by Graham Brack
‘Did you never think of following your grandfather, Johannes?’ I asked.
He laughed. ‘No, I could never have matched the example. My father took to the law, and I have done the same. But I serve the church in my own way.’
‘Johannes is a deacon,’ his grandfather interrupted, ‘with responsibility for managing the alms and oblations.’
‘It’s simple enough,’ answered Johannes, ‘for a man who can count.’
Anna entered with the first platters which she had successfully carried from the kitchen. The cook herself bore the leg of pork that was the centrepiece of the meal, no doubt fearing the consequences if Anna lost it on the way between the kitchen and the dining room. The old man said grace and we fell upon the delicious meal. Conversation was stilted as we chewed happily.
When the plates had been cleared, old Voet told young Voet to tell Anna she would not be needed for a while and to close the door.
‘Now, Master, I think the simplest approach is for you to tell my grandson what transpired when you met the Stadhouder and the true reason why you are here.’
‘The Stadhouder had heard of your grandfather’s brief indisposition,’ I began, inserting the word brief to curry favour with the old man, ‘and was concerned for his health. At the same time, it brought home to him how much he has relied on your grandfather’s support and how difficult his position would be if your grandfather were no longer able to supply it.’
‘He means if I were dead,’ snapped Gijsbert.
‘Lamented as it will be, it must come to us all, Grandfather,’ Johannes said. It seemed that he could get away with anything where the old man was concerned. If I’d said that, I’d have expected to be belaboured with a walking stick and thrown out on the street.
‘The Stadhouder is presently unable to come to Utrecht,’ I continued, ‘but he has asked me to obtain your grandfather’s valued advice as to those upon whom he could rely in the event of any further indisposition.’
‘Or death,’ added Gijsbert.
‘Let’s not be morbid, Grandfather!’ exclaimed Johannes. ‘You say yourself that your strength is not what it was, so we must find willing legs to run where you cannot, and you can concentrate that excellent mind on issuing orders and providing guidance.’
‘The chief amongst those legs must be yours, Johannes. But I fear that we may have difficulty persuading the Stadhouder of that in the light of your poor father’s views.’
I saw my opportunity. ‘I think, Professor, that I can overcome those reservations, provided that we have a second name to offer the Stadhouder.’
Johannes smiled. ‘You mean a spy who can report to The Hague if I become an ardent Republican?’
‘That’s one way of putting it,’ I smiled back.
‘Well, that’s just being prudent,’ Johannes answered.
I was warming to Johannes. Personally, I had no doubt that he could fill his grandfather’s shoes if need arose, and I hoped that the Stadhouder was pragmatic enough to take the advice of one who had visited Utrecht and seen for himself — I mean me, by the way — and not pose unnecessary obstacles. But the Princes of Orange were notoriously stubborn men, and I was — and am — an atrocious judge of character, as will become clear as my tale unfolds.
‘What about De Zwart?’ posed Johannes.
‘De Zwart? Well, the man is loyal enough, but timid. He rarely leaves the Dom’s precincts.’
The Dom was the name used locally for the great cathedral of St Martin that dominated the central square of the city. To be honest, a man could live his life on and around the square and not miss much that was going on.
‘But if his role is to keep an eye on me, he doesn’t need to,’ Johannes answered.
‘If that is his only role, well and good,’ replied the Professor, ‘but he would be small help to you in gathering the intelligence you need around the city. We need someone more mobile.’
‘Then Van Leusden is your man,’ announced Johannes, at which the old man’s face brightened, leading me to suppose that this suggestion was a good one.
‘Do you think he has the intellect to fulfil the role?’ Gijsbert pondered.
‘He can read and write, after a fashion, and the man is a born gossip,’ said Johannes. ‘His work takes him all round the city and into the nearby towns and villages, and as a young man he fought for the Prince’s father.’
It seemed so obvious a choice that I was astounded that nobody had suggested him before. ‘What is his work?’ I enquired.
‘He’s an undertaker,’ laughed Johannes. ‘Strictly, he’s a carpenter who happens to spend most of his time dealing with burials. But he knows everyone, and between funerals he spends a lot of time talking to people. Grandfather, why don’t I take Mercurius to meet Van Leusden now? Perhaps I can show him a little of the city afterwards and you can get back to your work.’
I suspect it was the last part of this proposal that produced his grandfather’s ready agreement, but thus armed with approval Johannes and I gathered up our cloaks and stepped out into the street. ‘Isn’t it a little late to go calling on people?’ I asked.
‘Not on Van Leusden. We’ll find him at home, at the Dom, or at the inn. And since they’re within a few paces of each other, it won’t be hard work.’
We strolled through the streets, Johannes pausing at intervals to point out some landmark of interest, until we came to a small alleyway down which we passed. I had thought it lined with mean cottages, but suddenly we found ourselves in front of fine iron gates enclosing a small but pleasant garden and a neat house.
Johannes opened the gate and rapped on the door. ‘Is mijnheer Van Leusden at home?’ he enquired of the maid.
‘I’ll ask, if you please to wait,’ came the reply.
It was clear that the maid did not need to ask Johannes’ name, and within a few moments we saw a man of about fifty years of age advance towards us as he buttoned his tunic. ‘Mijnheer Voet! A pleasure!’
‘Bartholomeus, I’d like to introduce you to Master Mercurius, of the University of Leiden.’
Van Leusden looked me up and down and then, once satisfied that I did not have four heads or a forked tail, he nodded a greeting, which I returned.
‘I wonder if we might have a few words with you, Bartholomeus. In private.’
‘Of course, of course. If you don’t mind sitting in my workshop, we can avoid disturbing the ladies.’
I learned later that Van Leusden had a charming adult daughter and an equally uncharming wife. If I had been married to her, I would have spent a lot of time in my workshop too.
Van Leusden showed us to a room at the back of the house, ushered us inside, then went to fetch some more candles. Upon his return, I could not help noticing that we were not alone.
‘I hope you do not feel uncomfortable among the dead,’ he said nervously. A shrouded figure lay on a board across two trestles, while two more occupied coffins whose lids had not yet been fixed down.
‘Business is thriving,’ murmured Johannes.
‘The unseasonable hot weather leads to agues and fluxes,’ Van Leusden replied. ‘That poor chap there —’ he pointed to one of the coffins — ‘was right as rain at breakfast, felt poorly at midday and was dead by evening. It is a reminder to us all that we must keep our relationship with the Almighty in good repair, because we may be called to meet him at any time.’
‘Amen to that,’ Johannes said fervently. I ought to have been just as fervent, but I fear I sounded a bit half-hearted since my first concern was whether I ought to be so near people who have died of a pestilence.
‘Do not fear, Master,’ Van Leusden was quick to assure me, ‘all are agreed that the dead are not dangerous to us once they grow cold.’
I nudged the candles a little nearer to me in case letting the corpses warm up would restore the danger.
‘Perhaps, Dominie, you would say a prayer over them before you leave?’
The only possible reply to this was ‘of course’.
It’s what we ministers do, even if we have no idea at all whom the deceased might be. ‘No time like the present,’ I said, feeling that I would like to get it over with before any foul vapours in the air added to their number.
All present duly removed their hats and bowed their heads.
I am not the best extemporaneous prayer in the world. There was a fellow I met in Leiden once who could manage half an hour without even seeming to think about it. And during the late war against the French, I had enjoyed a tour de force by one of our local clergy who produced a commination against all Gallic persons and things that was simply majestic in its breadth and depth. If God answered even a tenth of his prayers, then 1673 must have been a really bad year to be French, what with the droughts, famines, failures of conceptions and plagues of boils that were called down upon them that day.
Nevertheless I set to, borrowing extensively from the book of Job and the burial service, and ending with the uplifting piece from the epistle to the Romans, chapter 8, verse 39, which has often been a great comfort to me, especially if I have been reading too much of the book of Job.
At the end, my Amen was answered by two male voices and an unexpected female one. Raising my eyes, I discovered that a comely young woman had entered the room. The presence of the departed did not seem to concern her at all.
‘What is it, Janneke?’ asked Van Leusden.
‘Mother thought your guests might welcome a little wine,’ she replied, offering us fine goblets on a tray.
I have mentioned earlier that I was ordained a priest in the Roman Catholic church, and if there is one thing that everybody seems to know about priests, it is that they are forbidden to marry. Actually, they are forbidden to do many things, but let’s preserve decorum and speak only of marriage for the moment. This does not mean that young men, such as I was at the time of these events, are immune to the attractiveness of young women; and Janneke van Leusden was an attractive young woman. In fact, I can feel my heart stirring even now as I recall her.
It was not so much the blonde hair and blue eyes, the rosy complexion, deep pink lips, or white smile that reduced me to melted wax, but the demure way that she cast her eyes down and then raised them in my direction. I have always been susceptible to a demure woman, and if Janneke van Leusden had suggested an immediate elopement, there is every chance that I would have discounted my Catholic ordination as a clerical error and decided that there was a lot to be preferred about the Protestant ministry. It might be doctrinally confused, recently coined and austere, but it allows its ministers to marry women like Janneke van Leusden, and that might be worth an extra spell in Purgatory. [Manuscript note: My clerk is shocked. But then he didn’t see Janneke in the bloom of her youth.]
Her father introduced us, and she bobbed prettily to each before returning to the parlour and closing the door behind her, no doubt on her way to recount what she had seen to her mother who had despatched her. The mother would have been burning to learn who might be taken at once to the workshop but could not be seen to be curious, and had therefore devised this little piece of theatre so that she could inform herself. What she made of discovering a couple of university lecturers were in her house, I cannot say; what her daughter was saying about them was, I confess, something of the keenest interest to me. I hoped that I had made a good impression. After all, I might not be a priest forever. (All right, according to Psalm 109, I am — tu es sacerdos in aeternum, it says. But maybe there is something in the small print…)
I need not describe the remainder of the discussion in detail. Johannes explained my mission, and Bartholomeus assured us that he would be honoured to serve the Stadhouder in any capacity within his power. We celebrated with another goblet of wine, this time in the parlour, where we paid our respects to the mistress of the house. If I had been thinking of the potential joys of marrying Janneke van Leusden, this introduction to a future mother-in-law would have poured cold water on my ardour at once, though, on balance, there was still much to be said for the young lady’s hand, particularly if her mother could be persuaded to keep eating the sweetmeats that explained the difference in their physique. One did not need to be a master carpenter to detect that building a coffin for mevrouw van Leusden was going to be a test of anybody’s joinery skills, not to mention the strength of the pall-bearers.
We took our leave and Johannes walked me back to his grandfather’s house.
‘I trust I shall see you in the morning,’ he said. ‘I normally walk my grandparents across to Divine Service. It takes a while now, but Grandfather says a carriage would be an extravagance, bless him.’
‘If I can help, I gladly will,’ I replied.
‘If he allows it, you’ll know you have his seal of approval,’ laughed Johannes, and bade me goodnight.
CHAPTER FIVE
I had two dreams that night that I can remember. In the first, Janneke van Leusden and I were having a picnic in a green meadow alongside a tinkling brook. She sat under the shade of a willow tree while I reclined with my head in her lap. There is a feature of dreams that I have never understood, which is that they can completely ignore any references to reality, so in this dream I was playing the lute and singing to her. I do not possess nor play a lute, nor do I understand why or how we had taken a small harpsichord with us on a picnic so that she could accompany me; and even if we had, I do not understand how I could play the lute with my head in her lap while she played the harpsichord. She fed me luscious fruit while telling me of her deep desire to marry urgently so that she could give herself to me completely.
The second dream? Ah, yes. That involved my being tied to an iron bedframe while little devils lit a fire underneath it and plucked at my tenderest parts with red-hot tweezers. When I woke, I had no doubt that these two dreams were connected and that if I courted Janneke it would involve a brief period of earthly paradise followed by an eternity of misery at the hands of Satan and his minions. But it was still very tempting.
At some unearthly hour around dawn there came a knock at the door, and Anna entered with a pitcher of hot water for my shave. She threw open the hangings to reveal a bright summer morning and a number of vindictive birds hollering their lungs out just outside the window.
I am not a morning person. One of the finest institutions of the Roman Church is the anticipated Mass, under which a Mass on the Saturday evening counts as if it had taken place on Sunday morning, because I am rather livelier on Saturday evening than I am on any morning.
Having shaved and gone downstairs, I discovered that the reason for the early start was that the Voet household had its own prayers before the church service. Gijsbert read a passage from the bible then led some prayers before the servants returned to the kitchen and we could eat our breakfasts.
About an hour before the service started, Johannes arrived to help his grandfather make the walk to the church. This was not because the walk would take so long, but because the proud old man did not like people to see how frail he had become. For the same reason, we entered by a side door that allowed us to seat him at the front with the minimum of fuss.
It was clear by the way people addressed him that he was respected. It was also clear that people were very willing to share information with him. Within about half an hour I had overheard at least three accusations of adultery, one of theft and a particularly lurid one alleging the peccatum Sodomiticum. There was, however, nothing touching on any threat to the Stadhouder or the governance of the state.
The preacher spoke on the sixteenth chapter of the gospel according to St Luke, recounting the story of the rich man and the poor man, Lazarus, who begged outside his gate. It is curious how the popularity of that passage is inversely related to how much money the hearer has, being very much enjoyed by the poor and leaving the rich shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Van Leusden appeared to be fascinated by the stitching on his gloves during this sermon, but I observed his daughter watching the preacher intently, her sapphire blue eyes fixed on his face. Her mother, meanw
hile, made short work of some kind of confectionery in her muff. I had suspected there might be some such item in there, because it was a hot July day and yet the woman had both hands firmly inside a barrel of fur, looking for all the world like an apprentice furrier coming to grips with an elderly cat.
At the end of the service, I raced around the back of the pews so that I could accidentally encounter juffrouw Van Leusden once more, albeit in the company of her father and mother, if that is what the spherical object in a dress was.
‘Master Mercurius!’ Janneke said brightly. ‘How did you find the sermon?’
I opened my mouth to offer a witty and learned critique, but it seemed unaccountably dry and my brain seemed to have fallen into a deep slumber. ‘I — well, it is a well-known story — hard to find anything new to say — very striking delivery…’ I stammered.
‘I am sure it is a lesson you would not need,’ she offered generously. ‘You have no use for worldly riches, I’m sure.’
I wouldn’t have put it quite that strongly myself. If I had ever had them, I might well have wanted to keep them, I suppose. ‘Some things are more valuable than money, juffrouw,’ I replied.
‘Such as?’ She cocked her head in that endearing way some young women have of indicating that they are keen to hear your answer.
