Chapter 3
The Pupil of John de Witt
Whilst the clamour of the crowd in the square of Buytenhof,
which grew more and more menacing against the two brothers,
determined John de Witt to hasten the departure of his
brother Cornelius, a deputation of burghers had gone to the
Town-hall to demand the withdrawal of Tilly's horse.
It was not far from the Buytenhof to Hoogstraet (High
Street); and a stranger, who since the beginning of this
scene had watched all its incidents with intense interest,
was seen to wend his way with, or rather in the wake of, the
others towards the Town-hall, to hear as soon as possible
the current news of the hour.
This stranger was a very young man, of scarcely twenty-two
or three, with nothing about him that bespoke any great
energy. He evidently had his good reasons for not making
himself known, as he hid his face in a handkerchief of fine
Frisian linen, with which he incessantly wiped his brow or
his burning lips.
With an eye keen as that of a bird of prey, -- with a long
aquiline nose, a finely cut mouth, which he generally kept
open, or rather which was gaping like the edges of a wound,
-- this man would have presented to Lavater, if Lavater had
lived at that time, a subject for physiognomical
observations which at the first blush would not have been
very favourable to the person in question.
"What difference is there between the figure of the
conqueror and that of the pirate?" said the ancients. The
difference only between the eagle and the vulture, --
serenity or restlessness.
And indeed the sallow physiognomy, the thin and sickly body,
and the prowling ways of the stranger, were the very type of
a suspecting master, or an unquiet thief; and a police
officer would certainly have decided in favour of the latter
supposition, on account of the great care which the
mysterious person evidently took to hide himself.
He was plainly dressed, and apparently unarmed; his arm was
lean but wiry, and his hands dry, but of an aristocratic
whiteness and delicacy, and he leaned on the shoulder of an
officer, who, with his hand on his sword, had watched the
scenes in the Buytenhof with eager curiosity, very natural
in a military man, until his companion drew him away with
him.
On arriving at the square of the Hoogstraet, the man with
the sallow face pushed the other behind an open shutter,
from which corner he himself began to survey the balcony of
the Town-hall.
At the savage yells of the mob, the window of the Town-hall
opened, and a man came forth to address the people.
"Who is that on the balcony?" asked the young man, glancing
at the orator.
"It is the Deputy Bowelt," replied the officer.
"What sort of a man is he? Do you know anything of him?"
"An honest man; at least I believe so, Monseigneur."
Hearing this character given of Bowelt, the young man showed
signs of such a strange disappointment and evident
dissatisfaction that the officer could not but remark it,
and therefore added, --
"At least people say so, Monseigneur. I cannot say anything
about it myself, as I have no personal acquaintance with
Mynheer Bowelt."
"An honest man," repeated he who was addressed as
Monseigneur; "do you mean to say that he is an honest man
(brave homme), or a brave one (homme brave)?"
"Ah, Monseigneur must excuse me; I would not presume to draw
such a fine distinction in the case of a man whom, I assure
your Highness once more, I know only by sight."
"If this Bowelt is an honest man," his Highness continued,
"he will give to the demand of these furibund petitioners a
very queer reception."
The nervous quiver of his hand, which moved on the shoulder
of his companion as the fingers of a player on the keys of a
harpsichord, betrayed his burning impatience, so ill
concealed at certain times, and particularly at that moment,
under the icy and sombre expression of his face.
The chief of the deputation of the burghers was then heard
addressing an interpellation to Mynheer Bowelt, whom he
requested to let them know where the other deputies, his
colleagues, were.
"Gentlemen," Bowelt repeated for the second time, "I assure
you that in this moment I am here alone with Mynheer
d'Asperen, and I cannot take any resolution on my own
responsibility."
"The order! we want the order!" cried several thousand
voices.
Mynheer Bowelt wished to speak, but his words were not
heard, and he was only seen moving his arms in all sorts of
gestures, which plainly showed that he felt his position to
be desperate. When, at last, he saw that he could not make
himself heard, he turned round towards the open window, and
called Mynheer d'Asperen.
The latter gentleman now made his appearance on the balcony,
where he was saluted with shouts even more energetic than
those with which, ten minutes before, his colleague had been
received.
This did not prevent him from undertaking the difficult task
of haranguing the mob; but the mob preferred forcing the
guard of the States -- which, however, offered no resistance
to the sovereign people -- to listening to the speech of
Mynheer d'Asperen.
"Now, then," the young man coolly remarked, whilst the crowd
was rushing into the principal gate of the Town-hall, "it
seems the question will be discussed indoors, Captain. Come
along, and let us hear the debate."
"Oh, Monseigneur! Monseigneur! take care!"
"Of what?"
"Among these deputies there are many who have had dealings
with you, and it would be sufficient, that one of them
should recognize your Highness."
"Yes, that I might be charged with having been the
instigator of all this work, indeed, you are right," said
the young man, blushing for a moment from regret of having
betrayed so much eagerness. "From this place we shall see
them return with or without the order for the withdrawal of
the dragoons, then we may judge which is greater, Mynheer
Bowelt's honesty or his courage."
"But," replied the officer, looking with astonishment at the
personage whom he addressed as Monseigneur, "but your
Highness surely does not suppose for one instant that the
deputies will order Tilly's horse to quit their post?"
"Why not?" the young man quietly retorted.
"Because doing so would simply be signing the death warrant
of Cornelius and John de Witt."
"We shall see," his Highness replied, with the most perfect
coolness; "God alone knows what is going on within the
hearts of men."
The officer looked askance at the impassible figure of his
companion, and grew pale: he was an honest man as well as a
brave one.
From the spot where they stood, his Highness and his
attendant heard the tumult and the heavy tramp of the crowd
on the staircase of the Town-hall. The noise thereupon
sounded through the windows of the hall, on the balcony of
which Mynheers Bowelt and D'Asperen had presented
themselves. These two gentlemen had retired into the
building, very likely from fear of being forced over the
balustrade by the pressure of the crowd.
After this, fluctuating shadows in tumultuous confusion were
seen flitting to and fro across the windows: the council
hall was filling.
Suddenly the noise subsided, and as suddenly again it rose
with redoubled intensity, and at last reached such a pitch
that the old building shook to the very roof.
At length, the living stream poured back through the
galleries and stairs to the arched gateway, from which it
was seen issuing like waters from a spout.
At the head of the first group, man was flying rather than
running, his face hideously distorted with satanic glee:
this man was the surgeon Tyckelaer.
"We have it! we have it!" he cried, brandishing a paper in
the air.
"They have got the order!" muttered the officer in
amazement.
"Well, then," his Highness quietly remarked, "now I know
what to believe with regard to Mynheer Bowelt's honesty and
courage: he has neither the one nor the other."
Then, looking with a steady glance after the crowd which was
rushing along before him, he continued, --
"Let us now go to the Buytenhof, Captain; I expect we shall
see a very strange sight there."
The officer bowed, and, without making any reply, followed
in the steps of his master.
There was an immense crowd in the square and about the
neighbourhood of the prison. But the dragoons of Tilly still
kept it in check with the same success and with the same
firmness.
It was not long before the Count heard the increasing din of
the approaching multitude, the first ranks of which rushed
on with the rapidity of a cataract.
At the same time he observed the paper, which was waving
above the surface of clenched fists and glittering arms.
"Halloa!" he said, rising in his stirrups, and touching his
lieutenant with the knob of his sword; "I really believe
those rascals have got the order."
"Dastardly ruffians they are," cried the lieutenant.
It was indeed the order, which the burgher guard received
with a roar of triumph. They immediately sallied forth, with
lowered arms and fierce shouts, to meet Count Tilly's
dragoons.
But the Count was not the man to allow them to approach
within an inconvenient distance.
"Stop!" he cried, "stop, and keep off from my horse, or I
shall give the word of command to advance."
"Here is the order!" a hundred insolent voices answered at
once.
He took it in amazement, cast a rapid glance on it, and said
quite aloud, --
"Those who have signed this order are the real murderers of
Cornelius de Witt. I would rather have my two hands cut off
than have written one single letter of this infamous order."
And, pushing back with the hilt of his sword the man who
wanted to take it from him, he added, --
"Wait a minute, papers like this are of importance, and are
to be kept."
Saying this, he folded up the document, and carefully put it
in the pocket of his coat.
Then, turning round towards his troop, he gave the word of
command, --
"Tilly's dragoons, wheel to the right!"
After this, he added, in an undertone, yet loud enough for
his words to be not altogether lost to those about him, --
"And now, ye butchers, do your work!"
A savage yell, in which all the keen hatred and ferocious
triumph rife in the precincts of the prison simultaneously
burst forth, and accompanied the departure of the dragoons,
as they were quietly filing off.
The Count tarried behind, facing to the last the infuriated
populace, which advanced at the same rate as the Count
retired.
John de Witt, therefore, had by no means exaggerated the
danger, when, assisting his brother in getting up, he
hurried his departure. Cornelius, leaning on the arm of the
Ex-Grand Pensionary, descended the stairs which led to the
courtyard. At the bottom of the staircase he found little
Rosa, trembling all over.
"Oh, Mynheer John," she said, "what a misfortune!"
"What is it, my child?" asked De Witt.
"They say that they are gone to the Town-hall to fetch the
order for Tilly's horse to withdraw."
"You do not say so!" replied John. "Indeed, my dear child,
if the dragoons are off, we shall be in a very sad plight."
"I have some advice to give you," Rosa said, trembling even
more violently than before.
"Well, let us hear what you have to say, my child. Why
should not God speak by your mouth?"
"Now, then, Mynheer John, if I were in your place, I should
not go out through the main street."
"And why so, as the dragoons of Tilly are still at their
post?"
"Yes, but their order, as long as it is not revoked, enjoins
them to stop before the prison."
"Undoubtedly."
"Have you got an order for them to accompany you out of the
town?"
"We have not?"
"Well, then, in the very moment when you have passed the
ranks of the dragoons you will fall into the hands of the
people."
"But the burgher guard?"
"Alas! the burgher guard are the most enraged of all."
"What are we to do, then?"
"If I were in your place, Mynheer John," the young girl
timidly continued, "I should leave by the postern, which
leads into a deserted by-lane, whilst all the people are
waiting in the High Street to see you come out by the
principal entrance. From there I should try to reach the
gate by which you intend to leave the town."
"But my brother is not able to walk," said John.
"I shall try," Cornelius said, with an expression of most
sublime fortitude.
"But have you not got your carriage?" asked the girl.
"The carriage is down near the great entrance."
"Not so," she replied. "I considered your coachman to be a
faithful man, and I told him to wait for you at the
postern."
The two brothers looked first at each other, and then at
Rosa, with a glance full of the most tender gratitude.
"The question is now," said the Grand Pensionary, "whether
Gryphus will open this door for us."
"Indeed, he will do no such thing," said Rosa.
"Well, and how then?"
"I have foreseen his refusal, and just now whilst he was
talking from the window of the porter's lodge with a
dragoon, I took away the key from his bunch."
"And you have got it?"
"Here it is, Mynheer John."
"My child," said Cornelius, "I have nothing to give you in
exchange for the service you are rendering us but the Bible
which you will find in my room; it is the last gift of an
honest man; I hope it will bring you good luck."
"I thank you, Master Cornelius, it shall never leave me,"
replied Rosa.
And then, with a sigh, she said to herself, "What a pity
that I do not know how to read!"
"The shouts and cries are growing louder and louder," said
John; "there is not a moment to be lost."
"Come along, gentlemen," said the girl, who now led the two
brothers through an inner lobby to the back of the prison.
Guided by her, they descended a staircase of about a dozen
steps; traversed a small courtyard, which was surrounded by
castellated walls; and, the arched door having been opened
for them by Rosa, they emerged into a lonely street where
their carriage was ready to receive them.
"Quick, quick, my masters! do you hear them?" cried the
coachman, in a deadly fright.
Yet, after having made Cornelius get into the carriage
first, the Grand Pensionary turned round towards the girl,
to whom he said, --
"Good-bye, my child! words could never express our
gratitude. God will reward you for having saved the lives of
two men."
Rosa took the hand which John de Witt proffered to her, and
kissed it with every show of respect.
"Go! for Heaven's sake, go!" she said; "it seems they are
going to force the gate."
John de Witt hastily got in, sat himself down by the side of
his brother, and, fastening the apron of the carriage,
called out to the coachman, --
"To the Tol-Hek!"
The Tol-Hek was the iron gate leading to the harbor of
Schevening, in which a small vessel was waiting for the two
brothers.
The carriage drove off with the fugitives at the full speed
of a pair of spirited Flemish horses. Rosa followed them
with her eyes until they turned the corner of the street,
upon which, closing the door after her, she went back and
threw the key into a cell.
The noise which had made Rosa suppose that the people were
forcing the prison door was indeed owing to the mob
battering against it after the square had been left by the
military.
Solid as the gate was, and although Gryphus, to do him
justice, stoutly enough refused to open it, yet evidently it
could not resist much longer, and the jailer, growing very
pale, put to himself the question whether it would not be
better to open the door than to allow it to be forced, when
he felt some one gently pulling his coat.
He turned round and saw Rosa.
"Do you hear these madmen?" he said.
"I hear them so well, my father, that in your place ---- "
"You would open the door?"
"No, I should allow it to be forced."
"But they will kill me!"
"Yes, if they see you."
"How shall they not see me?"
"Hide yourself."
"Where?"
"In the secret dungeon."
"But you, my child?"
"I shall get into it with you. We shall lock the door and
when they have left the prison, we shall again come forth
from our hiding place."
"Zounds, you are right, there!" cried Gryphus; "it's
surprising how much sense there is in such a little head!"
Then, as the gate began to give way amidst the triumphant
shouts of the mob, she opened a little trap-door, and said,
--
"Come along, come along, father."
"But our prisoners?"
"God will watch over them, and I shall watch over you."
Gryphus followed his daughter, and the trap-door closed over
his head, just as the broken gate gave admittance to the
populace.
The dungeon where Rosa had induced her father to hide
himself, and where for the present we must leave the two,
offered to them a perfectly safe retreat, being known only
to those in power, who used to place there important
prisoners of state, to guard against a rescue or a revolt.
The people rushed into the prison, with the cry --
"Death to the traitors! To the gallows with Cornelius de
Witt! Death! death!"
