CHAPTER XX
BACK AGAIN IN HAARLEM
They were terribly weary hours, these last two which the soldier offortune, the hardened campaigner had to kill before the first streak ofpallid, silvery dawn would break over the horizon beyond the Zuyder Zee.
Until then it meant the keeping on the move, ceaselessly, aimlessly, inorder to prevent the frost from biting the face and limbs, it meantwearily waiting in incessant, nerve-racking movement for every quarterof an hour tolled by the unseen cathedral clock; it meant counting theseand the intervening minutes which crawled along on the leaden stilts oftime, until the head began to buzz and the brain to ache with theintensity of monotony and of fatigue. It meant the steeling of ironnerves, the bracing of hardy sinews, the keeping the mind clear and thebody warm.
Two hours to kill under the perpetual lash of a tearing north wind,gliding up and down a half league of frozen way so as not to lose thetrack in the darkness and with a shroud of inky blackness to envelopeverything around!
The hardened campaigner stood the test as only a man of abnormalphysique and body trained to privations could have stood it. As soon asthe thin grey light began to spread over the sky and picked out a fewstunted snow-covered trees, one by one, he once more started on his way.
He had less than a league to cover now, and when at last the cathedraltower boomed out the hour of seven he was squatting on the back of theOude Gracht in Haarlem, and with numbed fingers and many an oath wasstruggling with the straps of his skates.
A quarter of an hour later he was installed in his friend's studio infront of a comfortable fire and with a mug of hot ale in front of him.
"I didn't think that you really meant to come," Frans Hals had said whenhe admitted him into his house in response to his peremptory ring.
"I mean to have some breakfast now at any rate, my friend," was thetired wayfarer's only comment.
The artist was too excited and too eager to get to work to question hissitter further. I doubt if in Diogenes' face or in his whole personthere were many visible traces of the fatigues of the night.
"What news in Haarlem?" he asked after the first draught of hot ale hadput fresh life into his veins.
"Why? where have you been that you've not heard?" queried Halsindifferently.
"Away on urgent business affairs," replied the other lightly; "and whatis the news?"
"That the daughter of Cornelius Beresteyn, the rich grain merchant anddeputy burgomaster of this city, was abducted last night by brigands andhath not to my knowledge been found yet."
Diogenes gave a long, low whistle of well-feigned astonishment.
"The fact doth not speak much for the guardians of the city," heremarked dryly.
"The outrage was very cleverly carried out, so I've heard said; and itwas not until close upon midnight that the scouts sent out by MynheerBeresteyn in every direction came back with the report that the brigandsleft the city by the Groningen gate and were no doubt well on their waynorth by then."
"And what was done after that?"
"I have not heard yet," replied Hals. "It is still early. When theserving woman comes she will tell us the latest news. I am afraid Ican't get to work until the light improves. Are you hungry? Shall I getyou something more solid to eat?"
"Well, old friend," rejoined the other gaily, "since you are sohospitable...."
By eight o'clock he was once more ensconced on the sitter's platform,dressed in a gorgeous doublet and sash, hat on head and hand on hip,smiling at his friend's delight and eagerness in his work.
Hals in the meanwhile had heard further news of the great event whichapparently was already the talk of Haarlem even at this early hour ofthe day.
"There seems no doubt," he said, "that the outrage is the work of thosevervloekte sea-wolves. They have carried Gilda Beresteyn away in thehope of extorting a huge ransom out of her father."
"I hope," said Diogenes unctuously, "that he can afford to pay it."
"He is passing rich," replied the artist with a sigh. "A great patron ofthe arts ... it was his son you saw here yesterday, and the portraitwhich I then showed you was that of the unfortunate young lady who hasbeen so cruelly abducted."
"Indeed," remarked Diogenes ostentatiously smothering a yawn as if thematter was not quite so interesting to him--a stranger to Haarlem--as itwas to his friend.
"The whole city is in a tumult," continued Hals, who was busily workingon his picture all the while that he talked, "and Mynheer Beresteyn andhis son Nicolaes are raising a private company of Waardgelders to pursuethe brigands. One guilder a day do they offer to these volunteers andNicholaes Beresteyn will himself command the expedition."
"Against the sea-wolves?" queried the other blandly.
"In person. Think of it, man! The girl is his own sister."
"It is unthinkable," agreed Diogenes solemnly.
All of which was, of course, vastly interesting to him, since what heheard to-day would be a splendid guidance for him as to his futureprogress southwards to Rotterdam. Nicolaes Beresteyn leading anexpedition of raw recruits in the pursuit of his sister was a subjecthumorous enough to delight the young adventurer's sense of fun; moreoverit was passing lucky that suspicion had at once fallen on thesea-wolves--a notorious band of ocean pirates whose acts of pillage andabduction had long since roused the ire of all northern cities thatsuffered from their impudent depredations. Diogenes congratulatedhimself on the happy inspiration which had caused him to go out ofHaarlem by its north gate and to have progressed toward Groningen for aquarter of an hour or so, leaving traces behind him which NicolaesBeresteyn would no doubt know how to interpret in favour of the"sea-wolves" theory. He could also afford to think with equanimity nowof Pythagoras and Socrates in charge of the jongejuffrouw lyingcomfortably perdu at a wayside inn, situated fully thirteen leagues tothe south of the nearest inland lair, which was known to be the haltingplace of the notorious sea-robbers.
Indeed, his act of friendship in devoting his day to the interests ofFrans Hals had already obtained its reward, for he had gathered valuableinformation, and his journey to Rotterdam would in consequence be vastlymore easy to plan.
No wonder that Frans Hals as he worked on the picture felt he had neverhad such a sitter before; the thoughts within redolent of fun, ofamusement at the situation, of eagerness for the continuation of theadventure seemed to bubble and to sparkle out of the eyes, the lines ofquiet humour, of gentle irony appeared ever mobile, ever quiveringaround the mouth.
For many hours that day hardly a word passed between the two men whilethe masterpiece was in progress, which was destined to astonish anddelight the whole world for centuries to come. They hardly paused aquarter of an hour during the day to snatch a morsel of food; Hals,imbued with the spirit of genius, begrudged every minute not spent inwork and Diogenes, having given his time to his friend, was preparedthat the gift should be a full measure.
Only at four o'clock when daylight faded, and the twilight began tomerge the gorgeous figure of the sitter into one dull, grey harmony, didthe artist at last throw down brushes and palette with a sigh ofinfinite satisfaction.
"It is good," he said, as with eyes half-closed he took a final surveyof his sitter and compared the living model with his own immortal work.
"Have you had enough of me?" asked Diogenes.
"No. Not half enough. I would like to make a fresh start on a newportrait of you at once. I would try one of those effects of light ofwhich Rembrandt thinks that he hath the monopoly, but which I would showhim how to treat without so much artificiality."
He continued talking of technicalities, rambling on in his usualfretful, impatient way, while Diogenes stretched out his cramped limbs,and rubbed his tired eyes.
"Can I undress now?"
"Yes. The light has quite gone," said the artist with a sigh.
Diogenes stood for a long time in contemplation of the masterpiece, evenas the shadows of evening crept slowly into every corner of the studioand cast their gloom over the gorge
ous canvas in its magnificent schemeof colour.
"Am I really as good looking as that?" he asked with one of his mostwinning laughs.
"Good looking? I don't know," replied Hals, "you are the best sitter Ihave ever had. To-day has been one of perfect, unalloyed enjoyment tome."
All his vulgar, mean little ways had vanished, his obsequiousness, thatshifty look of indecision in the eyes which proclaimed a growing vice.His entire face flowed with the enthusiasm of a creator who has had tostrain every nerve to accomplish his work, but having accomplished it,is entirely satisfied with it. He could not tear himself away from the
picture, but stood looking at it long after the gloom had obliteratedall but its most striking lights.
Then only did he realise that he was both hungry and weary.
"Will you come with me to the 'Lame Cow,'" he said to his friend, "wecan eat and drink there and hear all the latest news. I want to seeCornelius Beresteyn if I can; he must be deeply stricken with grief andwill have need of the sympathy of all his well-wishers. What say you?Shall we get supper at the 'Lame Cow'?"
To which proposition Diogenes readily agreed. It pleased his spirit ofadventure to risk a chance encounter in the popular tavern with NicolaesBeresteyn or the Lord of Stoutenburg, both of whom must think him atthis moment several leagues away in the direction of Rotterdam. Neitherof these gentlemen would venture to question him in a public place;moreover it had been agreed from the first that he was to be given anabsolutely free hand with regard to his plans for conducting thejongejuffrouw to her ultimate destination.
Altogether the afternoon and evening promised to be more amusing thanDiogenes had anticipated.