one million guilders lying at interest in
the hands of Mynheer Bergansius the world-famed jeweller of Amsterdam.
One-half that money, sir, shall be yours together with my boundless
gratitude, if you deliver my daughter out of the hands of the
malefactors who have seized her person and bring her back safe and sound
to me."
"If life is granted me, sir," rejoined Diogenes imperturbably, without a
blush or a tremor, "I will find your daughter and bring her safely to
you as speedily as God will allow me."
"But you cannot do this alone, sir ..." urged Cornelius, on whom doubt
and fear had not yet lost their hold. "How will you set to work?"
"That, mynheer, is my secret," rejoined Diogenes placidly, "and the
discussion of my plans might jeopardise their success."
"True, sir; but remember that the anxiety which I suffer now will be
increased day by day, until it brings me on the threshold of the grave."
"I will remember that, mynheer, and will act as promptly as may be; but
the malefactors have twenty-four hours start of me. I may have to
journey far ere I come upon their track."
"But you will have companions with you, sir? Friends who will help and
stand by you. Those sea-wolves are notorious for their daring and their
cruelty ... they may be more numerous too than you think...."
"The harder the task, mynheer," said Diogenes with his enigmatical
smile, "the greater will be my satisfaction if I succeed in fulfilling
it."
"But though you will own to no kindred, surely you have friends?"
insisted Beresteyn.
"Two faithful allies, and my sword, the most faithful of them all,"
replied the other.
"You will let me furnish you with money in advance, I hope."
"Not till I have earned it, mynheer."
"You are proud, sir, as well as chivalrous," retorted Cornelius.
"I pray you praise me not, mynheer. Greed after money is my sole motive
in undertaking this affair."
"This I'll not believe," concluded Beresteyn as he now rose to go. "Let
me tell you, sir, that by your words, your very presence, you have
put new life, new hope into me. Something tells me that I can trust
you ... something tells me that you will succeed.... Without kith or
kindred, sir, a man may rise to fortune by his valour: 'tis writ in your
face that you are such an one. With half a million guilders so earned
a man can aspire to the fairest in the land," he added not without
significance, "and there is no father who would not be proud to own such
a son."
He then shook Diogenes warmly by the hand. He was a different man to the
poor grief-stricken rag of humanity who had entered this tavern a few
hours ago. His friends also shook the young man by the hand and said a
great many more gracious and complimentary words to him which he
accepted in grave silence, his merry eyes twinkling with the humour of
it all.
The worthy burghers filed out of the tap-room one by one, in the wake of
Cornelius. It was bitterly cold and the snow was again falling: they
wrapped their fur-lined mantles closely round them ere going out of the
warm room, but their hats they kept in their hands until the last, and
were loth to turn their backs on Diogenes as they went. They felt as if
they were leaving the presence of some great personage.
It was only when the heavy oaken door had fallen to for the last time
behind the pompous soberly-clad figures of the mynheers and Diogenes
found himself alone in the tapperij with his friend Frans Hals that he
at last gave vent to that overpowering sense of merriment which had all
along threatened to break its bonds. He sank into the nearest chair:
"Dondersteen! Dondersteen!" he exclaimed between the several outbursts
of irrepressible laughter which shook his powerful frame and brought the
tears to his eyes, "Gods in Olympia! have you ever seen the like? Verrek
jezelf, my good Hals, you should go straight to Paradise when you die
for having brought about this heaven-born situation. Dondersteen!
Dondersteen! I had promised myself two or three hours' sleep, but we
must have a bottle of Beek's famous wine on this first!"
And Frans Hals could not for the life of him understand what there was
in this fine situation that should so arouse Diogenes' mirth.
But then Diogenes had always been an irresponsible creature, who was
wont to laugh even at the most serious crisis of his life.