[Master Mercurius 02] - Untrue Till Death

by Graham Brack

  ‘Master, welcome! Sit ye down. Anna, some refreshment for our guest!’

  I thanked him and selected a stout chair by the wall.

  ‘Bring it nearer, young man. My hearing is not as sharp as it once was, and there’s no sense denying it. I see you have the approval of the Stadhouder. That is no mean achievement.’

  ‘You have it yourself, Professor,’ I replied politely.

  ‘I have, I have, God be thanked for it. His family were ever a blessing to us, and I thank God that I have lived long enough to see the French gone from this city and a member of the House of Orange restored to his family’s rightful place. He fares well, I hope?’

  ‘Yes, I believe so. He suffers from asthma but otherwise seems healthy.’

  ‘I have read his letter. Do you know its contents?’

  ‘No, Professor. I have, of course, received commands of my own,’ I added, lest he should think I was a mere messenger boy.

  ‘Well, I see no harm in telling you what I read here. The Stadhouder tells me that you have come on a secret mission at his command, that I am to give you every assistance and that you will tell me what you are here to carry out. He also tells me that, for public consumption, it is to be announced that you are conducting an inquiry into the stipends paid to university lecturers.’

  ‘I have recently conducted such an exercise in Leiden,’ I said, ‘so the explanation is plausible.’

  ‘Excellent. Now, how may I be of service?’

  I had to think quickly. You may be sure that throughout my journey I had been thinking how to break the news to an old man that his master thought he might die at any moment and therefore a substitute must be found. There is an axiom which says that if you have to break bad news, a little good news first sweetens the palate. It seemed as good an approach as any. ‘The Stadhouder wishes me to say first that he was distressed to hear of your indisposition and asks me to enquire of you how you feel now.’

  ‘If he is worried that my powers are diminished, he need have no concerns. I am as sharp as ever.’ I did not doubt that. ‘I will admit,’ he continued, ‘that I find standing for prolonged periods to be a strain, but my faculties are preserved, God be praised.’

  ‘Amen,’ I swiftly answered. ‘The Stadhouder will be delighted to hear that, and I can see myself that it is true.’

  Voet visibly relaxed before me, and his frown smoothed away.

  ‘He also wishes me to express his profound and heartfelt thanks for all that you and your family have done for him and his family.’ Admittedly he had not actually told me to say that, but it was undoubtedly true, and it was well received by my audience of one. ‘And, in view of the high regard that he has for you, he desires me to ask for your help in finding men of discretion and loyalty who will be able to assist you now and, when it pleases God to take you to your well-earned reward, maintain the honour of the House of Orange in Utrecht.’

  I thought this speech, whilst a bit flowery for my liking, and perhaps open to the stricture that I had laid on the flattery with a trowel, was sufficiently emollient not to cause offence. I was wrong.

  ‘I am to be replaced?’

  ‘Not in your lifetime, Professor. The Stadhouder was most insistent on the point. He merely felt that your illness had shown him how much he depends upon you, and bearing in mind that none of us is immortal, he is anxious to secure your invaluable advice on others who can be trusted when the need arises. Which, pray God, will not be for many years.’

  Voet was not exactly mollified, but he looked less likely to leap from his chair and belabour me with a volume of his collected sermons. ‘If I knew such men of unquestionable loyalty, do you not think I would have lightened my burden already?’ he growled.

  ‘I am at your disposal to help you find one or more,’ I said.

  ‘My grandson, Johannes, son of my deceased son Paulus, although only twenty-six years of age, has just been awarded a Professorship here.’

  I knew nothing of Johannes, but I had heard of Paulus. While unswervingly loyal to the House of Orange, Paulus had written a treatise, De Statutis, in which he had argued that a citizen was not obliged to follow the order of a sovereign if it was contrary to the law of God. Our beloved Stadhouder regarded this as near treason, and had Paulus not had the good sense to die early he might have expected some consequences of his publication. As it was, William regarded Paulus’ son with suspicion, as tainted by his father’s opinions. But how could I explain that to the old man?

  I am not noted for my cunning. I am a plain man and I do not take naturally to underhand or deceitful methods. [Memorandum to self: my clerk, Van der Meer, snorted when I dictated this. I must not forget that.] ‘The Stadhouder will, of course, be delighted to see that your family’s tradition of loyalty and service is to be maintained,’ I said. ‘But he was anxious that if his opponents are temporarily in the ascendancy, it could mean real difficulties for your kin and lead them into some danger.’

  ‘They understand that. Johannes will not shirk his duty.’

  ‘I am sure, and I look forward to meeting him. But perhaps we should have a name in reserve, just in case?’

  Voet looked doubtful. ‘I wouldn’t want my grandson to be overlooked,’ he began.

  ‘Nor would I,’ I chipped in. ‘The Stadhouder is not going to question your judgement.’

  He fixed me with a stern, appraising gaze. ‘Where are you sleeping tonight? You are welcome to stay here if it suits you.’

  ‘That is very kind,’ I replied, bowing my head to acknowledge his gracious offer. There was no point in telling him I had a letter from the Stadhouder in my pouch ordering him to accommodate me.

  ‘Then I propose to invite my grandson to dine with us. That will give you the opportunity to see what a fine fellow he is, and we can continue this discussion then. And now you will no doubt wish to wash off the dust of the road.’

  This was an entirely transparent way of telling me to leave him in peace.

  Voet rang a little bell to summon Anna. The maid appeared at speed, wiping her hands on her apron and attempting to curtsey while still moving, a feat of co-ordination which appeared to be beyond her powers and which led her to stagger as she came to a halt.

  ‘Please show Master Mercurius to the rear chamber, where he will be our guest. Tell cook there will be two more for supper. Then go to my grandson’s house and tell him I will be gratified if he will sup here tonight.’

  Anna’s lips moved as she silently repeated her three tasks, instilling no great confidence in me that all three would be remembered and accomplished, then headed for the front door.

  ‘Anna!’ Voet called. ‘Master Mercurius first, if you please.’

  The room was comfortable, though not luxurious, and furnished by a man whose guests were usually very like he was himself. It sported a desk under the window and a shelf on which some books stood. I noted that they were arranged in alphabetical order of their authors’ surnames, and therefore obviously not by Anna, who was probably acquainted with the letters A and N but not much else.

  In fairness to her, I must observe that she was solicitous and brought me a bowl of hot water to wash in. Needless to say, she forgot the towel and had to go back for it.

  You can learn a lot from servants, so I make it my practice always to engage in some light conversation with them when I can, and I did so when she returned with the towel. ‘Thank you, Anna, you’re very kind,’ I said, and smiled in what I thought was a benevolent way. She immediately grasped the top of her apron as if I meant to deflower her on the spot. ‘What time will supper be?’

  ‘I don’t know, Master. I could ask the cook?’

  ‘Please don’t bother. I just wanted to be sure I wouldn’t keep the family waiting. Do you know Professor Voet?’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘I work for him.’

  I realised my mistake. ‘I meant his grandson.’

  ‘Oh, the young professor. Yes, Master, he comes often. He likes to see that his opa is doing
well.’

  There was something about her use of opa rather than grandfather that I found touching, and I wondered how Johannes would address the older man.

  ‘To be a professor at such a young age he must be very clever.’

  ‘He must,’ agreed Anna. ‘He can do writing and everything.’

  The idea that anyone could become a professor without being able to read and write had not, I confess, occurred to me, but I suppose if you have little use for writing in your life you might be impressed by those who do it. Though not, one assumes, by the Stadhouder’s scrawl.

  Anna bobbed a curtsey and left the room, though not, apparently, the house, because I heard Voet shouting to her to remember her visit to Johannes’ house. The back door slammed at once and I could see Anna running across the lane. It cannot have been far because she did not take a cape or shawl.

  I sat in the chair and considered the options. The Stadhouder had not expressly forbidden the employment of Johannes. His notes expressed some reservations about his father’s views, certainly, but his bigger concern was that anyone ill-disposed to the House of Orange would at once lock up Gijsbert Voet and probably the rest of his family for good measure. While I had tried to imply that William was concerned about their safety, I doubt the Stadhouder cared much about anyone’s safety but his own. However, he was a very practical man, and the difficulty of having his party in Utrecht hampered so easily would certainly have occurred to him.

  Having been instructed to be discreet about my visit, I had not been able to do any useful research among colleagues at Leiden, some of whom might well have known Johannes, but I knew the bones of his career. Having graduated from Utrecht (and how it must help a student’s prospects if his grandfather is Rector of the university!), he went to work in Germany. Around the time of the liberation of Utrecht he returned to take up a professorship in law (and how it must help a lecturer’s prospects if his grandfather is Rector of the university!). I do not cast any aspersions on his ability — as I came to realise, he was a gifted man — but I wonder how different my life might have been if my grandfather had not been doing whatever it was he should have been doing when he was in the tavern. I have never been exactly sure what his trade was, but that literacy was seemingly not involved is attested by my grandmother’s repeated applause when I write something in front of her. When I successfully defended my Master’s thesis I thought she should have the first bound copy, and took it to her. She wept tears of joy, opening it at random and looking at the pages with delight. It rather spoiled the moment when I turned the book the right way up.

  The alert reader will recall that the alleged justification for my presence in Utrecht was to review the salaries of the university staff, so I occupied myself before supper by walking to the university offices and presenting my credentials. To my great delight these caused immediate and gratifying consternation, and it seemed to me that I was to be indulged in almost any whim that came to mind. In no time they had found me a chamber to use, provided me with a small lockable chest for my papers and enquired solicitously about any feelings of hunger or thirst that I might have. I am fairly certain that if I had asked for six nuns to be sent to my bedchamber they would at least have made the effort.

  As I anticipated, the salaries at Utrecht were generally lower than ours. While Leiden’s university dated from 1575, Utrecht’s was founded in 1636. It was therefore only a little older than I was myself, and its scale was smaller. The French occupation had caused it some inconvenience and some of the staff had fled, leaving it short of competent lecturers, though this does not explain Johannes Voet’s appointment. As I hope will become clear, he had great gifts.

  I locked the papers in the chest, placed the key in my pouch, and returned the room key to the clerk in the office, who shot to his feet as if a small devil had attacked his fundament with one of those red-hot pokers we hear so much about.

  ‘Thank you for your co-operation. I shall return tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow? But tomorrow is Sunday.’

  I had completely lost track of time or I would not have said something so stupid, especially given that I was wearing clerical costume. No doubt the clerk was wondering what kind of churches we have in Leiden where even the clergy don’t go on Sundays.

  ‘Forgive me. I meant Monday.’

  He sighed with relief and rushed to hold the door open. I was so unused to such a display of servitude that I almost put a few coppers in his hand as a tip.

  I draped my cloak over the end of the bed, rinsed my hands and stepped downstairs to the parlour. Voet was still in his chair, scribbling furiously, but the stack of paper beside him had grown perceptibly in the time that I had been out.

  I could see no sign of Johannes Voet. It crossed my mind that his grandfather’s invitation — or summons — might not have been convenient and that I would be denied the opportunity of meeting him.

  ‘My grandson will be here on the hour,’ announced the ancient professor.

  ‘I admire punctuality,’ I remarked, without adding ‘in everyone but myself’.

  ‘It is a matter of practicality. If he leaves his house on the first stroke of the bell, he will be here as the last stroke dies.’

  That probably doesn’t work as well if he comes for lunch at one, I thought, but said nothing.

  ‘You’ll take a beaker of wine?’

  ‘Thank you, Professor.’

  ‘So will I. You’ll find it on that table by the fireplace.’

  I poured two beakers, though the word beaker is generously applied here. I’ve seen bigger thimbles.

  ‘I trust you received every courtesy at the university,’ Voet began.

  ‘Indeed I did. The clerk was most co-operative.’

  ‘Excellent. He is a good man. Scrupulously loyal.’

  “Loyal” was drawn out as if to emphasise it to me.

  ‘I have made arrangements to continue the work on Monday.’

  ‘Very good, very good. I have been giving your comments much thought. I can see that if anything were to happen to me, it would be unfair to give Johannes the additional burden of political duties when he is managing the family’s affairs.’ I sighed with relief. He had seen the light. ‘Therefore, I think it important to take him into our confidence now, while I am around to provide some support.’

  ‘That is very wise,’ I stammered, while praying that the Almighty would regard this as merely a little white lie.

  ‘Please speak freely in front of him. I will vouch for his discretion.’

  ‘I would not dare to doubt it, Professor. And the Stadhouder himself bade me to take your advice.’

  Voet smiled. Either that, or he had heartburn; but I think he was pleased.

  It seemed only a few moments later that the clock struck the hour. I was gazing out of the front window when the back door opened and Johannes entered, an event signified by Anna’s dropping of a wooden platter.

  Johannes strode through from the kitchen, fixed his cloak to a peg in the hallway and bowed to me. ‘Good evening, Master; good evening, Grandfather,’ he said. His voice was pleasing, richer than his grandfather’s, though we must allow for the old man’s great age.

  Johannes was a little taller than me, with brown hair and eyes and a ready smile. Even in repose there was a slight upturn of the mouth at each corner that suggested an incipient display of pleasure.

  ‘This is Master Mercurius, of the University of Leiden,’ Gijsbert announced. ‘He has come by order of the Stadhouder to review the university’s stipends. And one or two other matters.’

  ‘Of Leiden? I trust you had a good journey, Master.’

  ‘I did, thank you, Professor.’

  Johannes laughed gently. ‘I have been appointed, but not yet installed. But let us be less formal. Please call me Johannes.’ The older man made no such offer. ‘What do you teach at Leiden, Mercurius?’ Johannes enquired.

  ‘Moral philosophy and ethics. And you?’

  ‘Law. But from a moral p
erspective, I hope. Too many see the law as an obstacle to circumvent rather than as a guide to live by. A people’s law should reflect their beliefs, do you not agree?’

  ‘Indeed, it should. A man should not need law to guide him if his morals are perfected.’

  ‘Well said! Grandfather, I am pleased to hear that Leiden is as orthodox as we are ourselves.’

  Gijsbert gave a grunt that might have been interpreted as ‘that remains to be seen’, but eased himself out of the chair. ‘We dine in the room beyond, Master. My wife will keep her own room so that we may discuss business.’

  ‘Forgive me. I had not realised your wife was still … here.’

  ‘She does well, but she keeps out of the way while I am working. I am afraid I am not sociable when about my work.’

  I briefly pondered whether I was expected to protest and decided I ought not.

  ‘Now, Johannes will lead the way, and I will follow as I can.’

  ‘No, Grandfather, lean on my arm and we will go together.’

  Gijsbert did as he was bid and patted his grandson on the arm. ‘You’re a good boy, Johannes.’

  It was clear that while the apoplexy had spared the old man’s faculties, it had left him with a weakness in the legs. One foot seemed to drag as he walked slowly through the house, and by the time he reached his chair his energy was spent. He dropped into it thankfully and took a few moments to compose himself again. ‘It pains me that I cannot preach,’ he admitted. ‘But I can still think and write, God be praised. And my son Nicolaas is a fine expositor of God’s word.’

  When one considers that Voet had been ordained for sixty-three years, it is not surprising that he felt the deprivation keenly. Even at his great age he was the acknowledged leader of those who wanted what was politely termed “Further Reformation” or, to put it in layman’s terms, militant Puritanism. Voet firmly believed that God knew exactly who would be saved and who would be damned from the moment that He created the universe. This was also the required belief of ministers of the Reformed Church (like me) but inimical to Catholic priests (like me). The Calvinist notion that a man cannot improve his prospects however godly he lives was a major reason why I had been attracted to the Catholic faith. If you ask me how I squared these two points of view, the answer is that I didn’t, and if I had been unwise enough to keep my sermons you might have noticed an area of belief that received very few mentions while I was in the pulpit. You may be sure that I was keen that our conversation should not linger anywhere near this topic for long.