The Burgomaster's Wife — Complete

  Produced by David Widger

  THE BURGOMASTER'S WIFE, Complete

  By Georg Ebers

  Translated from the German by Mary J. Safford

  BARONESS SOPHIE VON BRANDENSTEIN, nee EBERS.

  My reason for dedicating a book, and particularly this book, to you, theonly sister of my dead father, needs no word of explanation between us.From early childhood you have been a dear and faithful friend to me,and certainly have not forgotten how industriously I labored, while yourguest seventeen years ago, in arranging the material which constitutesthe foundation of the "Burgomaster's Wife." You then took a friendlyinterest in many a note of facts, that had seemed to me extraordinary,admirable, or amusing, and when the claims of an arduous professionprevented me from pursuing my favorite occupation of studying thehistory of Holland, my mother's home, in the old way, never wearied ofreminding me of the fallow material, that had previously awakened yoursympathy.

  At last I have been permitted to give the matter so long laid aside itsjust dues. A beautiful portion of Holland's glorious history affords theespalier, around which the tendrils of my narrative entwine. You havewatched them grow, and therefore will view them kindly and indulgently.

  In love and friendship,

  Ever the same,

  GEORG EBERS

  Leipsic, Oct. 30th, 1881.

  THE BURGOMASTER'S WIFE.

  CHAPTER I.

  In the year 1574 A. D. spring made its joyous entry into the Netherlandsat an unusually early date.

  The sky was blue, gnats sported in the sunshine, white butterfliesalighted on the newly-opened yellow flowers, and beside one of thenumerous ditches intersecting the wide plain stood a stork, snapping ata fine frog; the poor fellow soon writhed in its enemy's red beak. Onegulp--the merry jumper vanished, and its murderer, flapping its wings,soared high into the air. On flew the bird over gardens filled withblossoming fruit-trees, trimly laid-out flower-beds, and gaily-paintedarbors, across the frowning circlet of walls and towers that girdledthe city, over narrow houses with high, pointed gables, and neat streetsbordered with elm, poplar, linden and willow-trees, decked with thefirst green leaves of spring. At last it alighted on a lofty gable-roof,on whose ridge was its firmly-fastened nest. After generously giving upits prey to the little wife brooding over the eggs, it stood on oneleg and gazed thoughtfully down upon the city, whose shining red tilesgleamed spick and span from the green velvet carpet of the meadows. Thebird had known beautiful Leyden, the gem of Holland, for many a year,and was familiar with all the branches of the Rhine that divided thestately city into numerous islands, and over which arched as many stonebridges as there are days in five months of the year; but surely manychanges had occurred here since the stork's last departure for thesouth.

  Where were the citizens' gay summer-houses and orchards, where thewooden frames on which the weavers used to stretch their dark andcolored cloths?

  Whatever plant or work of human hands had risen, outside the citywalls and towers to the height of a man's breast, thus interrupting theuniformity of the plain, had vanished from the earth, and beyond, onthe bird's best hunting-grounds, brownish spots sown with black circlesappeared among the green of the meadows.

  Late in October of the preceding year, just after the storks left thecountry, a Spanish army had encamped here, and a few hours before thereturn of the winged wanderers in the first opening days of spring, thebesiegers retired without having accomplished their purpose.

  Barren spots amid the luxuriant growth of vegetation marked the placeswhere they had pitched their tents, the black cinders of the burnt coalstheir camp-fires.

  The sorely-threatened inhabitants of the rescued city, with thankfulhearts, uttered sighs of relief. The industrious, volatile populacehad speedily forgotten the sufferings endured, for early spring is sobeautiful, and never does a rescued life seem so delicious as when weare surrounded by the joys of spring.

  A new and happier time appeared to have dawned, not only for Nature butfor human beings. The troops quartered in the besieged city, which hadthe day before committed many an annoyance, had been dismissed with songand music. The carpenter's axe flashed in the spring sunlight before thered walls, towers and gates, and cut sharply into the beams fromwhich new scaffolds and frames were to be erected; noble cattle grazedpeacefully undisturbed around the city, whose desolated gardens werebeing dug, sowed and planted afresh. In the streets and houses athousand hands, which but a short time before had guided spears andarquebuses on the walls and towers, were busy at useful work, and oldpeople sat quietly before their doors to let the warm spring sun shineon their backs.

  Few discontented faces were to be seen in Leyden on this eighteenth ofApril. True, there was no lack of impatient ones, and whoever wantedto seek them need only go to the principal school, where noon wasapproaching and many boys gazed far more eagerly through the openwindows of the school-room, than at the teacher's lips.

  But in that part of the spacious hall where the older lads receivedinstruction, no restlessness prevailed. True, the spring sun shone ontheir books and exercises too, the spring called them into the openair, but even more powerful than its alluring voice seemed the influenceexerted on their young minds by what they were now hearing.

  Forty sparkling eyes were turned towards the bearded man, who addressedthem in his deep voice. Even wild Jan Mulder had dropped the knife withwhich he had begun to cut on his desk a well-executed figure of a ham,and was listening attentively.

  The noon bell now rang from the neighboring church, and soon after washeard from the tower of the town-hall, the little boys noisily left theroom, but--strange-=the patience of the older ones still held out; theywere surely hearing things that did not exactly belong to their lessons.

  The man who stood before them was no teacher in the school, but thecity clerk, Van Hout, who, to-day filled the place of his sick friend,Verstroot, master of arts and preacher. During the ringing of the bellshe had closed the book, and now said:

  "'Suspendo lectionem.' Jan Mulder, how would you translate my'suspendere'?"

  "Hang," replied the boy.

  "Hang!" laughed Van Hout. "You might be hung from a hook perhaps, butwhere should we hang a lesson? Adrian Van der Werff."

  The lad called rose quickly, saying:

  "'Suspendere lectionen' means to break off the lesson."

  "Very well; and if we wanted to hang up Jan Mulder, what should we say?"

  "Patibulare--ad patibulum!" cried the scholars. Van Hout, who had justbeen smiling, grew very grave. Drawing a long breath, he said:

  "Patibulo is a bad Latin word, and your fathers, who formerly sat here,understood its meaning far less thoroughly than you. Now, every child inthe Netherlands knows it, Alva has impressed it on our minds. More thaneighteen thousand worthy citizens have come to the gallows through his'ad patibulum.'"

  With these words he pulled his short black doublet through his girdle,advanced nearer the first desk, and bending his muscular body forward,said with constantly increasing emotion:

  "'This shall be enough for to-day, boys. It will do no great harm, ifyou afterwards forget the names earned here. But always rememberone thing: your country first of all. Leonidas and his three hundredSpartans did not die in vain, so long as there are men ready to followtheir example. Your turn will come too. It is not my business to boast,but truth is truth. We Hollanders have furnished fifty times threehundred men for the freedom of our native soil. In such stormy timesthere are steadfast men; even boys have shown themselves great. Ulrichyonder, at your head, can bear his nickname of Lowing with honor.'Hither Persians--hither Greeks!' was said in ancient times, but we cry:'Hither Netherlands, hit
her Spain!' And indeed, the proud Darius neverravaged Greece as King Philip has devastated Holland. Ay, my lads,many flowers bloom in the breasts of men. Among them is hatred of thepoisonous hemlock. Spain has sowed it in our gardens. I feel itgrowing within me, and you too feel and ought to feel it. But don'tmisunderstand me! 'Hither Spain--hither Netherlands!' is the cry, andnot: 'Hither Catholics and hither Protestants.' Every faith may beright in the Lord's eyes, if only the man strives earnestly to walk inChrist's ways. At the throne of Heaven, it will not be asked: Are youPapist, Calvinist, or Lutheran? but: What were your intentions and acts?Respect every man's belief; but despise him who makes common cause withthe tyrant against the liberty of our native land. Now pray silently,then you may go home."

  The scholars rose; Van Hout wiped the perspiration from his highforehead, and while the boys were collecting books, pencils, and pens,said slowly, as if apologizing to himself for the words already uttered:

  "What I have told you perhaps does not belong to the school-room; but,my lads, this battle is still far from being ended, and though you mustoccupy the school-benches for a while, you are the future soldiers.Lowing, remain behind, I have something to say to you."

  He slowly turned his back to the boys, who rushed out of doors. In acorner of the yard of St. Peter's church, which was behind the buildingand entered by few of the passers-by, they stood still, and from amidthe wild confusion of exclamations arose a sort of consultation,to which the organ-notes echoing from the church formed a strangeaccompaniment.

  They were trying to decide upon the game to be played in the afternoon.

  It was a matter of course, after what Van Hout had said, that thereshould be a battle; it had not even been proposed by anybody, but thediscussion that now arose proceeded from the supposition.

  It was soon decided that patriots and Spaniards, not Greeks andPersians, were to appear in the lists against each other; but when theburgomaster's son, Adrian Van der Werff, a lad of fourteen, proposed toform the two parties, and in the imperious way peculiar to him attemptedto make Paul Van Swieten and Claus Dirkson Spaniards, he encounteredviolent opposition, and the troublesome circumstance was discovered thatno one was willing to represent a foreign soldier.

  Each boy wanted to make somebody else a Castilian, and fight himselfunder the banner of the Netherlands. But friends and foes are necessaryfor a war, and Holland's heroic courage required Spaniards to proveit. The youngsters grew excited, the cheeks of the disputants beganto flush, here and there clenched fists were raised, and everythingindicated that a horrible civil war would precede the battle to be giventhe foes of the country.

  In truth, these lively boys were ill-suited to play the part of KingPhilip's gloomy, stiff-necked soldiers. Amid the many fair heads, fewlads were seen with brown locks, and only one with black hair and darkeyes. This was Adam Baersdorp, whose father, like Van der Werff's,was one of the leaders of the citizens. When he too refused to act aSpaniard, one of the boys exclaimed:

  "You won't? Yet my father says your father is half a Glipper,--[Thename given in Holland to those who sympathized with Spain]--and a wholePapist to boot."

  At these words young Baersdorp threw his books on the ground, and wasrushing with upraised fist upon his enemy--but Adrian Van der Werffhastily interposed, crying:

  "For shame, Cornelius.--I'll stop the mouth of anybody who utters suchan insult again. Catholics are Christians, as well as we. You heard itfrom Van Hout, and my father says so too. Will you be a Spaniard, Adam,yes or no?"

  "No!" cried the latter firmly. "And if anybody else--"

  "You can quarrel afterward," said Adrian Van der Werff, interrupting hisexcited companions, then good-naturedly picking up the books Baersdorphad flung down, and handing them to him, continued resolutely, "I'll bea Spaniard to-day. Who else?"

  "I, I, I too, for aught I care," shouted several of the scholars, andthe forming of the two parties would have been carried on in the bestorder to the end, if the boys' attention had not been diverted by afresh incident.

  A young gentleman, followed by a black servant, came up the streetdirectly towards them. He too was a Netherlander, but had little incommon with the school-boys except his age, a red and white complexion,fair hair, and clear blue eyes, eyes that looked arrogantly out uponthe world. Every step showed that he considered himself an importantpersonage, and the gaily-costumed negro, who carried a few recentlypurchased articles behind him, imitated this bearing in a most comicalway. The negro's head was held still farther back than the youngnoble's, whose stiff Spanish ruff prevented him from moving his handsomehead as freely as other mortals.

  "That ape, Wibisma," said one of the school-boys, pointing to theapproaching nobleman.

  All eyes turned towards him, scornfully scanning his little velvet hatdecked with a long plume, the quilted red satin garment padded in thebreast and sleeves, the huge puffs of his short brown breeches, and thebrilliant scarlet silk stockings that closely fitted his well-formedlimbs.

  "The ape," repeated Paul Van Swieten. "He wants to be a cardinal, that'swhy he wears so much red."

  "And looks as Spanish as if he came straight from Madrid," cried anotherlad, while a third added:

  "The Wibismas certainly were not to be found here, so long as bread wasshort with us."

  The Wibismas are all Glippers.

  "And he struts about on week-days, dressed in velvet and silk," saidAdrian. "Just look at the black boy the red-legged stork has broughtwith him to Leyden."

  The scholars burst into a loud laugh, and as soon as the youth hadreached them, Paul Van Swieten snarled in a nasal tone:

  "How did deserting suit you? How are affairs in Spain, master Glipper?"

  The young noble raised his head still higher, the negro did the same,and both walked quietly on, even when Adrian shouted in his ear:

  "Little Glipper, tell me, for how many pieces of silver did Judas sellthe Saviour?"

  Young Matanesse Van Wibisma made an indignant gesture, but controlledhimself until Jan Mulder stepped in front of him, holding his littlecloth cap, into which he had thrust a hen's feather, under his chin likea beggar, and saying humbly:

  "Give me a little shrove-money for our tom-cat, Sir Grandee; he stole aleg of veal from the butcher yesterday."

  "Out of my way!" said the youth in a haughty, resolute tone, trying topush Mulder aside with the back of his hand.

  "Hands off, Glipper!" cried the school-boys, raising their clenchedhands threateningly.

  "Then let me alone," replied Wibisma, "I want no quarrel, least of allwith you."

  "Why not with us?" asked Adrian Van der Werff, irritated by thesupercilious, arrogant tone of the last words.

  The youth shrugged his shoulders, but Adrian cried: "Because you likeyour Spanish costume better than our doublets of Leyden cloth."

  Here he paused, for Jan Mulder stole behind Wibisma, struck his hat downon his head with a book, and while Nicolas Van Wibisma was trying tofree his eyes from the covering that shaded them, exclaimed:

  "There, Sir Grandee, now the little hat sits firm! You can keep it on,even before the king."

  The negro could not go to his master's assistance, for his arms werefilled with parcels, but the young noble did not call him, knowinghow cowardly his black servant was, and feeling strong enough to helphimself.

  A costly clasp, which he had just received as a gift on his seventeenthbirthday, confined the plume in his hat; but without a thought he flungit aside, stretched out his arms as if for a wrestling-match, and withflorid cheeks, asked in a loud, resolute tone: "Who did that?"

  Jan Mulder had hastily retreated among his companions, and instead ofcoming forward and giving his name, called:

  "Look for the hat-fuller, Glipper! We'll play blindman's buff."

  The youth, frantic with rage, repeated his question. When, instead ofany other answer, the boys entered into Jan Mulder's jest, shoutinggaily: "Yes, play blind-man's buff! Look for the hat-fuller. Come,little Glipper, begin." Nicolas could contain him
self no longer, butshouted furiously to the laughing throng:

  "Cowardly rabble!"

  Scarcely had the words been uttered, when Paul Van Swieten raised hisgrammar, bound in hog-skin, and hurled it at Wibisma's breast.

  Other books followed, amid loud outcries, striking him on the legs andshoulders. Bewildered, he shielded his face with his hands and retreatedto the church-yard wall, where he stood still and prepared to rush uponhis foes.

  The stiff, fashionable high Spanish ruff no longer confined his handsomehead with its floating golden locks. Freely and boldly he looked hisenemies in the face, stretched the young limbs hardened by many aknightly exercise, and with a true Netherland oath sprang upon AdrianVan der Werff, who stood nearest.

  After a short struggle, the burgomaster's son, inferior in strength andage to his opponent, lay extended on the ground; but the other lads, whohad not ceased shouting, "Glipper, Glipper," seized the young noble, whowas kneeling on his vanquished foe.

  Nicolas struggled bravely, but his enemies' superior power was toogreat.

  Frantic with fury, wild with rage and shame, he snatched the dagger fromhis belt.

  The boys now raised a frightful yell, and two of them rushed uponNicolas to wrest the weapon from him. This was quickly accomplished; thedagger flew on the pavement, but Van Swieten sprang back with a low cry,for the sharp blade had struck his arm, and the bright blood streamed onthe ground.

  For several minutes the shouts of the lads and the piteous cries of theblack page drowned the beautiful melody of the organ, pouring fromthe windows of the church. Suddenly the music ceased; instead of theintricate harmony the slowly-dying note of a single pipe was heard, anda young man rushed out of the door of the sacristy of the House of God.He quickly perceived the cause of the wild uproar that had interruptedhis practising, and a smile flitted over the handsome face which, framedby a closely-cut beard, had just looked startled enough, though thereproving words and pushes with which he separated the enraged lads wereearnest enough, and by no means failed to produce their effect.

  The boys knew the musician, Wilhelm Corneliussohn, and offered noresistance, for they liked him, and his dozen years of seniority gavehim an undisputed authority among them. Not a hand was again raisedagainst Wibisma, but the boys, all shouting and talking together,crowded around the organist to accuse Nicolas and defend themselves.

  Paul Van Swieten's wound was slight. He stood outside the circle ofhis companions, supporting the injured left arm with his right hand. Hefrequently blew upon the burning spot in his flesh, over which a bitof cloth was wrapped, but curiosity concerning the result of thisentertaining brawl was stronger than the wish to have it bandaged andhealed.

  As the peace-maker's work was already drawing to a close, the woundedlad, pointing with his sound hand in the direction of the school,suddenly called warningly:

  "There comes Herr von Nordwyk. Let the Glipper go, or there will betrouble."

  Paul Van Swieten again clasped his wounded arm with his right hand andran swiftly around the church. Several other boys followed, but thenew-comer of whom they were afraid, a man scarcely thirty years old, hadlegs of considerable length, and knew how to use them bravely.

  "Stop, boys!" he shouted in an echoing voice of command. "Stop! What hasHappened here?"

  Every one in Leyden respected the learned and brave young nobleman, soall the lads who had not instantly obeyed Van Swieten's warning shout,stood still until Herr von Nordwyk reached them.

  A strange, eager light sparkled in this man's clever eyes, and a subtlesmile hovered around his moustached lip, as he called to the musician:

  "What has happened here, Meister Wilhelm? Didn't the clamor of Minerva'sapprentices harmonize with your organ-playing, or did--but by all thecolors of Iris, that's surely Nico Matanesse, young Wibisma! And how helooks! Brawling in the shadow of the church--and you here too, Adrian,and you, Meister Wilhelm?"

  "I separated them," replied the other quietly, smoothing his rumpledcuffs.

  "With perfect calmness, but impressively--like your organ-music," saidthe commander, laughing.

  "Who began the fight? You, young sir? or the others?"

  Nicolas, in his excitement, shame, and indignation, could find nocoherent words, but Adrian came forward saying: "We wrestled together.Don't be too much vexed with us, Herr Janus."

  Nicolas cast a friendly glance at his foe.

  Herr von Nordwyk, Jan Van der Does, or as a learned man he preferredto call himself, Janus Dousa, was by no means satisfied with thisinformation, but exclaimed:

  "Patience, patience! You look suspicious enough, Meister Adrian; comehere and tell me, 'atrekeos,' according to the truth, what has beengoing on."

  The boy obeyed the command and told his story honestly, withoutconcealing or palliating anything that had occurred.

  "Hm," said Dousa, after the lad had finished his report. "A difficultcase. No one is to be acquitted. Your cause would be the better one, hadit not been for the knife, my fine young nobleman, but you, Adrian,and you, you chubby-cheeked rascals, who--There comes the rector--Ifhe catches you, you'll certainly see nothing but four walls the rest ofthis beautiful day. I should be sorry for that."

  The chubby-cheeked rascals, and Adrian also, understood this hint, andwithout stopping to take leave scampered around the corner of the churchlike a flock of doves pursued by a hawk.

  As soon as they had vanished, the commander approached young Nicolas,saying:

  "Vexatious business! What was right to them is just to you. Go to yourhome. Are you visiting your aunt?"

  "Yes, my lord," replied the young noble. "Is your father in the citytoo?" Nicolas was silent.

  "He doesn't wish to be seen?"

  Nicolas nodded assent, and Dousa continued:

  "Leyden stands open to every Netherlander, even to you. To be sure, ifyou go about like King Philip's page, and show contempt to your equals,you must endure the consequences yourself. There lies the dagger, myyoung friend, and there is your hat. Pick them up, and remember thatsuch a weapon is no toy. Many a man has spoiled his whole life, bythoughtlessly using one a single moment. The superior numbers thatpressed upon you may excuse you. But how will you get to your aunt'shouse in that tattered doublet?"

  "My cloak is in the church," said the musician, "I'll give it to theyoung gentleman."

  "Bravo, Meister Wilhelm!" replied Dousa. "Wait here, my little master,and then go home. I wish the time, when your father would value mygreeting, might come again. Do you know why it is no longer pleasant tohim?"

  "No, my lord."

  "Then I'll tell you. Because he is fond of Spain, and I cling to theNetherlands."

  "We are Netherlanders as well as you," replied Nicolas with glowingcheeks.

  "Scarcely," answered Dousa calmly, putting his hand up to his thin chin,and intending to add a kinder word to the sharp one, when the youthvehemently exclaimed:

  "Take back that 'scarcely,' Herr von Nordwyk." Dousa gazed at the boldlad in surprise, and again an expression of amusement hovered about hislips. Then he said kindly:

  "I like you, Herr Nicolas; and shall rejoice if you wish to become atrue Hollander. There comes Meister Wilhelm with his cloak. Give me yourhand. No, not this one, the other."

  Nicolas hesitated, but Janus grasped the boy's right hand in both ofhis, bent his tall figure to the latter's ear, and said in so low a tonethat the musician could not understand:

  "Ere we part, take with you this word of counsel from one who meanskindly. Chains, even golden ones, drag us down, but liberty gives wings.You shine in the glittering splendor, but we strike the Spanish chainswith the sword, and I devote myself to our work. Remember these words,and if you choose repeat them to your father."

  Janus Dousa turned his back on the boy, waved a farewell to themusician, and went away.