The Golden Tulip

by Rosalind Laker

  “I admit he spoke somewhat out of turn about the ring, but you must agree you did shout out rudely. It was quite unnecessary, because we had settled beforehand that we shouldn’t stay long.”

  Sybylla gave a snort. “You appeared to be so lost in him that I thought you’d never be able to tear yourself away.”

  “Don’t be childish. You should have learned by now that you can’t always be the center of attention.”

  It was the last straw for Sybylla. She came to a standstill and blazed at her sister. “I knew when you came home you would start ordering me and everybody else about! We’ve managed perfectly well without you. I’ll soon be a married woman living in the finest house in all Amsterdam away from the moans of Maria and the moods of Father and—best of all—you can come home as often as you like and I’ll be far out of your reach!”

  Such blustering reminded Francesca of their father when he was unsure of himself and anxious to cover up something. “Indeed you will. So calm down and let’s enjoy our walk to Willem’s house. Remember, it’s quite a while since I was here and I’ll not be back again until your wedding, whenever that should be.”

  Sybylla bit her lip as they continued on their way. She wished she had not said what she had to Francesca, because she had not meant any of it. It was comforting to have her at home again. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I’m so on edge.”

  “Prebetrothal nerves. It’s not unusual.”

  Sybylla thought that was right. Even at this late hour she couldn’t be sure of anything until Adriaen’s ring was on her finger. She was always so afraid that Hendrick might make one of his noisy scenes and ruin everything. He did not like the van Jansz family’s wholehearted support of the Grand Pensionary, Johan de Witt, who had governed the country since the death of Willem II over twenty years ago. She had had to beg Hendrick to swallow his tongue and not to voice his strong opinion that Louis XIV’s demands, whenever they should come, should be opposed on all fronts. A recurring nightmare was of hearing her father, in spite of his promises to the contrary, letting his condemnation of conciliatory attitudes go bellowing forth after too much good wine and seeing those van Jansz faces freeze at his insistence on the military defense of Holland and the other Dutch states. On the evening three days after tomorrow when the betrothal had been safely announced, he could let forth as much as he liked, for Adriaen was too honorable a man to negate on such a solemn promise to her simply through some disgraceful uproar created by her father. Unlike Francesca and Aletta, she had never been interested in politics and was at a loss to understand why men became so worked up about them. Her sister even thought women should have a hand in government, quoting the achievements of Elizabeth of England in her time and those of Christina of Sweden and other strong royal women, the argument being that it was only an accident of birth that had given them the chance that many other women of ordinary status could have handled equally well.

  On the way to Willem’s house a short detour was made to Pieter’s Amsterdam home so that Francesca could ask Vrouw de Hout if Pieter was expected to return within the next day or two.

  Vrouw de Hout shook her head. “He’s far too busy in his bulb fields at the moment to be anywhere else.”

  “Then there is no chance of missing him at Haarlem Huis if I should call as I have planned?”

  “None at all.”

  As they left again Sybylla praised Francesca’s resolve to see him.

  At the de Hartog house Francesca received an enthusiastic reception from Willem. He asked her searching questions about her work while Sybylla chatted to his wife. When he heard Francesca had brought home one of her paintings he said he would accompany her and her sister back to their home to see it himself. When repassing the Zuider Church as the three of them walked along together, Sybylla glanced surreptitiously at the entrance in case Hans Roemer should emerge by chance. She had planned to regard him disdainfully, but he did not appear and this small score against him was denied her.

  Francesca was glad that Willem was with them when she found Ludolf waiting at her home. She stiffened at his almost proprietorial greeting, having to avoid an embracing arm.

  “I invite you all to dine at my house this evening,” he said expansively to include Willem. “Please come with Vrouw de Hartog. We must celebrate Francesca’s homecoming.”

  Sybylla responded enthusiastically, always welcoming an opportunity to dress up. “Oh yes! Will Adriaen be there?” She knew that he and his family were well acquainted with Ludolf.

  “I invited his parents and the young man himself on my way here and they accepted.”

  As Ludolf accompanied Francesca and Willem into the studio where Hendrick was at work, he decided he had had enough of her dodging about as if he had no right to her. The time had come to speak. He wanted a betrothed man’s right to her kisses, which would be a poor recompense for what his whole body demanded whenever she was near. He must also make the situation clear to Geetruyd next time he was there. She was a sensible woman and an extra thousand or more guilders in her next payment should sweeten any disappointment she might feel. Perhaps the gift of a diamond brooch as a memento of what had previously been between them was also in order. Women always appreciated such niceties. He would make a point of implying that his marriage to Francesca need not put an end to what they had enjoyed together on his occasional visits to Delft. She need not know that once her usefulness to him was at an end he would never bother to see her again. By his reckoning Louis XIV would be ruler of Holland by the time Francesca’s apprenticeship was completed a year from now in the spring of 1672. Even if a third year should be demanded of her it would make no difference, for by then he would have been given important duties at The Hague with enough authority to let his marriage to her go through. Since The Hague was only a short distance from Delft she could still attend Vermeer’s studio two or three times a week. He had already looked at property in The Hague and had seen a splendid mansion that he intended to buy. He would have sold his Amsterdam house by now if he could have done so without arousing curiosity. These days he was having to exercise patience on all fronts and he found it wearying.

  At first the evening went well. Francesca, in spite of being seated at Ludolf’s right hand, had Heer van Jansz on her other side and he was an interesting conversationalist. Sybylla was elated and sparkling, thinking of when she would preside over far grander gatherings. She constantly exchanged deep glances across the table with Adriaen and little secret smiles. Once the unbidden thought came to her as to how Hans Roemer might have looked had he been dressed in clothes as fine as Adriaen’s and seated opposite her, his hair brushed like silk and rings on his fingers. Then she dismissed the illusion quickly, answering some question that Willem, next to her at table, had put to her. If Vrouw van Jansz looked resignedly in her direction once or twice, she did not notice.

  On the opposite side of the table Vrouw de Hartog, although seated next to Adriaen, was entertained mostly by Hendrick, whom she knew well and who was in a jovial mood. It was proving to be the most pleasant occasion he had ever enjoyed under Ludolf’s roof, a blight having been cast over all the others, but on this night he was on the brink of becoming free of his detestable patron and was full of mischievous satisfaction. Every time he noticed Adriaen smiling at Sybylla across the table he congratulated himself anew that she had landed such a wealthy fish out of the sea of her suitors. At the end of dinner he sat back in his chair to listen as Ludolf rose to his feet at the head of the table, a glass in hand.

  “This could not be a better time for me to propose a special toast,” Ludolf began, smiling at all seated in the sparkle of crystal and the glow of candlelight. “At my table this evening are two young people shortly to be betrothed. The name of van Jansz is to be joyously linked with that of Visser. Now, with my period of mourning at an end, I am able to announce my own betrothal. Please raise your glasses to my future wife, Francesca!”

  Heer van Jansz and his wife, unaware of anything
amiss, stood for the toast and the de Hartogs hid their astonishment as they followed suit a second or two later. Sybylla was openmouthed while Francesca sat deathly white and stunned by shock. Hendrick, forgetting that he was still far from being liberated by his future son-in-law, half rose from his chair with a congested face and slammed a heavy fist on the table, making the dessert dishes and the candelabra rattle, the candles casting wax.

  “No!”

  Vrouw van Jansz, who had never witnessed such a scene at a dinner table in her life, sank down weakly into her seat again and wielded her circular fan. “What is happening?” she appealed to her husband across the table. “I think we should go home at once!”

  Francesca was on her feet. “There has been a misunderstanding. I feel no more should be said until I have discussed matters with Ludolf in the presence of my father.”

  Sybylla burst into tears. Regardless of what mistakes had been made, why had Hendrick made such a show about it? His roar had been enough to burst everyone’s eardrums. The evening was ruined and Adriaen’s parents were already leaving, only his father saying good night to her. The de Hartogs were also departing, but both spoke to her and patted her shoulder. Adriaen had come over to her side of the table to stand by her chair. She thought for a panic-stricken moment that he was going too, but that was not his purpose.

  “Let us go into the drawing room, Sybylla, and wait there. Heer van Deventer is seeing his departing guests out of the house and your father and sister are awaiting him in the library.”

  She saw then that they were alone in the banqueting hall, except for the servants, who had been waiting at table and now stood back against the walls, their faces expressionless. She did not think Adriaen’s mother, or any of the van Jansz women, had ever wept in front of servants. She dried her eyes hastily and with as much dignity as she could muster went with him to the drawing room. There she deliberately fell into his arms and his kissing told her that his ardor had not waned. It was the first time he had ever been on his own with her and he intended to make the most of the opportunity.

  In the library Hendrick stood pretending to look out the window, although there was nothing to see out there in the darkness. He could not bring himself to meet Francesca’s eyes. She addressed his reflection in the panes.

  “What do you know about Ludolf’s extraordinary statement? Please tell me before he comes. I could see when you shouted that you were denying something you already knew.”

  He forced himself to answer her. “I hadn’t wanted you to know yet. Nothing can take place before your apprenticeship ends, but a year ago I signed a marriage contract, promising you to him.”

  She could scarcely believe what she was hearing. All Pieter’s warnings came back to her. She thought of the Dutch legend of a girl bargained for by a sinister suitor, who upon marriage revealed himself as a mass of putrefaction and was death himself. It was impossible for her to think of Ludolf as a husband in any other light. “Why did you do such a terrible thing?”

  “I must have been drunk.”

  It was such a likely explanation that she did not question it. “Does Pieter know?”

  “I told him when he called about the commission, but neither he nor I had expected it to be made public yet.”

  “I think he has always been afraid of this.” She was filled with immense sadness that her only escape from Ludolf was in flight, which would mean leaving her family and her home for many years. A thought puzzled her. “You say you promised me to Ludolf twelve months ago, but that was when Amalia was still alive.”

  “No. He was so mad to have you that he gave me the contract to sign the day after she died.”

  She bowed her head and put a hand over her eyes, horrified by this disclosure. Amalia had been much in her thoughts on returning to the van Deventer house for the first time since that tragic evening. Now to hear of such callous indifference to her death was unsupportable.

  Ludolf, entering the library, glimpsed her pose of distress before she whipped her hand away and stepped back, her face hostile. Matters had not gone exactly as he had expected. Not for one moment had he imagined that Hendrick, after his six weeks’ experience of prison, would dare to make any objection, let alone indulge in such a furious outburst. As for Francesca, he had foreseen his announcement would cause her considerable shock, but relying on her proven self-control and good breeding, he had been certain she would not make any protest in front of his other guests.

  He composed his expression to one of sympathetic understanding. “My dearest Francesca, don’t be upset that this betrothal has been sprung on you. As I expect your father has explained, it is of long standing, but convention prevented me from speaking out before. Nothing shall interfere with your art. I want you to fulfill your ambitions. You shall have everything you’ve ever wanted. We’ll not stay here when we’re married. You shall have another house that you can furnish and decorate as you please. You shall visit Italy. I’ll set Aletta up in a studio if that would please you. Your father and his household shall have all they need. Money problems will be behind him forever.”

  She spoke slowly and distinctly, her eyes hard and glittering. “Don’t try to bribe me. I know there are parents who whip and starve their daughters into submitting to marriages with partners not of their choice, but never suppose that my father would deal thus with me! He has never raised a hand to my sisters or to me and I know he won’t begin now. I’ll never marry you!”

  “I can see you have no comprehension of the depth of my feelings for you. I’ve always wanted you to come to me willingly and I’ll continue to hope for that. You have plenty of time before the end of your apprenticeship to make up your mind.”

  “I do?” She was wary, not trusting him. Hendrick had turned back to the room, equally suspicious. Ludolf was smiling at her.

  “Indeed. You may decide as you please and I’ll abide by your wishes.”

  “You’d tear up the contract?”

  “Naturally. Unfortunately I’m sure that would cause your father lasting sorrow. Why not ask him to explain? It’s time you knew all the facts.”

  Francesca looked questioningly at Hendrick, but his tormented gaze was on Ludolf, his face working. “Don’t do this!” he pleaded hoarsely. Then he went charging from the room. Francesca would have followed him, but Ludolf caught her by the arm and restrained her.

  “Let him go. He’s too afraid to confess to what you have to know.”

  She pulled free of him. “Then you tell me!”

  “Very well. You had better sit down while I relate all that happened.”

  Hendrick had rushed back to the banqueting hall, thinking he might find Sybylla and Adriaen there, for he knew Sybylla would wait for him and Francesca. One of the servants clearing the table told him that the young couple had gone to the drawing room. He threw open the door and discovered them sprawled in an amorous embrace on the couch. Both of them leapt up, Sybylla, flushed and looking slightly disheveled, hastily adjusting her low neckline.

  “Get out, Sybylla!” Hendrick roared.

  “But, Father, it was nothing! We were just—”

  He lunged forward, took hold of her and almost threw her from the room. Then he locked the door to keep her out. Adriaen, not at all surprised by this display of parental wrath, hoped he was not going to have to grapple with the artist to save being cuffed. He had no intention of appearing at his own betrothal party with a black eye. An apology was in order.

  “I’m afraid I let my love for Sybylla run away with me, Master Visser. I did kiss her several times—”

  “Shut up! I haven’t time to deal with that now! I’m in a desperate situation. Will you make me a substantial loan? I didn’t intend to ask you until Sybylla was your wife, but events have precipitated matters.”

  Adriaen was relieved that his amorousness with Sybylla was to be overlooked so readily. “I don’t carry money to social affairs such as this evening, but a loan can be arranged. How much do you require? A few hundreds?” />
  “That’s not enough! I’m not talking in hundreds, but in thousands!”

  The banker in Adriaen came to the fore. “In that case let us meet at my office tomorrow and we can go into the matter. I’ll help you in any way I can.”

  “I need your promise now! For mercy’s sake, I’m going to be your father-in-law. Surely you won’t refuse me?”

  “At least tell me the reason why you require the loan.” Adriaen was more than prepared to step in for a critical emergency, but he wanted to know what it was all about.

  “To settle gambling debts to van Deventer. If I can’t return to the library free of all I owe him there will be dire consequences for Francesca.”

  Immediately Adriaen began to doubt the wisdom of becoming involved. Gamblers were a bad risk and he could foresee that if he made a loan to Hendrick now he could face a future of endlessly settling his father-in-law’s debts. It must be every gambler’s dream to have a banker in the family, but he must make no promises until he had discussed the matter with his father.

  “I’m sorry, Master Visser,” he said firmly, “but I see no cause for you to come to me. Van Deventer seemed pleased enough to be your daughter’s betrothed at the table and I can’t believe he’ll negate on his wish to marry her just because you owe him money.”

  “You fool!” Hendrick was wild with fear and exasperation. “You haven’t understood! She’ll have to marry him against her will if I don’t pay him. I want her released from that contract.”

  But it was too late. The handle of the locked door was tried and Francesca spoke. “Please let me in, Father.”

  Hendrick clapped his hands to his head with a groan and turned away, making no attempt to answer his daughter’s request. Sybylla, having become hysterical when he had started shouting even louder, had rushed to fetch Francesca and met her, somber-faced, coming from the library with Ludolf. Again Francesca rapped on the door, but it was Sybylla who shouted through it.