SILENT times are often times of growth. Such a time had come now to Adrian Pernet. There was in him that which was bound to grow by the law of its nature—the germ of a new life. But he was not conscious of growth, only of calm, that calm of a full tide which men call peace. For truly—
‘His resting-place was found, the C major of this life.’
When the keynote is found, the melody follows. It will not be perfect at first, there may be here and there, now and then, a jarring note, but slowly, gradually, the discords clear, and the music sounds on— ever sweeter, fuller, truer.
Adrian had worked before, and not unworthily; but the difference was, that now he served. The one great Name was no longer to him the center of a circle of supernatural dogmas, it was the name of his Lord and King, dearer to his heart—O mystery of mysteries!—than the beloved names of wife and child; yet not putting him apart from these, but binding all together more closely than they were ever bound before.
He accepted the invitation of Plantin, and set his face towards Antwerp in the autumn of 1578. At first his unpractical soul sank within him at the thought of the labor and trouble of the move. Marie was ready to help to the utmost of her ability, but a man’s head and hand were needed. One day, however, as he was looking helplessly around on his possessions, wondering vaguely what to do with them, and with himself, Dirk Willemszoon appeared upon the scene, and offered his services. Adrian had not seen him for some time, and supposed him either with his grandfather at Jäsewyk, or gone back to the army.
A clear young brain to think, and strong young hands to work for him, were a godsend to Adrian, and almost an equal boon to Marie. What there was to be done, Dirk did silently and without asking questions; and, while utterly submissive and respectful to Adrian, he scrupled not to take care of him in ways upon which his own sister would not have ventured. When all preliminaries were arranged, Adrian and Marie asked themselves how they were to accomplish the perilous journey to Antwerp (all journeys were perilous then), without his help. But they had not to find an answer; for he presently brought a horse to show the doctor, asking if he thought it would bear the weight of two—Juffrouw Marie on a pillion, and himself to bold the reins. Or, if the Juffrouw cared not to ride, they might buy a horse and cart, and sell them again in Antwerp.
On arriving in Antwerp, Adrian found, with mingled pain and pleasure, that his old lodgings in the Place aux Gants were vacant. Moreover, by occupying them he would do a great kindness. Peregrine Blois had been one of the victims of the Spanish Fury; and as his possessions had been ruthlessly plundered, his impoverished widow was only too glad to receive so good a lodger as the doctor again, at a time when many houses, even great and fair ‘were left without inhabitant.’ But there was plenty of work for a skillful physician, especially if he were not too exacting in the matter of fees, but willing sometimes to give his services ‘for God’s sake.’ This common expression Adrian used to translate ‘for nothing at all,’ now he called it, ‘for double pay,’ in the present a joy, in the future a recompense of reward.
Dirk remained with him for the present. On coming to Antwerp, Adrian had asked him what he could do for him, in return for his many services.
The tall young fellow blushed like a girl, and said shyly, ‘If Mynheer, who is so learned, when he had time, would only teach me a little!—For I know just nothing at all, save to read my Bible, and to write a letter, and that very badly.’
It cost Adrian a pang, for he used to teach Roskĕ, but he could not refuse. He was rewarded by the progress of his pupil, who, rather to his surprise, developed a genuine love of learning. He made himself useful to his teacher, moreover, in all possible ways, until almost he became to him unawares ‘as his own son that serveth him.’
There was nothing to hinder Dirk’s remaining in Antwerp, for the war just then was languishing. These were the years of the Perpetual Edict, the Pacification of Ghent, and the Union of Utrecht;—an Edict not Perpetual, but most temporary; a Pacification violated all too soon; but, on the other hand, a Union between the faithful Northern Provinces which laid the foundation of the glorious Republic of Holland. But, taken altogether, men were fighting just then with pens and protocols, rather than with swords and pistols.
Meanwhile, for Adrian and his household, life glided on quietly enough. To Marie the days and weeks brought ever more and more of that hope deferred which maketh the heart sick. Edward Wallingford came not back, nor did any message or token from him come to soothe her aching heart. Adrian had made an effort, at the cost of much trouble and expense, to communicate with the Béguine of Amsterdam, but had failed. For now at last the future capital of Holland was in the hands of Hollanders. The citizens, in a popular outbreak, had cast off the yoke of Spain; and priests, monks, and nuns, with most of their adherents, had been driven out of the town, barely escaping with their lives. The Béguines, it was assumed, had gone with the rest.
More and more, as time passed on, did Marie come to feel that the Béguine’s story must have been a fraud or a delusion. More and more did she think, till the thought grew to be almost a certainty, that she should never see the face of Edward Wallingford again upon earth.
One summer evening, Adrian and Marie entertained a few friends at supper. There was M. Grandpére, the Walloon Pastor whose ministrations they attended, with his wife—an Antwerp merchant, a brother physician named Hasselaer, and Dr. Kaspar Maldeer, Adrian’s old rival, who had come to Antwerp on business of his own. They had brought Neeltje with them from Utrecht (Käatje was married ere they left, and to a good Protestant), and she waited on the party in the absence of Dirk, who usually performed the office, not as servant, but as pupil, for now his position in the family was defined and honorable.
Adrian and Marie both wondered that he came not. They could not help thinking of him now and then, even with something like anxiety, as they did the honors of their modest, but well-spread board, and joined in the animated talk of their guests. The conversation turned upon the Duke of Anjou, whether he would accept the limited sovereignty the States were about to offer him, upon conditions; and whether, if he did, he would be the right man in the right place. The Antwerp physician, who had spent some years in France, ventured to doubt it.
‘The Prince wishes it,’ said M. Grandpére, with the air of one who has settled the question.
‘The situation is a strange one,’ Maldeer observed. ‘One man governs us, and behold!—he sets up another to reign in his stead, and bids us prove our loyalty to himself by handing it over to him.’
‘Presumably,’ the merchant threw in, ‘the Prince will govern still, though the Duke reigns.’
‘God grant it!’ said the pastor’s wife.
‘You speak well, madame,’ remarked Adrian, bowing towards her. (They were conversing in French.) ‘All men know, and Don John himself confessed it, that the Prince is the one man in these countries. But we need foreign aid. How else could we hope, a mere handful as we are, to stand up against the whole power of Spain?’
‘Can we not hope all, with God on our side?’ Marie asked timidly.
‘But God works by means,’ Adrian answered: ‘it is trusting Him to use the means, as the Prince has said. If through a fair and honorable Alliance, by which we secure our Freedom and our Faith, we can bring to our aid the vast resources and the splendid prestige of France, is it not worth giving something up? Even though that something be the right to call our sovereign the man who actually is so, whatever we call him?’
‘Seems to me,’ said Maldeer, ‘that the giving up is on his side, not on ours.’
‘What if it were?’ returned Adrian. ‘There are things of more price in his eyes than lordships, dignities, and crowns.’
“He that is greatest among you will be your servant,” said the pastor, in a lower voice.
‘Still,’ Adrian resumed, ‘upon whatever head man my pour the oil of sovereignty, William of Orange will ever be for us the anointed of the Lord.—Dirk! What is it, Dirk?’
No wonder he exclaimed. Dirk’s faces as he entered, showed white in the lamplight; and he nearly knocked down Neeltje, who was just removing a heavy dish. He flung a paper on the table before Adrian.
‘Read that, Mynheer! Read that, gentlemen all!’ he cried in Dutch.
Amazed at such behavior in composed, modest, respectful Dirk, Adrian took it up with vague wonder. His first words were— ‘It is written by hand.’
‘Ay, truly; written by hand,’ said Dirk. ‘Were any printer in Antwerp bold enough to set that in type, he would never set type again—he would be torn into a thousand pieces. But printed it is—sown broadcast in every town under Spanish rule, ay, and through the Empire, and through the world. In German, Spanish, Italian, French. A German copy was brought here by one coming from Namur; the Commandant of the Town Guard has it, and I, having friends in the Guard, got leave to copy it.’
Adrian glanced his eye on the paper. ‘The Ban of the Empire,’ he read. ‘What, in Heaven’s name, does it all mean?’ he asked, looking at Dirk.
‘Can’t you see, Mynheer?’ said Dirk, with a sort of gasp. ‘It seems like treason, even to say the word.’ Then with more composure, and speaking to them all: ‘I did not copy the Preamble, in which the Prince’s offenses are set forth at length. I think, Mynheer, we can make the list out for ourselves. Though it might not occur to us to lay the Spanish Fury to his charge, nor—nor—to write vile words about that gracious lady the Princess, because her father forced her into a nunnery in her childhood.’
‘Then this thing is—the Ban of the Empire, the sentence of outlawry against the Prince. Put forth by the King of Spain!’ said Adrian, dropping the paper as if it were a serpent.
‘Will it please you to read it, Mynheer?’ staid Dirk, with flaming eyes.
‘I will read, if you like,’ volunteered the merchant, who sat next to Adrian, putting on a pair of great, gold-rimmed spectacles.
All listened breathless while he read aloud the words, which live in history, as they deserve to do, for there is a dread immortality of shame as well as of glory:—
“For these causes, we declare him traitor and miscreant; enemy of ourselves and of the country. As such, we banish him perpetually from all our realms, forbidding all our subjects, of whatever quality, to communicate with him, openly or privately, to administer to him victuals, drink, fire or other necessaries. We allow all to injure him in property or life. We expose the said William, Nassau as an, enemy of the human race, giving his property to all who may seize it. And if any one of our subjects, or any stranger, should be found sufficiently generous of heart to rid us of this pest—”
‘It is infamous! I can read no more!’ said the honest citizen, throwing down the paper.
‘Go on, Mynheer, go on!’ cried Dirk. The worst is to come.
The reader took up the paper and went on, slowly and reluctantly:—
‘“And if any one of our subjects, or any stranger, should be found sufficiently generous of heart to rid us of this pest, delivering hin?, to us alive or dead, or taking his life, we shall cause to be furnished to him, immediately after the deed shall have been done, the sum of 25,000 crowns in gold. If he have committed any crime, however heinous, we promise to pardon him, and if he is not already noble, we will ennoble him, for his valor.”’
‘Who, after that, would be a noble of Spain?’ said the merchant.
‘Like Noble, like King,’ the physician added.
“Though he curse, yet bless Thou!” the pastor prayed. But Maldeer said, ‘The tyrant, for once, has over-reached himself. This will raise, through the length and breadth of the land, a cry of indignation, more than all the cruelties of Alva.’
‘I doubt if he has,’ Adrian mused. ‘I think, after all, he may be wise, with the horrible wisdom of the devil his master. There be scores of ruffians, in every town in Europe, who would risk death and torture for a much less guerdon than 25,000 crowns in gold.’
‘Not to talk of that precious patent of nobility,’ sneered the merchant.
‘My friend, the thing is past a sneer,’ said Adrian sadly. ‘The cunning of it is as great as the vileness.— Or the meanness,’ he added bitterly. ‘Never, surely, since great princes went to war, did they deal with one another after such fashion as that! Chivalry of Spain, forsooth! Whom the King of Spain cannot conquer in the field he hires assassins to slay. Not the first time he has done it, nor the second.’
‘Whom he cannot conquer, or buy, you might add,’ said the merchant. ‘It is well known he bid high for the Prince, through Don John.’
Then Dr. Hasselaer spoke, with cool, deliberate emphasis. ‘Men have ever accounted of me as a merciful man, soft of heart. But this I tell you, if any scoundrel is caught here trying to earn that gold, I shall stand by the rack and the wheel, and lend the torturers the best of my skill. ‘Tis the only way with such ruffians. What do they care for mere death, weighed against the chance of such a prize as that?’
No one shuddered, except the ladies, and they but a little, for it was the sixteenth century, not, the nineteenth. Moreover, the doctor’s words, though horrible, were quite true.
Adrian turned towards him, ‘Then you see, as I do, the diabolical craft of this thing?’
‘Ay,’ Maldeer threw in. ‘And it seems to me that the craft, if not the wickedness, is too great to have sprung from the unaided mind of King Philip. My masters, do you not see behind the mask of Philip, the baleful grin of that old fox the Cardinal? We all know, of how long time he has hated the Prince.’
‘I believe you are right there, Mynheer Doctor,’ Dirk said modestly. ‘The officers of the Guard are all saying it is inspired by Cardinal Granvelle.’
A sudden silence fell upon the party. Maldeer and Dirk were much surprised at it. They two were the only persons present who did not know that Adrian Pernet was the kinsman of Antoine Perrenot, Cardinal Granvelle.
‘My good friends,’ Adrian said at last, looking round with a smile on his abashed and silent guests, ‘you may all speak your minds here without fear or favor. Time was when I refused to curse the Cardinal, even at the hazard of my life, because he had been a good kinsman to me; but if so be his hand is in this thing, I do not curse him now, only because— I leave that to God’ His voice trembled with the strength of his emotion.
‘Well-spoken, doctor!’ the merchant said. Then rising, he proposed the health of their host, Dr. Adrian Pernet, true friend of the Protestant faith, and of the liberty of the Netherlands.
This gave the signal for the little party to break up. Finding himself for a moment alone with Dirk, Adrian laid his hand kindly on his shoulder. ‘You never knew, did you, that you were ministering to the kinsman of the wicked Cardinal?’
‘No, Mynheer Doctor. I knew Mynheer Wallingford sometimes called you M. Perrenot, but I thought that was only his French way of talking.’
‘Do you love me the less for it, Dirk?’
‘God forbid!’
The hand on his shoulder tightened a little, but Adrian did not speak.
Dirk went on after a pause. ‘It makes clear to me what the pastors mean when they preach about Election.’
‘How so, Dirk?’
‘Thus, Mynheer. You are God’s elect, in the house of Cardinal Granvelle.’
‘That’s a good way of looking at it.’
‘It is true, Mynheer,’ Dirk said confidently. ‘The true way must be the good way, since God is good. If a man is elected at all, he is elected to everything God sends—chosen for it, and it for him. God makes no mistake, leaves nothing out. So I knew—’ Dirk caught in his the hand that rested on his shoulder, though as he spoke he turned his face away, ‘so I knew that—unto what happened two years ago—God had chosen her, and you.’
‘I know it now,’ Adrian answered very low, and giving the hand of Dirk a grasp that hurt him—with a welcome pain.
‘But, Dirk,’ he resumed after a pause, ‘what about the other people, who are not elect?’
Dirk’s eyes, which were tremulously moist, took a perplexed, wondering look. He was a child of his own age, and this question was not for it. His world was like a chess-board, in clear, distinct squares of black and white; the black representing wicked people—like Philip, and the Cardinal, and the murderers of his father—who would get their deserts; while the white represented good people—who would get, through the grace of God, far more and better than they deserved.
He said at last, ‘I don’t know, Mynheer; perhaps even I don’t quite understand you. God’s ways are like the Latin you teach me. I know most of the easy words now—the hard ones not yet. But you know them, and you will teach them to me in time, if I go on learning. So with God.—It is all right.’