The Miraculous Draught of Fishes from “Stories of the Rhine” by Erckmann and Chatrian

Back in the satyr episode of the Magonomia Bestiary Kickstarter I mentioned Gabrinus as the creator of beer. In this story, a less powerful Gabrinus, with a touch of faerie, is playing the an ancient game against painters, to steal the fruits of their creativity.

Readers at the time would know that schiedam is a type of junever, which is the ancestor of English gin. Gin doesn’t become the tipple of the English until after Elizabeth’s reign. When William of Orange becomes co-monarch he bans French brandy. Oddly, he makes it stick: it’s a patriotic duty to drink Dutch gin rather than French brandy. The rich don’t just smuggle it in, as in previous wars. The translator calls gin “Geneva” at one point, which is a common shorthand. It’s not that the junever they are drinking comes from Geneva. They do make some there, but the drinker calls for Schiedam, which is the name of the town where a particularly old variant comes from. The similarity of names is claimed in some books to be because both Genenva and junever are named after the juniper, whose berries give gin its traditional flavour. So far as I can tell, this isn’t true at all – Geneva is named after a word meaning a bend in a river, as is Genoa in Italy – and this folk etymology just grew up because they sound similar.

The authors, or at least translators, also mention other drinks. Porter would be an anachronism in game, so far as I can tell. Porter doesn’t appear in written records before the 18th century. There’s a note of a strong beer being called “stout” as far back as 1677. He mentions “potato whisky” which I take to be something like poitín or vodka. Triple X ale is strong ale: the idea being that each x is used to mark a level of strength. This is also why, in my own state of Queensland, the local beer is called XXXX, pronounced “Fourex”. It was meant to mark the beer of as being of surpassing strength, purity and quality. Lambic is beer produced with wild yeast in a particular Belgian valley. Oddly, although alembics are used to make jenever in the area, they are not used to make lambic, because it is not distilled.

Pandemonium is the capital city of Hell. Circe turned the companions of Ulysees into pigs. This may not be literal. A magic lantern is a simple slide projector. A horn lantern is a standard lantern which uses the outer layer of cow horn instead of glass for its windows.

***

One morning, in the month of September, 1850, old Andreusse Cappelmans, the marine painter, my worthy master, and I were quietly smoking our pipes at the window of his studio, on the upper floor of the old house which forms the right-hand corner of the Rue des Bi-abancons, on the bridge at Leyden, while we emptied a pot of ale to our respective healths. I was then eighteen years of age, with a pink and white face and fair hair. Cappelmans was about fifty ; his
large nose was becoming rather blue, his hair was silvery at the temples, wrinkles were forming round his little grey eyes, and deeper ones traversed his brown cheeks. Instead of the cock’s plume which it was once his pride to wear, he now carried but a single feather from a raven’s wing in his hat.

The weather was very fine. Before us the old Rhine flowed along, a few white clouds were floating in the blue sky, the port and its great black barges, with their sails motionless, seemed asleep at our feet, the blue waves reflected the rays of the sun, and hundreds of swallows were cleaving the air in all directions. There we sat, musing, much disposed to sentimental reflections ; the large vine-leaves which grew round our window quivered at every breath of air, a butterfly fluttered by, and a dozen chirping sparrows immediately set off in pursuit ; down below, on the roof of a shed, a great tortoiseshell cat sat blinking in the sun, and waving gently its tail from side to side, in a mood as meditative as our own. It was the most tranquillising sight imaginable; nevertheless, Cappelmans seemed sad and anxious.

” Master Andreusse,” said I suddenly, “you seem verv much out of sorts.”
“You are right,” replied he. ” I am as melancholy as a cudgelled donkey.”
” Why ? We have plenty of work, you have more orders than you can execute, and we shall have the kermesse here in a fortnight.”
” I have had a bad dream.”
“Master Cappelmans, do you believe in dreams?”
” I am not sure, Christian, whether it was a dream or not, for I had my eyes wide open.” Then, knocking the ashes out of his pipe on the window-sill ” You must have heard,” said he, “of my old comrade Van Marius, the famous marine painter, who understood the sea as well as Euysdael did the land, Van Ostade a village, Rembrandt dark interior effects, and Rubens temples, palaces, and feasts. He was indeed a great painter. When one looked at his picture, one did not say ‘ How well painted !’ but ‘ How beautiful the sea looks !’ or ‘ How grand, how terrible it is. You could not see the brush of Van Marius at work ; it seemed like the shadow of God’s hand on the canvas. Oh, genius, genius, what a sublime gift that is, Christian !” Cappelmans was silent, his lips were closed, his brows contracted, and he had tears in his eyes. It was the first time I had ever seen him in this; mood, so I was quite astonished. In another moment he continued.

” Van Marius and I had studied together at Utrecht under old Byssen. We were in love with two sisters ; we used to pass our evenings together at the sign of the Frog, like two brothers. We afterwards came to Leyden arm-in-arm. Van Marius had but one fault. He liked Geneva and schiedam better than ale and porter. You must do me the justice to admit, Christian, that I never get intoxicated with anything but ale, and for that reason I am always in good health.

Unfortunately, Van Marius used to get drunk on geneva. Even then, if he had only drunk when he was at the tavern, but he used to have liquor sent to his studio ; he could only work with energy when he had a couple of pints of spirits under his belt, and his eyes were coming out of his head. Then you should see him, and hear him yell, and sing, and whistle ; he would roar like the sea as he worked, every touch of his brush raised a wave, at every whistle you could see the clouds getting larger, and heavier, and darker ; then he would snatch up a brush with red, and lo ! the lightning flowed from the sky down on the dark waves like a stream of melted lead, while in the distance was a vessel, a cutter maybe, a dismantled wreck, amidst the darkness and the white foam of the waves. It was frightful! When Van Marius painted a calm he made the old blind man, Coppelius, play the clarionet to him for two florins a day ; he mixed his geneva with ale and ate sausages to inspire his imagination with scenes of country life. You must see yourself, Christian, how destructive such a regime as that must have been to the talent of any man. How many times did I say to him, ‘ Take care, Jan, take care ! Geneva will be the death of you some day.’

“But instead of listening to me he would begin to thunder out some drinking song, and he always ended by crowing like a cock. This was his greatest pleasure. For instance, at the tavern when his glass was empty, instead of knocking the bottom against the table to call the waiter’s attention to him, he would shake his arms and begin crowing until his wants were attended to. For some time past Marius had often spoken to me about his chef-d’ceuvre, the ‘ Miraculous Draught of Fishes.’ He had shown me his first sketches for it, and I was delighted with them, when one morning he suddenly disappeared from Leyden, and since then no one
has heard anything of him.”

Here Cappelmans thoughtfully lighted his pipe again, and continued ” Last night I was at the Golden Jug with Doctor lLtuner, of Eisenlaffel, and five or six comrades. About ten, apropos to what I cannot say, Ecemer began declaiming against potatoes, declaring they were the scourge of the human race ; that since the discovery of potatoes the aborigines of America, the Irish, the
Swedes, the Dutch, and, generally speaking, all those nations which consume great quantities of spirituous liquors, instead of taking their former position in the world, were now reduced to nothing. He attributed this decay to potato brandy, and while I was listening to him—I cannot tell by what chain of reasoning it came into my head—the memory of Van Marius presented itself to me. ‘Poor old fellow,’ thought I, ‘ what is he doing now ? Has he finished his great picture ? Why have I never heard from him ?’ While thinking over these things, Zelig, the watchman, came into the tavern to tell us it was time to go—it was striking eleven. I went straight home, my head felt rather heavy, and I went to sleep. ”

About an hour afterwards, Brigitte, the stockingmender opposite, set fire to her curtains. She screamed out, ‘ Fire !’ I hear a noise of people running in the street, I open my eyes, and what do I see ? A great black cock perched on the easel in the middle of the room.

“In less than half a minute the old woman’s curtains had blazed away and burnt themselves out. Every one went home again laughing—but the black cock remained there on his perch, and as the moon shone brightly between the towers of the town hall, this singular animal was perfectly visible to me ; he had large yellow eyes, with a red circle round them, and scratched his comb with his claw.

” I had been watching him for at least ten minutes, trying to explain to myself how this strange creature could have found its way into my studio, when it left off scratching its comb, raised its head, and said ” ‘ What, Cappelmans ! you don’t recognise me ? I am, nevertheless, the soul of your old friend Van Marius !’

” ‘ The soul of Van Marius !’ cried I. ‘ Is Van Marius dead, then ?’

” ‘ Yes,’ replied the cock with a melancholy air, ‘ it is all over, my poor friend. I wanted to have a trial of strength with Herod van Gambrinus; we drank two days and two nights without stopping. The morning of the third day, as old Judith was extinguishing the candles, I rolled under the table ! My body now rests in Osterhaffen Cemetery, facing the sea, and I am
looking out for some new organism. But that is not the question now. I came to ask a service of you, Cappelnians.’

” ‘ A service ? Say, what is it ? All that man can do will I do for you.’

” ‘ Very good,’ replied the cock—’ very good. I was sure you would not refuse my request. Well, this is how the matter stands. You must know, Andreusse, that I had gone to the Herring Creek on purpose to finish the ‘ Miraculous Draught of Fishes.’ Unfortunately, death surprised me before I could put the last touches to this picture. Gambrinus has hung it up as a trophy in the great room of his tavern, and that fills my soul with bitterness. I shall only be at rest when it is finished, and I come now to pray you to finish it for me. You promise me you will ; is it not
so, Cappelnians?’

” Rest assured, Jan, it shall be done.’

” ‘ Then good night.’ Whereupon the cock flapped his wings and flew through one of the panes of glass without making the least noise.” Having concluded this extraordinary story, Cappelmans laid his pipe down in the window and finished his glass at a gulp. We sat for some time in silence, looking at one another.

” And do you believe that this black cock was the soul of Van Marius ?” said I at last to the good master.

” Do I believe it ? I feel sure it was.”

” Then what do you intend to do, Master Andreusse?”

“It is very clear what I have to do—I shall go to Osterhaffen. An honest man must keep his promise, and I have given mine to Van Marius to finish his picture for him, and I will finish it, cost what it may. In an hour Van Eyck, the one-eyed man, will be here with his cart for me.” Then he ceased speaking and looked earnestly at me. ” Now I think of it,” said he, ” you had better come
with me, Christian ; it is a good opportunity for you to see the Herring Creek. Besides, who knows what may happen ? I should be well satisfied to have you with me.”

” I should like to go very much, Master Andreusse,” said I, ” but you know what my aunt Catherine is as well as I can tell you ; she will never let me go.”

” Your aunt Catherine ! I shall tell her it is indispensable for your improvement that you should see the coast. How can a man become a painter of marine subjects who has never quitted the neighbourhood of Leyden, and all he knows of the sea is the insignificant port of Kalwyk ? That is all nonsense ! Tou must come with me, Christian—that is a settled thing.” While the good man was talking he put on his loose red jacket, and then taking me by the arm he gravely took me to my aunt. I need not repeat to you all that was said on both sides—my aunt’s objections, and how they were met by Master Cappelmans, in order to induce her to allow me to go with him.

The fact is, he ended by having his own way, and two hours after we were rolling along in the cart towards Osterhaffen, Our cart, drawn by a Zuyder-zee pony, with a big head, short and hairy legs, and his back covered with an old dogskin rug, had been rolling along for three
hours between Leyden and Herring Creek, without appearing to be any nearer the end of our journey. The setting sun shed its long purple rays across the marshy plain ; the ditches were flaming red, and all around the reeds, rushes, and shave-grass which grew on their banks threw their black shadows across the dyke.

It soon grew dark, and Cappelmans, rousing himself from his meditations, called out ” Wrap yourself up well in your cloak, Christian ; pull your fur cap over your ears, and keep your feet
well covered with straw. Hop, Barabas, hop ! we are crawling along like snails !” At the same time he had recourse to his stone bottle of schiedam, and then wiping his lips with the back of
his hand he offered it to me, with the remark ” Take a pull at it, Christian, to keep the fog out of
your stomach. It is a sea fog, the very worst of all fogs.” I thought it right to take Cappelraans’ advice, and the goodness of the liquor put rue in a good humour directly.

” My dear Christian,” said my old master after a few moments’ silence, ” as we shall have to pass five or six hours in this fog with nothing to help us to pass the time but smoking our pipes and listening to the creaking of the cart, let us talk about Osterhaffen.” Then the good man began to give me a description of the tavern called the Jar of Tobacco, the house the best supplied with beer and spirits of any in Holland. ” It is situated in the lane of the Trois- Sabots,” said he. ” It is easily recognised a long way off by its large flat roof and small square windows overlooking
the port. A great chestnut-tree stands opposite ; on the right there is a skittle-alley running along an old moss-covered wall, and behind is the poultry-yard with hundreds of ducks, geese, fowls, and turkeys, the screaming, cackling, and quacking of which only cease at night. ” There is nothing very extraordinary in the great room of the tavern ; but there, under the dark rafter.-; of the ceiling, in clouds of blue smoke, at a counter made in the shape of a cask, sits enthroned the dreaded Herod van Gambrinus, surnamed the Bacchus of the North.

“This man can drink at a sitting two gallons of porter ; treble X, ale, and Iambic go down his throat as easily as down a tin funnel ; it is only geneva which he acknowledges as a master.
” Woe be to the painter who sets foot in this pandemonium ! I tell you, Christian, tie had better never have been born. Good-looting young serving-girls, with long yellow curls, are forward in offering their services, and Gainbrinus holds out his large hairy hand, but it is but luring him to his soul’s destruction ; the victim leaves the tavern as the companions of Ulysses quitted the cavern of Circe.”

After talking very gravely in this strain for some time, Cappelmans lighted his pipe and began to smoke in silence. I had become very melancholy ; an overpowering feeling of sadness took possession of me. It seemed I was getting every instant nearer an impassable gulf, and had it been possible I would have jumped out of the cart ; and, God forgive me, I would have left my
old master to prosecute his enterprise of danger alone. The only thing, perhaps, which prevented my doing so was the impossibility of crossing those unknown marshes in the darkness of night. So I was obliged to follow the course of events, even if I suffered the fatal consequences which I anticipated.

About ten Master Andreusse fell asleep, his head dropped on my shoulder. I kept awake an hour longer, and then fatigue sent me, in my turn, to sleep. I know not how long this state of rest lasted, but the cart stopped with a jolt, and the driver called out ” Here we are ! Cappelmans uttered an exclamation of surprise, while a cold shiver ran all over me from my head to my feet.

If I lived a hundred years the Jar of Tobacco, such as I then saw it for the first time, with its little windows blazing with light, and its large roof reaching nearly to the ground, will always be present to my recol lection. It was a very dark night. The sea was roaring about a hundred yards behind us, and I could hear the droning of bagpipes above the clamour of the waves. In the darkness I could see the grotesque outlines of the dancers on the glass of the windows. It was quite the effect of a magic-lantern. The dirty lane, lighted up by a horn lantern, the strange faces appearing and disappearing again into the darkness like rats in a drain, the uninterrupted drone of the bagpipes, the pony belonging to Van Eyck standing with his feet in the mud, Cappehnans wrapping his cloak still closer round him, and the moon half obscured by clouds, all contributed to confirm my apprehensions, and made me feel sadder than ever.

We were about to leave the cart, when from out the darkness a tall man suddenly advanced ; he wore a large flapped hat, a pointed beard, turned-down collar on a velvet pourpoint, and a threefold gold chain round his neck, after the fashion of the ancient Flemish painters.
“Is it you, Cappelmans?” said this man, whose sharp profile was distinctly visible against the windows of the den before us.

” Yes, master,” replied Andreusse, quite stupefied.

” Take care,” said the unknown, raising his finger ; ” beware—the slayer of souls is waiting for you.”

“Rest assured Andreusse Cappelmans will do his duty.”

” That is well. You are a man of your word ; the spirit of the old masters is on your side.”

As he spoke the stranger disappeared in the darkriess, and Cappelmans, pale but resolute, got down from the cart. I followed him, but I cannot describe in what a state of mind I was after this short dialogue.

We went up the dark passage, and Master Andreusse, who was leading the way, soon turned round to me and said ” Pay attention, Christian !” He at the same time gave the door a push, and under hams, herrings, and strings of black puddings hanging from the black rafters of the ceiling I could see about a hundred men sitting in rows at long tables, some crouching like monkeys, with their shoulders up to their ears, others with their legs stretched out before them, their fur caps over their ears, and their backs against the wall, puffing forth volumes of smoke,
which eddied along the room. They all seemed to be laughing with their eyes half closed, their cheeks wrinkled to their ears, and appeared to be plunged in a state of drunken contentment.

On the right a blazing fire sent gleams of light from one end of the room to the other ; and here old Judith, who was as long and as thin as a broomstick, and her face purple with heat, was holding a frying-pan over the fire, in which she was preparing supper for some of the customers. But what astonished me most of all was Herod Gambrinus himself seated at his counter, a little to the left, just as Master Andreusse had described him ; his shirtsleeves tucked up on his hairy arms, his elbows leaning on the board surrounded by shining pots, and his cheeks resting on his enormous fists, liis thick red wig all in disorder, and his long yellow beard flowing over his chest ; he was looking earnestly at the picture of the ” Miraculous Draught,” which was hanging up at one end of the room, just above the little wooden clock.

I had been watching him for some seconds, when outside the watchman’s horn was audible close to the lane of the Trois-Sabots, and at the same moment old Judith, giving her frying-pan a toss, began to say with a sneer ” Midnight! the great painter Van Marius has been lying for twelve days in Osterhaffen Cemetery, and “the avenger comes not !”

“He is here!” said Cappelmans, stepping forward into the room.

All eyes were fixed upon him, and Gambrinus, turning his head towards him, smiled, and began caressing his beard. ” Is that you, Cappelmans ?” said he in a jeering tone. ” I have been expecting you ; so you have come to fetch away the ‘ Miraculous Draught of Fishes ?’ “

” Yes !” replied Master Andreusse ; ” I have promised Van Marius to finish his chef-d’oeuvre, and
finish it I will.”

” You will—you will have it ?” returned the other. ” Comrade, that is easier said than done ; do you know that I won it, tankard in hand?”

” I know it ; and I intend to win it back, tankard in hand, as you did.”

” Then you are determined to play the great game ?”

” Yes, determined ; may the God of justice be on my side ! I will keep my word, or I roll under the table a vanquished man.”

The eyes of Gambrinus glittered. ” You have heard him ?” cried he, addressing himself to the topers around him ; ” it is he who challenges me ; let it be as he desires,” Then turning to Master Andreusse ” Who is your umpire ?’*

” My umpire is Christian Eebstock,” said Cappelmans, motioning to me to come forward.
I was in a terrific fright. Then one of the spectators, Ignace van den Brock, Burgomaster of Osterhaffen, wearing a great flaxen wig, drew a paper from his pocket and read as follows like a schoolmaster :

” The drinker’s umpire has of right a white cloth, a clean glass, and a white candle ; let him be supplied !’* And a tall, red-haired girl put those articles by my side.

“”Who is your umpire?” asked Master Andreusse.

” Adam van Rasirnus.” This Adam van Easimus, with a pimpled nose, a villainous stoop, and a black eye, came and seated himself by me ; he was supplied with the same articles by the same handmaid.

Then Herod, holding out his great hand across tho
counter to his adversary, called out ” You have recourse neither to charms nor witchcraft !” “

Neither charms nor witchcraft,” replied Cappelmans.

” Are without hatred towards me ?”

” When I have avenged Fritz Coppelius, Tobias Vogel, the landscape-painter, Ecemer, Nickel Brauer, Diderich Vinkelman, Van Marius, all painters of reputation, and drowned by you in ale and porter, and then plundered of their labours by you, then I shall feel no hatred towards you.”

Herod burst into a loud laugh, and stretching out his arms till his powerful shoulders touched the wall behind him, he exclaimed ” I vanquished them, tankard in hand, honourably and loyally, as I am about to vanquish you. Their works have become my rightful property ; and as to your hatred, I laugh at it and despise it. Drink !” Then, my dear friends, began a struggle the like of
which has never been known in Holland within the memory of man, and which will be talked of for ages to come if it pleases God. Black and White had met in arms ; the destiny of one was about to be accomplished.

A cask of ale was placed on the table, and two pots containing a pint each were filled to the brim. Herod and Master Andreusse drank them off at once, and so on every half-hour with the regulaiity of a clock until the cask was empty. Then they passed on to porter, and after porter to Iambic. I could easily tell you how many barrels of strong beer were emptied in this memorable battle ; the burgomaster Van den Brock noted down the exact quantity in the parish register of Osterhaffen, for the information of future drinkers, but you would refuse to believe me, it would seem so incredible. Let it suffice to tell you that the struggle lasted three days and three nights. The like had never been seen.

It was the first time Herod had found himself in presence of an adversary capable of resisting him. The news, therefore, soon spread abroad ; all the world, on foot, on horseback, and in carts, hurried to the tavern ; it was quite a procession ; and as no one seemed inclined to leave before the termination of the struggle, it happened consequently that the second day the tavern was crammed with visitors ; one could hardly move about, and the burgomaster was obliged to tap the table with his cane and call out, ” Room! room !” to allow the cellarmen to carry the casks to the table on their shoulders. All this time Master Andreusse and Gambrinus con- tinued swallowing their pints with marvellous regularity. Sometimes, as I added up in my mind the number of quarts they had drunk, I thought I must be dreaming, and I would look uneasily at Cappelmans ; but he would wink his eye, and say with a smile ” Well, Christian, we are getting on ; have a glass ; it will do you good.” Then I was quite confounded.

” The soul of Van Marius possesses him, surely,” I thought ; ” it must be that which keeps him up.”
As for Gambrinus, with his little boxwood pipe between his lips, his elbow on the counter, and his cheek resting on his hand, he sat smoking his pipe like a respectable old shopkeeper taking his glass of beer while he thought over the affairs of the day. It was inconceivable. The oldest drinkers themselves had never seen anything like it.

The morning of the third day, before the lights were extinguished, seeing the struggle threatened to be prolonged indefinitely, the burgomaster told Judith to bring a needle and thread for the first test. Then there was great excitement, and every one came nearer to see how it would be. According to the rules of the great game, the combatant who comes victorious from this ordeal has a right to choose what liquor he prefers for the rest of the battle,
Herod had laid his pipe down on the counter; he took the needle and thread which Van den Brock offered him, and raising his huge body, with his eyes coming out of his head, he lifted his arm, and applied the thread to the eye of the needle, but whether his hand was too heavy or the light of the candles dazzled his sight, he was obliged to make two attempts, which had a great effect on all the spectators ; for they looked at one another quite bewildered.

” It is your turn, Cappelmans,” said the burgomaster. Then Master Andreusse rose, took the needle, and, at the first attempt, threaded it. Frantic applause shook the room. I expected to see the whole building come down about our ears. I looked at Gambrinus ; his great fleshy face was puffed up with blood ; his cheeks shook. At the expiration of one minute, after silence had
been obtained, Van den Brock struck three blows on the table, and then gravely asked ” Master Cappelmans, your glory in Bacchus is great ; what drink do you choose ?”

” Schiedam,” replied Master Andreusse—” old schiedam, the oldest and the strongest.”

These words produced a surprising effect on the tavern-keeper. ” No,” cried he—” no ; beer if you will—always beer —no schiedam.”

He got on his legs and looked frightfully pale. ” I regret,” said the burgomaster briefly, ” that the
regulations are formal. Let Cappelmans have what he chooses.”

Then Gambrinus reseated himself like a criminal who hears his sentence of death, and they brought us some schiedam of the year ’22, which Van Rasimus and I tasted to guard against any deception or adulteration. The glasses were rilled, and the struggle recommenced.

The whole population of Osterhaffen was thronging about the house and staring in at the windows. The lights had been extinguished and it was broad daylight. As the contest approached its denouement the bystanders became more and more silent. All the customers were standing on chairs, on tables, and on empty barrels, watching attentively. Cappelmans had called for a black-pudding, and was eating it with a good appetite, but Gambrinus was no
longer the same man ; the schiedam had stupefied him ! His great crimson face was covered with perspiration, his ears were violet, his eyelids dropped ; sometimes a nervous shudder made him raise his head, and then with staring eyes and dropping lip he gazed at the sea of silent faces crowded together before him, and then he took his glass in both hands and drank while his throat rattled. In all my life I never saw anything more horrible. Every one saw that the tavern-keeper’s defeat was certain. ” He is a lost man,” said they. ” He thought himself invincible, but he has met his master. Another glass or two and it is all over with him.”

But there were some who thought otherwise ; they declared that Herod might hold out three or four hours longer, and Van Rasimus offered to bet a cask of ale that he would not roll under the table before sundown ; but a circumstance, trifling in itself, occurred which hastened the catastrophe.

It was nearly midday. Nickel Spitz, the cellarman, had filled the jugs for the fourth time.
Old Judith, after having attempted in vain to put water to the schiedam, had just left the room drowned in tears, and we could hear her crying and lamenting in the next room. Herod was dozing. All at once the old clock began to grate and creak in a strange fashion ; it struck twelve amidst a general silence, and the little wooden cock perched above the dial flapped his wings and began to crow. Then, my dear friends, those who were in the room were spectators of a frightful scene.

When the cock began to crow the tavern-keeper raised himself to his full height, as if acted upon by an invisible spring. I shall never forget that half-open mouth, those haggard eyes, and that face livid with fright. I can see him now stretching out his hands to drive some horrid image away. I can hear him now screaming as if he was being strangled ” That cock ! O that cock !” He tried to move, but his logs bent under him, and the terrible Herod van Ganibrinus fell like an ox
struck down by the butcher at the feet of Master Andreusse Cappelmans.

The next day, about six in the morning, Cappelruans and I quitted Osterhaffen, carrying with us the picture of the ” Miraculous Draught of Fishes.” Our return to Leyden was quite a triumph. The
whole town, having heard of Master Andreusse’s victory, came out to meet us in the streets ; it was like a Sunday in fair time, but it seemed to have no effect on Cappelmans. He had not opened his mouth the whole journey home, and seemed very much preoccupied. As soon as he reached his house his first order was that he was at home to no one. ” Christian,” said the good man to me as he took off his great cloak, ” I want to be alone. Go home to your
aunt and try to work. When the picture is finished I will send Kobus to tell you.”
He embraced me, and pushed me gently into the street.

One very fine day, about six weeks later, Master Andreusse came to my aunt Catherine to fetch me to see the picture. The ” Miraculous Draught of Fishes” was hanging against the wall opposite two lofty windows. What a sublime work ! Is it possible it can be in the power of man to produce such things ? Cappelmans had thrown all his heart and all his genius into
the work. The soul of Van Marius ought to be satisfied. I could have remained there till night, mute with admiration, before this incomparable painting, if my old master, tapping me on the shoulder, had not said very solemnly “You find that very fine, do you not, Christian?
Well, Van Mark’s had a dozen of similar chefs-d’ceuvre in his head. Unfortunately, he was too fond of ale and schiedam ; his belly was his destruction. It is the fault of us Dutchmen. You are young ; let this serve you for a lesson—sensuality is the enemy of everything that is great.”