CHAPTER XII
THE PORTRAIT
When Beresteyn returned to the studio in the company of Frans Hals theyfound Diogenes once more clad in his own well-fitting and serviceabledoublet.
The artist looked bitterly disappointed at the sight, but naturallyforbore to give vent to his feelings in the presence of his exaltedpatron.
Apparently he had been told what was required, for he went straight upto a large canvas which stood at the further end of the room with itsface to the wall, and this he brought out now and placed upon the easel.
"It is an excellent likeness of my sister," said Nicolaes with his usualgracious condescension, to the artist, "and does your powers of faithfulportraiture vast credit, my good Hals. I pray you, sir," he addedcalling to Diogenes, "come and look at it."
The latter came and stood in front of the easel and looked on thepicture which was there exhibited for his gaze.
Among the hard lessons which varying Fortune teaches to those whom shemost neglects, there is none so useful as self-control. Diogenes hadlearned that lesson early in his life, and his own good humour often hadto act as a mask for deeper emotions. Now, when in the picture herecognized the woman who had spoken to him last night after the affray,in the Dam Straat, his face in no sense expressed surprise, it stillsmiled and mocked and twinkled, and neither of the two men who stood byguessed that he had seen the original of this dainty picture underpeculiar circumstances not many hours before.
That portrait of Jongejuffrouw Beresteyn is one of the finest everpainted by Frans Hals, the intense naturalness of the pose is perfect,the sweet yet imperious expression of the face is most faithfullyportrayed. Diogenes saw her now very much as he had seen her last night,for the artist had painted the young head against a dark background andit stood out delicate as a flower, right out of the canvas and in fulllight.
The mouth smiled as it had done last night when first she caught sightof the ludicrous apparition of one philosopher astride on the shouldersof the other, the eyes looked grave as they had done when she humbly,yet gracefully begged pardon for her levity. The chin was uplifted as ithad been last night, when she made with haughty condescension her offersof patronage to the penniless adventurer, and there was the little handsoft and smooth as the petal of a rose which had rested for one momentagainst his lips.
And looking on the picture of this young girl, Diogenes remembered thewords which her own brother had spoken to him only a few moments ago;"her honour and her safety are forfeit to me. I would kill you if youcheated me, but I would not even then regret what I had done."
The daughter of the rich city burgher was, of course, less than nothingto the nameless carver of his own fortunes; she was as far removed fromhis sphere of life as were the stars from the Zuyder Zee, nor did womenas a sex play any serious part in his schemes for the future, but at therecollection of those callous and selfish words, Diogenes felt a wave offury rushing through his blood; the same rage seized his temper now aswhen he saw a lout once plucking out the feathers of a song bird, and hefell on him with fists and stick and left him lying bruised andhalf-dead in a ditch.
But the hard lesson learned early in life stood him in good stead. Hecrossed his arms over his broad chest and anon his well-shaped handwent up to his moustache and it almost seemed as if the slender fingerssmoothed away the traces of that wave of wrath which had swept over himso unaccountably just now, and only left upon his face those lines ofmockery and of good-humour which a nature redolent of sunshine hadrendered indelible.
"What think you of it, sir?" asked Beresteyn impatiently, seeing thatDiogenes seemed inclined to linger over long in his contemplation of thepicture.
"I think, sir," replied the other, "that the picture once seen would forever be imprinted on the memory."
"Ah! it pleases me to hear you say that. I think too that it does ourfriend Hals here infinite credit. You must finish that picture soon, mygood Frans. My father I know is prepared to pay you well for it."
Then he turned once more to Diogenes.
"I'll take my leave now, sir," he said, "and must thank you for sokindly listening to my proposals. Hals, I thank you for the hospitalityof your house. We meet again soon I hope."
He took up his hat and almost in spite of himself he acknowledgedDiogenes' parting bow with one equally courteous. Patron and employestood henceforth on equal terms.
"And you desire to see me again to-day, sir," he said before finallytaking his leave, "I shall be in the tapperij of the 'Lame Cow' betweenthe hours of four and five and entirely at your service."
After that he walked out of the room escorted by Frans Hals, andDiogenes who had remained alone in the big, bare studio, stood in frontof Jongejuffrouw Beresteyn's portrait and had another long look at it.
A whimsical smile sat round his lips even as they apostrophized theimage that looked so gravely on him out of the canvas.
"You poor, young, delicate creature!" he murmured, "what of yourimperious little ways now? your offers of condescension, your graciouswiping of your dainty shoes on the commoner herd of humanity? Your ownbrother has thrown you at the mercy of a rogue, eh? A rogue whose valourmust needs be rewarded by money and patronage!... Will you recognise himto-night I wonder, as the rogue he really is? the rogue paid to do workthat is too dirty for exalted gentlemen's hands to touch? How you willloathe him after to-night!"
He drew in his breath with a quaint little sigh that had a thought ofsadness in it, and turned away from the picture just as Frans Halsre-entered the room.
"When this picture is finished," he said at once to his friend, "yourname, my dear Hals, will ring throughout Europe."
"'Tis your picture I want to finish," said the other reproachfully, "Ihave such a fine chance of selling it the day after to-morrow."
"Why the day after to-morrow?"
"The Burgomaster, Mynheer van der Meer, comes to visit my studio. Heliked the beginnings of the picture very much when he saw it, and toldme then that he would come to look at it again and would probably buyit."
"I can be back here in less than a week. You can finish the picturethen. The Burgomaster will wait."
The artist sighed a plaintive, uncomplaining little sigh and shruggedhis shoulders with an air of hopelessness.
"You don't know what these people are," he said, "they will buy apicture when the fancy seizes them. A week later they will mayhap noteven look at it. Besides which the Burgomaster goes to Amsterdam nextweek. He will visit Rembrandt's studio, and probably buy a picturethere...."
His speech meandered on, dully and tonelessly, losing itself finally inincoherent mutterings. Diogenes looked on him with good-naturedcontempt.
"And you would lick the boots of such rabble," he said.
"I have a wife and a growing family," rejoined the artist, "we must alllive."
"I don't see the necessity," quoth Diogenes lightly, "not at that pricein any case. You must live of course, my dear Hals," he continued,"because you are a genius and help to fill this ugly grey world withyour magnificent works, but why should your wife and family live at theexpense of your manhood."
Then seeing the look of horror which his tirade had called forth in theface of his friend, he said with more seriousness:
"Would the price of that picture be of such vital importance then?"
"It is not the money so much," rejoined Frans Hals, "though God knowsthat that too would be acceptable, but 'tis the glory of it to which Ihad aspired. This picture to hang in the Stanhuis, mayhap in thereception hall, has been my dream these weeks past; not only would allthe wealthy burghers of Haarlem see it there, but all the civicdignitaries of other cities when they come here on a visit, aye! and theforeign ambassadors too, who often come to Haarlem. My fame then wouldindeed ring throughout Europe.... It is very hard that you shoulddisappoint me so."
While he went on mumbling in his feeble querulous voice, Diogenes hadbeen pacing up and down the floor apparently struggling with insistentthoughts. There was quite a suspicion of
a frown upon his smooth brow,but he said nothing until his friend had finished speaking. Then heceased his restless pacing and placed a hand upon Hals' shoulder.
"Look here, old friend," he said, "this will never do. It seems as if I,by leaving you in the lurch to-day, stood in the way of youradvancement and of your fortune. That of course will never do," hereiterated earnestly. "You the friend, who, like last night, are alwaysready to give me food and shelter when I have been without a grote in mypocket. You who picked me up ten years ago a shoeless ragamuffinwandering homeless in the streets, and gave me a hot supper and a bed,knowing nothing about me save that I was starving ... for that was thebeginning of our friendship was it not, old Frans?"
"Of course it was," assented the other, "but that was long ago. You havemore than repaid me since then ... when you had the means ... and nowthere is the picture...."
"To repay a debt is not always to be rid of an obligation. How can Ithen leave you in the lurch now?"
"Why cannot you stay and sit for me to-day.... The light is fairlygood...."
"I cannot stay now, dear old friend," said the other earnestly, "on myhonour I would do my duty by you now if I only could. I have business ofthe utmost importance to transact to-day and must see to it forthwith."
"Then why not to-morrow?... I could work on the doublet and the lacecollar to-day, by putting them on a dummy model.... All I want is a goodlong sitting from you for the head.... I could almost finish the pictureto-morrow," he pleaded in his peevish, melancholy voice, "and theBurgomaster comes on the next day."
Diogenes was silent for awhile. Again that puzzled frown appearedbetween his brows. To-morrow he should be leaving Leyden on his way toRotterdam; 1,000 guilders would be in his pocket, and 3,000 more wouldbe waiting for him at the end of his journey.... To-morrow!...
Frans Hals' keen, restless eyes followed every varying expression in theface he knew so well.
"Why should you not give up your day to me to-morrow?" he murmuredpeevishly. "You have nothing to do."
"Why indeed not?" said the other with a sudden recrudescence of hisusual gaiety. "I can do it, old compeer! Dondersteen, but I should be asmeerlap if I did not. Wait one moment.... Let me just think.... Yes! Ihave the way clear in my mind now.... I will be here as early as I wasto-day."
"By half-past seven o'clock the light is tolerable," said the artist.
"By half-past seven then I shall have donned the doublet, and will notmove off that platform unless you bid me, until the shadows havegathered in, in the wake of the setting sun. After that," he added withhis accustomed merry laugh, "let Mynheer, the Burgomaster come, yourpicture shall not hang fire because of me."
"That's brave!" said Frans Hals more cheerily. "If you will come I cando it. You will see how advanced that sleeve and collar will be byhalf-past seven to-morrow."
His voice had quite a ring in it now; he fussed about in his studio,re-arranged the picture on the easel, and put aside the portrait ofJongejuffrouw Beresteyn; Diogenes watched him with amusement, but thefrown had not quite disappeared from his brow. He had made two promisesto-day, both of which he would have to fulfil at all costs. Just now, itwas in a flash, that the thought came to him how he could help hisfriend and yet keep his word to Beresteyn. A quick plan had formeditself in his mind for accomplishing this--he saw in a mental vision theforced run on the ice back to Haarlem and back again in the wake of thesleigh. It could be done with much pluck and endurance and a smallmodicum of good luck, and already his mind was made up to it, whateverthe cost in fatigue or privations might be.
But time was pressing now. After a renewed and most solemn promise hetook leave of Frans Hals, who already was too deeply absorbed in workto take much notice of his friend. The glorious, self-centredselfishness of genius was in him. He cared absolutely nothing for anyworry or trouble he might cause to the other man by his demand for thatsitting on the morrow. The picture mattered--nothing else--and theartist never even asked his friend if he would suffer inconvenience orworse by sacrificing his day to it to-morrow.