CHAPTER XXIV
MARTHA PREACHES A SERMON AND TELLS A SECRET
Two days after his reconciliation with his father, Adrian was admittedas a member of the Catholic Church. His preparation had been short;indeed, it consisted of three interviews with a priest who was broughtto the house at night. The good man found in his pupil so excellent adisposition and a mind so open to his teaching that, acting on ahint given him by Ramiro, who, for reasons of his own not altogetherconnected with religion, was really anxious to see his son a member ofthe true and Catholic Church, he declared it unnecessary to prolong theperiod of probation. Therefore, on the third day, as the dusk of eveningwas closing, for in the present state of public feeling they dared notgo out while it was light, Adrian was taken to the baptistry of theGroote Kerke. Here he made confession of his sins to a certain Abbeknown as Father Dominic, a simple ceremony, for although the list ofthem which he had prepared was long, its hearing proved short. Thus allhis offences against his family, such as his betrayal of his stepfather,were waived aside by the priest as matters of no account; indeed, crimesof this nature, he discovered, to the sacerdotal eye wore the face ofvirtue. Other misdoings also, such as a young man might have upon hismind, were not thought weighty. What really was considered importantproved to be the earnestness of his recantation of heretical errors, andwhen once his confessor was satisfied upon that point, the penitent soulwas relieved by absolution full and free.
After this came the service of his baptism, which, because Ramiro wishedit, for a certain secret reason, was carried out with as much formalpublicity as the circumstances would allow. Indeed, several priestsofficiated at the rite, Adrian's sponsors being his father and theestimable Hague Simon, who was paid a gold piece for his pains. Whilethe sacrament was still in progress, an untoward incident occurred. Fromits commencement the trampling and voices of a mob had been heard in theopen space in front of the church, and now they began to hammer on thegreat doors and to cast stones at the painted windows, breaking thebeautiful and ancient glass. Presently a beadle hurried into thebaptistery, and whispered something in the ear of the Abbe which causedthat ecclesiastic to turn pale and to conclude the service in a somewhathasty fashion.
"What is it?" asked Ramiro.
"Alas! my son," said the priest, "these heretic dogs saw you, or ournew-found brother, I know not which--enter this holy place, and a greatmob of them have surrounded it, ravening for our blood."
"Then we had best begone," said Ramiro.
"Senor, it is impossible," broke in the sacristan; "they watch everydoor. Hark! hark! hark!" and as he spoke there came the sound ofbattering on the oaken portals.
"Can your reverences make any suggestions?" asked Ramiro, "for if not--"and he shrugged his shoulders.
"Let us pray," said one of them in a trembling voice.
"By all means, but I should prefer to do so as I go. Fool, is there anyhiding place in this church, or must we stop here to have our throatscut?"
Then the sacristan, with white lips and knocking knees, whispered:
"Follow me, all of you. Stay, blow out the lights."
So the candles were extinguished, and in the darkness they grasped eachother's hands and were led by the verger whither they knew not. Acrossthe wide spaces of the empty church they crawled, its echoing silencecontrasting strangely with the muffled roar of angry voices without andthe dull sound of battering on the doors. One of their number, the fatAbbe Dominic, became separated from them in the gloom, and wandered awaydown an arm of the vast transept, whence they could hear him callingto them. The sacristan called back, but Ramiro fiercely bade him to besilent, adding:
"Are we all to be snared for the sake of one priest?"
So they went on, till presently in that great place his shouts grewfainter, and were lost in the roar of the multitude without.
"Here is the spot," muttered the sacristan, after feeling the floor withhis hands, and by a dim ray of moonlight which just then pierced thewindows of the choir, Adrian saw that there was a hole in the pavementbefore him.
"Descend, there are steps," said their guide. "I will shut the stone,"and one by one they passed down six or seven narrow steps into somedarksome place.
"Where are we?" asked a priest of the verger, when he had pulled thestone close and joined them.
"In the family vault of the noble Count van Valkenburg, whom yourreverence buried three days ago. Fortunately the masons have not yetcome to cement down the stone. If your Excellencies find it close, youcan get air by standing upon the coffin of the noble Count."
Adrian did find it close, and took the hint, to discover that in a linewith his head was some filigree stonework, pierced with small apertures,the front doubtless of the marble tomb in the church above, for throughthem he could see the pale moon rays wavering on the pavement of thechoir. As he looked the priest at his side muttered:
"Hark! The doors are down. Aid us, St. Pancras!" and falling upon hisknees he began to pray very earnestly.
Yielding at last to the blows of the battering-beam, the great portalshad flown open with a crash, and now through them poured the mob. Onthey came with a rush and a roar, like that of the sea breaking througha dyke, carrying in their hands torches, lanterns hung on poles, axes,swords and staves, till at length they reached the screen of wonderfulcarved oak, on the top of which, rising to a height of sixty feet abovethe floor of the church, stood the great Rood, with the images of theVirgin and St. John on either side. Here, of a sudden, the vastnessand the silence of the holy place which they had known, every one, fromchildhood, with its echoing aisles, the moonlit, pictured windows, itsconsecrated lamps twinkling here and there like fisher lights upon thedarkling waters, seemed to take hold of them. As at the sound of theVoice Divine sweeping down the wild waves at night, the winds ceasedtheir raving and the seas were still, so now, beneath the silentreproach of the effigy of the White Christ standing with uplifted handabove the altar, hanging thorn-crowned upon the Rood, kneeling agonisedwithin the Garden, seated at the Holy Supper, on His lips the NewCommandment, "As I have loved you, so ye also love one another," theirpassions flickered down and their wrath slept.
"They are not here, let us be going," said a voice.
"They are here," answered another voice, a woman's voice with a noteof vengeance in it. "I tracked them to the doors, the Spanish murdererRamiro, the spy Hague Simon, the traitor Adrian, called van Goorl, andthe priests, the priests, the priests who butcher us."
"Let God deal with them," said the first voice, which to Adrian soundedfamiliar. "We have done enough. Go home in peace."
Now muttering, "The pastor is right. Obey the Pastor Arentz," the moreorderly of the multitude turned to depart, when suddenly, from the farend of the transept, arose a cry.
"Here's one of them. Catch him! catch him!" A minute more and into thecircle of the torchlight rushed the Abbe Dominic, his eyes starting fromhis head with terror, his rent robe flapping on the ground. Exhaustedand bewildered he cast himself down, and grasping the pedestal of animage began to cry for mercy, till a dozen fierce hands dragged him tohis feet again.
"Let him go," said the voice of the Pastor Arentz. "We fight the Church,not its ministers."
"Hear me first," she answered who had spoken before, and men turnedto see standing above them in the great pulpit of the church, afierce-eyed, yellow-toothed hag, grey-haired, skinny-armed, long-facedlike a horse, and behind her two other women, each of whom held a torchin her right hand.
"It is the Mare," roared the multitude. "It is Martha of the Mere.Preach on, Martha. What's your text?"
"Whoso sheddeth man's blood by man shall his blood be shed," sheanswered in a ringing, solemn voice, and instantly a deep silence fellupon the place.
"You call me the Mare," she went on. "Do you know how I got that name?They gave it me after they had shrivelled up my lips and marred thebeauty of my face with irons. And do you know what they made me do? Theymade me carry my husband to the stake upon my back because they saidtha
t a horse must be ridden. And do you know who said this? _That priestwho stands before you._"
As the words left her lips a yell of rage beat against the roof. Marthaheld up her thin hand, and again there was silence.
"He said it--the holy Father Dominic; let him deny it if he can. What?He does not know me? Perchance not, for time and grief and madness andhot pincers have changed the face of Vrouw Martha van Muyden, who wascalled the Lily of Brussels. Ah! look at him now. He remembers the Lilyof Brussels. He remembers her husband and her son also, for he burnedthem. O God, judge between us. O people, deal with that devil as Godshall teach you.
"Who are the others? He who is called Ramiro, the Governor of theGevangenhuis, the man who years ago would have thrust me beneath theice to drown had not the Vrouw van Goorl bought my life; he who set herhusband, Dirk van Goorl, the man you loved, to starve to death sniffingthe steam of kitchens. O people, deal with that devil as God shall teachyou.
"And the third, the half-Spaniard, the traitor Adrian called van Goorl,he who has come here to-night to be baptised anew into the bosom ofthe Holy Church; he who signed the evidence upon which Dirk wasmurdered"--here, again, the roar of hate and rage went up and beat alongthe roof--"upon which too his brother Foy was taken to the torture,whence Red Martin saved him. O people, do with that devil also as Godshall teach you.
"And the fourth, Hague Simon the spy, the man whose hands for yearshave smoked with innocent blood; Simon the Butcher--Simon the falsewitness----"
"Enough, enough!" roared the crowd. "A rope, a rope; up with him to thearm of the Rood."
"My friends," cried Arentz, "let the man go. Vengeance is mine, saiththe Lord, and I will repay."
"Yes, but we will give him something on account," shouted a voice inbitter blasphemy. "Well climbed, Jan, well climbed," and they looked upto see, sixty feet above their heads, seated upon the arm of the loftyRood, a man with a candle bound upon his brow and a coil of rope uponhis back.
"He'll fall," said one.
"Pish!" answered another, "it is steeplejack Jan, who can hang on a walllike a fly."
"Look out for the ends of the rope," cried the thin voice above, anddown they came.
"Spare me," screamed the wretched priest, as his executioners caughthold of him.
"Yes, yes, as you spared the Heer Jansen a few months ago."
"It was to save his soul," groaned Dominic.
"Quite so, and now we are going to save yours; your own medicine,father, your own medicine."
"Spare me, and I will tell you where the others are."
"Well, where are they?" asked the ringleader, pushing his companionsaway.
"Hidden in the church, hidden in the church."
"We knew that, you traitorous dog. Now then for the soul-saving. Catchhold there and run away with it. A horse should be ridden, father--yourown saying--and an angel must learn to fly."
Thus ended the life of the Abbe Dominic at the hands of avenging men.Without a doubt they were fierce and bloody-minded, for the reader mustnot suppose that all the wickedness of those days lies on the heads ofthe Inquisition and the Spaniards. The adherents of the New Religion didevil things also, things that sound dreadful in our ears. In excuseof them, however, this can be urged, that, compared to those of theiroppressors, they were as single trees to a forest full; also that theywho worked them had been maddened by their sufferings. If our fathers,husbands and brothers had been burned at the stake, or done to deathunder the name of Jesus in the dens of the Inquisition, or slaughteredby thousands in the sack of towns; if our wives and daughters had beenshamed, if our houses had been burned, our goods taken, our libertiestrampled upon, and our homes made a desolation, then, my reader, is itnot possible that even in these different days you and I might have beencruel when our hour came? God knows alone, and God be thanked that sofar as we can foresee, except under the pressure, perhaps, of invasionby semi-barbarian hordes, or of dreadful and sudden social revolutions,civilized human nature will never be put to such a test again.
Far aloft in the gloom there, swinging from the arm of the Cross, whoseteachings his life had mocked, like some mutinous sailor at the yard ofthe vessel he had striven to betray, the priest hung dead, but his lifedid not appease the fury of the triumphant mob.
"The others," they cried, "find the others," and with torches andlanterns they hunted round the great church. They ascended the belfry,they rummaged the chapels, they explored the crypt; then, baffled, drewtogether in a countless crowd in the nave, shouting, gesticulating,suggesting.
"Get dogs," cried a voice; "dogs will smell them out;" and dogswere brought, which yapped and ran to and fro, but, confused by themultitude, and not knowing what to seek, found nothing. Then some onethrew an image from a niche, and next minute, with a cry of "Down withthe idols," the work of destruction began.
Fanatics sprang at the screens and the altars, "all the carved workthereof they break down with hatchet and hammer," they tore the hangingsfrom the shrines, they found the sacred cups, and filling them withsacramental wine, drank with gusts of ribald laughter. In the centre ofthe choir they built a bonfire, and fed it with pictures, carvings, andoaken benches, so that it blazed and roared furiously. On to it--forthis mob did not come to steal but to work vengeance--they threwutensils of gold and silver, the priceless jewelled offerings ofgenerations, and danced around its flames in triumph, while from everyside came the crash of falling statues and the tinkling of shatteredglass.
The light of that furnace shone through the lattice stonework of thetomb, and in its lurid and ominous glare Adrian beheld the faces ofthose who refuged with him. What a picture it was; the niches filledwith mouldering boxes, the white gleam of human bones that here andthere had fallen from them, the bright furnishings and velvet pall ofthe coffin of the newcomer on which he stood--and then those faces. Thepriests, still crouched in corners, rolling on the ground, their whitelips muttering who knows what; the sacristan in a swoon, Hague Simonhugging a coffin in a niche, as a drowning man hugs a plank, and,standing in the midst of them, calm, sardonic and watchful, a drawnrapier in his hand, his father Ramiro.
"We are lost," moaned a priest, losing control of himself. "We are lost.They will kill us as they have killed the holy Abbe."
"We are not lost," hissed Ramiro, "we are quite safe, but, friend,if you open that cursed mouth of yours again it shall be for the lasttime," and he lifted his sword, adding, "Silence; he who speaks, dies."
How long did it last? Was it one hour, or two or three? None of themknew, but at length the image-breaking was done, and it came to an end.The interior of the church, with all its wealth and adornments, wasutterly destroyed, but happily the flames did not reach the roof, andthe walls could not catch fire.
By degrees the iconoclasts wearied; there seemed to be nothing more tobreak, and the smoke choked them. Two or three at a time they left theravaged place, and once more it became solemn and empty; a symbol ofEternity mocking Time, of Peace conquering Tumult, of the Patience andPurpose of God triumphant over the passions and ravings of Man. Littlecurls of smoke went up from the smouldering fire; now and again afragment of shattered stonework fell with an echoing crash, and the coldwind of the coming winter sighed through the gaping windows. The deedwas done, the revenge of a tortured multitude had set its seal uponthe ancient fane in which their forefathers worshipped for a score ofgenerations, and once more quiet brooded upon the place, and the shaftsof the sweet moonlight pierced its desecrated solitudes.
One by one, like ghosts arising at a summons of the Spirit, thefugitives crept from the shelter of the tomb, crept across the transeptsto the little door of the baptistery, and with infinite peeping andprecaution, out into the night, to vanish this way and that, huggingtheir hearts as though to feel whether they still beat safely in theirbosoms.
As he passed the Rood Adrian looked up, and there, above the brokencarvings and the shattered statue of the Virgin, hung the calm face ofthe Saviour crowned with thorns. There, too, not far from it, lookings
mall and infinitely piteous at that great height, and revolving slowlyin the sharp draught from the broken windows, hung another dead face,the horrid face of the Abbe Dominic, lately the envied, prosperousdignitary and pluralist, who not four hours since had baptised him intothe bosom of the Church, and who now himself had been born again intothe bosom of whatever world awaited him beyond the Gates. It terrifiedAdrian; no ghost could have frightened him more, but he set his teethand staggered on, guided by the light gleaming faintly on the sword ofRamiro--to whatever haven that sword should lead him.
Before dawn broke it had led him out of Leyden.
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