Читать книгу Barkskins - Энни Пру, Annie Proulx - Страница 27

In Amsterdam, Captains Piet Roos and Verdwijnen at a table in their favorite coffeehouse discussed the possibility of the match.

“I do not like the man,” said Piet. “Beneath the pleasant manner he is cold and calculating. He is more addicted to his own interests than anything else. There is something in the way that ugly head sits on his shoulders that signals defeat to anyone with whom he converses. He smiles often, yes, but while his lips curve his eyes remain like dried peas. I detect no real fondness for my daughter. His conversation is always about his wishes, his plans, his travels and his money. Of the rest of life aside from his personal advantage he knows little.”

“Yes, I agree that may be true, his is a rough and masculine view—though I have seen him pleased with a Chinese garden, but he is already wealthy and in a way to command enormous sums.”

“Yes, I like money as well, but not as Duquet does. With him it is a sinful greed. Nothing else matters.”

Captain Verdwijnen took down his clay pipe from its ceiling hook. He sat again, spilled tobacco leaves on the table and began to cut them fine. “He has a monstrous good head for business and, as you say, a will to dominate. And a rather terrifying lust for work. If Cornelia weds him it would be a familial tie to a great deal of money and credit. You can always make stipulations in the marriage agreement—for example, you can insist that if you give permission for this marriage Cornelia and the children—and children there will be—must remain in Amsterdam until a certain age—say, fourteen or so. He will look after his interests in New France and now, I understand, in the English colonies in some manner, and travel to Amsterdam when business allows, for protracted visits with his wife and family—and business partners. I have no hesitation in doing business with him. And I think if you set it out to him that marriage with Cornelia is an impossibility without these provisions he will accept it, perhaps even welcome it as I see no indications that he would ever be a family man dandling infants on his knee, though I sense that he is lonely.”

“He is one of those who cannot be other than lonely. He was born to it. And I dislike the idea of him clambering aboard Cornelia as if she were an Indian canoe.” Piet Roos paused for a long moment. “I might do business with him but I do not want him for a son-in-law.”

“Some of your feelings are the natural feelings of a father for his daughter. But you need only keep him in check. He is, aside from his raw greed, something of a fool. He is obtuse, has no subtlety and often acts on impulse. He feels his position as a lowborn uneducated man who has had to make his own way. He can be manipulated. He has a respect for older men such as we are. He will listen to you. In this life we meet difficult people. We must take the time to listen and try to understand them. We must never take an adversarial position.”

Piet Roos, half convinced, snorted. “I feel he can be dangerous.”

“Dear Piet, even a sparrow has a sharp beak. If you set it out that Cornelia and any children must remain here, it is a way you could exercise control over the children at least. You do not yourself have any sons and a sturdy grandson or two might be a real benefit. Or, if the children are girls, carefully chosen sons-in-law could be useful. You might also add business terms that would be to your benefit as well as his; you, after all, have three ships plying the China-Japan trade and he has none and salivates for them. And he has money and will have more. He will make money for us. I know it. So be fatherly. But be watchful.”

It took Duquet another year of cross-Atlantic courtship, not of Cornelia, but of her father, to get his way. But he persisted. He would have her. In Amsterdam in 1711 he spent days with Piet Roos, who pored over Duquet’s account books with great thoroughness, listened to his future plans and asked shrewd questions, weighing the answers before he allowed the marriage.

“If I correctly understand what you are proposing, there would be a three-way business partnership working the China trade—Charles Duquet, Piet Roos and Outger Verdwijnen.”

“Yes,” said Duquet, vibrating internally at the sound of the three linked names.

“Well. In that respect I think we can work an agreeable arrangement. The marriage is perhaps more—delicate. My wife and I do not wish to part with Cornelia. You understand she is our youngest daughter and her mother’s pet.”

Duquet half-smiled.

“I am not refusing your suit outright, but suggesting certain conditions. We would wish Cornelia to stay in Amsterdam.” There was a long silence. Piet rolled and unrolled a corner of the paper on which he was writing. “I would make her a gift of a house I own in the next street, a very pleasant house and close by her parents and sister.”

Duquet shifted in his chair. A house, Cornelia’s house, his house.

“Moreover, we would prefer that any children from the union would live with their mother in Amsterdam. With her family close by she will be well looked after. You can live there, of course, but if you prefer, New France—or, better yet, you may travel between that place and Amsterdam, not only on business, but to spend time with your family.” He looked at Duquet, who sat with his face motionless and his mouth slightly open. Duquet looked at the tapestry that hung on the wall behind Piet. He saw only the figure in the border—a hawk stooping on a heron. The heron lay on its back, its claws up to defend itself. But the hawk was fierce and sure. Below ran the words “Exitus in dubio est,” which Piet, seeing his puzzled expression, said was Latin meaning “escape is in doubt.” Duquet’s sympathies lay with the hawk. Piet cast aside the shell of the conversation and came to the kernel.

“The routes are well traveled and others manage this. If you wish I will put a ship and crew at your disposal for that transatlantic passage. How seem these conditions to you?”

Duquet nodded, for this was the connection he needed.

“Yes, yes, my thanks, it is a thing undreamed of.” He thought it would be better to have his Dutch wife in Amsterdam, leaving him free from female manipulation and vapors, but still serving as the blood link to Piet Roos and Captain Verdwijnen. He knew that wherever he was, he would be a stranger. It was a price. He would pay it.

The marriage was celebrated with a wedding feast and drinking match that lasted for days. Captain Verdwijnen presented the couple with a splendid present of a set of silver vorks, the new eating implements. Margit’s left eye bored into Duquet as he regarded the present. Although he expressed loud admiration for the forks, in his private thoughts Duquet took offense at this gift; he knew it was a reproach to his still-coarse table manners. More to his liking was the handsome coffee mill. And the rich tapestry from his father-in-law. It was a week before Cornelia spoke a word, and what she said was known only to her and Duquet.

Within eighteen months he had fathered a daughter and a premature stillborn son. Duquet thought constantly of that lost son, and it seemed everywhere he turned he saw rugged boys. Men his age were accompanied by stout half-grown youths shaped to their fathers’ wills and callings. Particularly was he irked by the example of William Wentworth, a growing power in New Hampshire whose wife produced sons as a shingle maker rived the shakes from a bolt of cedar. With nine sons what could Wentworth not do? He, Duquet, needed sons badly, and said so to Captain Verdwijnen one evening.

“You are in a hurry with sons as in all else,” said the captain. “If you cannot wait until God grants your wish you might get some ready-made sons from the Weeshuis, that place of orphans, as many as King Priam should you wish. Indeed, I believe Cornelia is on the committee that operates the Weeshuis. You might speak of it to her.” He lit his pipe and looked at Duquet. “And let her choose the boys. Her affection will then be greater. She can see to their schooling, and you can have them trained in business matters or for the sea.”

Duquet was excited by this idea of adopting ready-made sons, and though he did not much wish to leave the choice to Cornelia, he recognized the value of Captain Verdwijnen’s diplomatic suggestion.

Cornelia, who was on a committee that oversaw the operation of a home for aged women, not the Weeshuis, warmed to the idea of doing orphans a good turn. She said she would be pleased to choose several boys for Duquet’s inspection and final decision. And so in 1713 Jan and Nicolaus, both nine years old, became Duquet’s sons and immediately began their schooling and a course in manners and correct behavior that Cornelia wished might rub off on Duquet. He had prepared a speech before he saw the children.

“Many boys would give their right hands for the opportunities that are being given to you. You have a chance to help build one of the great fortunes of the world, a chance to remove yourselves from the street mire. I, too, was a boy of the slums, not even so fortunate as to be taken into an orphanage, and you see I have removed myself from the mud.”

As sometimes happens after children are adopted, late that year Cornelia gave birth to a healthy, fat boy, little Outger, named for his godfather, Outger Verdwijnen. Duquet was as satisfied as he had ever been but could no longer put off his return to Boston and New France. Then, on the way to La Rochelle, a lightning bolt of an idea came to him: why stop at three sons? In La Rochelle could he not choose a poor but promising boy from the streets, a ragged boy as he himself had been, wild to escape poverty and a dismal future? He would find this boy himself and take him to New France that he might learn something of the forests of the New World.

He wrote to Cornelia and Piet Roos and told them of his find, a clever boy of eleven, Bernard, who was now with him in New France. He would bring him to Amsterdam when next he traveled there—likely in the coming autumn—that he might know his mother, his brothers and sister and be properly schooled.

“You see,” said Captain Verdwijnen to Piet Roos. “Perhaps he is developing a kind heart.” Piet Roos kept silent.