Such a changeable thing is man's fate and triumph and defeat alternate in spiritual struggles.
On 20 August the merchant banking house of Norris and Van Bergen was still strong and well respected. On 27 August the firm was officially wound up. Alexander Farnese entered the conquered town in triumph; Jan Geerdes Norris left it with his ten-year-old son and several companions who did not want to endure a Spanish yoke. Michael van Bergen stayed behind with his little daughter who was then six years old. Each of the two partners acted true to character: Norris impulsively and angrily; Van Bergen fearfully and with timidity. The former flew in the face of bitter destiny and abandoned his position to resume it elsewhere, the battle having been lost. The latter bowed to his fate and suffered in silence what he could not hope to alter for the better.
But all this was a long time ago and our two protagonists are no longer Geerdes Norris and Michael Van Bergen, but their children Jan and Myga respectively.
Into what a frightful, devastated, horrid world had the two poor mites been thrust. How often had maternal lullabies been silenced by the noise of gunfire both near and distant! How often had their fathers had to take son and daughter off their knees because they had been summoned by the warning bell to the walls or to the town hall!
Poor little mites! They had never been able like other children born in happier times to tumble out of danger in shady woods and on the green grass of meadows. They had never been able to make crowns from the blue cornflowers and the red poppies which grew at the edge of tilled fields.
The woods were full of the roaming bands of His Catholic Majesty, the wild gangs of the forest beggars and lawless and ruthless ragamuffins that had dispersed there from all over Europe.
The armies of Spain, mercenaries from Germany, England, France and Italy, the soldiers of the United Provinces under the leadership of the Prince of Orange fought on the green grass of the meadows and pitched their makeshift huts and tents there.
Fields of corn, even before the corn in them ripened, even before poppies and cornflowers bloomed in them, fell victim to the feet and hooves of invading armies.
Where was there a peaceful hamlet to be found on this downtrodden piece of earth that the King of Spain saw as his own?
In the dark and narrow sidestreets of the town of Antwerp, behind the high walls, redoubts and towers of Paciotti, poor children had their playgrounds and these were often unsafe and perilous. Often the houses of honest burghers were changed into dungeons in which those who lived there shut themselves up, in which they themselves had to be their own jailers to protect themselves against clear and present danger.