Hans Brinker; Or, The Silver Skates

by Mary Mapes Dodge

  XVI

  HAARLEM.--THE BOYS HEAR VOICES

  Refreshed and rested, our boys came forth from the coffee-house just asthe big clock in the Square, after the manner of certain Hollandtimekeepers, was striking TWO with its half-hour bell, for half-pastTWO.

  The captain was absorbed in thought, at first, for Hans Brinker's sadstory still echoed in his ears. Not until Ludwig rebuked him with alaughing "Wake up, Grandfather!" did he reassume his position as gallantboy-leader of his band.

  "Ahem! this way, young gentlemen!"

  They were walking through the streets of the city, not on a curbed_sidewalk_, for such a thing is rarely to be found in Holland, but onthe brick pavement that lay on the borders of the cobblestonecarriage-way without breaking its level expanse.

  Haarlem, like Amsterdam, was gayer than usual, in honor of St. Nicholas.

  A strange figure was approaching them. It was a small man dressed inblack, with a short cloak; he wore a wig and a cocked hat from which along crape streamer was flying.

  "Who comes here?" cried Ben; "what a queer-looking object."

  "That's the aanspreeker," said Lambert; "some one is dead."

  "Is that the way men dress in mourning in this country?"

  "Oh no. The aanspreeker attends funerals, and it is his business, whenany one dies, to notify all the friends and relatives."

  "What a strange custom."

  "Well," said Lambert "we needn't feel very badly about this particulardeath, for I see another man has lately been born to the world to fillup the vacant place."

  Ben stared. "How do you know that?"

  "Don't you see that pretty red pincushion hanging on yonder door?" askedLambert in return.

  "Yes."

  "Well, that's a boy."

  "A boy! what do you mean?"

  "I mean that here in Haarlem whenever a boy is born, the parents have ared pincushion put out at the door. If our young friend had been a girlinstead of a boy the cushion would have been white. In some places theyhave much more fanciful affairs, all trimmed with lace, and even amongthe very poorest houses you will see a bit of ribbon or even a stringtied on the door-latch----"

  "Look!" almost screamed Ben, "there _is_ a white cushion, at the door ofthat double-jointed house with the funny roof."

  "I don't see any house with a funny roof."

  "Oh, of course not," said Ben. "I forget you're a native; but all theroofs are queer to me, for that matter. I mean the house next to thatgreen building."

  "True enough--there's a girl! I tell you what, captain," called outLambert, slipping easily into Dutch, "we must get out of this street assoon as possible. It's full of babies! They'll set up a squall in amoment."

  The captain laughed. "I shall take you to hear better music than that,"he said; "we are just in time to hear the organ of St. Bavon. The churchis open to-day."

  "What, the great Haarlem organ?" asked Ben. "That will be a treatindeed. I have often read of it, with its tremendous pipes, and its _voxhumana_[21] that sounds like a giant singing."

  [Footnote 21: An organ stop which produces an effect resembling thehuman voice.]

  "The same," answered Lambert van Mounen.

  Peter was right. The church was open, though not for religious services.Some one was playing upon the organ. As the boys entered, a swell ofsound rushed forth to meet them. It seemed to bear them, one by one,into the shadows of the building.

  Louder and louder it grew until it became like the din and roar of somemighty tempest, or like the ocean surging upon the shore. In the midstof the tumult a tinkling bell was heard; another answered, then another,and the storm paused as if to listen. The bells grew bolder; they rangout loud and clear. Other deep toned bells joined in; they were tollingin solemn concert--ding, dong! ding, dong! The storm broke forth againwith redoubled fury--gathering its distant thunder. The boys looked ateach other, but did not speak. It was growing serious. What was that?_Who_ screamed? _What_ screamed--that terrible, musical scream? Was itman or demon? Or was it some monster shut up behind that carved brassframe--behind those great silver columns--some despairing monsterbegging, screaming for freedom? It was the Vox Humana!

  At last an answer came,--soft, tender, loving, like a mother's song. Thestorm grew silent; hidden birds sprang forth filling the air with glad,ecstatic music, rising higher and higher until the last faint note waslost in the distance.

  The Vox Humana was stilled; but in the glorious hymn of thanksgivingthat now arose, one could almost hear the throbbing of a human heart.What did it mean? That man's imploring cry should in time be met with adeep content? That gratitude would give us freedom? To Peter and Ben itseemed that the angels were singing. Their eyes grew dim, and theirsouls dizzy with a strange joy. At last, as if borne upward by invisiblehands, they were floating away on the music, all fatigue forgotten, andwith no wish but to hear forever those beautiful sounds--when suddenlyVan Holp's sleeve was pulled impatiently and a gruff voice beside himasked:

  "How long are you going to stay here, captain--blinking at the ceilinglike a sick rabbit? It's high time we started."

  "Hush!" whispered Peter, only half aroused.

  "Come, man! Let's go," said Carl, giving the sleeve a second pull.

  Peter turned reluctantly; he would not detain the boys against theirwill. All but Ben were casting rather reproachful glances upon him.

  "Well, boys," he whispered, "we will go. Softly now."

  "That's the greatest thing I've seen or heard since I've been inHolland!" cried Ben, enthusiastically, as soon as they reached the openair. "It's glorious!"

  Ludwig and Carl laughed slyly at the English boy's _wartaal_, orgibberish; Jacob yawned; Peter gave Ben a look that made him instantlyfeel that he and Peter were not so very different after all, though onehailed from Holland and the other from England; and Lambert, theinterpreter, responded with a brisk--

  "You may well say so. I believe there are one or two organs nowadaysthat are said to be as fine; but for years and years this organ of St.Bavon was the grandest in the world."

  "Do you know how large it is?" asked Ben. "I noticed that the churchitself was prodigiously high and that the organ filled the end of thegreat aisle almost from floor to roof."

  "That's true," said Lambert, "and how superb the pipes looked--just likegrand columns of silver. They're only for show, you know; the _real_pipes are behind them, some big enough for a man to crawl through, andsome smaller than a baby's whistle. Well, sir, for size, the church ishigher than Westminster Abbey, to begin with, and, as you say, the organmakes a tremendous show even then. Father told me last night that it isone hundred and eight feet high, fifty feet broad, and has over fivethousand pipes; it has sixty-four _stops_, if you know what they are,_I_ don't, and three keyboards."

  "Good for you!" said Ben. "You have a fine memory. _My_ head is aperfect colander for figures; they slip through as fast as they'repoured in. But other facts and historical events stay behind--that'ssome consolation."

  "There we differ," returned Van Mounen. "I'm great on names and figures,but history, take it altogether, seems to me to be the most hopelesskind of a jumble."

  Meantime Carl and Ludwig were having a discussion concerning some squarewooden monuments they had observed in the interior of the church; Ludwigdeclared that each bore the name of the person buried beneath, and Carlinsisted that they had no names, but only the heraldic arms of thedeceased painted on a black ground, with the date of the death in giltletters.

  "I ought to know," said Carl, "for I walked across to the east side, tolook for the cannon-ball which mother told me was embedded there. It wasfired into the church, in the year fifteen hundred and something, bythose rascally Spaniards, while the services were going on. There it wasin the wall, sure enough, and while I was walking back, I noticed themonuments--I tell you they haven't a sign of a name upon them."

  "Ask Peter," said Ludwig, only half convinced.

  "Carl is right," replied Peter, who though conversing with Jacob, hadoverhe
ard their dispute. "Well, Jacob, as I was saying, Handel the greatcomposer chanced to visit Haarlem and of course he at once hunted upthis famous organ. He gained admittance, and was playing upon it withall his might, when the regular organist chanced to enter the building.The man stood awe-struck; he was a good player himself, but he had neverheard such music before. 'Who is there?' he cried. 'If it is not anangel or the devil, it must be Handel!' When he discovered that it _was_the great musician, he was still more mystified! 'But how is this?' saidhe; 'you have done impossible things--no ten fingers on earth can playthe passages you have given; human hands couldn't control all the keysand stops!' 'I know it,' said Handel, coolly, 'and for that reason, Iwas forced to strike some notes with the end of my nose.' Donder! justthink how the old organist must have stared!"

  "Hey! What?" exclaimed Jacob, startled when Peter's animated voicesuddenly became silent.

  "Haven't you heard me, you rascal?" was the indignant rejoinder.

  "Oh, yes--no--the fact is--I heard you at first--I'm awake now, but I dobelieve I've been walking beside you half asleep," stammered Jacob, withsuch a doleful, bewildered look on his face, that Peter could not helplaughing.