Chapter 3. The Pupil of John de Witt

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_ 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!" _

Read next: Chapter 4. The Murderers

Read previous: Chapter 2. The Two Brothers

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