The Laughing Cavalier quotes

… the manner of some of them toward Mynheer Beresteyn, who still pressed his hand against his doublet, in the inner pocket of which reposed a bit of dormant vegetation for which he had that same afternoon paid no less a sum than fifteen thousand florins.

“There goes a lucky devil,” said a mocking voice in tones wherein ripples of laughter struggled forever for mastery.

It came from one of the three men who had listened to the conversation between the town-councillors on the subject of tulips and of tulip bulbs.

The warning was disregarded: a shower of stones came crashing against the wall just above the postern gate.

“How badly these Dutchmen throw,” growled Socrates in his gruff voice.

“This present from thy friends in the rear, Jan Tiele,” rejoined Diogenes, as he seized that worthy by the collar and brandished a stone which he had caught in its flight.

the expression of his eyes she could not fathom. But womanlike she was ready to believe that he would relent.

It is so difficult for a woman to imagine that one whom she loves is really prone to evil.

She loved this brother dearly, and did not grasp the fact that he had reached a point in his life when a woman’s pleading had not the power to turn him from his purpose.

“You call him treacherous now, but you loved him once.”

“It is because I loved him once,” she rejoined earnestly, “that I call him treacherous now.”

He made no comment on this, for he knew in his heart of hearts that what she said was true.

He looked round at the crowd of faces, all of which were now turned toward him, kindly faces and angry ones, contemptuous eyes and good-natured ones, and some that expressed both compassion and reproof.

“By the Lord,” he said, and as he spoke he threw back his head and burst into a loud and prolonged fit of laughter, “but I have never in my life seen so many ugly faces before.”

There was a murmur and many angry words among the assembly. One or two of the men half rose from their seats, scowling viciously and clenching their fists. Master Beek perspiring with anxiety saw these signs of a possible fray.

“Why yes. You said just now that for four and twenty hours you were free to dream and to act as you will, but how will it be tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, sir,” rejoined Diogenes lightly, “I shall be as poor in pocket as the burghers of Haarlem are in wits, and then.⁠ ⁠…”

“Why then, sir, I shall once more become an integral portion of that rabble to which you and your friends think no doubt that I rightly belong.

“And your honour, sir?” queried the other with a sneer, “to whom will you sell that precious guerdon tomorrow?”

“To you, sir,” retorted Diogenes promptly, “an you are short of the commodity.”

An angry word rose to the other man’s lips, but his eyes encountered those of his antagonist and something in the latter’s look, something in the mocking eyes, the merry face, seemed to disarm him and to quench his wrath.

“And beyond that desire, what is your chief ambition, sir?”

“To be left alone when I have no mind to talk,” said Diogenes with a smile which was so pleasant, so merry, so full of self-deprecating irony that it tempered the incivility of his reply.

Again the other bit his lip, checking an angry word; for some unexplained reason he appeared determined not to quarrel with this insolent young knave. The others stared at their friend in utter astonishment.

… the chance of winning a fortune or of marrying a wife who is both rich and comely, why sir, I shall be your man, and will e’en endeavour to satisfy you with the politeness of my speech and the promptness and efficiency of my deeds.

Tomorrow, sir, you and the devil will have an equal chance of purchasing my soul for a few thousand guilders, my wits for a paltry hundred, my skin for a good supper and a downy bed

—tomorrow the desire will seize me once again to possess wealth at any cost, and my friends here will have no cause to complain of my playing a part which becomes a penniless wastrel like myself so ill—the part of a gentleman.

“New Year’s morning … respectable citizen … work to do in the morning … undesirable lodgers. …”

“All lodgers are desirable who pay for their lodging, O wise landlord,”

continued Diogenes imperturbably, “I have paid thee for mine, for three nights from this day and I herewith desire thee to place my palatial residence at the disposal of this jongejuffrouw and of mynheer her father.”

“Hm! after a night of wandering by the canal in the fog and snow and sharing the meagre breakfast of a half-starved painter, methinks the portrait will be that of a knight of the rueful countenance.”

“Indeed not, old compeer,” said Diogenes with a hearty laugh, “it shall be the portrait of a Laughing Cavalier.”

“Fortune, sir, has not dealt with you hitherto in accordance with your deserts.”

“No! ’tis my sternest reproach against her.”

“There is always a tide, sir, in a man’s fortunes.”

“You saw me?” he asked.

“I have eyes at the back of my head,”

replied the young man.

“On the word of honour of a gentleman!” retorted Beresteyn hotly.

“A gentleman’s honour is easily attenuated where a woman is concerned.”

“The lady is my own sister, sir.”

“At your service, sir,” said Diogenes gaily,

“I am saluting a greater blackguard than I can ever hope to be myself.”

“Easy, easy, my good sir,” interposed the other calmly, “it would not suit your purpose or mine that we should cut one another’s throat.

“Keep thy blood cool, mevrouw,” he said with the best of humour, “thy looks have already made a weak-kneed coward of me.”

With the dignity of an offended turkey hen, Maria arranged the pillow herself under her mistress’s head, having previously shaken it and carefully dusted off the blemish caused upon its surface by contact with an unclean hand.

As for the footstool, she would not even allow it to remain there where that same unclean hand had placed it; she kicked it aside with her foot and drew up her small, round stature in a comprehensive gesture of outraged pride.

“And you expect me to believe such a senseless tale,” she rejoined contemptuously.

“There are many things in this world and the next, mejuffrouw,” he said lightly, “that are true though some of us believe them not.”

“Nay! but this I do believe on the evidence of mine own eyes—that you stole my money and my jewels and have no intention of returning them to me.”

She bit her lip in vexation and her slender fingers began to beat a tattoo on the arm of her chair. This man’s placidity and inveterate good-humour were getting on her nerves.

It is hard when one means to wound, to find the surest arrows falling wide of the mark.

But now she waited for a moment or two lest her irritation betrayed itself in the quiver of her voice;

“So you preferred to earn a dishonest living by abducting innocent women, to further the intrigues of your paymaster.”

“It is a harsh exposition,” he said blandly, “of an otherwise obvious fact.”

“And you are not ashamed.”

“And you are not ashamed.”

“Not more than is necessary for my comfort.”

“And cannot I move you, sir,” she said with sudden warmth, “cannot an appeal to you from my lips rouse a feeling of manhood within you.

Heigh-ho! for that run along the ice—a matter of half a dozen leagues or so—at dead of night with a keen northeasterly wind whipping up the blood, and motion—smooth gliding motion—to cause it to glow in every vein.

Heigh-ho! for the joy of living, for the joy in the white, ice-covered world, the joy in the night, and in the moon, and in those distant lights of Leyden which gradually recede and diminish⁠—tiny atoms now in the infinite and mysterious distance!

What ho! a dark and heavy bank of clouds! whence come ye, ye disturbers of the moon’s serenity? Nay! but we are in a hurry, the wind drives us at breathless speed, we cannot stay to explain whence we have come.

from far away the dull and ceaseless rumble which speaks of a restless sea, and now and again the loud and melancholy boom of the ice, yielding to the restless movements of the water beneath.

The sounds which make up silence⁠—silence and loneliness, nature’s perfect repose under its downy blanket of snow, the vast embrace of the night stretching out into infinity in monotonous flatnesses far away, to the mysterious mists which lie beyond the horizon.

Oh! for the joy of it all! the beauty of the night, the wind and the frost! and the many landmarks which loom out of the darkness one by one, to guide that flying figure on its way;

On, on, thou sole inhabitant of this kingdom of the night! fly on thy wings of metal—hour after hour—midnight—one—two—three—where are the hours now?

There are no hours in the kingdom of the night!

On, on, for the moon’s course is swift and this will be a neck to neck race. Ah! the wicked one! down she goes, lower and lower in her career, and there is a thick veil of mist on the horizon in the west! Moon!

… drunk some very good wine after having worked at high pressure all day, and his excitement had gained the better of him—he pointed to Diogenes, who had heard every word spoken by his friend, and at this dénouement burst into a long, delighted, ringing laugh.

“Ye gods!” he exclaimed, “your Olympian sense of humour is even greater than your might.”

At an urgent appeal from Hals he rose and, hat in hand, did indeed approach Mynheer Beresteyn, looking every inch of him a perfect embodiment of that spirit of adventure which was threatening to be wafted away from these too prosperous shores.

“But you will have companions with you, sir? Friends who will help and stand by you. Those sea-wolves are notorious for their daring and their cruelty … they may be more numerous too than you think. …”

“The harder the task, mynheer,” said Diogenes with his enigmatical smile, “the greater will be my satisfaction if I succeed in fulfilling it.”

“But though you will own to no kindred, surely you have friends?” insisted Beresteyn.

And Frans Hals could not for the life of him understand what there was in this fine situation that should so arouse Diogenes’ mirth.

But then Diogenes had always been an irresponsible creature, who was wont to laugh even at the most serious crisis of his life.

Like all jewellers settled in the Dutch cities at this time Ben Isaje carried on a number of other trades—some of which were perhaps not altogether avowable. He acted as banker and moneylender, and general go-between in financial transactions, some of which had political aims.

Discretion was of necessity his chief stock-in-trade, and his small cargo of scruples he had thrown overboard long ago.

He was as ready now to finance a conspiracy against the Stadtholder as against the Archduchess or Don John, provided he saw huge monetary profits in the deal, and received bribes with a calm conscience both from Maurice of Nassau and the Lord of Stoutenburg.

It was only natural that, though tired as he was and enjoying an unusually contented mind, Diogenes was nevertheless unable to get to sleep.

He had had a very good supper and had parted at an early hour from his host.

Ben Isaje had been amiable even deferential to the last, and indeed there had been nothing in the Jew’s demeanour to arouse misgivings in the most suspicious mind.

A cry of anguish rose to her lips.

“No, no, no,” she cried, “it is false⁠ ⁠… you are only guessing⁠ ⁠… remember that I have told you nothing.”

But already the tense expression on his face had gone. He drew himself up to his full height once more and heaved a deep breath which sounded like a sigh of satisfaction.

“Ah! but it is good,” he said at last, “to look upon a helpless rogue.”

“ ’Tis a sight then,” retorted the prisoner lightly, “which your Magnificence hath often provided for your friends and your adherents.”

“Bah!” rejoined Stoutenburg, who was determined to curb his temper if he could, “your insolence now, my man, hath not the power to anger me. It strikes me as ludicrous—even pathetic in its senselessness.

A prolonged laugh, that had a note of triumph in it, gave answer to this taunt, whilst a clear voice shouted lustily:

“Nay! we never can be quite even, my lord; since you were not trussed like a capon when I forced you to lick the dust.”

“You are hurt, sir,” she asked as she let her tender blue eyes rest with kind pity upon him.

“Hurt, mejuffrouw?” he replied with a laugh, which despite himself had but little merriment in it.

“Ask his Magnificence there, he will tell you that such knaves as I have bones and sinews as tough as their skins. Of a truth I am not hurt, mejuffrouw … only overcome with the humour of this situation.

The next moment the life of a philosopher and weaver of dreams would have been very abruptly ended, had not a woman’s feeble hand held up the crashing blow.

“Hatred, my lord, an you will,” said Gilda with perfect sangfroid as she stood between the man who had so deeply wronged her and the upraised arm of his deadly enemy, “hatred and fair fight, but not outrage, I pray you.”

Stoutenburg, smothering a curse, threw the weapon away from him: it fell with a terrific crash upon the wooden floor. Gilda, white and trembling now after the agonizing excitement of the past awful moment, had sunk half-swooning back against a chair.

“It grieved me to see,” she resumed somewhat more stiffly, “that one who could on occasions be so brave, should on others stoop to such infamous tricks.”

“Man is ever a creature of opportunity, mejuffrouw,” he said imperturbably.

“But I remembered you—you see—on New Year’s Eve in the Dam Straat when you held up a mob to protect an unfortunate girl; oh! it was bravely done!”

Diogenes watches it all with those same lazy eyes, and that same good-humoured smile lingering round his lips. That tall erection over there which still looks ghostlike through the mist is for him.

The game of life is done and he has lost.

Death is there at the end of the projecting arm on which even now Jan is fixing a rope.

“And do so with quaking voice and shaking knees,” quoth Diogenes with unalterable good-humour, through which there pierced however an obvious undercurrent of contempt.

“Ye gods!” he added with a quaint sigh, “these men have not even the courage of their infamy!”

The words, the tone, the shrug of the shoulders which accompanied these, stung Nicolaes Beresteyn’s dormant dignity to the quick.

It had all been lies then, all that Stoutenburg had told her yesterday! He had concealed the monstrous truth, lying to her with every word he uttered. Now he stood there pale and trembling, the traitor who in his turn has been betrayed.

Fear and blind rage were fighting their last deathly battle in his soul.

The edifice of his treachery was crumbling around him; God’s hand—through an unknown channel—had set the limit to his crimes. Twice a traitor, he had twice failed.

I have but to persuade him that your presence in Holland will be a perpetual menace to our safety. Besides, you heard what he said just now; that you, of course, would come with us.”

“My dead body you can take with you,” she retorted, “but I⁠—alive⁠—will never follow you.”

“Then ’tis your dead body I’ll take, Gilda,” he said with a sneer, “I will be here to fetch you in a quarter of an hour, so I pray you make ready while I go to deal with that meddlesome instrument of God.”

“You should have been hanged ere this …”

“It is an omission, my lord, which I fear me we must now leave to the future to rectify.”

“Stand aside, man,” cried Stoutenburg, who was hoarse with passion.

“Well attacked, my lord!” he cried gaily, “Dondersteen! were I as fat as your Magnificence supposes, your sword would ere now have made a hole in my side.

Pity I am not broader, is it not? or more in the way of your sword.

There,” he added as with a quick and sudden turn of the wrist he knocked his opponent’s weapon out of his hand, “allow me to return you this most useful sword.”

At that moment I did not greatly care for that lie,” he added with his wonted flippancy, “but time hath lent it enchantment.

It is on the whole one of the finest lies I ever told in my life; moreover it carried conviction; the jongejuffrouw was deceived.

Now I will not see that pet lie of mine made fruitless by the abominable action which you have in contemplation.”

Would a bullet end that vigorous life and still that merry laugh and that biting tongue forever, and leave Nicolaes to be swayed once more by the dark schemes and arbitrary will of his friend Stoutenburg?

Fate was ready, calmly spinning the threads of human destinies. But there are some men in the world who have the power and the skill to take their destinies in their own hands.

The philosopher and weaver of dreams, the merry Laughing Cavalier was one of these.