by Graham Brack
‘Yes, of course. If they have any questions, I’m sure we can find someone to answer them.’ He sipped his wine and gazed into the fire. ‘Van Looy himself is not an imbecile.’
I was about to say ‘You surprise me’ but judged better of it. ‘What makes you say that, Rector?’
‘Hm? Oh, he makes himself out to be just a competent secretary, but I have seen him reading English books with apparent ease.’
‘Where did he come from?’
‘I think he had been working as a family tutor somewhere. I was persuaded by a friend to give him a trial as secretary. Of course, when the French came a number of families fled and could no longer support all their servants.’
‘That would have hurt his pride.’
‘Which is considerable. But perhaps there is such in his past as makes it understandable, Mercurius. Well, your plan is approved. I understand you have been given some expenses.’
‘I have.’
‘Then I’ll let you get on with whatever you need to do before you go.’
He stood, so I did the same, not forgetting to drink the last of my wine. It was too good to leave. As I reached for the door, he spoke again, as if in passing, though I suspect it was the main question he wanted to ask.
‘Did the Stadhouder say anything about this university?’
‘Only that he takes a keen interest in it, as he does with all our universities. He said nothing critical, Rector.’
The Rector nodded. ‘Good, good. There is a lot of change going on, Mercurius, and some of us adapt to it better than others. Personally, I have never been a lover of novelty, but I must breast the tides or be dashed on the rocks.’
Rather than wait until Saturday, I decided to complete the marking of the assignments on Friday, however long it took, so that I could leave for Utrecht at the earliest opportunity. To save as much time as possible I took my meals in the hall, despite the obvious risk to my digestive system posed by taking two of Albrecht’s meals in a single day, and I am pleased to report that the midday meal was surprisingly palatable, hinting that Albrecht was out somewhere.
Fridays are a problem for me, because I am a Roman Catholic and therefore I do not eat meat. However, because I am a secret Roman Catholic I have to try not to draw attention to the fact that I am not eating meat.
While Catholic students are admitted, the University is a pillar of the Reformed (that is, Protestant) faith, and my job depends upon my being an adherent; which I was, when I was appointed. However, for reasons which have nothing to do with this tale, I converted to Catholicism and was ordained a priest in 1664, with strict instructions not to reveal the fact to anyone. The reason for this injunction was the fear of my bishop that all his priests might be rounded up and burned, in which event it is a good idea to have some spares to hand.
It had become clear to me about three years earlier that the Rector had somehow detected my dual life, but had chosen to say nothing about it, thus earning my complete respect and obedience, not to mention my suspicion. Why would so intelligent a man turn a blind eye to something he must have found troubling and objectionable?
Anyway, I could see no answer to that question, so let me simply remark that my usual habit on a Friday was to take as little meat as possible, and just leave it on my plate. Readers of my first memoir may recall that on one Friday I departed from this custom, concealed the meat in my sleeve and was attacked by a stray dog. On this particular Friday I bumped into Mechtild in one of the passageways and, once I had regained my equilibrium, I arranged to have some bread and cheese set by on a platter for my supper.
‘Don’t trouble yourself to come down, Master,’ she said. ‘I’ll bring it to your chamber just before we serve the meal to the others.’
I thanked her again and returned to my work, marvelling, not for the first time, at the ability of our undergraduates to both fail to grasp an idea and to express that deficit in poor Latin. I am regularly told, and I believe it to be true, that our graduates are the equal of any in Christendom, which leads me to ponder what happens to men as they pass from undergraduate to graduate, because if our undergraduates are the equal of their European counterparts then the future of learning is bleak indeed.
The afternoon slipped into a glorious summer evening, giving me plenty of light but tearing me away from work. It would have been so pleasant to have been at leisure, strolling along the canals and enjoying the sun; I might even have enjoyed vespers, unlikely as that sounds. Nevertheless, I plodded on, turning page after page of juvenile twaddle. I exempt one or two students from these strictures (as I must, since one of my former students is now Rector of the University) but it was a depressing experience, and I was glad when I completed the pile shortly after seven o’clock.
I gathered up the papers with a view to delivering them to Van Looy as agreed, but it occurred to me that he might have gone to the refectory, so I detoured in that direction first. Not finding him, I thought to leave them in his office. In the normal run of things, that would require me to go back to the main hallway and up the staircase, but since I was at that end of the building I decided to take the back stairs used mainly by the servants, which would be quicker. There was a risk that Van Looy would descend by the main stairs and we would miss each other, but I can’t take two staircases at once so why not take the nearer one?
I arrived at the top, not without some effort, and had paused to compose myself when I overheard Van Looy’s voice. The stairs opened onto the passageway to the side of Van Looy’s office, so he would not have seen me there.
‘I know my duty!’ he snarled. ‘But these things must not be rushed. In my own good time I will strike, but that time is not yet come.’
‘We cannot wait indefinitely,’ came the reply, delivered in a gruff voice that I did not recognise.
‘I do not expect you to. You may tell our master all is in hand. But I want to be sure that all the fish are in the net before I lift it. Who knows what mischief even one survivor could do?’
There was silence for a short while, then the gruff voice spoke resignedly. ‘We must accept your way of doing things. After all, it is your neck that is at risk. I will meet you again in a month.’
‘Gladly, but not here. Send word when you arrive and I will suggest a meeting place. Now, be off, and Godspeed.’
The stranger stepped out into the corridor, and you may be sure that I ensured that I was out of the corridor and safely tucked around the corner. When I was sure he was heading the other way, I sneaked a peek and saw the back of a man wearing a short black cloak, a broad-brimmed black hat, apparently with no wig, and a sword at his left hip in a scabbard with a gold mount at the top.
My curiosity being piqued, I decided to retrace my steps to see if I could arrive at the foot of the main staircase at the same time as the visitor, but having my arms encumbered with papers, not to mention a rather greater distance to cover, I failed. Arriving there, I thought I might as well carry on up the stairs to approach Van Looy’s office from that side, which I duly did. It was locked.
Growling at being thus thwarted, I returned to my own room, just in time to see Mechtild returning to the kitchen with my supper. I called her and was pleased to see her attempting to turn in the narrow passage, hampered to some degree by a large board bearing bread, butter, cheese and a fresh egg custard.
‘I didn’t see egg custards on the tables below,’ I remarked.
‘You wouldn’t have done, Master,’ she replied. ‘But there was space in the ovens to bake a few for my special gentlemen.’
I unlocked the door and offered to take the board from Mechtild, but the restricted space meant that I was no help to her, so she suggested that she should just carry it into my chamber.
I have, I hope, some virtues but I also have some vices. One of them is a certain lack of tidiness which has beset me from my childhood years. I had not noticed that one of my boots was in the middle of the floor. Mechtild, unable to see her feet due to the large board that she car
ried, tripped over it. With great presence of mind she held the food in front of her so that it survived the fall, but she came to rest face down on the floor with her skirts tangled about her knees. I stooped to pick her up, but she was a substantial woman and I needed to move my hands several times before I achieved a good grip under her armpits. I had succeeded in pulling her about halfway to her feet when a cough distracted me.
Behind us stood Van Looy in the doorway. ‘I heard a noise,’ he explained. ‘I beg your pardon. I did not mean to intrude.’
He turned to walk away, whereupon I belatedly realised that a man grasping a woman from behind with her skirts disordered while she leans on a chair to support her weight was open to the most appalling misconstruction. I let go of Mechtild to chase after Van Looy, causing her to flop across the chair head first with a groan.
‘Van Looy! Van Looy!’ I cried. ‘It’s not how it appears.’
He stopped in the corridor, turned and stood with a horribly understanding look on his face. ‘Don’t worry, Master. I am discreet.’
‘But I wasn’t doing anything! Well, nothing discreditable anyway.’
‘You are an unmarried man, I believe, and therefore free to take such pleasures as you will; but you will forgive my observation that our cook’s wife does not enjoy such liberty.’
‘I had no liberties in mind. Mechtild offered to bring supper to my room so I could complete my marking before I have to go to Utrecht.’
‘Then let me not keep you from it.’
‘I’ve finished it. I just tried to deliver the papers to your office but it was locked.’
Van Looy frowned. ‘Just now?’
‘Yes.’
‘I had a visitor and escorted him to the door.’
Well, that’s a lie for a start, I thought, but I was hardly in a position to argue with him. Instead I thought there was an opportunity to show that I knew it to be untrue, but was prepared to keep it our mutual secret, so long as he dropped this Mechtild nonsense. ‘A gentleman with a fine gold-topped scabbard? I saw him leave as I was coming up the stairs.’
I declined to say which stairs. If Van Looy assumed I meant the main stairs, that was his misapprehension. I had not lied, which put me firmly on the higher moral ground in this conversation.
‘I fear you are mistaken, Master,’ Van Looy suggested. ‘I had no such visitor. Perhaps the poor light in the upper corridor —’
‘I am not mistaken, Van Looy. I saw him clearly.’
Van Looy looked me up and down for a moment like a farmer appraising a young ox. ‘I suggest we both go about our business,’ he replied. ‘Your supper is waiting and I have some work to do. Maybe I can do you a service by taking those papers with me?’
I went back into my room to collect the papers. Mechtild was sitting in my chair, holding her hand to her brow. I had completely forgotten to check that she was unhurt. She glanced up at me and made to rise.
‘No, don’t!’ I cried.
She flopped back into the chair, and I suddenly realised why she had a red patch on her shoulder.
‘Van Looy! In here, man!’
Van Looy’s face displayed the greatest possible consternation, but he acted swiftly. Taking Mechtild’s legs, he ordered me to help him place her horizontally on the floor, and placed his folded coat under her hips to raise them a little.
‘Have you a cloth or towel, Mercurius?’
I found one, and he soaked it in the water from my jug before holding it tightly to Mechtild’s head.
‘Find a surgeon. The gash is deep.’
I ran to the refectory and found one of the medical faculty. He appeared unwilling to leave his soup until I told him his patient was Mechtild, at which he grabbed his robes about him and sprinted for the stairs, explaining to me as we went that if anything happened to her we should have an unrelieved diet of Albrecht’s fire and brimstone cuisine.
Within a few minutes the surgeon had staunched the bleeding, dressed the wound and returned to his meal. Van Looy offered to help me tidy my chamber, but I thanked him and gave him the assignments to hold for the students to collect.
It was only as I sat tranquilly at my desk that two thoughts occurred to me that had been suppressed in my excitement. One, that I had never before been addressed by my name by Van Looy; two, that someone had opened the Stadhouder’s pouch.
I sat watching the last of the sun’s rays flicker away, a goblet of wine in my hand, my bags packed by my feet, and my desk blessedly clear for once.
There were only two people in the room when the pouch was opened, and one of them was lying on the floor with a cold compress on her face, which, to my simple mind, strongly hinted at the guilt of the other. Admittedly the pouch was embossed with the Stadhouder’s arms, so its origin was hardly a secret, but it had been sealed with a thin leather cord that ran through eyelets to draw the bag shut. Why had Van Looy not resealed the pouch when I would never have known that he had looked at its contents? He had not taken anything; indeed, he had not broken any of the seals on the documents. All he knew was that I was carrying letters from the Stadhouder to various persons in Utrecht. Even the money was untouched.
Now that I had calmed down, I was very grateful that none of those letters had been abstracted, because I would not have relished having to return to The Hague to ask the Stadhouder for a new set.
Suddenly I realised why Van Looy had not resealed the pouch. You only need one hand to untie a bow, but you need both hands to re-tie it, and one of his hands was pressing on Mechtild’s brow to stop the bleeding. When I returned to the room, his hand had been on my desk as he knelt on the floor, after which he must have felt that he could not pick the pouch up to secure it without drawing attention to what he had done earlier.
I returned the supper board to the kitchen — the egg custard, by the way, was superb, if a little asymmetrical due to Mechtild’s nose having struck the pastry at one side when she fell — and found Albrecht sharpening his knives in the large pantry.
‘Master Mercurius, I would have fetched it later,’ he said. ‘It would have waited until the morning.’
‘Ah, but I am off to Utrecht in the morning.’
From the look of awe on Albrecht’s face, you might have thought I was about to sail to the Cape of Good Hope in a barrel. ‘Utrecht, you say? That’s a fair step.’
‘Above ten leagues. But I’ll take the canal boats down the Oude Rijn and Leidse Rijn through Harmelen. I’ll be there by late afternoon, God willing.’
‘God willing indeed, Master.’
‘How is your wife?’ I asked, and was rewarded with a dark look as if I had been branded across the forehead with the word “Wife-tripper”.
‘She has something of a headache, Master, and has taken to her bed.’
‘I’m sorry to hear it, Albrecht. I won’t disturb her, then, and wish you both goodnight.’
CHAPTER FOUR
There is rarely any difficulty finding a bargemaster who will take you down the Oude Rijn. They already have a cargo, so any fee they collect from a passenger is pure profit. While there are regular passenger barges, they start at a time more convenient to the moneyed classes, whereas I am happy to set out early. When I say “happy”, I use that word in its loosest sense, because I have never been one for rising any earlier than necessary. One of the key reasons why I have not sought ministry in a church is the iniquitous practice of having early services, by which I mean anything before nine o’clock. However, I prefer to arrive at an unfamiliar destination in daylight, so shortly after six I was on the quay looking for a barge heading towards Utrecht and was rewarded at my second attempt. For once, the barge was not carrying any noisome cargo, if you exclude a man in an old woollen cloak who smelled like a wet sheep, and when it began to rain the master produced an oiled cloth and connected it to the gunwales on each side to make a small tent under which we could shelter.
The tow-horse kept up a steady pace, and soon we were free of the city and heading roughly eastwards.
The rain stopped and the sun was shining into our faces as we passed through the fields and hamlets until we came to Hoorn after about an hour and a half, where the horse was rested and we had the chance to take some breakfast, which the locals were only too willing to sell us at hugely inflated prices. From Hoorn to Utrecht is about six hours, so with one more break for food we arrived in the late afternoon.
One of the advantages of being a minister is that you rarely have to look too hard to find the local branch office. The Dom towered over the other buildings, so it took me no time at all to present myself at the main door and ask for directions to Voet’s house.
‘Why, bless you, Dominie, it’s just beside the square,’ answered the verger, and walked me to the door so that he could point it out. I thanked him and presented myself at the front door, where I was greeted by a young maid.
‘I am Master Mercurius, of the University of Leiden,’ I began. ‘Is your master at home?’
‘Yes, Master,’ came the reply. ‘Who shall I say is calling?’
‘Master Mercurius, of the University of Leiden,’ I tried again. ‘Wait — I have a letter of introduction. That may help.’
She closed the door, then immediately reopened it to invite me to wait in the hall while she took the letter to her master. After a while, she returned to say that her master would be pleased to see me in the library.
I have a library. For many years I could not afford one, and even now it is really just a corner of my suite of rooms. Voet, however, had a library worthy of the name. When the door was opened, I gasped.
I learned later that at his death he was reckoned to possess 4,777 books. He even had some he could not read, written in languages he had not yet learned. Since he was eighty-five when I met him, time to learn new ones was not plentiful, but he kept trying. He spoke languages that I did not know existed.
The old man was sitting in a large chair, his eyes bright and inquisitive. In some respects he reminded me of our Rector. Their taste in clothing was similar, black and white being favoured and each wearing a black skullcap most of the time. Voet was clean-shaven and had rather sunken cheeks. As a result of having lost some teeth, he occasionally emitted an involuntary whistle as he spoke.