CHAPTER X
THE LAUGHING CAVALIER
We all know every fold of that doubtlet now, with its magnificentsleeves, crimson-lined and richly embroidered, its slashings whichafford peeps of snowy linen, and its accessories of exquisite lace; theimmortal picture then painted by Frans Hals, and which he called theLaughing Cavalier, has put its every line on record for all times.
Diogenes wore it with delight. Its splendour suited his swaggering airto perfection: its fine black cloth, delicate lace and rich silk sashset off to perfection his well-proportioned massive figure.
A joy to the artist every bit of him, the tone, the pose, the line, thecolour and that face full of life, of the joy of living, that merrytwinkle in the eyes, that laugh that for ever hovers on the lips.
We all stand before it, marvelling at the artist's skill, for we knowthat the portrait is true to the life; we know that it is true, becausewe know the man; his whole character is there indelibly writ upon thecanvas by the master-hand of a genius:--Diogenes the soldier of fortuneis there, the man who bows to no will save to his own, too independentto bow to kindred or to power, the man who takes life as he finds it,but leavens it with his own gaiety and the priceless richness of his ownhumour: we know him for his light-hearted gaiety, we condone hisswagger, we forgive his reckless disregard of all that makes forsobriety and respectability. The eyes twinkle at us, the mouth all butspeaks, and we know and recognize every detail as true; only the fine,straight brow, the noble forehead, the delicate contour of the nose andjaw puzzle us at times, for those we cannot reconcile with the man'scalling or with his namelessness, until we remember his boast in thetavern of the "Lame Cow" on New Year's morning: "My father was one ofthose who came in English Leicester's train."
So we see him now standing quite still, while the artist is absorbed inhis work: his tall figure very erect, the head slightly thrown back, thewell-shaped hand resting on the hip and veiled in folds of filmy lace.And so did Mynheer Nicolaes Beresteyn see him as he entered the artist'sstudio at ten o'clock of that same New Year's morning.
"A happy New Year to you, my good Hals," he said with easycondescension. "Vervloekte weather, eh--for the incoming year! theremust be half a foot of snow in the by-streets by now."
With that same air of graciousness he acknowledged the artist'sobsequious bow. His father Mynheer Councillor Beresteyn was an avowedpatron of Frans Hals and the hour had not yet struck in civilized Europewhen wealth would go hat in hand bowing to genius and soliciting itsrecognition. In this year of grace 1624 genius had still to hold the hatand to acknowledge if not to solicit the kindly favours of wealth.
Nicolaes Beresteyn did not know exactly how to greet the man with whomhe had a few hours ago bandied arguments in the tap room of a tavern,and whom--to tell the truth--he had expressly come to find. Thecomplaisant nod which he had bestowed on Frans Hals did not somehow seemappropriate for that swaggering young knight of industry, who lookeddown on him from the high eminence of the model's platform so thatNicolaes was obliged to look well up, if he wished to meet his glance atall.
It was the obscure soldier of fortune who relieved the pompous burgherof his embarrassment.
"Fate hath evidently not meant that we should remain strangers, sir," hesaid lightly, "this meeting after last night's pleasing amenities isindeed unexpected."
"And most welcome, sir, as far as I am concerned," rejoined Nicolaespleasantly. "My name is Nicolaes Beresteyn and right glad am I to renewour acquaintance of last night. I had no idea that my friend Hals couldcommand so perfect a model. No wonder that his pictures have become thetalk of the town."
He turned back to Hals now with a resumption of his patronizing manner.
"I came to confirm my father's suggestion, my good Hals, that you shouldpaint his portrait and at the price you named yourself. The officers ofSt. Joris' Guild are also desirous, as I understand, of possessing yetanother group from your brush."
"I shall be honoured," said the artist simply.
"'Tis many an ugly face you'll have to paint within the next few months,my friend," added Diogenes lightly.
"My father is reckoned one of the handsomest men in Holland," retortedBeresteyn with becoming dignity.
"And the owner of the finest tulip bulbs in the land," said the otherimperturbably. "I heard him tell last night that he had just given moreflorins for one bit of dried onion than I have ever fingered in thewhole course of my life."
"Fortune, sir, has not dealt with you hitherto in accordance with yourdeserts."
"No! 'tis my sternest reproach against her."
"There is always a tide, sir, in a man's fortunes."
"Mine I feel, sir, is rising at your call."
There was a moment's pause now while the two men looked on one anothereye to eye, appraising one another, each counting on his opponent'sworth. Then Nicolaes suddenly turned back to Frans Hals.
"My good Hals," he said, "might I crave a favour from your friendship?"
"I am at your service, mynheer, now as always as you know," murmured theartist, who indeed was marvelling what favour so illustrious a gentlemancould ask of a penniless painter of portraits.
"'Tis but a small matter to you," rejoined Nicolaes, "but it would be ofgreat service to me. I desire to hold private conversation with thisgentleman. Could I do so in your house without attracting anybody'sattention?"
"Easily, sir. This room though none too comfortable is at your disposal.I have plenty of work to do in another part of my house. No one willcome in here. You will be quite undisturbed."
"I am infinitely obliged to you. 'Tis but half-an-hour's privacy Idesire ... providing this gentleman will grant me the interview."
"Like my friend Hals," rejoined Diogenes suavely, "I am, sir, at yourservice. The tides are rising around me, I feel them swelling even as Ispeak. I have an overwhelming desire to ride on the crest of the waves,rather than to duck under them against my will."
"I hope this intrusion will not retard your work too much, my goodHals," said Beresteyn with somewhat perfunctory solicitude when he sawthat the artist finally put his brushes and palette on one side, and inan abstracted manner began to dust a couple of ricketty chairs and thenplace them close to the stove.
"Oh!" interposed Diogenes airily, "the joy of being of service to sobountiful a patron will more than compensate Frans Hals for thisinterruption to his work. Am I not right, old friend?" he added withjust a soupcon of seriousness in the mocking tones of his voice.
Hals murmured a few words under his breath which certainly seemed tosatisfy Beresteyn for the latter made no further attempt at apology,and only watched with obvious impatience the artist's slow progress outof the room.
As soon as the heavy oaken door had fallen-to behind the master of thishouse, Beresteyn turned with marked eagerness to Diogenes.
"Now, sir," he said, "will you accord me your close attention for amoment. On my honour it will be to your advantage so to do."
"And to your own, I take it, sir," rejoined Diogenes, as he stepped downfrom the elevated platform and sat himself astride one of the rickettychairs facing his interlocutor who had remained standing. "To your owntoo, sir, else you had not spent half an hour in that vervloekte weatherlast night pacing an insalubrious street in order to find out where Ilodged."
Nicolaes bit his lip with vexation.
"You saw me?" he asked.
"I have eyes at the back of my head," replied the young man. "I knewthat you followed me in company with a friend all the way from the doorof the 'Lame Cow' and that you were not far off when I announced myintention of sleeping under the stars and asking my friend Frans Halsfor some breakfast later on."
Beresteyn had quickly recovered his equanimity.
"I have no cause to deny it," he said.
"None," assented Diogenes.
"Something, sir, in your manner and your speech last night aroused myinterest. Surely you would not take offence at that."
"Certainly not."
"And h
earing you speak, a certain instinct prompted me to try and notlose sight of you if I could by some means ascertain where you lodged.My friend and I did follow you: I own it, and we witnessed a littlescene which I confess did you infinite credit."
Diogenes merely bowed his head this time in acknowledgment.
"It showed, sir," resumed Nicolaes after a slight pause, "that you arechivalrous to a fault, brave and kindly: and these are just the threequalities which I--even like your illustrious namesake--have oft soughtfor in vain."
"Shall we add, also for the sake of truth, sir," said Diogenes
pleasantly, "that I am obviously penniless, presumably unscrupulous andcertainly daring, and that these are just the three qualities whichyou ... and your friend ... most require at the present moment in theman whom you wish to pay for certain services."
"You read my thoughts, sir."
"Have I not said that I have eyes at the back of my head?"
And Nicolaes Beresteyn wondered if that second pair of eyes were asmerry and mocking and withal as inscrutable as those that met his now.
"Well," he said as if with suddenly conceived determination, "again Isee no cause why I should deny it. Yes, sir, you have made a shrewdguess. I have need of your services, of your chivalry and of your valourand ... well, yes," he added after an instant's hesitation, "of yourdaring and your paucity of scruples too. As for your penury, why, sir,if you like, its pangs need worry you no longer."
"It all sounds very tempting, sir," said Diogenes with his most winningsmile, "suppose now that we put preliminaries aside and proceed moredirectly with our business."
"As you will."
Nicolaes Beresteyn now took the other chair and brought it close to hisinterlocutor. Then he sat down and sinking his voice to a whisper hebegan:
"I will be as brief and to the point as I can, sir. There are secrets asyou know the knowledge of which is oft-times dangerous. Such an one wasspoken of in the cathedral last night after watch-night service by sixmen who hold their lives in their hands and are ready to sacrifice itfor the good of their country and of their faith."
"In other words," interposed Diogenes with dry humour, "six men in thecathedral last night decided to murder some one for the good of thiscountry and of their faith and for the complete satisfaction of thedevil."
"'Tis false!" cried Beresteyn involuntarily.
"Be not angered, sir, I was merely guessing--and not guessing methinksvery wide of the mark. I pray you proceed. You vastly interest me. Weleft then six men in the cathedral after watch-night service plottingfor the welfare of Holland and the established Faith."
"Their lives, sir," resumed Beresteyn more calmly, "depend on theinviolability of their secret. You are good at guessing--will you guesswhat would happen to those six men if their conversation last night hadbeen overheard and their secret betrayed."
"The scaffold," said Diogenes laconically.
"And torture."
"Of course. Holland always has taken the lead in civilization of late."
"Torture and death, sir," reiterated Beresteyn vehemently. "There aresix men in this city to-day whose lives are at the mercy of one woman."
"Oho! 'twas a woman then who surprised those six men in their endeavourto do good to Holland and to uphold the Faith."
"Rightly spoken, sir! To do good to Holland and to uphold the Faith!those are the two motives which guide six ardent patriots in theirpresent actions and cause them to risk their lives and more, that theymay bring about the sublime end. A woman has surprised their secret, awoman pure and good as the stars but a woman for all that, weak inmatters of sentiment and like to be swayed by a mistaken sense of whatshe would call her duty. A woman now, sir, holds the future happiness ofHolland, the triumph of Faith and the lives of six stalwart patriots inthe hollow of her hand."
"And 'tis with the lives of six stalwart patriots that we are mostconcerned at the moment, are we not?" asked Diogenes blandly.
"Put it as you will, sir. I cannot expect you--a stranger--to take thewelfare of Holland and of her Faith so earnestly as we Dutchmen do. Ourpresent concern is with the woman."
"Is she young?"
"Yes."
"Pretty?"
"What matter?"
"I don't know. The fact might influence mine actions. For of course youwish to put the woman out of the way."
"Only for a time and from my soul I wish her no harm. I only want toplace her out of the reach of doing us all a grievous wrong. Already shehas half threatened to speak of it all to my father. The idea of it isunthinkable. I want her out of the way for a few days, not more than tendays at most. I want her taken out of Haarlem, to a place of safetywhich I will point out to you anon, and under the care of faithfuldependents who would see that not a hair on her head be injured. Yousee, sir, that what I would ask of you would call forth your chivalryand need not shame it; it would call forth your daring and yourrecklessness of consequences and if you will undertake to do me servicein this, my gratitude and that of my friends as well as the sum of 2,000guilders will be yours to command."
"About a tenth part of the money in fact which your father, sir, dothoft give for a bulb."
"Call it 3,000, sir," said Nicolaes Beresteyn, "we would still be yourdebtors."
"You are liberal, sir."
"It means my life and that of my friends, and most of us are rich."
"But the lady--I must know more about her. Ah sir! this is a hard matterfor me--A lady--young--presumably fair--of a truth I care naught forwomen, but please God I have never hurt a woman yet."
"Who spoke of hurting her, man?" queried Nicolaes haughtily.
"This abduction--the State secret--the matter of life and death--thefaithful dependent--how do I know, sir, that all this is true?"
"On the word of honour of a gentleman!" retorted Beresteyn hotly.
"A gentleman's honour is easily attenuated where a woman is concerned."
"The lady is my own sister, sir."
Diogenes gave a long, low whistle.
"Your sister!" he exclaimed.
"My only sister and one who is dearly loved. You see, sir, that hersafety and her honour are dearer to me than mine own."
"Yet you propose entrusting both to me," said Diogenes with a mockinglaugh, "to me, a nameless adventurer, a penniless wastrel whose tradelies in his sword and his wits."
"Which must prove to you, sir, firstly how true are my instincts, andsecondly how hardly I am pressed. My instinct last night told me that inthis transaction I could trust you. To-day I have realized more fullythan I did last night that my sister is a deadly danger to many, to ourcountry and to our Faith. She surprised a secret, the knowledge of whichhad she been a man would have meant death then and there in the chapelof the cathedral. Had it been a brother of mine instead of a sister whosurprised our secret, my friends would have killed him withoutcompunction and I would not have raised a finger to save him. Being awoman she cannot pay for her knowledge with her life; but her honour andher freedom are forfeit to me because I am a man and she a woman. I amstrong and she is weak; she has threatened to betray me and my friendsand I must protect them and our cause. I have decided to place her therewhere she cannot harm us, but some one must convey her thither, since Imust not appear before her in this matter. Therefore hath my choicefallen on you, sir, for that mission, chiefly because of that instinctwhich last night told me that I could trust you. If my instinct shouldprove me wrong, I would kill you for having cheated me, but I would eventhen not regret what I had done."
He paused and for a moment looked straight into the laughter-loving faceof the man in whose keeping he was ready to entrust with absolutecallousness the safety and honour of one whom he should have protectedwith his life. The whole face, even now seemed still to laugh, the eyestwinkled, the mouth was curled in a smile.
The next moment the young adventurer had risen to his full height. Hepicked up his hat which lay on the platform close beside him and with itin his hand he made an elaborate and deep b
ow to Nicolaes Beresteyn.
"Sir?" queried the latter in astonishment.
"At your service, sir," said Diogenes gaily, "I am saluting a greaterblackguard than I can ever hope to be myself."
"Insolent!" exclaimed Nicolaes hotly.
"Easy, easy, my good sir," interposed the other calmly, "it would notsuit your purpose or mine that we should cut one another's throat. Letme tell you at once and for the appeasing of your anxiety and that ofyour friends that I will, for the sum of 4,000 guilders, takeJongejuffrouw Beresteyn from this city to any place you may choose toname. This should also ease your pride, for it will prove to you that Ialso am a consummate blackguard and that you therefore need not standshamed before me. I have named a higher sum than the one which you haveoffered me, not with any desire to squeeze you, sir, but becauseobviously I cannot do this work single-handed. The high roads are notsafe. I could not all alone protect the lady against the army offootpads that infest them, I shall have to engage and pay an escort forher all the way. But she shall reach the place to which you desire me totake her, to this I pledge you my word. Beyond that ... well! you havesaid it yourself, by her knowledge of your secret she has forfeited herown safety; you--her own brother--choose to entrust her to me. The restlies between you and your honour."
An angry retort once more rose to Nicolaes Beresteyn's lips, butcommonsense forced him to check it. The man was right in what he said.On the face of it his action in entrusting his own sister into thekeeping of a knight of industry, a nameless wastrel whose very callingproclaimed him an unscrupulous adventurer, was the action of a cowardand of a rogue. Any man with a spark of honour in him--would condemnNicolaes Beresteyn as a blackguard for this deed. Nevertheless there wasundoubtedly something in the whole personality of this same adventurerthat in a sense exonerated Nicolaes from the utter dishonour of his act.
On the surface the action was hideous, monstrous, and cowardly, butbeneath that surface there was the undercurrent of trust in this oneman, the firm belief born of nothing more substantial than an intuitionthat this man would in this matter play the part of a gentleman.
But it is not my business to excuse Nicolaes Beresteyn in this. Whatguided him solely in his present action was that primary instinct ofself-preservation, that sense which animals have without the slightestknowledge or experience on their part and which has made men play attimes the part of a hero and at others that of a knave. Stoutenburg whowas always daring and always unscrupulous where his own ambitiousschemes were at stake had by a careful hint shown him a way ofeffectually silencing Gilda during the next few days. Beresteyn's mindfilled to over-flowing with a glowing desire for success and for lifehad readily worked upon the hint.
And he did honestly believe--as hundreds of misguided patriots havebelieved before and since--that Heaven was on his side of the politicalbusiness and had expressly led along his path this one man of all otherswho would do what was asked of him and whom he could trust.