The Blacksmith's Hammer; or, The Peasant Code: A Tale of the Grand Monarch

"Pardon me, monsieur, if I interrupt you. I am no longer the Grand Pensionary of Holland."

Serdan, Salaun Lebrenn and Nominoë looked at one another in astonishment. For a moment they stood dumbfounded. Serdan was the first to recover his speech: "What, my friend! Is what you say possible? Did you resign your high functions?"

"Just as you came in with your two friends I was finishing this letter to Admiral Ruyter," said John De Witt pointing to the letter on the table. "I informed the admiral of my resignation from the office of Grand Pensionary of Holland. Nevertheless, the interview I was to have with you and your friends was of such importance that, although I no longer filled my former office, I thought it well to hear you in order that, should it seem wise to me, I could assure you of my co-operation as a member of the Assembly, where I have numerous friends. You may rely upon my support."

"Oh! monsieur," said Salaun Lebrenn sadly; "sad presentiments assail me; your withdrawal will prove fatal to the cause of freedom. Your resignation is a public disaster."

"But what is the reason for your resignation?" asked Serdan. "What, John! The state is in danger! – and at such a moment you resign the high office with which you were clad?"

"My friend, so far from serving the Republic, my activity at the present juncture would be fatal to it. Be frank," John De Witt proceeded after a pause; "you have been back in The Hague only a few days; nevertheless, the change in the public mind regarding myself can not have escaped your quick eye. Answer me frankly. What is the opinion entertained about me to-day by the people?"

"Well – I must admit it! Your popularity, once unbounded, has been somewhat impaired – but it is still strong."

"You deceive yourself, my friend; my popularity is completely destroyed. A month ago, when divine providence snatched me from almost certain death, those who a short time before would have cursed my assassins, saw in the crime nothing but a providential punishment. They called me traitor – and said the hand of God smote me! These charges of treason unchained public hatred against my brother and myself. A short while ago my father's house was torn down by a furious mob at Dortrecht; and my brother – my brother! – one of the most virtuous citizens of the Republic, is at this hour held in confinement, imprisoned as an assassin, upon the mere word of a wretch who is smarting under the brand of infamy. I nevertheless hope that, despite the inveterate hatred of our enemies, my brother's innocence will baffle the infamous calumny."

John De Witt's confidence in the happy issue of the process instituted against his brother saddened Serdan's heart. It reminded him of the alarm Monsieur Tilly expressed for the life of Cornelius De Witt. Serdan was still hopeful, and preferred not to disturb the peace of mind of the ex-Grand Pensionary of Holland with the latest tidings. The painful state of agitation into which the mind of Nominoë was thrown increased by the second. He suddenly turned his moist eyes to his father and said:

"The De Witt brothers accused of treason to the Republic! Good God, it is enough to make one despair of humanity! Oh, blind people! Or are you stupid and cruel? Are you ever to be a foe to your most generous defenders? Will you ever allow them to be dragged to the scaffold?"

"My son, we must never despair of humanity. The people must never be flattered. To do so is to debase it, and to debase oneself. Its errors must be condemned but excused – when they are excusable," put in John De Witt addressing Nominoë with affectionate reproach. "The people believes me a traitor. I deplore, I pity its blindness more than I condemn it. It is to be excused – on account of its ignorance."

Nominoë, his father and Serdan contemplated John De Witt in astonishment. The young mariner resumed:

"What, monsieur! – is the people to be excused when it charges you with treason? Should it not judge you by your acts?"

"And if my acts seem to-day to turn against me overwhelmingly, would not that explain the people's error with regard to me?"

And John De Witt, responding to a questioning look from Nominoë, added: "Listen, my son, the lesson is grave and instructive – listen. My friends, my brother and myself (we are given the name of the 'French party') now about ten years ago, in 1662, used all our influence with the Assembly of the States to bind the Republic in a close alliance with France, our natural ally, as we considered her. Louis XIV was then quite young; if he exhibited certain foibles of youth, I considered him gifted with their reciprocal virtues – honesty, generosity, faithfulness to his pledged word. The King pledged himself to assist the Republic in the event of a war with England, and to respect the territory of Spanish Flanders, in accord with the act of renunciation of the treaty of the Pyrenees. But what happened? The increasing prosperity of our commerce, which extends from one end of the world to the other, our maritime preponderance and our wealth awakened the jealousy and cupidity of our neighbors; besides, the very existence of our Republic, ever more and more flourishing, seemed to Louis XIV a dangerous example to his own people. Accordingly, winning England to his side with bribes, he drove her to declare war against us, and, so far from keeping faith with us, and assisting us with his fleets, he not only did not furnish us a single ship – no, I err, he did send us one, a fire ship – but he left us isolated to struggle with England single-handed, and capped the climax by finally dropping his mask, and also declaring war upon us, in concert with England."

Perceiving the indignation marked upon Nominoë's face, John De Witt added:

"I told you a minute ago, the people was wrong to believe me guilty of treachery, but the error is pardonable. My acts seem to bear witness against me. When the Republic saw me, my brother and my friends exert all our power to induce it to ally itself with Louis XIV, offering ourselves as a guarantee of the prince's good faith in his promises, the Republic placed confidence in us, and the alliance was concluded. To-day, we but suffer the consequences of the treason of Louis XIV." John De Witt paused for a moment and then proceeded:

"But however great the iniquity of which I am a victim, do not pity me. My conscience is clear; I know I have lived the life of an honorable man and a good citizen. Should God call me to Him to-morrow, I shall go, serenely, and await his judgment. That, my son, is the moral of the lesson."

As John De Witt was uttering these last words, listened to devoutly by Nominoë, Monsieur Tilly entered precipitately into the apartment.

CHAPTER VI.

CORNELIUS DE WITT

Monsieur Tilly, dressed in full uniform, wore the distinctive signs of his rank – a high collar and a scarf. He was pale, and so visibly disturbed that, struck by his appearance, John De Witt asked with alarm:

"My friend – you must be the bearer of tidings that portend some public calamity?"

"A great calamity!" answered Monsieur Tilly with a faltering voice. "An irreparable calamity!"

"What has happened?" inquired John De Witt. "What are the frightful tidings that you bring me?" And looking towards Salaun Lebrenn and his son he added: "These friends are countrymen of Monsieur Serdan's. You may speak freely before them."

"My friend," said Monsieur Tilly, hardly able to control his emotions, "you must leave The Hague this very day – you must depart within an hour, if possible. You must flee!"

"Flee!" cried John De Witt astounded. "Flee like a criminal! And why should I leave The Hague?"

"You must leave! Go quickly, I implore you, in the name of your wife and daughters. Depart!"

"Tilly," replied John De Witt. "I am not devoid of courage. I should at least know the cause of your alarm!"

"Yes; you have a strong soul; yes, you sustain the blows of adversity with the serenity of an upright man – but however strong your soul, it is at the same time susceptible of great tenderness for the objects of your affection – you feel the smart of the blows that strike them – and – "

"My brother!" cried John De Witt turning pale and breaking in upon Monsieur Tilly. "It is about my brother!"

"Ask me no more questions – embrace your wife and daughters – and leave The Hague on the spot – you must not delay an instant!"

"But my brother – my dear and good brother – what has befallen him?"

"In God's name, spend no time with questions – depart – a few minutes more and it will be too late."

A tremor ran over John De Witt's frame. He wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and overpowering his emotion, bowed to Salaun Lebrenn and his son, saying to them in a firm voice: "You will have to excuse me, my friends, if I leave you. I can not remain any longer in this painful uncertainty regarding my brother's fate. I shall hurry to the castle, where he is confined."

"John!" broke in Monsieur Tilly, throwing himself in the way of the Grand Pensionary of Holland. "You shall not go there! By God! You shall not go to the castle – I shall tell you all – "

"They have killed him!" cried John De Witt in heartrending accents. "Unhappy me, they have killed him!"

"No," replied Monsieur Tilly in despair; "no, I assure you, Cornelius is not dead!"

This assurance allayed the poignancy of John De Witt's anxiety. But still staggering under the blow of his terrible apprehension, he felt his knees give way under him, and he leaned on the edge of the table, unable to articulate a word. Salaun Lebrenn and his son stood in consternation, dreading some great misfortune, and looked at Monsieur Tilly with uneasy curiosity, while Serdan said to him in a low voice: "Alas! A moment ago John De Witt felt perfectly at ease on the score of the charge against his brother. I dared not mention to him the fears that you expressed to me this morning."

Serdan broke off as he heard John De Witt say to Tilly in a calm voice: "Pardon my weakness, my friend. There are unexpected blows that take one by surprise, and floor him. Thanks to God, my brother still lives. Speak, I listen."

"As late as this morning I was as certain as yourself of the worthlessness of the charges preferred against Cornelius. I was in that frame of mind until I met an officer of the bourgeois militia that guards the prison, and who is of our party. From him I learned of the wild popular exasperation against yourself, your brother and the French party, who are considered accomplices in the ferocities committed by the troops of Louis XIV, and that this exasperation was assuming such a violent aspect that the tribunal, before which Cornelius was to be tried and which consists of bitter Orangemen, decided, with a view of satisfying the blind popular rage, – decided," repeated Monsieur Tilly with a shudder, "to submit your brother to the torture, and compel him to confess his crime. The atrocious project has been carried out!"

"Good God!" cried John De Witt, raising his hands and eyes heavenward. "What frightful tidings!"

Serdan, Salaun Lebrenn and his son could not restrain a cry of indignation and horror.

"But perhaps my brother is expiring from the consequences of the torture!" exclaimed John De Witt in despair.

"Notwithstanding the sufferings he has undergone, your brother's life is safe," answered Tilly. "I pledge you my word."

"The infamous wretches! To believe that the torture could wrest from a De Witt the admission of a crime which he is guiltless of!" exclaimed John De Witt in a smothered voice. "I am certain my brother underwent the ordeal of the torture with heroic serenity. Proceed, my friend, I feel strong enough to listen."

"I have my information direct from the court registrar who witnessed the horrible scene," continued Tilly. "Cornelius was tied down upon a table. His hands were placed by the executioner between two iron plates, held together by screws, the slightest turn downward of which would break the patient's bones."

"Oh!" cried Serdan, horrified. "These are shocking details!"

"Tilly," said John De Witt in a firm voice, "conceal nothing from me. I want to know everything. Oh, my brother! Poor, dear victim!"

"During the preparation for the torture, the face of Cornelius was pale and impassive. One of the judges approached him: 'Are you ready to make a confession?' he asked your brother. 'I have nothing to confess,' was his answer. 'Then you persist in denying that you plotted to assassinate the Prince of Orange?' 'Monsieur,' replied Cornelius, 'had I desired to assassinate the Prince of Orange, I would not have employed another's arm.' 'Prisoner,' rejoined the judge, 'torture may compel you to confess what you now refuse to admit.' 'Monsieur, you will cut me to pieces before you can make me confess an act that I never even thought of.' 'Then you deny?' 'I deny.' Upon a sign from the judge, the executioner gave the screws a turn; the plates drew closer together, and crushed Cornelius's hands. His suffering was cruel, yet he remained silent, impassive. Suddenly a wild clamor from the mob that was gathered at the foot of the tower, reached your brother's ears. 'Death to the French party!' 'Death to the accomplices of Louis XIV!' 'Death to De Witt!' Upon hearing these cries, the registrar informed me, your brother raised his head and turned his inspired eyes to the ceiling of the prison; his features were transfigured; they were serenely resplendent; a divine smile flitted over his lips; his moral courage dominated the agonies of the body; and, as the mob without redoubled its cries for his death, Cornelius recited in a powerful ringing voice this strophe from Horace: