CHAPTER II.
Young Adrian hurried down the Werffsteg, which had given his family itsname. He heeded neither the lindens on both sides, amid whose tops thefirst tiny green leaves were forcing their way out of the pointed buds,nor the birds that flew hither and thither among the hospitable boughsof the stately trees, building their nests and twittering to each other,for he had no thought in his mind except to reach home as quickly aspossible.
Beyond the bridge spanning the Achtergracht, he paused irresolutelybefore a large building.
The knocker hung on the central door, but he did not venture to liftit and let it fall on the shining plate beneath, for he could expect nopleasant reception from his family.
His doublet had fared ill during his struggle with his stronger enemy.The torn neck-ruffles had been removed from their proper place andthrust into his pocket, and the new violet stocking on his right leg,luckless thing, had been so frayed by rubbing on the pavement, thata large yawning rent showed far more of Adrian's white knee than wasagreeable to him.
The peacock feather in his little velvet cap could easily be replaced,but the doublet was torn, not ripped, and the stocking scarcely capableof being mended. The boy was sincerely sorry, for his father had badehim take good care of the stuff to save money; during these times therewere hard shifts in the big house, which with its three doors, triplegables adorned with beautifully-arched volutes, and six windows in theupper and lower stories, fronted the Werffsteg in a very proud, statelyguise.
The burgomaster's office did not bring in a large income, and Adrian'sgrandfather's trade of preparing chamois leather, as well as thebusiness in skins, was falling off; his father had other matters in hishead, matters that claimed not only his intellect, strength and time,but also every superfluous farthing.
Adrian had nothing pleasant to expect at home--certainly not from hisfather, far less from his aunt Barbara. Yet the boy dreaded the anger ofthese two far less, than a single disapproving glance from the eyes ofthe young wife, whom he had called "mother" scarcely a twelve month, andwho was only six years his senior.
She never said an unkind word to him, but his defiance and wildnessmelted before her beauty, her quiet, aristocratic manner. He scarcelyknew himself whether he loved her or not, but she appeared like the goodfairy of whom the fairy tales spoke, and it often seemed as if she werefar too delicate, dainty and charming for her simple, unpretending home.To see her smile rendered the boy happy, and when she looked sad--athing that often happened-it made his heart ache. Merciful Heavens! Shecertainly could not receive him kindly when she saw his doublet, theruffles thrust into his pocket, and his unlucky stockings.
And then!
There were the bells ringing again!
The dinner hour had long since passed, and his father waited for noone. Whoever came too late must go without, unless Aunt Barbara tookcompassion on him in the kitchen.
But what was the use of pondering and hesitating? Adrian summoned upall his courage, clenched his teeth, clasped his right hand still closeraround the torn ruffles in his pocket, and struck the knocker loudly onthe steel plate beneath.
Trautchen, the old maid-servant, opened the door, and in the spacious,dusky entrance-hall, where the bales of leather were packed closelytogether, did not notice the dilapidation of his outer man.
He hurried swiftly up the stairs.
The dining-room door was open, and--marvellous--the table was stilluntouched, his father must have remained at the town-hall longer thanusual.
Adrian rushed with long leaps to his little attic room, dressed himselfneatly, and entered the presence of his family before the master of thehouse had asked the blessing.
The doublet and stocking could be confided to the hands of Aunt Barbaraor Trautchen, at some opportune hour.
Adrian sturdily attacked the smoking dishes; but his heart soon grewheavy, for his father did not utter a word, and gazed into vacancy asgravely and anxiously as at the time when misery entered the beleagueredcity.
The boy's young step-mother sat opposite her husband, and often glancedat Peter Van der Werff's grave face to win a loving glance from him.
Whenever she did so in vain, she pushed her soft, golden hair back fromher forehead, raised her beautiful head higher, or bit her lips andgazed silently into her plate.
In reply to Aunt Barbara's questions: "What happened at the council? Hasthe money for the new bell been collected? Will Jacob Van Sloten rentyou the meadow?" he made curt, evasive replies.
The steadfast man, who sat so silently with frowning brow among hisfamily, sometimes attacking the viands on his plate, then leaving themuntouched, did not look like one who yields to idle whims.
All present, even the men and maid-servants, were still devotingthemselves to the food, when the master of the house rose, and pressingboth hands over the back of his head, which was very prominentlydeveloped, exclaimed groaning:
"I can hold out no longer. Do you give thanks, Maria. Go to thetown-hall, Janche, and ask if no messenger has yet arrived."
The man-servant wiped his mouth and instantly obeyed. He was a tall,broad-shouldered Frieselander, but only reached to his master'sforehead.
Peter Van der Werff, without any form of salutation, turned his back onhis family, opened the door leading into his study, and aftercrossing the threshold, closed it with a bang, approached the big oakwriting-desk, on which papers and letters lay piled in heaps, securedby rough leaden weights, and began to rummage among the newly-arriveddocuments. For fifteen minutes he vainly strove to fix the necessaryattention upon his task, then grasped his study-chair to rest his foldedarms on the high, perforated back, adorned with simple carving, andgazed thoughtfully at the wooden wainscoting of the ceiling. After a fewminutes he pushed the chair aside with his foot, raised his hand to hismouth, separated his moustache from his thick brown beard, and went tothe window. The small, round, leaden-cased panes, however brightly theymight be polished, permitted only a narrow portion of the street to beseen, but the burgomaster seemed to have found the object for which hehad been looking. Hastily opening the window, he called to his servant,who was hurriedly approaching the house:
"Is he in, Janche?"
The Frieselander shook his head, the window again closed, and a fewminutes after the burgomaster seized his hat, which hung, between somecavalry pistols and a plain, substantial sword, on the only wall of hisroom not perfectly bare.
The torturing anxiety that filled his mind, would no longer allow him toremain in the house.
He would have his horse saddled, and ride to meet the expectedmessenger.
Ere leaving the room, he paused a moment lost in thought, thenapproached the writing-table to sign some papers intended for thetown-hall; for his return might be delayed till night.
Still standing, he looked over the two sheets he had spread out beforehim, and seized the pen. Just at that moment the door of the room gentlyopened, and the fresh sand strewn over the white boards creaked undera light foot. He doubtless heard it, but did not allow himself to beinterrupted.
His wife was now standing close behind him. Four and twenty years hisjunior, she seemed like a timid girl, as she raised her arm, yet did notventure to divert her husband's attention from his business.
She waited quietly till he had signed the first paper, then turned herpretty head aside, and blushing faintly, exclaimed with downcast eyes:
"It is I, Peter!"
"Very well, my child," he answered curtly, raising the second papernearer his eyes.
"Peter!" she exclaimed a second time, still more eagerly, but withtimidity. "I have something to tell you."
Van der Werff turned his head, cast a hasty, affectionate glance at her,and said:
"Now, child? You see I am busy, and there is my hat."
"But Peter!" she replied, a flash of something like indignationsparkling in her eyes, as she continued in a voice pervaded with aslightly perceptible tone of complaint: "We haven't said anything toeach other to-day. My heart is so ful
l, and what I would fain say to youis, must surely--"
"When I come home Maria, not now," he interrupted, his deep voicesounding half impatient, half beseeching. "First the city and thecountry--then love-making."
At these words, Maria raised her head proudly, and answered withquivering lips:
"That is what you have said ever since the first day of our marriage."
"And unhappily--unhappily--I must continue to say so until we reachthe goal," he answered firmly. The blood mounted into the young wife'sdelicate cheeks, and with quickened breathing, she answered in a hasty,resolute tone:
"Yes, indeed, I have known these words ever since your courtship, and asI am my father's daughter never opposed them, but now they are no longersuited to us, and should be: 'Everything for the country, and nothing atall for the wife.'"
Van der Werff laid down his pen and turned full towards her.
Maria's slender figure seemed to have grown taller, and the blue eyes,swimming in tears, flashed proudly. This life-companion seemed to havebeen created by God especially for him. His heart opened to her, andfrankly stretching out both hands, he said tenderly:
"You know how matters are! This heart is changeless, and other days willcome."
"When?" asked Maria, in a tone as mournful as if she believed in nohappier future.
"Soon," replied her husband firmly. "Soon, if only each one giveswillingly what our native land demands."
At these words the young wife loosed her hands from her husband's,for the door had opened and Barbara called to her brother from thethreshold.
"Herr Matanesse Van Wibisma, the Glipper, is in the entry and wants tospeak to you."
"Show him up," said the burgomaster reluctantly. When again alone withhis wife, he asked hastily "Will you be indulgent and help me?"
She nodded assent, trying to smile.
He saw that she was sad and, as this grieved him, held out his hand toher again, saying:
"Better days will come, when I shall be permitted to be more to you thanto-day. What were you going to say just now?"
"Whether you know it or not--is of no importance to the state."
"But to you. Then lift up your head again, and look at me. Quick, love,for they are already on the stairs."
"It isn't worth mentioning--a year ago to-day--we might celebrate theanniversary of our wedding to-day."
"The anniversary of our wedding-day!" he cried, striking his handsloudly together. "Yes, this is the seventeenth of April, and I haveforgotten it."
He drew her tenderly towards him, but just at that moment the dooropened, and Adrian ushered the baron into the room.
Van der Werff bowed courteously to the infrequent guest, then calledto his blushing wife, who was retiring: "My congratulations! I'll comelater. Adrian, we are to celebrate a beautiful festival to-day, theanniversary of our marriage."
The boy glided swiftly out of the door, which he still held in his hand,for he suspected the aristocratic visitor boded him no good.
In the entry he paused to think, then hurried up the stairs, seized hisplumeless cap, and rushed out of doors. He saw his school-mates, armedwith sticks and poles, ranging themselves in battle array, and wouldhave liked to join the game of war, but for that very reason preferrednot to listen to the shouts of the combatants at that moment, and rantowards the Zylhof until beyond the sound of their voices.
He now checked his steps, and in a stooping posture, often on his knees,followed the windings of a narrow canal that emptied into the Rhine.
As soon as his cap was overflowing with the white, blue, and yellowspring flowers he had gathered, he sat down on a boundary stone, andwith sparkling eyes bound them into a beautiful bouquet, with which heran home.
On the bench beside the gate sat the old maidservant with his littlesister, a child six years old. Handing the flowers, which he had kepthidden behind his back, to her, he said:
"Take them and carry them to mother, Bessie; this is the anniversary ofher wedding-day. Give her warm congratulations too, from us both."
The child rose, and the old servant said, "You are a good boy, Adrian."
"Do you think so?" he asked, all the sins of the forenoon returning tohis mind.
But unluckily they caused him no repentance; on the contrary, his eyesbegan to sparkle mischievously, and a smile hovered around his lips, ashe patted the old woman's shoulder, whispering softly in her ear:
"The hair flew to-day, Trautchen. My doublet and new stockings are lyingup in my room under the bed. Nobody can mend as well as you."
Trautchen shook her finger at him, but he turned hastily back andran towards the Zyl-gate, this time to lead the Spaniards against theNetherlanders.