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Updated: September 26, 2025
All my old-time marvel at life returned to me at sight of this splendid incarnation of it, and Wolf Larsen's cold explanation of life and its meaning was truly ridiculous and laughable. "A sentimentalist," he sneered, "like Mr. Van Weyden. Those men are cursing because their desires have been outraged. That is all. What desires?
"Let go that foreboom tackle and pass it across, and when she's willing let go the sheet and come in snug with the tackle. And if you make a mess of it, it will be the last you ever make. Understand?" "Mr. Van Weyden, stand by to pass the head-sails over. Then jump for the topsails and spread them quick as God'll let you the quicker you do it the easier you'll find it.
See M. Pinchart, "Roger van der Weyden et les Tapisseries de Berne." Enguerrand de Monstrelet, "Chronicles."
There was a woman in Finch Lane who produced tapestry, with a cotton back, "after the manner of the works of Arras:" this was considered a dishonest business, and the work was ordered to be burnt. Roger van der Weyden designed a set of tapestries representing the History of Herkinbald, the stern uncle who, with his own hand, beheaded his nephew for wronging a young woman.
"If our five boats do as well as you and I have done, we'll have a pretty full crew," Wolf Larsen said to me. "The man you shot he is I hope?" Maud Brewster quavered. "In the shoulder," he answered. "Nothing serious, Mr. Van Weyden will pull him around as good as ever in three or four weeks."
"You will observe, Miss Brewster, that he carries a dirk in his belt, a ahem a most unusual thing for a ship's officer to do. While really very estimable, Mr. Van Weyden is sometimes how shall I say? er quarrelsome, and harsh measures are necessary. He is quite reasonable and fair in his calm moments, and as he is calm now he will not deny that only yesterday he threatened my life."
For when one of the sailors lifted her into Wolf Larsen's downstretched arms, she looked up into our curious faces and smiled amusedly and sweetly, as only a woman can smile, and as I had seen no one smile for so long that I had forgotten such smiles existed. "Mr. Van Weyden!" Wolf Larsen's voice brought me sharply back to myself. "Will you take the lady below and see to her comfort?
"Hump," he said, "I beg pardon, Mr. Van Weyden, I congratulate you. I think you can now fire your father's legs back into the grave to him. You've discovered your own and learned to stand on them. A little rope-work, sail-making, and experience with storms and such things, and by the end of the voyage you could ship on any coasting schooner."
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