The Burgomaster's Wife (Historical Novel). Georg Ebers

Чтение книги онлайн.

      CHAPTER IV.

       Table of Contents

      Countless citizens had flocked to the stately townhall. News of Louis of Nassau’s defeat had spread quickly through all the eighteen wards of the city, and each wanted to learn farther particulars, express his grief and fears to those who held the same views, and hear what measures the council intended to adopt for the immediate future.

      Two messengers had only too thoroughly confirmed Baron Matanesse Van Wibisma’s communication. Louis was dead, his brother Henry missing, and his army completely destroyed.

      Jan Van Hout, who had taught the boys that morning, now came to a window, informed the citizens what a severe blow the liberty of the country had received, and in vigorous words exhorted them to support the good cause with body and soul.

      Loud cheers followed this speech. Gay caps and plumed hats were tossed in the air, canes and swords were waved, and the women and children, who had crowded among the men, fluttered their handkerchiefs, and with their shriller voices drowned the shouts of the citizens.

      The members of the valiant city-guard assembled, to charge their captain to give the council the assurance, that the “Schutterij” was ready to support William of Orange to the last penny and drop of their blood, and would rather die for the cause of Holland, than live under Spanish tyranny. Among them was seen many a grave, deeply-troubled face; for these men, who filled its ranks by their own choice, all loved William of Orange: his sorrow hurt them—and their country’s distress pierced their hearts. As soon as the four burgomasters, the eight magistrates of the city, and the members of the common council appeared at the windows, hundreds of voices joined in the Geusenlied—[Beggars’ Song or Hymn. Beggar was the name given to the patriots by those who sympathized with Spain.]—which had long before been struck up by individuals, and when at sunset the volatile populace scattered and, still singing, turned, either singly or by twos or threes, towards the taverns, to strengthen their confidence in better days and dispel many a well-justified anxiety by drink, the market-place of Leyden and its adjoining streets presented no different aspect, than if a message of victory had been read from the town-hall.

      The cheers and Beggars’ Song had sounded very powerful—but so many hundreds of Dutch throats would doubtless have been capable of shaking the air with far mightier tones.

      This very remark had been made by the three well-dressed citizens, who were walking through the wide street, past the blue stone, and the eldest said to his companions:

      “They boast and shout and seem large to themselves now, but we shall see that things will soon be very different.”

      “May God avert the worst!” replied the other, “but the Spaniards will surely advance again, and I know many in my ward who won’t vote for resistance this time.”

      “They are right, a thousand times right. Requesens is not Alva, and if we voluntarily seek the king’s pardon—”

      “There would be no blood shed and everything would take the best course.”

      “I have more love for Holland than for Spain,” said the third. “But, after Mook-Heath, resistance is a thing of the past. Orange may be an excellent prince, but the shirt is closer than the coat.”

      “And in fact we risk our lives and fortunes merely for him.”

      “My wife said so yesterday.”

      “He’ll be the last man to help trade. Believe me, many think as we do, if it were not so, the Beggars’ Song would have sounded louder.”

      “There will always be five fools to three wise men,” said the older citizen. “I took good care not to split my mouth.”

      “And after all, what great thing is there behind this outcry for freedom? Alva burnt the Bible-readers, De la Marck hangs the priests. My wife likes to go to Mass, but always does so secretly, as if she were committing a crime.”

      “We, too, cling to the good old faith.”

      “Never mind faith,” said the third. “We are Calvinists, but I take no pleasure in throwing my pennies into Orange’s maw, nor can it gratify me to again tear up the poles before the Cow-gate, ere the wind dries the yarn.”

      “Only let us hold together,” advised the older man. “People don’t express their real opinions, and any poor ragged devil might play the hero. But I tell you there will be sensible men enough in every ward, every guild, nay, even in the council, and among the burgomasters.”

      “Hush,” whispered the second citizen, “there comes Van der Werff with the city clerk and young Van der Does; they are the worst of all.”

      The three persons named came down the broad street, talking eagerly together, but in low tones.

      “My uncle is right, Meister Peter,” said Jan Van der Does, the same tall young noble, who, on the morning of that day, had sent Nicolas Van Wibisma home with a kindly warning. “It’s no use, you must seek the Prince and consult with him.”

      “I suppose I must,” replied the burgomaster. “I’ll go to-morrow morning.”

      “Not to-morrow,” replied Van Hout. “The Prince rides fast, and if you don’t find him in Delft—”

      “Do you go first,” urged the burgomaster, “you have the record of our session.”

      “I cannot; but to-day you, the Prince’s friend, for the first time lack good-will.”

      “You are right, Jan,” СКАЧАТЬ