CHAPTER XXII
A DOUBLE PLEDGE
Cornelius Beresteyn had now only a few of his most intimate friendsbeside him, and when Frans Hals had finished his supper he ventured toapproach the rich patron of arts and to present his own most respectfulexpressions of sympathy.
Softened by grief the old man was more than usually gracious to theartist.
"'Tis a bitter blow, my good Hals," he said dully.
"Please God, those devils have only an eye on your money, mynheer," saidthe artist consolingly. "They will look on the jongejuffrouw as avaluable hostage and treat her with the utmost deference in the hopes ofgetting a heavy ransom from you."
"May you be speaking truly," sighed Cornelius with a disconsolate shakeof the head, "but think what she must be suffering now, while she isuncertain of her own fate, poor child!"
"Alas!"
"This delay is killing me, Hals," continued the old man, who in themidst of his more pompous friends seemed instinctively drawn to thesimple nature of this humble painter of pictures. "The burgomaster meanswell but his methods are slow and ponderous. All my servants anddependents have joined the first expedition toward Groningen, but Godknows how they will get on, now that Nicolaes no longer leads them. Theyhave had no training in such matters, and will hardly know how toproceed."
"You really want some one who is daring and capable, mynheer, some onewho will be as wary as those vervloekte sea-wolves and beat them attheir own game. 'Tis not so much the numbers that you want as the onebrain to direct and to act."
"True! true, my good Hals! But our best men are all at the war fightingfor our religious and political liberties, while we--the older citizensof our beloved country with our wives and our daughters--are left a preyto the tyranny of malefactors and of pirates. The burgomaster hopes toraise an efficient corps of volunteers by to-morrow ... but I doubt meif he will succeed.... I have sent for help, I have spared no money toobtain assistance ... but I am an old man myself, and my son alas! hasbeen rendered helpless at the outset, through no fault of his own...."
"But surely there are young men left in Haarlem whom wanton mischiefsuch as this would cause to boil with indignation."
"There are few young men left in Haarlem, my friend," rejoined Beresteynsadly, "the Stadtholder hath claimed the best of them. Those who areleft behind are too much engrossed in their own affairs to care greatlyabout 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 leftin our cities--no longer possess that spirit of chivalry or of adventurewhich caused our forebears to give their life's blood for justice andfor liberty."
"You wrong them, mynheer," protested the artist.
"I think not. Think on it, Hals. You know Haarlem well; you know mostpeople who live in the city. Can you name me one man who would stand upbefore 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 youservice, and by God do I swear that I will bring your daughter back toyou!' So would our fathers have spoken, my good Hals, before commerceand prosperity had dulled the edge of reckless gallantry. By God! theywere fine men in those days--we are mere pompous, obese, self-satisfiedshopkeepers now."
There was a great deal of bitter truth in what Cornelius Beresteyn hadsaid: Hals--the artist--who had listened to the complacent talk that hadfilled this room awhile ago--who knew of the commercial transactionsthat nowadays went by the name of art-patronage--he knew that the oldman was not far wrong in his estimate of his fellow-countrymen in theserecent prosperous times.
It was the impulsive, artistic nature in him which caused him to seewhat he merely imagined--chivalry, romance, primeval notions of braveryand of honour.
He looked round the room--now almost deserted--somewhat at a loss forwords that would soothe Beresteyn's bitter spirit of resentment, andcasually his glance fell on the broad figure of his friend Diogenes,who, leaning back in his chair, his plumed hat tilted rakishly acrosshis brow, had listened to the conversation between the two men with anexpression of infinite amusement literally dancing in his eyes. And itwas that same artistic, impulsive nature which caused Frans Hals then toexclaim 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 ofchivalry which you say is dead among the men of Holland. He would standup boldly before you, hat in hand and say to you: 'Mynheer, I am readyto do you service, and by God do I swear that I will bring your daughterback 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 ofthe shoulders.
"May I not present him to you, mynheer?"
"Present him? Whom?... What nonsense is this?" asked the old man, moredazed and bewildered than before by the artist's voluble talk. "Whom doyou wish to present to me?"
"The man who I firmly believe would out of pure chivalry and the sheerlove of adventure do more toward bringing the jongejuffrouw speedilyback to you than all the burgomaster's levies of guards and punitiveexpeditions."
"You don't mean that, Hals?--'twere a cruel jest to raise without duecause 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 goodwine after having worked at high pressure all day, and his excitementhad gained the better of him--he pointed to Diogenes, who had heardevery word spoken by his friend, and at this denouement burst into along, delighted, ringing laugh.
"Ye gods!" he exclaimed, "your Olympian sense of humour is even greaterthan your might."
At an urgent appeal from Hals he rose and, hat in hand, did indeedapproach Mynheer Beresteyn, looking every inch of him a perfectembodiment of that spirit of adventure which was threatening to bewafted away from these too prosperous shores. His tall figure looked ofheroic proportions in this low room and by contrast with the small,somewhat obese burghers who still sat close to Cornelius, havinglistened in silence to the latter's colloquy with the artist. His brighteyes twinkled, his moustache bristled, his lips quivered with theenjoyment 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 romanticdisposition revelled in this presentation, "but there's little of thephilosopher about him. He is a man of action, an invincible swordsman,a----"
"Dondersteen, my good Hals!" ejaculated Diogenes gaily, "you'll shame mebefore these gentlemen."
"There's naught to be ashamed of, sir, in the eulogy of a friend," saidCornelius Beresteyn with quiet dignity, "and 'tis a pleasure to an oldman like me to look on one so well favoured as yourself. Ah, sir! 'tisbut sorrow that I shall know in future.... My daughter ... you haveheard...?"
"I know the trouble that weighs on your soul, mynheer," replied Diogenessimply.
"You have heard then what your friend says of you?" continued theold man, whose tear-dimmed eyes gleamed with the new-born flickerof hope. "Our good Hals is enthusiastic, romantic ... mayhap he hathexaggerated ... hath in fact been mistaken...."
It was sadly pathetic to see the unfortunate father so obviouslyhovering 'twixt hope and fear, his hands trembled, there was an appealin 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 formerdeep abyss of despair.
"My daughter, sir ..." he murmured feebly, "she is all the world tome ... her mother died when she was a baby ... she is all the worldto me ... they have taken her from me ... she is so young, sir ... sobeautiful ... she is all the world to me ... I would give half myfortune to have her back safely in my arms...."
There was silence in the quaint old-wor
ld place after that--silence onlybroken by the suppressed sobs of the unfortunate man who had lost hisonly daughter. The others sat round the table, saying no word, for thepathos evoked by Beresteyn's grief was too great for words. Hals' eyeswere fixed on his friend, and he tried in vain to read and understandthe 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 rafterto rafter.
"Mynheer!" he said loudly, "you have lost your daughter. Here am I to doyou service, and by God I swear that I will bring your daughter safelyback 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 hishand, groping for that of the man who had fanned the flames of hope intoliving activity.
Diogenes, solemnly trying to look grave and earnest, took the hand thusloyally offered to him. He could have laughed aloud at the absurdity ofthe present situation. He--pledged by solemn word of honour to conveyJongejuffrouw Beresteyn to Rotterdam and there to place her into thecustody of Ben Isaje, merchant of that city, he--carrying inside hisdoublet an order to Ben Isaje to pay him 3,000 guilders, he--known tothe jongejuffrouw as the author of the outrage against her person, hewas here solemnly pledging himself to restore her safely into herfather's arms. How this was to be fulfilled, how he would contrive toearn that comfortable half of a rich Haarlem merchant's fortune, hehad--we may take it--at the present moment, not the remotest idea: forindeed, the conveying of the jongejuffrouw back to Haarlem would be nodifficult matter, once his promise to Nicolaes Beresteyn had beenredeemed. The question merely was how to do this without being denouncedby the lady herself as an impudent and double-dealing knave, whichforsooth she already held him to be.
Cornelius and his friends, however, gave him no time now for furtherreflection. All the thinking out would have to be done presently--nodoubt on the way between Haarlem and Houdekerk, and probably in a mistof driving snow--for the nonce he had to stand under the fire ofunstinted 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, whosehome 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 asigh. "I know of more than one case like your own, sir. Those Englishadventurers were well favoured and smooth tongued, and when they gailyreturned to their sea-girt island they left a long trail behind them ofbroken hearts--of sorrowing women and forsaken children."
"My mother, sir, was a saint," rejoined Diogenes earnestly, "my fathermarried 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 hatehim so, because of the wrong he did to my mother and to me. He shallnever even hear of me unless I succeed in carving mine own independentfortune, or contrive to die like a gentleman."
"Both of which, sir, you will surely do," now interposed Beresteyn withsolemn conviction. "Your acts and words do proclaim you a gentleman, andtherefore you will die one day, just as you have lived. In themeanwhile, I am as good as my word. My daughter's safety, her life andher honour are worth a fortune to me. I am reputed a wealthy man. Mybusiness is vast, and I have one million guilders lying at interest inthe hands of Mynheer Bergansius the world-famed jeweller of Amsterdam.One-half that money, sir, shall be yours together with my boundlessgratitude, if you deliver my daughter out of the hands of themalefactors who have seized her person and bring her back safe and soundto me."
"If life is granted me, sir," rejoined Diogenes imperturbably, without ablush or a tremor, "I will find your daughter and bring her safely toyou as speedily as God will allow me."
"But you cannot do this alone, sir ..." urged Cornelius, on whom doubtand fear had not yet lost their hold. "How will you set to work?"
"That, mynheer, is my secret," rejoined Diogenes placidly, "and thediscussion of my plans might jeopardise their success."
"True, sir; but remember that the anxiety which I suffer now will beincreased 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; butthe malefactors have twenty-four hours start of me. I may have tojourney far ere I come upon their track."
"But you will have companions with you, sir? Friends who will help andstand by you. Those sea-wolves are notorious for their daring and theircruelty ... they may be more numerous too than you think...."
"The harder the task, mynheer," said Diogenes with his enigmaticalsmile, "the greater will be my satisfaction if I succeed in fulfillingit."
"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 motivein undertaking this affair."
"This I'll not believe," concluded Beresteyn as he now rose to go. "Letme tell you, sir, that by your words, your very presence, you haveput new life, new hope into me. Something tells me that I can trustyou ... something tells me that you will succeed.... Without kith orkindred, sir, a man may rise to fortune by his valour: 'tis writ in yourface that you are such an one. With half a million guilders so earneda man can aspire to the fairest in the land," he added not withoutsignificance, "and there is no father who would not be proud to own sucha son."
He then shook Diogenes warmly by the hand. He was a different man to thepoor grief-stricken rag of humanity who had entered this tavern a fewhours ago. His friends also shook the young man by the hand and said agreat many more gracious and complimentary words to him which heaccepted in grave silence, his merry eyes twinkling with the humour ofit all.
The worthy burghers filed out of the tap-room one by one, in the wake ofCornelius. It was bitterly cold and the snow was again falling: theywrapped their fur-lined mantles closely round them ere going out of thewarm room, but their hats they kept in their hands until the last, andwere loth to turn their backs on Diogenes as they went. They felt as ifthey were leaving the presence of some great personage.
It was only when the heavy oaken door had fallen to for the last timebehind the pompous soberly-clad figures of the mynheers and Diogenesfound himself alone in the tapperij with his friend Frans Hals that heat last gave vent to that overpowering sense of merriment which had allalong threatened to break its bonds. He sank into the nearest chair:
"Dondersteen! Dondersteen!" he exclaimed between the several outburstsof irrepressible laughter which shook his powerful frame and brought thetears to his eyes, "Gods in Olympia! have you ever seen the like? Verrekjezelf, my good Hals, you should go straight to Paradise when you diefor having brought about this heaven-born situation. Dondersteen!Dondersteen! I had promised myself two or three hours' sleep, but wemust have a bottle of Beek's famous wine on this first!"
And Frans Hals could not for the life of him understand what there wasin this fine situation that should so arouse Diogenes' mirth.
But then Diogenes had always been an irresponsible creature, who waswont to laugh even at the most serious crisis of his life.