Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch

by H. Rider Haggard

At this the audience applauded, for they were all very proud of the young man’s success, and some of them had won money over him. Still more did they applaud, being great judges of culinary matters, when the Spaniard began his speech by an elegant tribute to the surpassing excellence of the supper. Rarely, he assured them, and especially did he assure the honourable widow Van Ziel (who blushed all over with pleasure at his compliments, and fanned herself with such vigour that she upset Dirk’s wine over his new tunic, cut in the Brussels style), the fame of whose skill in such matters had travelled so far as The Hague, for he had heard of it there himself—rarely even in the Courts of Kings and Emperors, or at the tables of Popes and Archbishops, had he eaten food so exquisitely cooked, or drunk wines of a better vintage.

Then, passing on to the subject of his speech, Van de Werff, he toasted him and his horse and his little sister and his sledge, in really well-chosen and appropriate terms, not by any means overdoing it, for he confessed frankly that his defeat was a bitter disappointment to him, especially as every solder in the camp had expected him to win and—he was afraid—backed him for more than they could afford. Also, incidentally, so that every one might be well acquainted with it, he retold the story of the girl with the red cloak. Next, suddenly dropping his voice and adopting a quieter manner, he addressed himself to the Aunt Clara and the “well-beloved Heer Dirk,” saying that he owed them both an apology, which he must take this opportunity to make, for having detained the lady at his right during so unreasonable a time that afternoon. When, however, they had heard the facts they would, he was sure, blame him no longer, especially if he told them that this breach of good manners had been the means of saving a human life.

Immediately after the race, he explained, one of his sergeants had found him out to tell him that a woman, suspected of certain crimes against life and property and believed to be a notorious escaped witch or heretic, had been captured, asking for reasons which he need not trouble them with, that he would deal with the case at once. This woman also, so said the man, had been heard that very afternoon to make use of the most horrible, the most traitorous and blaspheming language to a lady of Leyden, the Jufvrouw Lysbeth van Hout, indeed; as was deposed by a certain spy named Black Meg, who had overheard the conversation.

Now, went on Montalvo, as he knew well, every man and woman in that room would share his horror of traitorous and blasphemous heretics—here most of the company crossed themselves, especially those who were already secret adherents of the New Religion. Still, even heretics had a right to a fair trial; at least he, who although a soldier by profession, was a man who honestly detested unnecessary bloodshed, held that opinion. Also long experience taught him great mistrust of the evidence of informers, who had a money interest in the conviction of the accused. Lastly, it did not seem well to him that the name of a young and noble lady should be mixed up in such a business. As they knew under the recent edicts, his powers in these cases were absolute; indeed, in his official capacity he was ordered at once to consign any suspected of Anabaptism or other forms of heresy to be dealt with by the appointed courts, and in the case of people who had escaped, to cause them, on satisfactory proof of their identity, to be executed instantly without further trial. Under these circumstances, fearing that did the lady knew his purpose she might take fright, he had, he confessed, resorted to artifice, as he was very anxious both for her sake and in the interest of justice that she should bear testimony in the matter. So he asked her to accompany him on a short drive while he attended to a business affair; a request to which she had graciously assented.

“Friends,” he went on in a still more solemn voice, “the rest of my story is short. Indeed I do congratulate myself on the decision that I took, for when confronted with the prisoner our young and honourable hostess was able upon oath to refute the story of the spy with the result that I in my turn was to save an unfortunate, and, as I believe, a half-crazed creature from an immediate and a cruel death. Is it not so, lady?” and helpless in the net of circumstance, not knowing indeed what else to do, Lysbeth bowed her head in assent.

“I think,” concluded Montalvo, “that after this explanation, what may have appeared to be a breach of manners will be forgiven. I have only one other word to add. My position is peculiar; I am an official here, and I speak boldly among friends taking the risk that any of you present will use what I say against me, which for my part I do not believe. Although there is no better Catholic and no truer Spaniard in the Netherlands, I have been accused of showing too great a sympathy with your people, and of dealing too leniently with those who have incurred the displeasure of our Holy Church. In the cause of right and justice I am willing to bear such aspersions; still this is a slanderous world, a world in which truth does not always prevail. Therefore, although I have told you nothing but the bare facts, I do suggest in the interests of your hostess—in my own humble interest who might be misrepresented, and I may add in the interest of every one present at this board—that it will perhaps be well that the details of the story which I have had the honour of telling you should not be spread about—that they should in fact find a grave within these walls. Friends, do you agree?”

Then moved by a common impulse, and by a common if a secret fear, with the single exception of Lysbeth, every person present, yes, even the cautious and far-seeing young Van de Werff, echoed “We agree.”

“Friends,” said Montalvo, “those simple words carry to my mind conviction deep as any vow however solemn; deep, if that were possible, as did the oath of your hostess, upon the faith of which I felt myself justified in acquitting the poor creature who was alleged to be an escaped heretic.” Then with a courteous and all-embracing bow Montalvo sat down.

“What a good man! What a delightful man!” murmured Aunt Clara to Dirk in the buzz of conversation which ensued.

“Yes, yes, cousin, but——”