ࡱ> Y $ bjbjWW )==] 82 F  =<<<<<<<$=?l<<3333<J<339V <<R": J#< Little Gateway to Heaven  historical novel HENDRIK REUVERS ( dr HFH Reuvers, Maastricht, 2013 cover: tower of FatherVinck this page: Marcelino Pan y Vino God is the father of all of us. Let us live in peace, kind like brothers and glad like children. We are all made with the same dough, though baked in distinct ways. Let us try to see God through our faults. He is present in our hearts by His mercy. This way we will see each other with joy, for all our shortcomings. Love Him by loving each other. God is great and infinite. He made the stars and the sun, and us at the same time. We are living by His breath, and swimming in His light... How beautiful is being allowed to live! Because we live in Him and by Him! (Saint Francis of Assisi, 1182-1226)  CONTENTS Preface Chapter 1: Maastricht, 1638 Chapter 2: A deserter and a stratagem Chapter 3: The confessor and his penitent Chapter 4: The plan is unmasked Chapter 5: Torture and execution Epilogue Appendix: The philosophy of Saint Thomas Aquinas Literature PREFACE Those who in 1638 have been engaged in the so-called treachery of Maastricht, have set up a club of their own in heaven. Once I was allowed to attend a meeting, in a vision. Father Vinck opened the session. To begin with, he welcomed the comrades who had been beheaded together with him: brewer Lansmans, bricklayer Caters, noble Delacourt, friar Nottin. They all had a head again. Subsequently, he welcomed those who had been beheaded later on, and the Dutch executioners who happened to be present. For the greater part, the deliberations were about the heavenly joys and about contemplating God. They also sang: Ave Regina Caelorum. At the end of the meeting, Lansmans questioned some earthly publications on the events of 1638. He thought there was much prejudice and misunderstanding. Some even laughed over the five heads of the beheaded that had been exposed on pikes on a Maastricht bastion. And they laughed over the Catholics too, because of their alleged preoccupation with virginity and chastity. Father Vinck knew about the problems. They were caused by a lack of gratitude for the good works of the followers of Saint Francis, and for the mere fact we all have got a head. However, how can anybody be grateful if his parents have raised and educated him wrongly? But the guardian of the Minorites had even more objections: People on the earth often thought the Spaniards occupied Maastricht since 1579, and the Dutch liberated it in 1632. As if Maastricht was not thoroughly Catholic. As if Maastricht had ever been an integral part of this Republic of the Seven United Netherlands. Moreover, the Republic only came into being in 1588 after a resurrection against the king of Spain, just as protestantism originated from a resurrection against the pope. The Dutch oppressed Catholicism in Maastricht and everywhere. Lansmans added that Nottin had only be sentenced because he did not tell the Dutch about the plans by which the Spaniards were to enter the city. Delacourt was an officer of the king of Spain, so you couldnt call him a traitor. And Vinck was a soldier of the pope. He even sought to prevent there would be innocent victims. He himself, said Lansmans, did feel guilty. For he had only been eager to get the reward the Spaniards had promised him for his help. However, his sentence and the spiritual assistance of father Vinck made him repent. So, in fact, he owed the salvation of his soul to his beheading! You were addicted to the filthy lucre, complied father Vinck. The commander of the Dutch army of occupation, Goltstein, was present too. God knows how he got to heaven. Now he contributed to the meeting: I was surprised by the morbid fascination with which some Maastricht people venerated the earthly remains of the superior of the Minorites after his beheading. However, your father Vinck is a good fellow, but for losing his head. Vinck gave Goltstein a smile, and put up his thumb. The hatchet had been buried, the remark wasnt meant to be malicious. But what exactly had happened? I decided this case had to be examined thoroughly. On sunny summer days I went to the archives to read old books and articles. The book you are reading now is the result of these and many other efforts. The author (Maastricht, 2013) CHAPTER 1 You are damned to hell, Vinck, sighed commander Goltstein. You are a heretic, replied father Vinck, calmly. They were standing in Maastricht by the stone bridge whose nine arches were being reflected in the river. The guardian of the Minorites, dressed in a brown habit, showed the commander of the Dutch garrison about his beloved city. John Calvin admits there are some brothers of the faith among the Catholics, even if they are weak brothers, explained Goltstein. God judges the heretics leniently, if their mothers gave them the heresy together with their milk, answered Vinck. The two companions stared at each other. However, they didnt persist. The blue eyes of the good-natured father and the brown eyes of the strict commander didnt bear each other. But there was mutual respect. Is this the Roman bridge?, asked the commander. No, answered the Franciscan. He pointed in the direction of the Church of Our Lady. The Roman bridge was there. The Roman army had a camp there, and later on a bath house. Where now the church is, was a temple then, dedicated to the goddess of hunt. What ever happened to the old Roman bridge? It collapsed in 1275, just when a procession was crossing over it. Goltstein nodded assent, as if he thought it very logical that our Lord should interfere with Catholic processions. He pointed to the other side of the river Maas. Did people also find some traces from the Roman era beyond the river? In some places they found traces of graves along the old military road, with ashes in it. But here at the Maastricht side they found many remains of the castellum. Mosae Trajectum, muttered Goltstein. So this was the place where the Romans crossed the river Maas. The commander ran his fingers through his little black beard. He thought he wouldnt be happy if he had to expel the Minorites from the city. Therefore he tried again to persuade the superior: Father Servatius, he muttered. Why dont you take the oath of being true to the States- General of the Republic of the Seven United Netherlands? The father scratched his head, which was almost bald, and answered in the negative: We cant, sir Goltstein. God gave to the king of Spain power over us, as he gave power to Emperor Charlemagne and his successors in the Holy Roman Empire, whereas your republic originated from a resurrection against the pope and the king. The commander gasped for breath. What an arrogance! Misery began when the Romans came, he argued. In our countries, there was living a mix of German and Celtic tribes. And they were free, werent they? In the evening of the Roman Empire, Christendom was modelled after Roman law and practice, and now we all still have to dance to the tune of that far-away pope in Rome. Do you prefer the old German paganism?, asked father Vinck. With its superstition, its glorification of strength and violence, and its fear of the things weak and tender? Well, I do, partially. I prefer tooth-ache to papistical ornaments. During iconoclasm, our old German nature came to the surface again, thought the father. It was an orgy of violence, a wild hunt of Wodan, up to and including in Maastricht. I still feel inclined to it, admitted Goltstein. The iconoclasts in Maastricht were Dutch like you. The two of them walked through Wolfstreet in the direction of Our Ladys Church. Heavy rains of spring alternated with a mild little sun. Vinck showed to commander Goltstein the large grey corner stones in the forefront of Our Ladys Church. These stones were already present in the wall of the Roman castellum! Before the door of the church, a juggler was throwing and catching red woolen balls. An other man tried to impress the public by turning somersaults. A doggy raised a paw and pissed against the door of the church. Is the church of Our Lady older than the church of Saint Servatius?, asked Goltstein. A bit older, answered the father. The rivalry between both churches reflects the rivalry between the popes and the kings of the Holy Roman Empire. Both have their predecessors back in the Roman era. The first church of Saint Servatius has been built upon the grave of this saint at the end of the Roman era, and the medieval German successors of Charlemagne in the Holy Empire kept favouring the church. But ever since bishop Servatius arrived in our city, the first church of Our Lady was the episcopal church. After the episcopal see moved to Liege, which happened before the birth of Charlemagne, there was always a strong relation between this church and the prince-bishopric of Liege. And both ecclesiastical chapters are independent up to now. Which one was more important in Maastricht?, insisted the commander. Trajectum neutri domino, sed paret utrique, said the Minorite father, solemnly. Maastricht doesnt belong to either of both masters, but to both at the same time. This holds since the year 1284, when the prince-bishop of Liege (backed by the pope) and the count of Brabant (as a vassal of the German king) set their seals to the Alde Caerte. Aha!, exclaimed Goltstein. Now I understand why we, the Dutch, always have to consult with those tiresome Liege deputees in Maastricht. And the local people are playing off the Dutch and the Walloons against each other, just as a little girl will play off her parents against each other. At this moment a little girl passed by with her father and her mother. She held the hand of her father, and addressed him with a menacing little finger. Yes, smiled Vinck. By capturing Maastricht in 1632, the Republic de facto robbed the king of Spain from his rights as a count of Brabant, but it left the Liege rights intact. I think its policy of equilibrium. If I were to decide, it wouldnt last long before the words of the bishop of Liege wouldnt carry any weight here anymore, nor those of the pope of Rome, said the commander. I know, sighed the Franciscan. The Dutchman ran on: I dont trust Maastricht people. They answer yes and amen to your proposals, while thinking never and no way. In fact, this is an evil that adheres to most of the Catholics. We are just a bit more courteous than you, northern people, argued the father. Youll all go to hell!, claimed Goltstein. You think there are thousands of secret little gateways that give entry to heaven. On the contrary, we can only be saved if our Lord Jesus Christ will touch us. Only then do we, sinners, see we deserve nothing but hell, and wed better hope that our Lord Jesus will save us! There passed a beggar. He wore a rosary in one hand and made the sign of the cross with the other. He looked at both gentlemen with imploring eyes, and lifted his hands to beg for alms. Vinck felt in his bag, and gave the beggar a farthing. Look, said Goltstein. This is what I mean. This man is hoping that the beads of his rosary will save him. He is damned to hell. Not at all, said Vinck. God loves the beggars and the children. He has a weakness for the dogs who pee in the porches of the churches. On the other hand, it is more difficult for a rich man to be admitted to heaven than than for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, Goltstein supplied, nervously stamping his feet on the ground. I have to ask our vicar Ludovicus how we should take this. I think prosperity is the sign of being elected, but in the end the point that counts is we humiliate before God. Who of us is seeking loop-holes?, laughed father Vinck. And who is searching for secret gateways to heaven? The commander gestured he threw the argument away, and shrugged his shoulders. To the great annoyance of the Dutchman, the father went into the church to greet Our Lord in the tabernacle. Standing by the door of the church, Goltstein saw the Minorite kneeling down in the red glimmer of the sanctuary lamp. It lasted some ten minutes before father Vinck leisurely got back to Goltstein, who was about to abandon the rest of the walk. Do you want to light a candle too?, he muttered. Wait!, said Vinck, and he did exactly what the commander proposed. Unexpectedly, this made Goltstein relax. Come!, he said, when the Franciscan was at his side again. Lets go to the Hellgate, and climb the city walls. Then I can explain you a few things about the siege of Maastricht by our conqueror of cities, Frederik Hendrik. Ill go with you. When they were walking to the Hellgate, they passed the large house of brewer Lansmans, called The Half Moon. The commander saw through the little window there was a feast inside. The wine and the poultry, the flute playing and the lawless flirting, it all hurt his eyes and ears. Dont say this behaviour is typically papic, said Vinck. No, yielded Goltstein. But it isnt typically calvinistic, either. It is typically debauchery of citizens who dont believe anymore in the education they once received. Perhaps they just want to celebrate something. Of course they want, muttered the commander cynically. The Hellgate has been built in 1229, said father Vinck. Saint Francis died only three years before that year. May he rest in peace, sneered Goltstein. They strolled through the Hellgate. The captain looked at the city walls, approvingly. They were high and strong enough! They climbed the bastion The Three Doves. From above they had a fine view of the river Jeker and the city walls around the new bulwark. The assault of Maastricht by Frederik Hendrik was initially a failure, wasnt it?, asked father Vinck, with a pokerface. Yes, answered his companion. But then he ordered to dig a subterranean passage to the Gate of Brussels, and made a breach in the city walls by causing the explosion of a mine. Were the Dutch surprised when they entered the city past the principal walls and bumped into even older city walls? No, ever since the siege by the count of Parma in 1579 it was well known there were two circumvallations in Maastricht. As for this siege by Parma, I want to express my respect for the brave and skilful defence of the city by engineer Tapin. The socalled fury of the Spaniards after they conquered Maastricht was repulsive. Thats true, admitted the Minorite. Every war brings war crimes. But people exaggerate the Spanish fury. Parma was ill, then, but he stopped the violence as soon as possible. And he celebrated the victory with a Te Deum, laughed Goltstein. The siege by Parma wasnt the first siege of Maastricht, observed the father. We got one in 1407 already, when the people of Liege expelled their own prince-bishop, and this bishop fled to Maastricht. They didnt use explosives at the time, said the commander. No, but there was no less misery. It was a hard winter. Those from Liege came with an army of more than ten thousand. From a high wooden scaffolding, they threw stones, burning bombs, faeces and even corpses into the besieged city. However, it was so cold that the horses froze to death. The attackers retired. The two men walked to and fro on the bastion. They talked about the surroundings of the city. To the south there was Mount Saint Peter, where the greengrocers were living, and where the Observants had a convent outside of the city walls. Behind it was the fortress of Navagne, close to Eijsden. From this fortress, which the Flemish called Elvenschans, the Spaniards kept molesting the city and the fields. The villagers have to endure even more than the citizens, sighed Vinck. Yes. Quarterings, levies, and worse. And always are both sides guilty of war crimes. They strolled back to the city. The Dutch military commander hummed a hymn, recently composed by a follower of William of Orange. What are you singing about Maastricht?, asked Vinck, after the eleventh stanza. The commander sang the strophe again, at the top of his voice: On horseback Im racing, my army at my feet. - The tyrant I am facing to fight with him indeed. In trenches he is hiding, and Maastricht is his shield. - My horsemen all are riding so boldly through the field. Vinck bowed to Goltstein and applauded. The singing had made the commander hungry. Now he could choose: announce himself at the wild feast of Lansmans as an inspector of the law, so they would treat him to venison to propitiate him, or have lunch with his companion in the convent of the Minorites. He chose the Franciscans, for strategical reasons. Whats for lunch?, asked the commander, tapping his fat belly under the jacket of his uniform. Bread and wine, was the answer. That was a disappointment. The superior of the army got a little stool at the large table in the refectory, between twenty friars with shaved skulls in brown habits. On the table there were baskets with bread, and bottles of wine or water. Nothing more. For each of them there was a platter and a little cup. There was no butter, no fruit, no milk, no meat, no fish, no honey Against the wall there was hanging a large crucifix, from which Jesus was watching them, while his wooden eyes displayed his sorrow. In an alcove there was a statue of virgin Mary, folding her hands piously, and in another alcove there was a statue of Saint Francis, preaching to the birds and the fish. Nobody was talking. The guardian, father Vinck himself, tapped the table with his fingers, and everybody closed his eyes to say grace. Then the guardian jingled a little table bell, and one of the friars began to read aloud from a big book. Sequel of the reading from the Little Flowers of Saint Francis, Chapter Five, he began. The guardian tapped the table, and everybody took a slice of bread, and poured himself a cup of water. Goltstein sighed and did the same. He began eating reluctantly, but at last he was eating with relish. He listened to the lecture with half an ear, fighting against niddle-noddle and falling asleep. .. The little children in the streets of Bologna, he heard, seeing him dressed so strangely and so poorly, laughed and scoffed at him, taking him for a madman. All these trials Brother Bernard accepted for the love of Christ, with great patience and joy; and seeking to be despised yet more, he went to the market place, where, having seated himself, a great number of children and men gathered round him, and taking hold of his hood pushed him here and there, some throwing stones at him and others dust. To all this Brother Bernard submitted in silence, his countenance bearing an expression of holy joy, and for several days he returned to the same spot to receive the same insults. .. After the lecture, the friars poured each other a glass of wine, because it was the feastday of Saint Clara. Now they were allowed to talk to each other in a low voice. Who was Saint Francis?, asked Goltstein, looking at the friar next to him. A miserly fellow with a sour face, I suppose? The friar fled into a passion. His eyes began sparkling, and he spoke almost too loudly, so that his disturbed fellow friars looked up at him. He said: On the contrary, the founder of our monastic order was as merry as a cricket. His father was a rich merchant of cloth. As a youth, Francis was a wild boy. But he was already a troubadour then, who wished to become a knight. He joined in a battle, and was taken prisoner. Now he came to his senses. He was moved by the pain of the lepers, whom the people rejected. Goltstein stared at the friar. This man swept the sweat off his face with a sleeve of his habit, and continued: Later on, he got a vision in a decayed chapel. The Crucified said: Repair my house. Now he retired into solitude as a hermit, and dedicated himself to the lepers and the poor, and to repairing little churches and praying. He wished to be the poorest of all. He begged for his food, and shared it with others who had even less. Goltstein looked neutral, as if it didnt excite his full interest. The friar went on: The father of Francis thought his son was a fool now, and tried to bring him back into the real world with a mix of menacing and tempting. But the son gave his clothes back to his father, in the presence of the bishop, and solemnly dedicated himself to God. Together with two others he began the great adventure of the Minorites. Wait a bit, interrupted the commander. I heard this young man fled from his temptations by throwing himself into the snow all naked. Thats true, admitted his table companion. Do you have objections against it? No, unless people paint it on canvas or walls, answered the commander. The friar lifted his eyebrows, shook his head, and continued his story: In those days, the pope tried to reconquer Jerusalem by crusades. But Francis chose to go to the Mohammedans, to stay with them as their servant. Thus he showed that God doesnt only punish, but invites as well. When mixing with non-Catholics, Francis always took care he didnt get involved in a dispute. The friar noticed he touched a tender string. He concluded his story as follows: He also wrote a song of praise of God for Mother Nature, the Canticle of the Sun. Here he sings about Brother Sun and Sister Moon. Thats enough, said Goltstein. What Francis did, was new in his time. But its not only Minorites that practice neighbourly love. The two table companions suddenly noticed father Vinck who was standing behind them. He had heard what they were talking about. He nodded assent. You are right, commander, he said. Now for something different. Within some minutes, a pious lady will arrive. Shes a go-ahead sort of woman. Together with five like-minded virgins, she founded a community in a house at the Kommel street, which she named Mount Calvary. There she nurses ill women and wounded soldiers. And she takes care of the pestilence patients, just like the Cellites. Dont you want to meet her? You dont mean Elisabeth Strouven, do you?, asked the Dutchman. Ive always wished to meet her. Why does she come here? To confess, answered the father. When Goltsteins face showed his confusion, he added: I dont think she did much evil. Its an act of humility. A friar with a long white beard came walking along. He announced that miss Strouven was waiting outside. This wasnt true, because the lady was already standing in the refectory, and watching father Vinck and his companions. She came closer, and knelt down before father Vinck. He blessed her with the words: Benedicat te omnipotens Dominus, in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen, she answered. She made the sign of the cross, and stood up. How are you?, she asked the guardian. Im fine, thanks, he said. He pointed at his Dutch guest with an open hand, and introduced them to each other. They greeted each other silently. Neither of them liked the compliments that were in vogue in high society. The superior of the Minorites now told Goltstein about all good works that Elisabeth already had done. He said she had been wandering about for some time with a girl that used to fall on the ground and make convulsive movements every now and then. This girl was possessed by the devil. As an exorcist, he had said the prescribed prayers, but God didnt want to expel the devil yet. Subsequently, Elisabeth had made her lie down before the door of the refectory as a door mat, so that the nuns were to step on Satan. This didnt work, either. However, apparently the devil left the innocent child later on. How can you ever know whether the devil really leaves a child?, asked the commander of the Dutch troops. Even if the child is innocent, it is damned to hell, unless the Lord Jesus has expressly pressed it to His heart. Not at all, said the father. Didnt Jesus say: let the children come to me? And also: if you cause one of these little ones who believe in Me to stumble, it would be better for you to have a millstone hung around your neck, and to be drowned in the depth of the sea. Goltstein nervously touched his neck. Nobody can claim heaven, he curtly said to Elisabeth Strouven. If you think your good works provide you a pass to enter heaven, I have to disappoint you. Are you the porter of heaven?, asked the lady, sharply. Of course its God who decides. I only trust His goodness more than you do. Vinck hushed up the quarrel: My dear children, love each other! One of the good things in Spanish life is the siesta. In summer, siesta is recommendable in Maastricht, too. Father Vinck and his Dutch guest had nestled in an armchair somewhere in the garden of the convent, under a willow, and fallen asleep between the bees and the flowers. Goltstein was the first to wake up. A white butterfly had been fluttering to and fro before his nose. He had to sneeze, and thus he woke his host. The father yawned, and stretched out. What about viewing the church of Saint Servatius?, he proposed. The Dutchman nodded assent. They got up, and they quickly walked out through the garden gate. On their way to the church at Vrijthof square, they saw roguish damsels and squiffy soldiers, who ducked away together when they saw the commander. Pigs were fighting with beggars for apple peers, and dogs were sleeping in the doorways of the wooden houses. Veiled nuns were walking about with ill people, and Jesuits reading their breviary books. Tell me about Saint Servatius church , ordered the commander. The church has been built upon the grave of Saint Servatius, began the guardian. He founded Christian religion hereabout. The Romans had almost disappeared. He was the first one in a series of twentyfive holy bishops. The last but one, Saint Lambert, moved the episcopal see to the domain of the Frankish maiordomo Pepin the Short, the father of Charlemagne. Since then, the city of Liege began to grow there. Yes, you already told that, said Goltstein. Thats why there was a close relation between Liege and the church of Our Lady. But what made the church of Saint Servatius so important? Charlemagne often stayed in Maastricht, in a Pfalz at Vrijthof square. The pope crowned him emperor in Aachen. His successors in the holy roman empire of the german nation gave the church many a treasure and privilege Yes, you told that, too, said the commander, when they were entering the church through the South Portal. It was dark there. The father lit a candle in front of Saint Antonius, and put a coin in the offertory box for the poor. He continued softly: In the treasure room there are the precious relics, which are solemnly shown to the crowd of pilgrims every seventh year. There is also a socalled Emergency Chest with many ornaments that contains the bones of Saint Servatius himself. This chest is being carried through Maastricht whenever the city has been liberated from the pestilence or the enemy. The father looked at his guest from the corner of his eye. This guest was considering whether he had to have the chest carried through the city again or not, to celebrate the departure of the Spaniards. But he thought he should not promote papistical usage. Of course, it was important to keep the city under Dutch government. Or else they would carry the chest around triunfantly as soon as the Dutch were gone away We might carry the Chest of Emergency about the city within short, said father Vinck with an innocent smile. I mean, as soon as the pestilence is over They walked around in the church. The Franciscan knelt down before the tabernacle. He whispered information about the construction of the church since the year 1000, and about the church that was standing there before, which had been destroyed by the Vikings. Deliver us from the fury of the Vikings, Lord, sneered Goltstein. And he continued: Why didnt your Saint Servatius rise from his grave, to chase these wild men away with his rattling carcass? He could have done that!, said Vinck, earnestly. Because for God everything is possible. But what is possible isnt always useful . We have to leave this to Dearlord. Dearlord?, asked the commander. Our Lord, explained the Franciscan. Its Maastricht dialect, which is a sweet language. Dont forget: God did allow Saint Servatius to do some miracles during his life. For example, in Biesland, just outside the Gate of Tongeren, there is a well that sprang from the marshy soil by request of Servatius, after he had tapped the ground with his staff. With the water from the well he cured a woman who suffered from fever. Goltstein shook his head. He thought the superior of the Minorite friars was sympathetic, but not very intelligent. A well can easily spring from soppy soil, cant it? You do believe in the miracles from the bible, dont you?, said Vinck, to defend himself. In Numeri 22, verses 28-32, we meet a donkey thats talking. Goltstein didnt say a word. Deep in his heart he doubted the truth of some bible stories. Were all people descendant from Adam and Eve? Was Methuselah 969 years of age? Was the pair of sparrows in Noahs ark the ancestors of all sparrows of today? Were the walls of Jericho not trumpetproof? Did Jesus walk on water? The reverend Ludovicus said the other day we need not doubt Gods word in the States Bible. But of course we have to seek a natural explanation first for any miraculous event. The Catholics dealt with this too lightly. They were preserving so many splinters of the cross Jesus died on that they could form ten crosses with them. Verily, thats a miraculous multiplication of crosses! Absorbed in thought, the commander followed his host outside. They sat down under a tree for a while, and looked at the high tower of Saint Johns church, from the base up to the spire. Why did you take this beautiful church from us?, asked the father. You already have Saint Mathews church, dont you? And Saint Mathews is already too large for the handful of Protestants in Maastricht. Half of our soldiers are Protestant, answered the Dutchman. Do they all go to church? I think not. Only your elders and deacons and their families go to church. We dont call it a mortal sin if someone doesnt go to church every Sunday. Not formally, but you condemn anyone who on a Sunday does something more frivolous than praise God with dry hymns or listen to the monotonous voice of the preacher. You exclude him from heaven and community. We speak to him, even up to three times. We would be standing at his side, to assist him by word and deed. But gentle doctors cause smelly wounds. We shouldnt persecute the sinners, thought the father. Or else they become even more embittered. Look at Jesus, how he dealt with sinners. Jesus never distributed rosaries. The sacramentals help the sinners to go back to the wise lessons of their father and mother. Then their hearts will melt. Indeed, my heart weakens whenever I see a Catholic procession. Then I have to vomit. The pack are kneeling down if the papist goes by in his gold-edged cassock, bearing a little piece of bread in a golden . how do you call such a thing? Monstrance, said father Vinck. And they are bearing wooden statues of the holy virgin Mary and Saint Lambert and Saint in short, the whole bag of holy tricks. Why do you adore statues? Im glad Dutch rules are now prohibiting this show of puppets. We dont adore statues. But we do maintain a vivid contact with the souls of all saints in heaven. They are pleading for us with God. Why dont you talk with our Lord Jesus yourself? We do that, too. The souls on the earth and those in heaven or purgatory, they form together one great community. Purgatory doesnt exist, said the commander. Lets talk about something different. Will you go with me into Saint Johns church? I will introduce you to our preacher, the reverend Ludovicus. Thats fine, said father Vinck. The preacher was present in Saint Johns church. His face was as stiff as the lines of the church without statues, and his voice sounded as hollow in church as in a grave. Apparently he disapproved of the commander coming along with so weak a brother, but he forced himself into shaking hands with him. Vinck smiled friendly. He regretted he had been trapped into a dispute with Goltstein, and he decided he would not do this again. A lady entered into the church. She was a firm woman with a large bosom. She smiled at father Vinck, and reached out to shake hands with him. Ludo, she said to the reverend Ludovicus. We eat one hour before the usual hour tonight, because theres a meeting of the elders and deacons again. Yes, my dear, answered the preacher, timidly. He reddened up quite a bit. The commander and the father almost burst into laughing. Vinck and Goltstein went outside again, to stand at the foot of Saint Johns tower. The commander took a pull at his water bottle. Therafter, he handed his companion the bottle, and asked whether the Minorite did like the Spaniards. In his answer, Vinck distinguished between the common soldiers of the Spanish garrison and the ministers of the Spanish governor in Brussels. As a rule, the ministers were courteous and a bit haughty. The soldiers, who didnt all come from Spain, were often of a bad sort. As for this, you could compare them to the mercenaries of the States army, although these last ones were on the average even sillier and boorisher. The most amiable Spaniards he knew were priests. The officer said they might take a look at the Gate of Brussels. They walked underneath the arches of the church of Saint Servatius, and through Two Hills Gate, to the street of Brussels. Many of the loam houses, built in frame work style, were bearing traces of the great fire of about twenty years ago. The father explained they were to build stone houses in future. The two walkers had to evade droppings of cows and horses every now and then. From the great wooden gate of a city farm appeared a farmer with a cow and a dog. He and his beasts walked together with the two companions up to the outer city gate at the end of the street that ran in the direction of Brussels. They climbed the stone stairs of the city walls next the gate. From there they looked at the works that had been added to the outside of the fortified city: ravelines and casemates. Goltstein was more interested than his companion. He thought there should come a more elaborate system of outer works in future. Because Tapin, although a good architect of fortresses, was no match for Parmas miners in 1579. These were digging like moles until they were close to the city, to blow up the walls next the gate. The Maastricht citizens helped Tapin and his Dutch garrison to defend the city against the Spaniards, boasted the Dutch commander. They even fought against the Spanish besiegers in the passages under the ground. They did, answered the Franciscan. Because they were afraid. Three years before, most of the Spanish garrison had mutinied. The government replaced it with the garrison of the States General under Tapin, which had received its pay recently. However, at the siege by Frederik Hendrik in 1632 it was the other way round: the citizens then fought together with the Spanish garrison against the Dutch besiegers. Where did you get all this knowledge?, muttered Goltstein. Did God whisper it into your ears, eh? I read the chronicles of the Jesuits. - So you can trust them? They are as trustworthy as the bulletins of the States General. The commander argued that among the Catholics many things happened that could not bear the light of day. He once heard there was a convent in Maastricht where people had entered and never come out again. Neighbours had heard cries that seemed to ascend from the subterranean dungeons. You mean it!, shouted Vinck. Which convent is it? The commandry New Biesen of the Teutonic Knights, a spiritual order of knighthood. Will we go and take a look at it? I dont mind. I dont think theres anything mysterious about it. The two walkers went down the stairs again. They intended to go to the commandry through the gate near the wood market. But in the street of Brussels a man came running past them. There was much consternation and shouting. A crowd was hunting the fellow until he stumbled and fell on the street. Within a minute, Goltstein was standing next the fallen man. Whats up?, he asked. People were shouting from all sides. The commander roared for silence and pointed at a young man who looked sensible. This man is a thief, explained the boy. He found a Roman coin on the ground of the nuns of the Beyart. He wants to keep it. Let me see it, grumbled the military superior. Two men seized the hand of the fallen man that was holding the coin. Within seconds, the commander and the father were looking at a coin with the two faces of Janus. Lock him up, ordered Goltstein. The schout holds court in the Dinghouse on Fridays. Excuse me, said a bystander. This man happens to be of Liege descent. I know his mother from rumours. So he has to stand Liege trial, which isnt on Fridays but on Wednesdays in the Dinghouse. Pardon me, said another. Is this delict serious enough to be dealt with in the Dinghouse? I think the thief has to answer for it in the Lanscroon. That depends, said a third one. The nuns are governed by the laws of the church, arent they? Just like the canons of Saint Servatius and those of Our Lady. This may hold for the nuns, but not for the thief. And the thief has been caught in the domain of the manor of Two Hills, which is governed by .. Stop!, roared the commander. Let the thief go. I keep the coin. They walked further without being disturbed again. But they stumbled over a lot of beggars, and saw much that wasnt meant for their eyes. However, they kept their eyes on the finest buildings: the cloth hall and the city gate of the prisoners, the church of Saint Mathew and the convent of the Antonines. After half an hour they got to the New Biesen. So this is the house of the mysterious Teutonic friars?, asked Goltstein. They are ordinary knights, answered the father. Originally, the monastic order has been founded to nurse wounded crusaders. Just like the Knights Templar they are directly governed by the pope, so they are independent of secular sovereigns. Aha!, shouted the Dutchman. So they belong to the secret auxiliary troops of the pope, just like the Jesuits. Of course, the pope flung about his indulgences during the crusades, for to spread his authority over the whole world with the crusaders swords. The popes want to strengthen their spiritual authority by reinforcing their secular authority, to the salvation of mankind. Then whats the difference between the holy jihad of the Mohammedans and the crusades of medieval Christians? Catholic faith is the only true religion, said father Vinck. There is only one truth. If you arent Catholic, you are either a heretic or a pagan. Did Saint Francis see it that way, too? Yes, but he wished to avoid disputes, from tactical considerations. When exactly were these crusades? Mostly in the twelfth, thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Saint Bernard of Clairvaux came to Maastricht in 1145 to call up for the second crusade. He was preaching here before the church of Our Lady about virgin Mary who wept for the sorrow that people were causing her. This made many knights with their followers join under her banner. Did Mary appear herself?, sneered the commander. I dont know. But Saint Bernard left miracles wherever he went. And he had much success. Most of the crusaders were ordinary people. Bernard wrote to the pope: The cities and castles are empty now. Seven in eight adults are female. Typical, said the commander. I mean all these miracles. However, the crusades in the end didnt produce lasting success. God doesnt let us down. We dont see how exactly he brings about our salvation, although its clear that faith in Jesus Christ plays a major part. The commander thought this saying was worth a compliment. Because he didnt find the words, he gave the father an encouraging tap on the shoulder. This man smiled, and continued in a low voice: Only by the preaching of the word will faith be handed down safely. But people will sooner believe that God saves them if there are also some visible and tangible signs. I will give you an example. The commander shook his head, while the father told the following story: A noble from the village of Riemst, close to Maastricht, had made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land about the year 1300. After his return, he gave his wife and children gifts, but he had forgotten to bring any gift for his silly daughter Anna. He gave her a nut which had fallen into his bag somewhere in Palestine. She planted the nut in the garden next their house, where it developed into a tree. One day, lightning cleft the nut tree in two parts. The girl now saw in the tree a beautiful cross with the body of Our Lord on it. This wooden statue is being venerated in the convent of the White Women on Vrijthof square. I get a headache by those miracles of yours, grumbled the Dutchman, stroking his little beard. Indeed, in the bible we see some facts that dont obey the usual laws of nature. Its about God interfering in the common course of things. But reality is miraculous enough if you dont consider those facts. For example, look at this coin Goltstein took the Roman coin with the head of Janus from his pocket, and they observed the bronze coin together. It was frayed at the edges, but otherwise in a good condition. Isnt it miraculous that this coin has been lying next the Roman road for fifteen hundred years, before a Maastricht local should find it? Are you going to deliver it up?, asked the father. Or do you keep it yourself? Im distraining on it, answered the commander. It will be kept in safe deposit at Leyden university. Father Vinck proposed to drink a pot of beer in the inn facing Saint Matthews church. Commander Goltstein did like nothing better. Within seconds they were seated next the window of the inn. A busty damsel with a bonnet of lace placed two mugs and a carafe full of thick beer before them. Vinck spoke about Saint Matthews. The church was built in the fifteenth century, and paid with the fines of the clothweavers guild. It was a shame the Protestants had taken the church as if it were an old Roman coin. The parish priest had to be carried out of the church to the small church of Saint Catherine at the other side of the street. Goltstein wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and started a monologue in his turn. He said disposing of figures, confessionals and superstition was good. Popish mass was a damned idolatry. The host was only a piece of bread, whether consecrated or not. Father Vinck made the sign of the cross. He brought forward that Gods presence in holy Mass was a mystery but also a deep reality. Of course, God was present in Protestant worship too, but then like a guest who is kindly invited to address the parish. Do you ever confess yourself?, asked the commander. Of course, answered the Franciscan. Confession is like a bath: you are fresh like a rose again I mean a water lily. Thats easy. You sin today, bathe tomorrow, sin again the day after tomorrow, and so on till the end of time. But woe to you if you die on a day of sin. Thats not how it works. The confession is only valid if you repent of your sins. Although imperfect repentance will do, you cant make a game of it, as you are suggesting. Who will check that? God. But a good confessor will also see soon enough what type of penitent is confessing to him. Anyway, dont underestimate the step that the penitent has to take. A hardened sinner is mostly too obstinate to confess. Why dont you turn to God directly? Thats what I call easy. You just say to the Lord Jesus you are building on Him, and go on sinning But I know thats not how it works with you, either. What about the secret of the confessional box? Suppose a sinner is confessing to you he wants to murder me? I would advise against it. I would absolve him, under the usual conditions, from the fact he conceived this malicious plan, and warn him at the same time he would commit a new sin if he were to execute the plan. And that it would be a mortal sin. However, I am not allowed to blab about it. So you are not going to tell me someone is lying on the look-out to kill me? No. Everything that is said during a confession, is secret. I am goose-flesh all over when imagining the things you are hiding from me. I think you are trying to make people say everything you want to know, so you can better manipulate them. We dont. And everything is done for to let them go to heaven. In the center of a fortified city like Maastricht, theres always a lot of bustle. In the days of father Vinck there were soldiers and horses and beggars and damsels and traders. However, the flourishing time had gone. There still was a cattle market. It was still in use to clap each others hands to settle the sale of a horse or a cow. But the sale of wood was going down. The cloth hall had already become ruinous, and the bells in the Belfort didnt toll so merrily anymore. Near the gate of lies, also called the gate of prisoners, which was also needing restoration, father Vinck and his Dutch companion ran across a colleague of the commander: it was the duke of Bouillon, Frdric Maurice de La Tour dAuvergne. He was commander of the garrison, and he radiated authority by his stature and attitude. Goltstein already wished to make a bow, but he restrained himself. Instead, he pretended to give a careless salute. Bouillon nodded to him, and then turned to Vinck: Well, reverend. Dont you have to tend your sheep? Im showing a lost sheep the way through the city of Maastricht. The duke let them hear a roaring laughter, with the hands on his belly. Goltstein joined in the laughter, but like a peasant with toothache. Dash it all! This Bouillon should watch out. He was only the boss during the military operations. And he had become popish! Although his parents had educated him to be a good Calvinist, if only in the fundamental articles, the Jesuits had won him over. Cant you lure the lost sheep with a mug of beer?, asked the duke, wiping the tears out of his eyes. Thats the way it happened. He did want to be shown round, but only on the condition that I should treat him to beer. And how do you get the money you need? I just beg for an alms. The inn keepers in their turn can get the drink money back from the officer for the quartering of the military. A soldier passed by with a busty and shapely damsel. He first greeted Bouillon with a jovial sweep of his arm. Then he saw Goltstein, and gave him a timid salute. But he guessed the citys commander wasnt going to take a firm line with him in the presence of the duke. Bouillon didnt. But Goltstein clearly hated the situation. The duke continued his way, and the two companions walked over the reach of the former canal along the inner city walls to Vrijthof square. Vrijthof square was a marshy meadow with a little fence around. Nobody was allowed to relieve himself there, so dogs and pigs were not admitted. Goltstein liked the place, because it reminded him of home: the estates around his castle in Guelders. This was mainly caused by the rows of trees running over the diagonals of the square. At the center, where the diagonals met, there should be a fountain, but there was no water willing to spring there. Water had to come through a pipe all the way from the well of Saint Servatius in Biesland, and Goltstein thought it was striking that Saint Servatius was clearly failing here, and denying all miracle stories. The commander was also very content with the two places at the borders of Vrijthof square where the capital punishments of the condemned criminals of States and Liege descent, respectively, were executed. It is the Lord who punishes! Goltstein didnt like to look upwards from Vrijthof square, for this damned romanic church of Saint Servatius with the three little steeples contaminated the view. However, the view on the slender church of Saint John next to it brought satisfaction again, since this church had been withdrawn from Catholic cult and given to the Protestants. Father Vinck awoke the citys commander from his daydreaming with a little riddle: A preacher, a priest and a rabbi are chatting, and the talk is turned into the collection money and what they use to do with it. The preacher says: What I do is the following. First I draw a circle on the ground. Then I throw the money upwards, and everything that falls outside of the circle is for me, and everything that falls inside of the circle goes to God. I do something of the kind, says the rabbi, But I draw a straight line on the ground. I throw the money upwards; everything that falls left of the line is for me, and everything that falls right of the line goes to God. Well says the priest, I like to involve God a bit more in the decision. I throw the money upwards, and He can keep everything He catches. Goltstein had been listening with open mouth. Father Vinck put on a triumphant face, but the Dutchman could only shake his head. He further ignored the tale of the laughing father. Did emperor Charles ever visit Maastricht?, asked the commander. The Minorite stopped laughing and answered: Which emperor Charles? Historians say Charlemagne had a pfalz where now the convent of the White Women is. There he stayed when he was passing through. For he traveled with his followers to each of his counts. His family originated from Herstal, close to today Liege. And the pope crowned him emperor in Aachen in the year 800. No, I mean emperor Charles the Fifth of Spain. He did his joyous entry in Maastricht in 1550, with the crown prince Philip. But he came here already thirty years earlier, as a young man. He was born in Ghent. He stayed in the house of the Spanish government several times. It is the beautiful stone house here at the west side of Vrijthof square, isnt it? Did he speak Maastricht dialect? He didnt. He himself said he spoke Spanish with God, French with the men, Italian with the women, and German with his horse. And what did he speak about in the house of the Spanish government? I dont know. He didnt live long enough to see the insurrection, which only began when he was already some eight years underneath the daisies. I do know that the duke of Parma signed there in the name of king Philip of Spain the outlawry of prince William of Orange. What? Here in the house of the Spanish Government? Thats correct. Everybody was allowed to murder the leader of the rebels without being punished. And so it happened a couple of years later on, in Delft. I hope you dont approve of this cowardly murder of the Father of our Fatherland. I wouldnt encourage anybody to do such a thing. But Im not a king. As a priest, I have my own responsibilities. Do you think the king of Spain is allowed to encourage such a murder? It is a sort of death sentence. I think he wished to prevent greater evil. If he came to you to confess, would you absolve him? Of course, but an absolution never implies that the priest approves of the sin. But I dont know whether the king has been struggling with this in his conscience. The insurrection of Orange against the Spanish tyranny of governor Alva was just. Think of the council of troubles, the tenth penny, the Spanish fury, the inquisition I prefer to think of the iconoclasm, the Calvinistic extremists with their absurd doctrine of predestination without compassion, the cruel deeds of the sea beggars against the martyrs of the Dutch little city of Gorcum. What happened in Gorcum? The sea beggars took Gorcum, caught seventeen priests and two friars, and brought them to den Briel. They wanted to force them to abjure holy mass, the presence of God in the host, and the primacy of the pope. Guardian Claes Pieck answered he was not going to accept heretical doctrine to save his life on the earth, because he had to die anyway. In his death, he wished to confirm what he had preached during his lifetime. The nineteen martyrs were first tortured and then hanged. This is notable, said the commander. We should treat such courageous people with more respect. I think William of Orange didnt approve of it. Thats true. He wrote a letter demanding the nineteen should be set free, but it arrived too late. However, Orange was guilty too, because he made use of the service that the cruel sea beggars rendered him. Yes, thats war. The Spaniards were making use of cruel mercenaries as well. But the Dutch first joined the insurrection of the Protestants against the pope, and then they also stood up against their lawful king. I see you easily engage in disputes. Yes, and I beg your pardon for it. What else do you want to see in Maastricht? Roasted meat. The father smiled and took two pieces of bread and a bottle of water from his sleeve. Now at least they had some food. The commander ate both pieces of bread and emptied the whole bottle. Much to his surprise, father Vinck took a big piece of bread from under his other sleeve. Under his habit he had a little bottle of wine. It was his turn to eat. He needed a quarter of an hour for it. Goltstein watched it meekly. The Franciscan explained the provincial superior gave him a day off, so he could show the commander over the city. For opportunities like this one, the person on leave always got some food and drink, but never for more than one day. So on the second day off, he already had to beg for food. Who will ever go on leave for more than one day, then? Many of us do. But we have fixed addresses for to get our alms. They say the Minorites are better off now than the real beggars in the streets. Thats true. We dont want to be addicted to earthly goods, but neither do we want to be a burden for the citizens and authorities. To be able to do our charity well, we have to be strong and healthy. We, the officers of the States army, dont bring food nor drink. We use to eat in the inns at the expense of the government. Do as you please, suggested the father. But the commander shook his head. A day of fast was good for his figure. He did have a belly that he could live on for some time. The guardian proposed they could pay a visit to the church of the Minorites. A noble Lady was there, awaiting them with much patience. But he thought they should not wait too long to say hello to her. The citys commander took fright. He never had reckoned with this. He adjusted his uniform, and said he was ready to visit the noble Lady. He had no idea about who it could be. But he had to be careful, because Vinck had connections with the viceroy. So they walked firmly along Saint Servatius guesthouse in the direction of the church of the Franciscans. From the guesthouse sounded lamentations of an ill man. A bit later on, a Minorite came outside with a cart full of laundry. Pax vobiscum, he said to the guardian. Peace be with you, answered father Vinck. On their way to the Minorite church, they further saw: a maidservant with a bag of bread, four boys who were playing at leapfrog, two girls with a ragdoll, a cat hunting mice, a chicken thief running away from a catchpole, and the complete butchers guild heading for a feast with their drums beating. At the door of the church, father Vinck uncovered his head. At once, the commander saw a bright light far away. His heart quickened. A veiled lady was kneeling before the statue of a saint. The lady made the sign of the cross, and rose from the pew. She was goodlooking! But she walked past them without looking up. Father Vinck drew Goltsteins attention to the statue: apparently, it was virgin Mary with the child Jesus on the arm. May I introduce you to each other?, said the guardian. This is the noble Lady who is still waiting for us. Is she the promised Lady?, grumbled the citys commander. It is a statue of wood. But it respresents virgin Mary, listening to the prayers of the people who are kneeling down before her. At her intercession, many prayers have already been answered. Why dont people address God directly? They feel more at ease with mother Mary. Didnt you ever talk with your mother, when you didnt dare to talk with your father? Leave my parents out of it!, said Goltstein, with a grim face. Per Mariam ad Jesum, said Vinck. Through Mary to Jesus. For she is like a star above the sea, which tells the sailors where they can find a safe harbour. The name Morning Star, from the litany of Mary, suits her. Dont you think so, mister Goltstein? My name is Joachim von Goltstein, grumbled the commander. Hear!, smiled the father. Come on, let us pray a Hail Mary. The commander remained silent, but Vincks Ave Maria calmed him down. In the twilight of a summer evening, the grass outside Saint Peters Gate is a good place to sit down and muse. Father Vinck and commander Goltstein were still sitting there, and talking about their walk through the city of Maastricht. But the gate was about to be closed, within a quarter of an hour. The guardian had missed the vespers. The commander had missed the evening parade. They had to go back to the head quartes and the convent. The father pointed to a dog who was passionately sniffing in a brushwood. This caused his companion to deliver some comments about the Dominicans, the dogs of the Lord. The Dominicans were hated because of their part in the judicial courts of the inquisition, werent they? Thats why their convent was burnt. In his era, it happened several times that Saint Dominic was a president of an auto da f, that means an act of faith. But that was in the middle ages. The fire of the Maastricht convent was in the year of the mutiny of the Spanish guarrison. People were mad with anything Spanish. After Parma restored order, the Dominicans came back without any problem. They were in so high esteem that the city kindly paid for repairing the convent. Ever since, they acted as agents of the Catholic Revival, in the name of the king of Spain. Before Frederik Hendrik, the conquerer of cities, came to liberate Maastricht, every applicant had to hand in a certificate of papistical conduct. Of course, every public officer must be a good Catholic. This applied then, and it should apply now. But today Maastricht only appoints Protestants from Holland. I call that tyranny, not liberation. You are free to come and listen to our preacher Ludovicus. I prefer Saint Dominic. In the days when John Lackland was king of England, the founder of the Dominicans was walking the paths of the Lord, singing and without luggage. He talked about nothing but Gods goodness. One day, a heretic told him about his melancholic thoughts, but our hero converted him by his joyfulness. I like Saint Willibrord better. I think he was a matter-of-fact man. In the early middle ages, the convents were centers of civilization. But now they are centers of popish tyranny. It was almost dark. The two disputers walked back into the city through the gate, making many gestures. They sat down on a little bench under a tree next Our Ladys church. The father summed up the convents that were contributing to general well-being in Maastricht: Besides the chapters of Saint Servatius and Our Lady, we have the Franciscan friars, the Antonines, the Augustinians, the Dominicans, the Beguards, the knights of the Teutonic Order, de Cellites, the Crosiers, the Jesuits and the Capuchins. As for the nuns, we have the White Women, the beguines of Saint Andrew, the sisters of Sint-Annadal, the Veiled sisters, the nuns of the Beyart, the beguines of the Nieuwenhof, the sisters of the Annunciation, those of the Holy Sepulchre How many religious, all together? Some five hundred monks and nuns, in a total population of fifteen thousand. I thought there should be more, because you see them everywhere. Of course, they are very visible with their habits, veils, tonsures, sandals, rosaries, They used to participate in the great processions through the city. But you, the Dutch, have prohibited these processions. Do the religious anything useful, except praying? Cure of souls, education, cure of the ill, copying manuscripts, taking in lady-boarders, This last one is a task for the nuns, I hope? Of course. And we always take time for contemplation. Contemplation? So you imagine youre already dead, and begin contemplating God? We open ourselves, so God may enter. We do this by being silent, praying, singing We pray the canonical hours: vigils, matins, lauds, prime, terce, sext, none, vespers and compline. Do you get enough sleep? Or do you sleep during the choral songs? Some fall asleep. Whoever becomes too tired, may get exemption from parts of the Divine Office. Hear! They heard the rattling and chirping of a coach and horse. But there was no trumpet signal of the army nor a bugle sound of the post. The clatter came from the broad street near the convent of the Jesuits. Both men rose to take a look. A stately Jesuit with a grey beard stepped out of the coach. It was rector Boddens of the Latin school. He kept talking with the coachman for a while, and waved to his colleague Vinck. But apparently he didnt notice Goltstein. The rector knocked at the door of his convent, and was soon out of sight. The coucher gave his two brown mares a brush up, and climbed onto the driving box again to bring the couch to the coach house and the horses to the stable. Where do you come from so late, coucher?, asked the commander in a loud voice. From Brussels, sir. Fortunately, the Gate of Brussels was still open. Otherwise, our arrival could have caused a lot of stir. Vinck explained to his companion that the rector maintained good contacts with the Dutch government in the Hague, but also with the Spanish government in Brussels. Goltstein grumbled the rector got instructions from the representatives of the pope and of the king of Spain. Of course he couldnt show his real intentions in the Hague, but he was certainly working with a list of hidden intentions. Those Jesuits are being trained to drive the Catholic Revival through. I wouldnt formulate it that way, hushed the father. They engage in preparing society for to return to the bosom of its Mother, which is Holy Church. I heard about the way those retreats of Saint Ignatius of Loyola are done. Its a sort of brain washing. During the spiritual exercises, we seek to know Gods will. The Creator and Lord lets the souls know how they may best love and praise Him. He prepares them so they can better serve Him in future. We have to choose between the armies of God and Satan. Did you learn the advertisements by heart? It was dark now. In the candlelight of an inn, people could only see the shadows and ghostly faces of the two companions. Wait a moment, said Goltstein, and he took a coin from under his sleeve. Do you collect coins?, asked Vinck. This is a nice one. On this penny you can see the pope. If we turn this side half around, we see the devil. On the other side we see one of the popes cardinals. If we turn it half around, we see a jester. Above the pope we read 666. Thats the number of the beast from Saint Johns Apocalypse. Because the pope is the Antichrist You got a Protestant education, so you dont know better. But else I would give you a box on the ear for this mockery. They smiled and shook hands to say goodbye. Then they both went their own way. When the guardian entered the chapel of the Minorite convent, the friars were just saying the prayer for the conversion of the heretics, for which he had asked this morning after holy mass. He joined them in a pew at the back of the chapel, and heard with joy the prayers from the litany of the blessed virgin, Saint Mary: Speculum justitiae - Mirror of justice, ora pro nobis. Sedes sapientiae - Seat of wisdom, ora pro nobis. Causa nostrae laetitiae - Cause of our joy, ora pro nobis. Vas spirituale - Spiritual vessel, ora pro nobis. Vas honorabile - Vessel of honor, ora pro nobis. Vas insigne devotionis - Singular vessel of devotion, ora pro nobis. Rosa mystica - Mystical rose, ora pro nobis. Turris davidica - Tower of David, ora pro nobis. Turris eburnea - Tower of ivory, ora pro nobis. Domus aurea - House of gold, ora pro nobis. Foederis Arca - Ark of the Covenant, ora pro nobis. Ianua coeli - Gate of Heaven, ora pro nobis. Stella matutina - Morning star, ora pro nobis. Salus infirmorum - Health of the sick, ora pro nobis. Refugium peccatorum - Refuge of sinners, ora pro nobis. Consolatrix afflictorum - Comforter of the afflicted, ora pro nobis. Auxilium Christianorum - Help of Christians, ora pro nobis. Regina Angelorum - Queen of angels, ora pro nobis Ora pro Goltstein pray for Goltstein, said Vinck softly after each acclamation. CHAPTER 2 Friar Nottin SJ stroked his white beard with his bony hand and looked out over the fields of Navagne. What a rubbish! It looked like the remains of a battle between the Spanish garrison of the fortress and the Dutch. However, it was the wind that had played havoc. Yesterday, late in the afternoon, the sky had suddenly turned green. A wind sprang up and drove away the heat. A thunderstorm made thick trees shake as if they were just stems of reed. A horse stable flew into the air and landed hundred meters away in a pond. Three out of the twenty horses that had been snorting and stamping in the stable, lay lame in the field and had to be killed. The seventeen others were walking around confused, and found a temporary shelter in a meadow. But now, a day later on, there was not a single cloud in the sky. Can you reconstruct the stable?, asked colonel Mzires. He was standing next the friar in full pontificals. Thats my job as a handyman, answered Nottin. Very well, said the Spanish commander. Then Ill keep my workmen inside the fortress. You can find there everything you need: hammers, planks, nails, ropes ... How long do you need for the job? I will rebuild this stable within three days. Do you permit I seek some plants and butterflies for my collection during my lunch breaks? The colonel watched the blue sky. It didnt look like storm now. He nodded assent. The friar put a finger on his mouth, and stood still for a moment to listen intently. Then he peered at a tree wherein several great nests could be seen. He went there on his sandals, with the hands under his habit. Mzires thought he was a queer chap. But his work was sufficient, that was what counted. He readily would pay him some pennies for it. The Jesuit inspected a nest, and came back again. He announced there were little chickens of the fieldfare in it. Then that nest stayed out of the storm, beamed the colonel. Now for something different: how are Maastricht people doing? Can you stand the Dutch? The friar began lamenting. That there was so much talking in stiff Dutch tongue in the city. Furthermore, the few Dutch Protestants were holding all important positions and also two large churches. There were daily military exercitions to keep the Spaniards out. In the merry month of May, the Catholics werent even allowed to hold a procession. He was longing for the smell of incense, and would like to sing the hymn Alma Mater at the top of his voice. Even though the Dutch were tolerating the administration of the holy sacraments, they put so many obstacles in their way that weaker natures soon would give up receiving them. Colonel Mzires said he understood. But he was only interested in things military. He urged the friar to watch the city carefully. If there were any holes in its defense, he wanted to know it as soon as possible. Nottin shrugged his shoulders. He didnt know much about warfare. Mzires treated him to a pull of wine at his case bottle. The friar liked it! He got another pull of wine up to three times. But, to be honest, he couldnt carry so much wine. He became a bit queer, and sang with his unsteady bass: Alma Redemptoris Mater, quae pervia caeli porta manes, et stella maris, succurre cadenti, surgere qui curat, populo. Tu quae genuisti, natura mirante, tuum sanctum Genitorem, Virgo prius ac posterius; Gabrielis ab ore sumens illud Ave, peccatorum miserere. And what does that mean? Loving Mother of the Redeemer, who always are an open gateway to heaven, and a star of the sea, assist your people who are falling and strive to rise again. To the wonderment of nature you gave birth to your Creator, but remained a Virgin after as before. You received that greeting out of Gabriels mouth, now have pity on us poor sinners. While friar Nottin was standing still to translate the hymn with a frowning face and stately gestures, Mzires was already heading to the fortress again. He recalled he had an appointment with his tailor in Vis. He ran into the inner court, mounted the horse that was waiting for him, and galloped in the direction of the village. At the tailors door, a wagon was waiting with beer on it and a mare before it. Workers were walking to and fro, carrying the barrels of beer to the nearby inn The Sleeping Cock. The colonel jumped off his horse, and fastened it to a pole. He walked into the tailors shop. Next the door he bumped into Jan Lansmans. Lansmans was a big guy with a fat belly, one head longer than Mzires. Nevertheless, he stepped backward to let the colonel pass first. The colonel nodded friendly to the brewer, and went to the table whereon his tailor was sitting to do his work. Good afternoon, he said to the bald little man. Your jacket is already repaired, sir, said the tailor. You can take it away. And he shouted to the back side of the shop: Anna! The jacket of Mzires! His wife, a little woman with black hair and fiery eyes, came from the back into the shop, carrying the velvet garment. She made a deep bow and handed it over. The colonel took it with a smile and bowed even deeper. Now he looked at his jacket and nodded approbation to the woman and the tailor. Then he asked the little tailor, making a stealthy gesture to the door: Wasnt that Jan Lansmans whom I met there? Yes, was the answer. He is a client of ours, too. He has a house in Maastricht, hasnt he? Thats right. And he spares nobody if he can earn money. What do you mean? My little nephew owed Lansmans some money. Lansmans knew this fellow was taking care of his old mother, and this old mother had a farm in Itteren. He also knew the youngster wasnt sensible. He made the chap drunk, and waited until he owed him a lot of drink money. Then at once he claimed his money. In the end, the brewer could buy the farm at a low price, and he turned the old mother into the street. But Lansmans is Catholic, isnt he?, asked the astonished commander. In spite of all his military experience, he apparently didnt have much knowledge of human nature. Formally he is a Catholic, answered the tailor. He has been baptized and he attends Easter mass. But what he has done, and in general the way he lives, ce nest pas catholique. He is only interested in money. Really Catholic are those who are interested in people that cant help them forward in this world. You mean the way the Franciscans are Catholic?, asked the colonel. Right, answered the tailor. He rose up and jumped off the table. He went to the back room of the shop, and returned soon with two mugs of thick dark beer. This Lansmans must be very rich by now, observed his client. So he has big worries, added the other. Because all possessions have to be maintained and protected. Apparently he takes care to remain a good friend of the Dutch in Maastricht, because of the necessary licences and the possible deliveries to the garrison. Which articles and services does he supply? Wine. Beer. Food for people and animals. Lodging. Amusement. Is he also a friend of the Maastricht citizens? As long as they dont stand in his way. Of course, he has many servants and suppliers too. His manners are rude. People are a bit afraid of him. Does he often laugh? Not often. And most often at the cost of others. Practical jokes. He always makes a fool of any new apprentice or companion by sending him or her on some nonsense errand. How does he go about with women? He exploits the girls that have fallen in sin. At first he is nice to them, then he asks them to be nice to a client, and at last he dominates them, by threatening to deliver them up to the sheriff and his catchpoles. He is like a pustule in the face of Maastricht, said a voice in the back room of the shop. The little tailors wife appeared again. Her eyes shot fire. Now the tailor and his client heard a lot of abusive language. The French words millard and nom de Dieu were the most frequent in it. Soon the scolding wasnt at Lansmans alone. A great number of other purulent pustules passed in revue, and among them were also some well known persons from Eijsden and Vis. Suddenly the stream of words broke down. The little woman swallowed a lump in her throat, and her eyes were full of tears. She told about her sister in law who had been struck by lightning when she was all alone in the field. If God did exist, how could He let this happen? Because her sister in law was the kindest woman she knew. The tailor put his arm on the shoulders of his wife to comfort her. Mzires said he heard a preach the other day. It was father Vinck who preached in Maerland about the question that the woman had just raised: why does God admit evil in this our world? The Minorites answer was like the following: Our world is a vale of tears indeed, but people dont realise it is also only a waiting room. The real thing is the hereafter in heaven. The apparently unfortunate victims of the catastrophes of nature are henceforth forever happy by contemplation of God. Our faith begins with being sure that God does really exist and that all properties of His creation are present in Him in their perfect forms. His knowledge and intellect are infinite and perfect, as opposed to the knowledge and intellect of man. The same holds for His goodness. Now we are striving after God. This implies our souls have been created for eternal happiness in heaven. Many Protestants think we cant say anything about God with certainty, but many right thinking people have already done so. Protestants want to find all supernatural knowledge in the Bible and neglect the preparation of faith that can be found in Nature. Today some Protestants even think God is only a mental construction of man. This is disastrous. So it is important for humanity that we destroy root and branch of heresy. Cant we leave this to God?, asked the little tailor, sitting on his table again. He doesnt need soldiers who hasten to His rescue with canons, does He? And why should we throw our grenades on the heads of any good people in the quarters of the enemy? God uses people, thought Mzires. We have to contribute. I dont want to hurt the good people. On the contrary, I want to protect them. I throw my grenades on the heads of those men in the quartes of the enemy that are able to bear arms. The shops door bell jingled. A man entered, or was it a woman? It was a stranger. He wore all kinds of adornments, like a gilt bracelet and a necklace. And he rolled his hips. Bon jour!, he said, frivolously emphasizing the first word. Is true I can speak Flemish in this trade? Then you should learn Flemish first, laughed the tailor. Parbleu!, sighed the newcomer. He swept a lock of hair aside which was hanging before his nose. Then he pointed at a tear in his trousers. The tailors little wife already came with a needle and a thread. She knelt down next the tear, and repaired the trousers in no time. Thats it, monsieur, she said. One penny, sil vous plat. The stylish man took a penny from under his sleeve in an elegant way, and greeted the three others with a little swing of his hand alone. He left the shop. The colonel and the married couple exploded with laughter. I think he is very smart, because he escaped all robbers thus far, said Mzires. He is fast, thought the tailor. Before people have recovered from their astonishment, hes already gone. He ran to the shops door and looked around outside. There is nobody within eyeshot any more! Now they talked about the phenomenon beau monsieur for a while. They agreed God had created this sort of man, and they were funny. They were good actors. But they often fell into immoral behaviour. If they did, their fellow citizens should take a firm line with them. Mzires swung his arm to say goodbye, and went back to the fortress of Navagne. In these days, in Maastricht arrived a stylish man who clearly was not a beau monsieur. He wore an elegant hat and mantle, and a sword on his side. People felt theyd better not mock at this man. He ordered a wild boar and a mug of thick beer in the inn called The Naked Sword. The landlord swallowed a lump in his throat. He didnt often get hold of a wild boar from the Ardennes. Would the dear guest be so kind as to accept a pig from Heugem? The noble seized the landlord by the throat and answered he would, if necessary, even accept a pig from this house. While he was eating, some catchpole disturbed him for to ask him a few questions on behalf of the sheriff. What was his name? Seigneur Claude Delacourt. Profession? Captain in the Spanish army. The catchpole took fright. In that case, the man should be arrested. However, for this task he needed help. He swallowed a lump, just as the landlord did, and continued the interrogation. What was the purpose of his visit to Maastricht? He had deserted the Spanish army, and wished to join the Maastricht garrison. The catchpole felt very bad now. This case was beyond his competence. He had to warn the sheriff as soon as possible. Meanwhile, he couldnt let this bird fly away. Hed better continue the interrogation. How did he break away from the Spanish army? He simply saddled his horse and rode to Maastricht. Did nobody stop him? Sure, a company of Spanish horsemen did stop him. But he shook them off, and entered the city at breakneck speed through Saint Peters Gate. Were there any witnesses? Yes, said Delacourt, and they are standing behind you. The catchpole turned round. Commander Goltstein had entered without noise, together with three gatekeepers bearing lances. The gatekeepers testified that the noble had forced his entry into the city through Saint Peters Gate, and thus escaped from a company of horsemen who pursued him. Goltstein asked the noble to come along with him. They walked in a solemn procession to the house of the Spanish government, where the duke of Bouillon was staying at the moment: in front Joachim von Goltstein and Claude Delacourt, involved in an animated discussion, and after them the three gatekeepers with lances. Bouillon was about to leave the house, but he changed his mind. The noble sat down with the two commanders in the drawing-room of the stately house. Why did you turn your back on your Spanish friends?, asked the duke. Ive been a Catholic long enough, said Delacourt. He didnt know that Bouillon recently was converted to Catholicism. Goltstein couldnt suppress a grin. Bouillon lifted his eyebrows, and asked: Why dont you want to be a Catholic anymore? The face of the deserter expressed he didnt care. They want to make me believe I can earn indulgences by reciting prayers. Im running out of indulgences too fast. I think the Lord Jesus doesnt count our sins. He rather observes our faith and our attitude to life. Goltstein nodded assent, but the duke objected: What counts is the intention you say prayers with. And you may earn the indulgences for the souls in purgatory. Commander Goltstein didnt fancy a theological discussion. He was already convinced that the deserter was a sensible man, and said to the duke they should admit the French noble in the garrison. This happened in the evening of the same day. Seigneur Claude Delacourt took the oath on the States Bible in the presence of both Dutch commanders and the Protestant vicar of Saint Johns church: he swore to be always true to the States General of the United Netherlands. He was enlisted in the garrison, and became the substitute head of a company as a lieutenant. This company sang together with him a strophe of the hymn called the Wilhelmus: My shield and my reliance art Thou, o God, my Lord During the following days, Claude Delacourt participated in a patrol which inspected the walls. He was more interested in this work than he wished to admit. He kept his eyes wide open. He saw the watergate called the Reek on the Old Garden, with its floodgate and dam. Here the river Jeker entered the city through the outer city wall. Next the watergate there was in the wall a little gate or postern. It was meant to enable operating or repairing the floodgate in times of war. The deserter saw even more posterns, some of which had been walled up. People told him the little Millgate was intended to get to the ship mills on the river Maas, and the little Huigens Gate for the merchants of wood on the fields of the Virgins of Saint Andrew. The little Bulrush Gate near the convent of the Teutonic Knights had been walled up and opened again several times throughout the centuries. In the walls between the church of Our Lady and the Hellgate there was a little gate that had been walled up with marl stones. The noble thought this postern was especially interesting. They happened to row past it over a branch of the river Jeker outside the city. He talked about it with a soldier of his patrol who in the garrison was known as the engineer. Why had this litlle gate been walled up? Because it wasnt in use anymore. When did they wall it up? He didnt know. What did people use it for in former times? To load and unload the provisions and cargo of the ships on the river. On further examination, Delacourt noticed the city side of the the postern was near the house called The Half Moon. To be precise: it was situated behind a little house next Lansmans. This small house was ruinous. A passer-by said it was for sale. The new lieutenant entered a near inn, called The Black Sheep. He liked what he saw there. A motley company was enjoying food and drink at oak tables. A firm landlady was booking the orders. There was a smell of pipe tobacco, and the sound of a German flute. The head of a wild boar was looking about above the fireplace. He sat down at a table next a young man who was kissing a blond lass. I only see the smoke of tobacco, he explained, when the couple looked at him inquiringly. But he strained his ears. He heard a conversation that was being held at a table next his. While listening, he ordered a bottle of wine and a plate of whats cooked. He got peas with eggs and goats cheese. Impossible, he heard someone say. This month I have to help with the restoration of Saint Catherines chapel. You may have to wait until autumn before I can build a wall around your garden. Cant you build a provisional fence around it? A fence doesnt keep the intruders out, said somebody else. Delacourt looked up to see them. The one who needed a fence looked like a grocer, chubby cheeks included. The other one, a strong fellow with dark curls, was apparently a bricklayer. Delacourt knew him from olden times. However, ever since the noble had retired from the city and settled at the Elvenschans in Navagne, his looks had changed quite a lot. He didnt wear a beard anymore. How high a wall do you want?, he heard the bricklayer ask. The height has to be three yards, answered the grocer, and the width has to be one foot. The circumference of my garden is some fifteen rods. Marl stone? Yes. But if you are too busy, Ill give the job to somebody else. The bricklayer gestured he couldnt help it. He had to consult his boss first. During the next days, he might be found in this here inn every now and then. If he happened to be free, he could build a fine wall in no time. The grocer rose up. He paid for his consumptions, and left the inn. Now the lieutenant sat down opposite the bricklayer, who didnt seem to recognize him. So he introduced himself as lieutenant Claude Delacourt. Jan Rompen, said the other, and suddenly a light dawned upon him. Delacourt, old friend, I didnt recognize you! How are you? Im fine. Im a lieutenant in the States army now. We are inspecting the city walls. You didnt become a Dutchman, I hope?, asked Rompen, distrustful. I did!, answered Delacourt while he gave his friend a clear wink. I have deserted, or at least the Dutch think so. The noble now made a sign with the thumb of his right hand stretched horizontally, and at a right angle under it the thumb of his left hand. Jan Rompen relaxed. Youre making the Greek sign of the cross, he smiled. Both were members of the anti-Dutch resistance movement la Tau, which used to hold its secret reunions in the street called Grote Staat. How are our fellow members of la Tau?, asked the knight. Bricklayer Caters? Brewer Lansmans? Rector Boddens? They are doing what they are supposed to do. How are you yourself? You were a bricklayers apprentice at the time. I did my masters exam recently. Just take a look near the convent of the Soeurs des Bons Enfants. I built the side faade of a house at the river Jeker there. The noble nodded with content. He asked which kind of work the bricklayer liked the best. It turned out this was any kind of work in which the expert could find inspiration. For instance, faades with elegant windows. But a wall around a garden wasnt a challenge. Do you ever help with the restoration of the city walls? Yes, but I dont like such work. As a lieutenant of the Dutch garrison Im seeking little gates in the city walls, whispered Delacourt. As a matter of fact, Im doing this as a captain of the Spanish army. Dont blab about it. We could use such a little gate to make our Spanish spies enter the city. Behind the house called The Half Moon of Jan Lansmans there is a walled up postern, said the bricklayer, also in a whisper. Thats close to here, isnt it?, asked Delacourt, as if he were surprised. Where exactly is the postern? It gives entry to the cellar of the little house next Lansmans house. Do you wat to see it? If you come upstairs with me for a moment Jan Rompen exchanged a few words with the landlady. She shrugged her shoulders. The bricklayer beckoned the deserter, and they climbed the three stairways together. From an attic window they saw the little house that was for sale, and part of the space behind it. Between the ivy on the city wall they could see the upper part of a little gate. The marl stones were already old. Rompen thought they walled up the postern long ago. At most one man at a time could ever pass through this gate, noticed the lieutenant. I dont understand how people could ever use it for loading and unloading cargo. I remember it was open when I was a little boy, said the master bricklayer. At the time there was an alley that led from the Hell street to this postern. Quite a few of people used it. They carried heavy bags through it. But originally it may have been intended as an entrance or exit of emergency. It prevented that people with a store hereabout had to make a detour. Did the builders of the little house wall it up? Thats possible. I have been living in Liege for many years. I lost sight of the postern. You were in Maastricht during the siege by Frederik Hendrik, werent you? I was. So I returned to the city some ten years ago. But, of course, I didnt immediately think of this postern. I think I asked myself this last summer what ever happened to it. Then I walked past the house of Lansmans for the first time since many years. I myself was in France during the siege of Maastricht. One year after the surrender, I came into the city, and I met you at a reunion of la Tau. However, I didnt have enough time yet to inform myself about the facts. How did the siege by Frederik Hendrik proceed? Lets go downstairs first. Both men sat down at a table downstairs again, with a fresh pot of thick beer before them. Bricklayer Rompen told his story. Frederik Hendrik had seventeen thousand men of infantry and four thousand of cavalry. He built an earthen wall and a trench around the city. In the garrison there were three thousand men, and the Spaniards sent two relief forces . The relief force of marshall Pappenheim attacked the Dutch positions near Amby, but failed. The citizens were supporters of the Spaniards. They helped to defend the city. For example, I myself helped several times to restore the walls. However, when the besiegers made a breach next the Gate of Brussels, we, the citizens, insisted that the city be surrendered. We didnt want to push the defence to extremes, because then the Dutch would have unchained a fury like the Spanish did fifty years earlier. Is that usage? Yes, its military law. As soon as the enemy has made a breach in the city walls, the city has to surrender. If not, the general of the besiegers cant control his soldiers. But there were two armies of relief close to Maastricht, werent there? Thats why the commander of the Spanish garrison, for to save his honor, made the citizens sign a letter wherein they confirmed they wished to surrender. What was the outcome? The Spanish garrison was allowed a retreat with honor out of the city. They were allowed to leave with drums beating and colours flying. The States General of the United Netherlands entered into the rights of the king of Spain, as a duke of Brabant. So henceforth they were going to govern the city of Maastricht together with the prince-bishop of Liege. Is this settlement already permanent? No, the treaty hasnt been formally signed by both parties yet. Delacourt shrugged his shoulders. A treaty that hasnt been signed is only a design. The Spaniards didnt surrender yet. So thats why they are camping everywhere in the neighbourhood. They besiege Maastricht every now and then. And they are keeping the fortress of Navagne. Yes, but both parties already comply with the treaty. That is to say, they make the outsiders believe they are doing so. I know, sighed Delacourt. He rose slowly, and put on his mantle. He bowed to Rompen to say goodbye, and left. The lieutenant walked with a firm pace past the church of Our Lady into Stock street. On the inner court of a gentlemans house, he saw children who were playing between cows and dogs. It was a nice scene indeed, but it wasnt healthy. However, there was no room elsewhere for the cattle and the servants. In one of the little alleys between the cloth hall and the river Maas, the noble entered a large house. His dwelling was upstairs. He opened the door, and saw there his wife who was repairing trousers. My dear Agnes!, he said. Are you already feeling at home here in Maastricht? Id rather be in the camp near Eijsden, she pouted. Come on!, hushed her husband. We will only stay here a few weeks. Then the city will be under control of the Spaniards again, and my task will be finished. Do you think so, Claude?, asked his wife, hopefully. Yes, answered Claude. Ill tell you why Im so sure. But dont forget: always keep silent about it. I will be as silent as a grave. Listen. There is a little gate in the city walls, behind a house in the Hell street. It has been walled up many years ago. Im looking for somebody who will open the little gate, and can do so without noise. Our troops will execute a fake attack on Maastricht, from Wolder or Caberg. Then we let the soldiers of Navagne enter the city through that little gate. His wife looked at him with tenderness. She was a plucky little woman, with black curls and green eyes. She was a mix of Celtic and Moroccon influences. What was going on next in the chambers of Claude Delacourt, we need not exactly know. Fortunately, the weather was warm, so the couple could free themselves from any tight clothes without shivering. Neither was it too hot to touch each other. The only witness was a black tom-cat who was just climbing inside through the open window. Was Delacourt a traitor? Not at all. He was a spy. He was a captain, employed by the king of Spain, and he was executing a stratagem. Of course, Mzires was well informed of it. But if Goltstein knew But Goltstein wasnt suspicious. He thought the deserter had a very good reason to leave the Spanish camp. He didnt understand why there werent more soldiers who deserted to the ranks of Frederik Hendrik. Indeed, the republic of the Netherlands had the momentum in the war against Spain and was probably winning it. Because at the court in Madrid the bottom of the treasure chest was already visible. The Dutch and the French together could make short work of Spanish government in the Netherlands. However, then the Dutch republic should be forced to accept the mighty France of cardinal Richelieu as a neighbour. Delacourt wasnt thinking of politics now. He was sleeping. Bricklayer Rompen wasnt. He was tossing in his bed. He had to think of his conversation with the lieutenant all the time. Jan Rompen thought the noble was making a display of his interest in posterns before the Dutch. How much did the Dutch trust a deserter? On the other hand, they had appointed him lieutenant of the garrison. So he probably had taken the oath of loyalty to the States General of the Dutch republic Jan Rompen had no wife whom he could consult. What would happen if somebody learnt he had shown this little gate to a deserter? He was not a hero. Now that he thought about it, this case was rather tricky. He would prefer to leave the city for the countryside. Although he earned a lot of money as a master bricklayer here in the city, he could earn nearly as much in Tongeren or Bilsen Jan Rompen decided to ask Delacourt for more explanation. Where could he meet him? He could have a look again tomorrow in the inn named The Black Sheep. The first person whom Rompen bumped into in the inn, the next day, was the grocer. This man looked at him inquiringly. Was the bricklayer disposed to build that wall around his garden or was he not disposed to do so? Er no. My boss needs me for the restoration of Saint Catherines chapel, stammered the master bricklayer. I thought you were your own boss, said the grocer, disappointed. Then Delacourt entered the inn, making a show of his entrance. He hung his mantle against the wall, and sat down at a table. The grocer looked at the knight as if he were angry with him. He was seeking for a way to give vent to his frustration. But the noble was quicker: I dont buy groceries in inns, he said, as cool as a cucumber. The grocer looked foolish, and left the establishment. Now Rompen sat down next Delacourt. He looked around to see if there was any danger. Except the hostess, who was washing up the mugs, and two halfgrown boys, who were noisily playing at cards, there was nobody in the room. Why did you come back so ostentatiously?, he asked in a low voice. I guess you want to get the Spaniards back into Maastricht?, countered the noble. Then I must build relations with people in the garrison. The bricklayer wasnt convinced. The events were marching too swiftly. I dont mind, he whispered. Im going to leave Maastricht. Are you afraid?, asked Delacourt, a bit too loudly. Rompen now timidly laid his finger on his mouth, and looked around again. The young men were still absorbed in their game, and the woman was still lustily splashing with the water in her washing-up bowl. What should I be afraid of?, asked the bricklayer, annoyed. But I have family in Liege. My grandma is lying on her death bed there. I will tell nobody you showed me the postern. Oh Why should you ever do that? The lieutenant looked carefully at his conversation partner. He was a goodhearted man, and he clearly was of the party of the Spaniards, but he didnt have much courage. Such a person was of no use. He drummed his fingers on the table, and answered: You know I would never do such a thing. By the way, do you know any fellow bricklayer who can do a job for me? Lenart Caters is still an apprentice, but he is very capable. You know him, dont you? He may be small, but he is strong. Yes, I do know him yet. He is flaxen-haired and he wears a moustache, doesnt he? Do you come near the fortress of Navagne on your way to Liege? The commander of the fortress will give you a bit of pocket money, if you greet him on behalf of captain Delacourt. The bricklayer rose up, all confused, and walked out of the door without delay. The noble paid for the beer and joined his company. He talked there with the engineer, who knew everything about the building activities that were going ahead in Maastricht. Within an hour, Claude Delacourt and his men were marching past a house where a builders labourer was doing reparations, standing high on a ladder against the faade. The man didnt use a scaffolding. He was a dare-devil. His name was Lenart Caters. The lieutenant delegated the command to a sergeant, just for a while, and stood still next the house to have a look at it. Hallo!, he shouted upwards. Can I talk with you for a minute? The builders labourer slowly descended from the ladder. Do you still know me? Im Claude Delacourt. At the moment Im a lieutenant in the Dutch army, but I was born in France. Caters looked carefully at the noble, who made the sign with the two thumbs. The face of the bricklayers apprentice brightened up. Yes, we know each other as fellow members of la Tau! I am Lenart Caters, from Spanish Brabant. Have you become a spy? Just be glad youre not really Dutch. The Dutch are so thrifty they bring their own bread to a banquet. Delacourt laughed. This man, too, was a supporter of the Spaniards, and, moreover, he was fearless! I know a little gate that has been walled up with marl stones. Can you open it? I can do that within one day! Can you also work at night? And without making much noise? Then it will perhaps last two nights. But why do you want that nobody knows Im opening this little gate? It is a postern in the city walls. Lenart Caters took fright. This was dangerous. Where is the postern?, asked the bricklayers apprentice. Close to the Hellgate. You have to put the stones back loosely, and disguise the gate with a little bush at the field side of the city walls. The builders labourer hesitated. It seemed dangerous. But it was a good cause. Maastricht should be liberated from the Calvinists as soon as possible. When is this going to happen? I will inform you before long. Where can I meet you? Right here. I have enough work here for some more weeks. They shook hands. The builders labourer continued his work. And the lieutenant set out to find his company. He spent the rest of the day in fencing exercises at the fields of the Kommel street. In the evening, Agnes Delacourt thought her husband was a bit absent-minded. He sprinkled pepper on his beer, and drank it thoughtlessly. He called her Liliane, a name she had never heard him say before. In short, his body was present, but his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. This was clearly true, because he was thinking of the postern. The postern was in the garden of the little house next to the house called The Half Moon. The little one was for sale. But who should buy it? Who would cooperate to have the little gate opened? Who had the courage, the brains and the money? How could he find the right person, without committing himself too much? He suddenly knew the answer: neighbour Lansmans! Because he was the owner of the Half Moon, and a fellow member of the underground resistance movement. The noble looked at his wife, while beaming with joy. He stretched out his hands to her, and wished to make her share his findings. But his wife had not forgotten he had absent-mindedly called her Liliane. She couldnt know that the kitchen maid of the garrison bore that name. She thought her husband had experienced amorous escapades with a certain Liliane, and wished to keep this secret away from her. She looked at him with a scornful eye, and threw a little cushion to his head. Delacourt was flabbergasted. Does Liliane have a soft bosom?, asked his little wife, with quite a bit of sarcasm in her voice. Does she have red lips? Who the hell is Liliane? Dont play innocent. You absent-mindedly called me Liliane. So I guess you know a person called Liliane. I know only one Liliane. She scarcely has a bosom, and her lips are thin. Then why do you dream about her? It must have been a nightmare. Etcetera. We retire modestly, and forget what happened. Mzires knew, by his talk with Rompen, there was a little house for sale which was situated next the house of Lansmans and whose cellar adjoined the city walls, and he knew there was at this place in the city walls an old little gate that had been walled up with marl stones. He immediately grasped the strategic possibilities of this little gate. The commander asked his tailor in Vis to arrange a secret meeting between himself and Jan Lansmans. This could easily be done, because the brewer came quite often to deliver barrels of beer in the tavern opposite the tailors shop. When Mzires visited the tailor again, this man told him he had asked Lansmans to come to the castle in Eijsden after sunset by the light of the next full moon, to have the chance to make a lucky deal with an important person. Lansmans had been wondering for a moment if somebody was laying an ambush for him, because in times of war you could trust almost nobody. However, he did trust the tailor, who was a sensible man and had a lot of rich people among his clients. But why did he wrap himself in mystery? By the light of the silvery moon, Jan Lansmans stood waiting before the castle with cart and horse. From the forest behind him came forth a big man, holding the reins of a gray mare. The brewer knew him, because he had seen him at the tailors shop more than once. Good evening, said Lansmans. You are Lansmans?, asked the other. I am Mzires, colonel of the fortress of Navagne. The brewer bowed most obsequiously. The colonel answered with a friendly nod. For what reason do I have the privilege of meeting you here?, asked Jan Lansmans. You are a resident of Maastricht, and you deplore the tyranny of the Dutch? Lansmans shrugged his shoulders as if he didnt mind. If only they pay me for my beer and my service, I dont care whos the boss. We asked for info about your situation. Im going to make you an offer you cant refuse. What is your proposal? Buy the little house next to your own house. Behind it theres a little gate in the city walls. Yes, but it has been walled up. Before long, a bricklayer will come and open the little gate during the night. Take measures so he can do his job without being noticed by anybody. Why should I do that? Of course, you want to bring spies into the city. But the Dutch may cut off my head for it. You can pretend you didnt know that the bricklayer was working there. Why should I do it? Im doing a busy trade with the Dutch garrison. The Spanish garrison will be as good a client. Your enterprise has become prosperous in the years of the Spanish rule, didnt it? And I will give you a big reward. The commander beckoned to the brewer, and whispered an amount of money into his ear. Lansmans opened his eyes widely. He didnt expect so much money for so small a service. But he changed his mind. His face darkened. I prefer not to do it. If the Dutch notice Im speaking with you about these things, they will kill me. The commander examined the brewer from top to toe. This mans eyes and body language were revealing what sort of man he was. What else can I do for you? Are the women at home exactly as you wish them to be, or are they rather inaccessible? Lansmans muttered gruffly. He thought the maidens he employed might often laugh at him behind his back. Theres a little house in Vis where the girls are very willing, continued Mzires. I bet youre not accustomed to this in Maastricht. Give me a load of pit coal, said the brewer, as if he were annoyed. Then I will do as you wish, for to serve you Mzires, on his grey horse, escorted Lansmans horse and wagon to a house in Vis which exhibited its ardent character by its red doors. A servant rushed up to them as soon as they were riding into the yard. The commander gave the servant order to take the horses out and to fill Lansmans wagon with pit coal. Both horses deserved a bale of hay. Mzires himself introduced the brewer into the house. The guest felt the pleasant warmth of the fireplace, and the luxurious dressing of the living room blinded his eyes. Three or four little whores came rushing up, dressed in nglig. Each of them made a curtsy, and they introduced themselves as Louise, Patricia, Hlne and Rosemarie. Jan Lansmans sat down in an armchair, but not without a bit of effort. Patricia giggled and nestled up to him on his lap. Now if she had only kept sitting still, the brewer would have stayed dry. In fact, madame Henriette had to hasten to the rescue in order to provide the honourable client with fresh pants. She solemnly declared to Jan she was going to take care for the cleaning and drying of his own trousers, so the next morning he would not need to appear at Saint Peters Gate in Maastricht in a mere flannel nothing. The brewer woke up early in the morning on a divan bed. He vaguely remembered he had caressed a red curly head and also a black one, and pulled at a pair of blond ponytails. Where were his belongings? Ouf! Everything was still within reach of his hands. He checked the contents of his purse. The money was still there. The keys were still there. And, most important of all, the promises of Mzires were still in his wooden head! Through the window he saw his cart and horse, standing ready to leave, and loaded with a big supply of pit coal. From the adjacent room, there were sounding two clear womens voices. The brewer had a good sense of hearing. He heard exactly what they were saying: Be calm, mrs Sleussel. You cant expect the Minorite will throw himself into your arms. Am I not beautiful? You are very beautiful for your age, but I love him. If he is preaching about poverty, I want to smother him with presents. If he is preaching about chastity, I want to possess him. Did you communicate this to him? Ive said it to him several times. But now he listens only when hes hearing my confession. And recently he pulled me out of the confessional box. Some ten persons witnessed this horrible event. I hate him! Does your husband know all of this? I think so, but I dont care what that wimp knows. I want to take revenge on father Vinck. How will you manage to do this? I will confess to every priest in Maastricht I slept with him. Even Lansmans thought this was a scandal. He had been listening eagerly, but now he felt obliged to interfere. The two mature ladies suddenly saw the brewer standing before them. He was still wearing his pyjamas, but he was big enough to impress the women. If you are going to confess, I will do the same, he said. The reverend Ludovicus will be interested in the way you are abusing the sacrament of the confession. The brewer knew mrs Sleussel very well, because she lived in Hell street too. However, he couldnt say with certainty who the other lady was. Mrs Sleussel rose up, trembling with emotion. You are here, Jan Lansmans?, she said. Your clients will think this is odd. You are here, mrs Sleussel? That will also spread like wildfire. If madame Henriette hadnt stepped in, and asked for discretion in the name of Mzires, the scene might have become widely known. The brewer had received six hundred Liege florins from Mzires, to buy the little house next his own. This should be more than enough. He went there to take a look. As far as he could judge it from the outside, it was a ruinous cottage. He knew the present-day owner was one of the masters of the butchers guild, a certain mr Smeets. This man lived in the Spill street. Mr Smeets hardly ever came near his little house in the Hell street, which he had let out on lease to passing travelers long ago. So, for to see the little house from the inside, Lansmans had to go to the Spill street first. He bent his steps in the direction of the butcher, and bumped into Claude Delacourt before the church of Saint Nicholas. They knew each other very well, because they were both members of la Tau. Claude, old rascal, exclaimed the brewer, what makes you wander through Maastricht? The noble smiled. He made the secret sign with the thumbs, and told briefly he had joined the garrison, after pretending to have deserted the Spanish fortress. He also ventured to suggest that the brewer should buy the little house to the right of The Half Moon. Because the Dutch were interested in this little house, he could earn a lot of money with it! Lansmans was flabbergasted. Did the noble know everything? But the brewer was merchant enough to hide his aspirations. Therefore he said the cottage was a ruin . Now Delacourt came out into the open, explaining his plans. The brewer replied he already knew everything. He told about his conversation with the commander of Navagne. The two of them walked to the Spill street together and agreed they would make this Smeets believe they were going to demolish the cottage and replace it with a large chicken run. And the butcher did believe it. He sold his cottage to them for four hundred florins. Lansmans was so confused by this lucky deal that he gave his companion some of the money that was left. Now the noble was confused too. There he was suddenly standing with a big pot of money in his hands! Delacourt debated in his mind whether he would give the money to his wife at once. But he was as hungry as a hunter. He entered The Black Sheep and ordered venison and wine. There would be enough money left for Agnes too. Some soldiers of his company saw him there, eating and drinking copiously, and wondered whether he got enough food at home. The lieutenant treated all of them to a florin. But now they thought the behaviour of their lieutenant was even stranger. In the Dutch republic nobody would waste so much money. Brewer Lansmans was thinking about what to do with the cottage he just bought. Of course, he should always have a free entrance into it, to make sure bricklayer Caters could do his job there. In the little house should be living some person who wouldnt ask questions nor attract attention. As soon as the cottage would have a resident again, the garrison would lodge some of its soldiers there. But the clergy was exempt from quartering. Was there any priest looking for a house to live in? The canons of Our Lady might know the answer. The brewer learnt a certain chaplain Toussaint Sylvius had a quarrel with his landlord, who refused to carry out reparations. Lansmans went there, and found the chaplain near the church. It was a crooked little man with grey bristly hair and a chin beard. Reverend Sylvius, are you looking for a new dwelling? Yes, my son. Do you know about one thats free ? The little house next The Half Moon. You can move into it within a couple of days. The priest became suspicious. He knew there were some defects in this house. He had no intention to leave one ruinous cottage and move into another. I will send a carpenter, explained the brewer. And an upholsterer. And whats the rent I have to pay? The same amount as you are paing now. The chaplain became even more suspicious. Why did the brewer insist on having him as his neighbour? Lansmans put on an innocent face, but the clergyman knew his character. Sylvius ran his fingers through his goatee beard. He called the little house to his mind. How long was this cottage already there? When he was only a boy, there was some alley too. Suddenly he took fright. That alley was running to a little gate in the city walls at the time! I quit, he said. Youre up to no good. Do you want to open the postern? Which postern?, asked Lansmans, playing the innocent. He had talked a little loud, and the chaplain looked around anxiously. He saw a little boy diving away behind a waterbutt, and a dog squatting in a porch. From a window with green shutters there were sticking out both hands of a woman who was emptying a chamber pot. The chaplain entered the church of Our Lady. He knelt down before the altar of Saint Joseph. He knew the Spaniards were making plans to get Maastricht in their hands again. He also knew they had supporters in the city. Perhaps Lansmans was partaking in a plot. Toussaint Sylvius thought the rights of Brabant to Maastricht should be looked after by the Spanish viceroy in Brussels, not by the Dutch government in the Hague. The Dutch would even endanger the rights of Liege. But to open a secret postern, that was dangerous! If they were going to fight, there could be many innocent victims again. He didnt want to get involved. But the might have been mixed up with it already. Had nobody heard his conversation with the brewer? If Goltstein knew The chaplain looked at the wooden head of Saint Josephs statue. The ex-carpenter was the patron saint of the workmen. Being the husband of the holy virgin Mary and the head of the holy family, and having died in the presence of his wife and the infant Jesus, he was also the patron saint of the dying. So he probably could advise him in these painful circumstances Do I have to inform the Dutch?, asked the chaplain in his prayer to Saint Joseph. He saw the foster father of Christ the Saviour answering in the negative by shaking his wooden head. He thought this was the right answer. Telling tales was not in his nature, let alone telling tales to the Dutch. Then what should he do? The old man was seized by panic. He made the sign of the cross in a hurry, walked out of the church, and knocked at the door of the canons of Our Lady. Dont interfere with it, advised the canon to whom he talked about it. Cant you stay outside of the city for a month? I will perform your daily tasks. I dont dare to leave Maastricht, answered the chaplain. As soon as they suspect me, they wont allow me to leave through Saint Peters Gate. This way I may throw even more suspicion upon myself. This afternoon, a wagon will come with fresh hay for our horses, said the canon, thinking aloud. We will replace the hay with horses manure, and after that the wagon will go back to the village of Saint Peter. If you dont object against it, you may lie down at the bottom of the wagon under the filth, and safely escape to the countryside The chaplain pulled a sour face. He didnt like the plan. Even after bathing for an hour in a tub full of soap suds, people in Maastricht would be able to smell the stench radiating from him all the way from Saint Peter. However, after a bit of thinking he yielded to the plan. For if the Dutch were to suspect him of treason, after the strict examination his arm pit wouldnt smell nice, either. Sylvius kept waiting in the horse stable of the canons. It struck him there was little manure. Was it enough to be covered with? The stableman told him most of the excrements had been taken away yesterday by order of the sisters of the Beyart convent, who wished to dung their gardens at the fields of the Two Hills with them. After some hours waiting, one of the canons came to inform the chaplain that the hay wagon had been distrained on at Saint Peters Gate, because the suppliers of the hay didnt have the permit needed. At least, they couldnt produce a piece of evidence instantly. The hay had been carried off to the stables of the garrison, and the wagon parked behind the gate. What to do now? Toussaint Sylvius couldnt sit still. The Dutch were not trying to arrest him yet, or else the canons would have told him. He decided to go to his old father, who had reached the blessed age of ninety years yesterday. In spite of his high age, the old master was still clear-headed and might give him some good advice. The chaplain took courage, and walked to the well known House of the Twelve Apostles that was situated between the street of the Beghards and the street of the Battery. His father was one of the thirteen aged men who were so lucky as to be allowed to pass their old age in that house. Sylvius junior had big difficulties in making Sylvius senior understand his problems, because the old man was almost deaf. But in the end the father gave a clear advice to the son: Your conscience is clean, Toussaint, isnt it? Then dont worry! God will help you. Meanwhile, Jan Lansmans was thinking about other aspects of the plan. Suppose he had found an adequate tenant for the little house next his own house. This tenant would live there alone, without attracting attention, and disregard the noise of the bricklayer who was opening the postern in the cellar at night. Suppose, furthermore, the Spanish auxiliary troops were executing the feigned attack on the Gate of Brussels, causing the Dutch garrison to line up behind the gate in order to defend the fortified city. As soon as the soldiers of the Spanish army would have entered the cellar through this little gate, whilst the tenant was pretending to be deaf, where had these soldiers to go to? They had to make use of the panic, so it was important to act quickly and effectively. They should not lose time by making blunders. He himself, being a respected master brewer and a member of la Tau, would take the lead of the operations during these first minutes. He would see to it personally that the front door of the cottage would be open, and direct the soldiers to the house of commander Goltstein, which was situated near the convent of the Minorites. They had to surprise the guards, if there were any. Perhaps they could seize the commander himself by the collar. Then they should truss him up and lock him in the cellar. Some ten of the soldiers should entrench themselves in the house of Goltstein. One of them might distrain on the documents that were probably lying about somewhere on the desk, for to see whether there was any valuable information in it. He intended to bring the bulk of the invasion to the convent of the Minorite friars, so that the Spaniards could establish their headquarters there. But they should prevent any fighting near the convent, so the fathers and friars should know everything and cooperate. How could he inform the Franciscans and observe discretion at the same time? Hold on a bit, this wasnt difficult. The superior of the Minorites was father Vinck. It was well known the guardian had worries about the restrictions which the Protestant occupying force were imposing on the Catholic people of Maastricht. He preached about it quite often. Up to now, Jan Lansmans had only a superficial contact with father Vinck. The brewer did go to mass sometimes, but not nearly every week. Some months ago, the father had admonished him he should attend mass more often. It was time to go to father Vinck to confess. He could confess he had been neglecting his Sunday duties, and say he was repenting of it. Then he could inform the father of the great Plan, and take his advice about it. If this happened during a confession, the Franciscan would be committed to the secret of the confessional, so then he could not blab about it with others. The superior of the Minorites would certainly find a way to prepare the munks for the oncoming invasion. At the corner of the Platea street and the street of the Lily, the brewer ran across one of his cleaning women, a mistress of some twenty years of age. She measured him with her eyes, as if he had intentionally bumped into her. Was it possible that the people of Maastricht already knew he had visited the whorehouse in Vis? When he got older, he should have enough money to live a life of ease and leisure in some villa in Tongeren or Hasselt, some place where people didnt know him very well. He should not be dependent on creditors or blackmailers. The colonel of the fortress in Navagne, Mzires, had promised him twenty thousand Liege florins for service rendered. He needed this money badly. For, although he provided the garrison with beer, he only had earned back his investments up to now. By the way, northerners drink more beer than southerners. As soon as the Spaniards were back in town, hed better sell wine. Jan Lansmans liked dark beer. He went to Vrijthof square to drink a mug of it in the Struys. It struck him there was much stir and bustle near the house of the Spanish government. Somebody has fainted, said the landlord. Lansmans went outside to take a look, with his hands in his pockets. A lackey held the door of the stately canons house wide open. The brewer could see, through the doorway, the wife of Bourbon in the colonnade behind the house. But what was that? Suddenly Lansmans felt a smart in his skull. He looked back, and saw someone running away fast. Next him lay a big stone on the ground Was it a secret agent of the counter-espionage? Were they already seeing through him? The brewer doubted whether he had to persevere in his game or not. But he had already paid the purchase of the cottage, and he had already spent the reward in his thoughts. He couldnt escape it anymore. He decided to go to father Vinck immediately to mix him up in the plan. Now! However, some delay was inevitable. At the corner of a street, there was a troubadour, rendering a German song. A large dog of an indeterminate race was lying next the collection plate. Jan stood still for a while to listen, because the artist was singing about real life: In the merry month of May, we hear the cock is crowing. Be glad, my pretty country maid, well shortly start the sowing. I like you better than the boys, because you better handle toys. Pump, mistress, pump and pump and pump! For I can see your back is plump, So I will gladly go with you, behind the oven to and fro. Be gay, my pretty country maid, because right now Im coming! The brewer gladly gave a Brabant penny for this tearjerker. The minstrel lifted his hat, and the dog barked three times with a hoarse voice. The brewer wistfully thought of a maid he once had met in the village of Gulpen. She was employed in the kitchen of the castle. He loved her, and gave her all he had. But she left him for another darling. Now Lansmans went to the convent of the Franciscans without further delay. Fortunately, nobody saw him enter there. The guardian of the Minorites was celebrating low mass in the chapel of the convent. He was standing at the altar with his back to the faithful, wearing a green chasuble. An altar boy, wearing a black toga and over it a white surplice, was just striding to the priest. In his right hand he carried a small cask of wine and in his left hand a small cask of water. At that moment, Jan Lansmans entered the chapel and stumbled over the doorstep. He put a hand in the holy water font, made the sign of the cross with it, genuflected next a pew at the rear end of the chapel, and knelt down in the pew. Then he noticed all others got up, so he did the same. A little boy of some four years of age looked back, to see where all the bumping noise came from. The brewer winked at him and shrugged his shoulders to apologize. Meanwhile everybody was sitting on his knees, and Lansmans did the same. He saw the altar boy jingle a bell and lift the lower end of the green chasuble, to help the priest genuflect during the consecration. Father Vinck raised the host, and said: Hoc est enim corpus meum For this is my body. Deo gratias thanks to God, muttered little Jan Lansmans, on the rebound. Now this has to be said in quite another part of mass, so he got a lot of angry glances. The brewer sat down, blushing scarlet. During the rest of mass he kept sitting still, with his eyes closed and his confused head full of wrong thoughts. After mass, the altar boy extinguished the candles on the altar. All the faithful left the chapel, except this odd fellow, Lansmans himself, who was two times as heavy as the rest. With his eyes closed, he tried to recall some prayer, whichever. He remembered the Lords Prayer: Our Father, you are in heaven, we hallow thy name. Give us today our daily bread. And forgive our sins, as we forgive them that trespass against us. And dont lead us into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory. Amen.. Or something like that. Hold on a bit, he even knew the Latin text: Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra da nobis hodie. Et dimitte He opened his eyes, and saw father Vinck standing at his side. This man gave him a friendly nod, and asked in a whisper: Wherefore do you come to me, Jan Lansmans? I want to confess, reverend father. Very well. I will wait in the confessional box, and you can prepare your confession. David Teniers the Younger The Tavern  This is a painting by David Teniers the Younger, made in 1658. Its name is The Tavern. It gives an impression of the southern netherlands in the seventeenth century. CHAPTER 3 Suppose God exists. Lets assume He rewards goodness and punishes evil. If I do good, God will probably give me heaven in the end. If I sin, I will reap the fruits of it, but then God will give me hell. However, God knows already which of both alternatives Im going to choose, and He has already passed judgment on me. So I cant do anything about it, and then Id better sin, because at least I will have the pleasure of it. And how can God, being good, create somebody He knows will go to hell? Lansmans was brooding over these seemingly paradoxical things, whilst, sitting in the pew before the confessional, he was cleaning his nails with his new comb. In this act of reflection he was caught by father Vinck, who had come to see whether the penitent had already finished his preparations for the confession. No, man!, said the confessor, after the penitent had put the contradictions before him. It seems youre infected with the Protestant doctrine of predestination. Indeed, although God can know whether you are going to opt for Him or not, He doesnt want to know it beforehand. He wants to be surprised by your choice. By the way, why do you think sinning is the same thing as having pleasure? When I listen to the sermons of the Jesuits, it appears to me evil is exactly what yields me earthly pleasures. So goodness might just be giving up pleasure, because there will be more for others. But if I leave my earthly pleasures to somebody else, I will stick him with the evil. We all need whats really good for us. Evil is: refusing to share these good things with the others. Suppose my little son is playing with a little friend who gets hold of my sons top. If I want to defend my own son, I have to send his little comrade away. Perhaps this child cant play with nobody else. How can I do good in this case? You have to make it clear to the other child that you care for him too. Distinguish whats really important in life. Whats important? To help other people as much as you can. Dont strive after luxury. You cant bring your earthly goods to heaven. If I dont gather possessions, my life on the earth will be like hell when Im old. It depends on what you are attached to. And fear is a bad counselor. Wed better trust in God, and hope for eternal happiness in heaven. Yes, if I could be sure your fairy tales will come true Come on, Jan, Im waiting for your confession: which of the ten commandments have you sinned against? Against all of them, admitted the brewer honestly. Whenever I hear some explanation of one of the commandments, I realize I have sinned against it to some extent. A confession is like a bath, said the father. You can start anew, as fresh as a daisy. Start sinning again?, asked the sinner. No, start anew with good intentions. I think I will only be admitted to heaven if I happen to have taken a bath just before my arrival at the gate. If you are dirty when you come to the gate of heaven, you may have yourself cleaned up in purgatory. It is somewhat more painful than confession. But in the end you will be found again in heaven anyhow. So you think nobody will go to hell? I think in hell there are only souls who have chosen to be there, willingly and knowingly. I think it isnt crowded there. For people dont have a clear knowledge, nor a strong will. For all that, theres at least one personage in hell: Satan, who wished to be equal to God. And I think there must be some angels and some human souls who have worked their own destruction together with him. But I couldnt name one of them. Dont we have to be baptized, to be able to go to heaven? Im confident most unbaptized people are Catholic by the socalled baptism of desire, even if they dont know it. This may also hold for the Protestants and the heathen. So who cares whether you have been baptized with water or not? It is important to be aware you choose God. Growing up among Catholic people is helpful. And dont underestimate the pains of purgatory. Lansmans shook his head. He recalled his aunt Anna, who was a strict Catholic. She always was following him and shouting commands with a raised little finger. Take your coat and come along with me to church, kneel down right here before the statue of virgin Mary. Lets pray the chaplet. Whenever he had to pay her a visit, the nerves caused a pain in his inside beforehand. If this was the Roman Catholic milieu father Vinck spoke about, he could keep it all! Now the confessor pushed a picture over to the penitent, underneath the bars between them. Lansmans took it absentmindedly. He drew the red curtains of the confessional box aside a bit, for to observe the picture better. He was startled. It was a woodcut, representing the statue of virgin Mary that was standing in the church of the Minorites. Why did it move him to tears? He thought of the times of his childhood, when he would play in the garden of his grandfather. There were flowers and red berries and butterflies and bees. His mother was sitting on a wooden bench and knitting. A little white doggy with black spots was sniffing under the bushes, in search of whatever. But what had this scene to do with the holy card he just received? His mother had often led him by the hand to the altar of virgin Mary, to light a little candle before the statue. But this was later on, when he was a bit older and went to the school of a friar in the broad street. At night, when Jan was going to sleep, his mother would tuck him in and make the sign of the cross on his front head with her thumb. And sometimes she would recite the following little prayer: The evil deeds I did, my Lord, please dismiss them by Thy word. Hello, Jan!, said the confessor. Are you still present? What? Oh, I was thinking. Forgive me! Then you have to confess first. Tell me your sins! Its a long time ago when I last attended holy Mass. I cursed and swore in case of bad luck. I drank wine until I fell on the ground. I touched all my maidservants immorally. I expelled the mother of a guy, who owed me some money, from her house. I visited a house of ill fame, and slept there with a prostitute. There must be many other sins, but I cant think of them right now. I repent of these and all my sins. Well done, Jan. Your worst sin is what you did with this mother. You have to compensate her for it. Furthermore, I suppose you didnt kill anybody, you didnt commit robberies, and you didnt slander. We include in your confession every sin you forgot. If you recall anything you still wish to tell me, then come to tell it as soon as possible. And now pray in silence an act of contrition. Jan Lansmans prayed an act of contrition in silence. Subsequently, father Vinck gave Jan some explanation. For a confession to be valid, it didnt matter whether the confessor was a good priest or not. It was also valid if he was a bad priest. Perfect repentance, out of love of God, wasnt necessary, either. Imperfect repentance, for fear of the punishment, would do. The penitant must have the intention to mend his ways, and the priest has to give the absolution in the prescribed form. The Franciscan took the opportunity to give the brewer some advice. Begin every day with morning prayer and holy Mass. Put aside money for the poor every week. Find spare time for to visit the sick. Tears leapt to the eyes of the brewer because he was sleepy. He yawned. As your penance, said father Servatius, I charge you to undertake a pilgrimage to the village of Scherpenheuvel, as soon as circumstances allow it, but within a year. Where is this village? Behind Hasselt. Just imagine. Once there was an oak tree there, which had the shape of a cross. Some pious man hung a little figure of virgin Mary from the oak. Then many people came to pray there. A shepherd wished to take the figure with him. An angel stopped him, until somebody put the figure back in the tree. Eleven years ago, our archduchess Isabella made there a donation of gold and jewels for the construction of a basilica. Lansmans had listened with his mouth open, and promised he would go there on foot. It will help you, said the confessor. Now Im going to give you the absolution: I absolve you from your sins, in in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. The father made the sign of the cross over Jan, who crossed himself with his right hand. Jan was already leaving the confessional box, when something flashed upon his mind. Wait!, said the brewer, and he closed the curtains again. I have to confess you something else, father. What is it, my son? Cant you send away the penitents who are waiting? They could hear us. How many are waiting? It is not the scheduled hour of confession now. Theres only a lady with a small child. Does she wear a red bonnet? She is deaf. Tell me softly what you want to say. Well I bought a little house that is situated next the house where I live in. You mean that cottage to the right of The Half Moon? Exactly. Behind it theres a postern in the city walls, which has been bricked up with marl stones. If we break these marl stones off, people can enter into the cellar of the little house from the fields outside the city. I remember that in olden times this little gate was joining an alley inside the city. Commander Mzires of the Spanish fortress of Navagne near Vis has offered me much money to have this postern opened. The father took fright. If the Dutch knew it How much money?, he asked. Twenty thousand Liege guilders. This sum made father Vincks head spin. The commander was playing a dangerous game. He was within his rights, of course. The Spaniards were dominating the surroundings of the city from the fortress of Navagne. If they could take Maastricht by surprise, its people wouldnt need to sustain a new siege. However, much blood could be shed As for Lansmans, this might cost him his head. Why do you want to do it, Jan?, asked the father. Er The cheeseheads Tell me honestly, Jan Lansmans: youre interested in the money, arent you? You should spend the money on a charity. To begin with, you could help this old woman whom you have expelled from her house. And we must be sure that no innocent citizens will perish Yes, I agree. What exactly is the plan? A certain bricklayer will come and open the little gate during two nights. Thereafter, some Spanish troops will gather before the Gate of Brussels to distract the guarrison. Meanwhile, our soldiers will enter Maastricht through that little gate. They will occupy the house of Goltstein. We want to establish the Spanish headquarters in your Minorite convent. Father Servatius turned pale. So, to give Maastricht back to God, he had to desert Goltstein. However he would do the erring commander of the city a good turn with it, after all. Our Lord would order everything for the best. The convent of the Franciscans was to be the headquarters of the Spanish army? All right! If this good fellow called Mzires would knock at his door for accomodation ... But he had to do his proclamations elsewhere: for example from the Dinghouse or the Lanscroon. Somebody pulled at the sleeve of father Servatius. The father opened the curtains a bit, to see who had come to disturb him. It was the toddler of the woman who was sitting in a pew to wait for her turn to confess. The guardian smiled. He looked at the woman. She laughed, and begged pardon. We are almost ready!, said father Vinck in a loud voice. Then it will be your turn. Am I ready?, asked Jan Lansmans. We will talk again later on, Jan. Come to attend Mass more frequently. I will do that! The brewer left the confessional box. He knelt down before the statue of virgin Mary, for a moment of prayer, and then he walked out of the chapel and out of the convent. The woman with the red bonnet entered the confessional box. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, she began, a bit loudly, My last confession was three days ago. The father blessed her mechanically. Then he listened to the penitent. As usual, she had not done her best to comply with the wishes of her husband. Courage, Agatha. You have to learn how to carry your cross better. As your penance, pray a decade of the rosary. Now go and see quickly what mischief your little son is up to, again, with the candles. Ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. The woman hastily left the confessional box. The guardian of the Minorites, however, kept sitting to think. He thought the Protestants, being heretics, on principle cant have a right to govern. And by no means after a resurrection against the king of Spain, whom God had appointed their ruler. Furthermore, their government was a calamity for the city. People were gradually growing indifferent to religion. They would ever more give up attending Mass and receiving Sacraments. Morals already were becoming more corrupt, and rebellion against authority was increasing. How salutary were in the olden times the glorious processions through the city, which inspired all people to do their utmost! It was even worse that curious people were going to listen to the reverend Ludovicus in Saint Johns church. This way they were getting a wrong idea of true religion. The preacher would tell his flock God had already decided upon their fate before creating them, so many were supposing it didnt matter how they lived. There even was a forager in the guarrison who taught that God is simply the cosmos. Many Protestants were beginning a little heresy of their own. Apparently, many would say it makes no difference whether God cares for us or not. Because Jesus in the bible is speaking to all people of good will, and this way everybody can find consolation. Yes, indeed, but these heresies were obscuring the view on the essence and the destination of man. Then people think they are only on their way to eternal death underneath the daisies, together with the animals. Although God would in the end direct his erring sheeps to heaven anyway, they would have to pass more time in purgatory. The pains of purgatory were probably much worse than those of torture in the courts of justice. Father Vinck decided he shouldnt flee from the danger of ending up on the rack or having to give his life back to God. The well-being of the souls entrusted to him was all-important, and spiritual well-being was even more important than physical well-being. Anyway, he had no choice. For he wasnt allowed to blab. Whatever Lansmans had told him in confidence during confession, he couldnt tell anybody else. He couldnt communicate it to Goltstein in covered terms, supposing he wanted to. The only thing he could do was influence the forthcoming events in a favourable sense. He would remind Maastricht people of their Roman Catholic childhood, just like he did with Lansmans. He would remind them of the virtues that were characteristic of their own Maastricht ancestors. There was a shortage of rosaries, because the Dutch would confiscate them. He needed some time to gather the materials for the nuns to make new strings of beads for prayer. He could already begin with distributing among the people pictures of the martyrs who had been thrown before the lions in the arenas of Rome. As soon as the tumult of the forthcoming invasion broke out, people could find strength in them. However, he didnt have many such pictures anymore. He had just given his last woodcut of the Mother of God to the brewer. Wait a bit! In the convent cell of the late friar Ignatius there was still a big pile of pictures of Saint Agnes. The friar once got them from a Antwerp Jesuit on the occasion of his profession, and he had carefully saved them, up to the times of Dutch government. If he were still alive, he would readily give them away for the good cause. Saint Agnes once refused to marry a rich Roman, because she was engaged to Jesus Christ. She was an example for the Maastricht virgins who wanted to dedicate themselves to God. Her name was the Greek word for pure. Father Vinck heard the jingle of a bell far away. He woke up from his day dreaming. What time was it? Time for supper. The munk went to the refectory on his bare feet, because his sandals were hurting him. It was a snow-white winter day. The Franciscans had built a navity scene in Saint Nicholas church, with wooden figures of the holy family, the shepherds, etc. The church was crowded. The Gospel was about Saint John the Baptist: a voice of one calling in the wilderness: prepare the way for the Lord, make straight paths for him. Father Servatius Vinck ascended the pulpit. Dear faithful. Prepare the coming of Jesus Christ. God came into the world as a child, to save the world. He chose twelve men who were to witness His life and death and resurrection. He asked them and their successors to preach the Gospel all over the world: news from heaven for all people of good will. Alas, many people are deaf to this good news. The Roman emperors first persecuted the Christians, by feeding their lions with them. Later on, the Romans embraced Christianity. They handed it down to the world in its Latin form and language. You know that Saint Servatius, being the first bishop of Maastricht, organized Christianity in our regions. Ever since, Maastricht people stayed true to the Catholic faith. The Vikings came in a wild hunt of Wodan to plunder our churches, but we built them up again. Saint Bernard came to ask us to take part in the second crusade against the cruel Mussulmen, and many of us responded to his call. The Liege bishop John of Bavaria was being chased by his own subjects, but he found in our city a safe resort. The Liege people came to besiege us, but we stood our ground. How often was Maastricht given up, but stayed unbroken! Rulers came from far away with foreign morals, but we kept our heritage. Yet you should not think all immigrants are evil-minded. If your mother spoon-feeded you with heresy, who would be able to resist it? If people hinder us while we practise our religion, we take refuge with virgin Mary. Mary gave birth to the little child Jesus and breastfeeded Him. His destination was gradually revealed to her. She suffered together with Him, and, after His death, she acted as a guide of the apostles. She is like a star above the sea, to which the sailors direct themselves when they are seeking a safe anchorage in the storm. Prepare in your heart the return of Christ. He will come like a thief in the night. How will He find you? Are you doing evil at that moment? Rather practise the works of mercy. Harbour the pilgrims. Nurse the sick. Visit the prisoners. Bury the dead. And share with the poor your food and drink and clothes. Then He will bring you to the paradise of heaven. Amen. Among the dear faithful were the commander Goltstein of the guarrison and the reverend Philippus Ludovicus. They left the church after the sermon. What do you think?, asked the commander. He picked at his black goatee beard. We cant accuse him of anything, answered the preacher tonelessly. He does say we are heretics and hinder free practice of Catholic religion. But he doesnt incite to rebellion. The Jesuits say the rosary is a weapon in the fight against Protestantism. Yes, watch out for them. But the veneration of virgin Mary is admitted in the churches and in the private houses. Likewise, Catholic priests can celebrate popish mass in their Maastricht churches, however shocking it may be. The two servants of the States General continued discussing the mentality of the Maastricht people for a while. They agreed their state of mind was quite unpredictable. They rarely would argue with you, but they wouldnt often cooperate, either. What happens over there?, exclaimed Goltstein suddenly. People were leaving Saint Nicholas church with rosaries in their hands, and silently entering the nearby church of Our Lady. Unfortunately, it wasnt a forbidden procession . The two Dutchmen got even more trouble to swallow. For at the other side of the square, there was also a silent little procession passing. In front, a man was walking with in his arms a dead child that was covered with a blanket. Where do you go?, shouted Ludovicus. We are going to bury this little boy behind the sheds for patients of pestilence and leprosy outside the Hellgate, said the man. Was he suffering from the plague?, asked Goltstein, starting back. Does the plague doctor know this? He does, answered the man. The Cellite friars have taken care of this child. He already attained to the years of discretion, so they even administered the extreme unction to him. The reverend Ludovicus swiftly swallowed the words that crossed his mind. He addressed himself to his friend, while they kept watching the company that was walking away. Joachim, what do you think? Why is the city of Maastricht being visited with the plague? It is a judgment on us, thought the commander. It certainly is! However, God doesnt work immediately, but by using the earthly means. He permits the existence of evil in order to chastize us. If we are converted, He will help us to fight against this evil. Is pestilence being spread by the Jews? I wouldnt really be surprised at it. They themselves are not often touched by the plague. But here in Maastricht there are only living some rich Jews from Portugal. Menachem da Pinto, for example, is a merchant of kosher spices. I think he is living in Meerssen nowadays. He may have accomplices in Maastricht. Keep a close eye on the water in the pumps and in the wells, for they might sprinkle poison in it. The water is full of rats, isnt it? As long as there are rats, there is no poison. But you have to take the pestilence patients outside the city as soon as possible. The attendants may expel the bad vapours by burning herbs there. What are the Cellite friars doing to fight the disease? Only popish rituals. They invoke a hermit, Saint Anthony the Abbot. On the other hand, the Franciscans put their trust in Saint Anthony of Padua. Both are sleeping under the green sods, awaiting the Last Judgment. If they are condemned to hell, you may represent it that way. However, Calvin says the souls of the deceased elected are already resting in the Light. And purgatory is a Catholic fabrication. You are reformed in the right way, I hope? With regard to this, the captain of the guarrison was in a position to set the preacher at ease. Indeed, his teachers had soundly taught him the fundamental doctrines. Furthermore, he had been touched by the finger of God, and humiliated himself with contrition in his heart before the Lord Jesus. Ever since he had begun building on the Lord, his prosperity had increased to a considerable extent. However, he wasnt allowed a complete rest of his soul. Because now he perceived a firm lady who inspired him with awe: miss Elisabeth Strouven. She was striding up to them from the Wolf street, followed by three flabbergasted young men. Judging from the slit eyes of the angelic youngsters, they might be descendants of the former ruler of Mongolia, Genghis Khan. If so, the posterity of this tyrant must be quite degenerate. For the first one was inspecting his finger nails, the second one was watching the clouds, and the third one was sniggering as if he was enjoying secret amusements. Where do you go to with these lads?, asked the commander. To my own home, said Elisabeth. I dont trust you with them, said Goltstein, impudently. According to the rules of the city of Maastricht, they have to be locked up in the madhouse outside the Hellgate. Are you going to take care of them?, asked the beguine. Then I will gladly give them to you. Eduard here uses to break stone bottles, Lambert likes to sit on your lap with his thumb in his mouth, and Charles is singing childrens songs all day. Take them with you, sighed Joachim von Goltstein. But watch out, or you will perish with them. What do you say, sir Ludovicus? Mental deficiency is not a sign of being elected, granted the clergyman. Let the children come to me, said Elisabeth, smiling, and she continued her way. The commander and the clergyman kept staring after the lady, a bit confused. The nuns and munks are rather useful, said Goltstein. They care for the sick and teach the children to read and write. Our deacons provide for Christian charity in the best way, objected the clergyman. They support the families, so these families are able to care for their sick themselves. And we give the vergers the opportunity to keep school. The directors of our orphanages learn the orphans to be economical and industrious. On the walls there are edifying inscriptions, like God is just. This way, the poor are being educated in the reformed religion. Now you are saying a true thing, Joachim. The Catholics feed their poor children on popish superstitions. The children learn that the holy virgin Mary appeared to a converted red Indian in Mexico, and that Saint Anthony goes in search of your lost things as soon as you light a candle before his statue in the church. And they learn Jesus has to be sacrificed again on the altar every day. Allegedly, the hocus-pocus of the priest during popish mass changes the bread into the body of Christ, and the wine into His blood. This mass, in its essence, is a damned heresy. We should destroy root and branch of these evil practices! Now you are exaggerating! The Catholics have to change holy mass, but they need time. We are already getting on with the Catholics much better than a hundred years ago. I am exaggerating? Because the Jesuits are driving people on, right now treacherous plans are being hatched again to give Maastricht back to the Spaniards! The secrets of the holy rosary are preparing the minds for secret tricks. Do you think so, Joachim? I do, Philippus. The secret conspirators get the absolution beforehand, like the soldiers in the roman Catholic armies at the start of a battle. Hahaha! It was rector Boddens, laughing loudly. He stroked his grey beard with his right hand, while holding his belly with his left hand. He shook his head. The rector had heard Goltsteins words. He explained Catholic priests will only absolve sins which have been committed in the past and only if they are confessed and deplored during holy confession. Ludovicus made an opinionated gesture, as if he knew more about it than the rector. Now the spirit began to move Goltstein. He pierced his finger into the stomach of the Jesuit, and said plainly all munks were addicted to sinning, because they had never learnt to deal with their own bodies in an adult way, so they gaily touched their penises, thinking they could clean their souls in confession. Boddens smiled at the angry captain. He replied the commander of the city apparently was quite imaginative, but mixed up the munks and the soldiers of his own guarrison. Goltstein reddened. He began to stammer. The deuce! He had learnt from an unsuspected source that priests dont only touch their own penises, but also those of their little altar boys. And they even shut up the mouths of the little boys by accusing them of seduction. The rector didnt dare to deny it, did he? Boddens sighed. He looked at the clergyman, who was inspecting his finger nails and faked his thoughts were elsewhere. The rector answered in earnest. Of course, such things did happen once in a while. A small part of the munks did cast covetous eyes on their own sex, and an even smaller part did cast covetous eyes on the young boys. If this applied to one in thousand munks, then such a pitiable character might be walking about in Maastricht too. If he was ever to detect one, then he would take all appropiate measures to prevent further abuse, and to help both the munk and the boy. But the captains insinuations were out of proportion. Sins like these occurred much less with munks than in general. For there might be ten times as many family men than munks with this sort of disorder, and at least half of them Protestant. A munk was human too. But munks usually intended to be good. You couldnt say the same about every soldier or family man. How did you manage to persuade the duke of Bouillon into becoming popish?, asked the clergyman to the rector. Our Lord did it, answered Boddens. I only provided him with a rosary, and answered his questions. He recently received the sacraments of first holy communion and confirmation. I cant believe it!, said Goltstein. And yet he is a man of honour. We do trust him on his word. Otherwise, prince Frederic would have dismissed him from his high position in the army of the States General. Did he never say what exactly turned the scale for him in favour of becoming a Catholic?, insisted Ludovicus. I think our holy mass moved him, answered the Jesuit. The pomp and circumstance?, asked the commander. The gregorian chants? Rather the silence of low mass and the veneration of God at the altar. I think he felt Jesus Himself is present in the tabernacle. Captain Goltstein made a gesture of contempt. He murmured God is everywhere, and went away without looking back. The preacher remained standing next the Jesuit. He tried to turn the conversation to what he thought was reasonable. You mean: Wherever two or three are assembled in My name, I am there with them? Thats true, too. But I mean Jesus is really present in the consecrated host. Thats why we make genuflexions at the altar, and lay the holy hosts on the tongues of the communicants at the communion rails. How can Jesus be present in all those hosts? And when the priest is breaking the host in two pieces, does he tear Jesus across? What Goltstein said is true: God is everywhere. However, He is present in each consecrated host in a special way: not in its form, but in its essence. And, this way, Hes present too in each piece of a broken host. But then Hes present in an unconsecrated host too, isnt He? No, not in any special way. During the Last Supper, Jesus broke the bread, and said to the apostles: Take this, all of you, and eat of it: for this is My body. And likewise, with regard to the wine: This is My blood. Why do you take this literally? We are like children who are hanging on Jesus lips. You even go so far as to ascribe to a vomited host miraculous powers and to be willing to make a silent procession through Amsterdam for it every year? Thats true. You surely are like children, then. You also think Jesus gave to the apostle Peter a special task as His substitute on the earth? Thats correct. And you think Jesus gave this task to all of the successors of Saint Peter as well, whoever they may be? Yes, you know Jesus said: And I tell you that you are Peter, that is rock, and on this rock I will build My Church. And where could this Church, built by Christ, find its center, unless in Rome, where Saint Peter was the first bishop? The unity of the Christians has never been really broken before the insurrection of Luther and Calvin. You should not take this bible text literally. The Protestants are also leaning heavily on bible texts, and each reformed community will find in the bible its own texts. However, theres only one truth. Explaining the Holy Scriptures is one of the most important responsibilities of the Church. The alleged primacy of your pope is depending on this one text. No, it isnt. Didnt Jesus say to Saint Peter: feed My lambs, take care of My sheep? And He also said: whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven. I give up, said the preacher, irritated, and he legged it. Rector Boddens smiled. Before his feet there was walking a tortoise shell cat. He took up the little cat and caressed it. How beautiful was Gods creation! Allons, Jan, said father Vinck to brewer Lansmans. The munk gave his protg a draft of a letter, and an encouraging tap on the shoulder. This version of our epistle will do. Jan Lansmans was seated on a stool in the convent cell next the guardian of the Minorites. He read the draft aloud, frowning his forehead, and following the lines with his forefinger. He nodded assent every now and then. Lettre de Jean Lansmans, brasseur de la maison dite Den Halven Maen Maastricht adresse au Seigneur Colonel Mzires du fort dit Elvenschans ou Navagne, Escrite Maastricht le 15 fvrier 1638, Monsieur le Colonel, Excuse me for writing this letter in my simple Dutch language, because I dont know enough of your gallant French. I had the honour of receiving from your messenger further instructions about what we agreed upon in Eijsden. I already obeyed these instructions as far as necessary. My spiritual adviser says we must take measures to prevent trouble for Maastricht citizens as much as possible. He will come to you one of these days with this letter youre reading right now, to discuss what should be done. You can give him the obligation to the value of 22000 Liege guilders. Then he will hand it over to me later on. I hope you will have success with all your enterprises, and may the good city of Maastricht be restored in its eternal glory. Je vous prie, monsieur le Colonel, d'agrer l'expression de mes sentiments distingus, Jean Lansmans. The father reached to the brewer a goose quill dipped in ink. This man, with the tongue out of the mouth, put his signature under his name. He looked at his confessor inquiringly. The adviser nodded yes. They both got up, and father Servatius led his pupil to the door. Courage, Jan, he said. We will succeed. The brewer left the convent via the garden, to attract as little attention as possible. Whistling and with his hands in his pockets, he walked to the Bishops Mill, where the miller had grinded his corn. This mill had been a property of crusader Godfried de Bouillon, and later on of the prince-bishops of Liege. The miller greeted him between his teeth. Do you have a cold?, asked the brewer. Where are my bags of flour? The miller wiped his big hands with his blue apron, and pointed to the corner where a pile of seven bags of flour was awaiting Lansmans. Can I use your dog cart?, asked the brewer. He already began loading the bags on a cart. The miller nodded assent. Jan whistled with his fingers. A big draught dog came to him without enthusiasm. The poor animal didnt know that the abuse of his pull was forbidden in almost all countries. However, the brewer usually helped him pulling. Did you already hear the rumour from Vis?, whispered the miller in his ear, suddenly. Both looked timidly around. No. What do they say? Before long, the Spanish troops are going to attack Maastricht. Lansmans swallowed a lump in his throat. Now he had to be discreet. He couldnt talk about little gates in the wall. Who says that? The mistress of my own baker has an aunt in Vis, who heard two soldiers of the fortress of Navagne talking about it in a certain inn, called The Sleeping Cock. Are they going to besiege Maastricht? No, man! I dont know how, but hell will break out here! The brewer shrugged his shoulders, but the news caught him by the throat. He dragged the dog cart to the brewery, together with the dog who got a bone as his reward. Meanwhile, father Servatius Vinck began to take measures to prepare his walk to Navagne. He had to prepare a good answer for the guards at Saint Peters Gate, because they probably would ask him where he was going to. And he had to take care the convent would remain in good hands. This last task was quite simple. He appointed father Bernardus Pompen adviser in spiritual matters, and friar Antonius Quaedvliegh supervisor in material matters. He confessed his sins to father Guillaume du Pr, and he discussed with the provincial superior, Gerardus Vandervelde, what had to be done if he should never return. In the last week of February, father Vinck was ready to depart. He was sitting next the carrier on the driving box of a farmers wagon, which had been loaded with pungently smelling dung. An old horse was standing before the wagon, ready to pull them to the countryside. Showers of rain and fierce sunshine were by turns influencing the moods of the travelers. The guardian said to the guards at Saint Peters Gate he was going to talk with his colleague of the convent of the Franciscans at Sint Truiden. His voice was trembling a wee bit, for he was carrying on his body the letter he had written together with Lansmans. The two guards looked at each other. The longest of the two ordered the carrier to stand still there for a while. He had to consult his superiors. In fact, he walked straight on to the house of the commander of the city, Goltstein, but, of course, the waiting Minorite didnt know that. Goltstein thought about it. So father Vinck was going to Wallonia! What should he do now? Hed better let the father go his way. A scout of the garrison could follow the farmers wagon at some distance, without being seen himself. The captain appointed Egbert Pollens, a squat Zealand fisherman with flaxen hair, spy with a special mission, and sent him, disguised as a tramp, after Vinck. The dung wagon went at a jog trot in the direction of Liege. Near Lanaye it rode into a farmers yard. The farmer asked the carrier and his passenger to drink a pot of beer with him. Father Vinck exchanged his clothes for those of a farmhand. The letter was still hanging from a cord on his breast. He sneaked, the back way about, through the stables to an apple orchard. Some hour later on, Goltsteins spy watched from his shelter in a grove the carrier climbing on the empty dung wagon, without father Vinck, and driving back to Maastricht. Where was the damned papist? The poor scout didnt dare to face his superior Goltstein anymore. He thought hed better wander about as a tramp thereabouts, until he would perhaps see the priest again. But the father didnt show up, not even as a farmhand. He walked from Lanaye to Lixhe, hiding himself whenever he saw someone far away. In Lixhe, he undressed behind a tree at the banks of the river Maas. While holding his clothes with one hand above his head, and in one of these clothes the parchment letter, he skilfully swam across the river. He landed some hundred meters to the north of Navagne. Here he put his clothes on again. Both the clothes of the farmhand and the letter were still nearly dry. He ensconced himself in a hole behind a couple of trees, and kept waiting there until the sun colored the horizont red, and twilight set in. The exercise of this day made the old man think of his boyhood: how he had been swimming with his comrades in little lakes and streams, how they would climb in trees, and roam through caves and caverns. His father even dreamt his son would become a forest keeper. But studying philosophy attracted the boy more than adventures . In the dark of the moonless night, the reverend farmhand stepped up to the front door of the fortress of Navagne. However, when he was close to the door, three vagabonds with glazed eyes stopped him. Where do you head for?, asked one of them in his best Low Saxon. Vinck measured the shabby fellows with his eyes. They looked hungry, as if they had not eaten for days, and dirty, as if they had not bathed for three weeks. But there was something in their demeanour that made him watch out. I head for the door to knock at it, he answered. And he did exactly what he said, while keeping a close eye on the vagabonds. What for?, asked a second tramp, who had a worn out cap on his head. For bread and water, answered the priest. The tramps looked at each other. This new one might perhaps get them some bread, whereas they themselves didnt get any bread here since long ago. The third tramp straightened his broad shoulders, and stepped up to the new beggar The heavy door of the fortress swung wide open. There was a large soldier standing in the doorway. He watched the horizont behind them, and said in perfect Flemish he had no time for vagrants. Id rather speak to Charles himself, said Vinck. The soldier examined him from top to toe. He had never seen this beggar before. Apparently, this guy knew his colonel was named Charles. And now the other tramps knew the first name of Charles de Mzires, too. Who are you?, he asked, distrustfully. The father whispered some answer in his ear. The soldier stood at once to attention, and the Franciscan slipped past him and entered the fortress. Now the three hungry men wished to enter too. Sadly, the door closed before their eyes. But the gatekeeper pushed out three Liege pennies to them through the gap under the door. Colonel Mzires welcomed the father with open arms. He embraced him, and gave him the habit that a messenger had brought from the farm to the fortress. Your fame arrived here before you, said the colonel. I see, answered the munk, keeping his eyes fixed upon his habit. They agreed he would first wash himself and change clothes. After a quarter of an hour, he returned to the commander, this time as a decent Franciscan. Could you please bless me?, asked Mzires. He knelt down, and the Minorite blessed him in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. The colonel rose up again, and asked with a smile: What brings you here, reverend father? Father Vinck fetched the letter from under his habit, and showed it to the officer. This man read it attentively, and nodded assent. A servant brought the evening bread for the commander and his guest. Of course, the baguettes and the wine and the various cheeses were much to the taste of the guardian. In the Maastricht convent, cheese was not often part of any meal. Between two bites, the colonel told the obligation for Lansmans was ready to take away. If the brewer happened to be in Brussels within a year, he might convert it into cash. Vinck said he would take it with him tomorrow, if some guards would escort him to Maerland. As for the safety of Maastricht people during the intended attack on the city, Mzires could make no guarantee. For nobody knew what some mad citizen was going to do at that moment. It wasnt possible to prepare everybody, either. Most important was the success of the attack. But the soldiers knew they would be severely punished if they should be caught in any act of bad behaviour. Suppose we are lucky, said father Vinck. The garrison has been lured to the west side of our fortified city. Your soldiers have entered Maastricht, near the house of Lansmans. They are occupying both the house of Goltstein and our convent. What happens next? We will fall upon the guards of Saint Peters Gate from our positions in the city. Well put the gate wide open. Some dozens of our horsemen will rush into the city from the village of Sint Pieter on the hill. And thereafter? We will take the key points of Maastricht, like the Dinghouse, the Lanscroon, the house of the Spanish government, the city gates. We will arrest the commanders Goltstein and Bouillon, and the lieutenants. The amount of auxiliary troops around Maastricht will suffice to convince the rest of the garrison that resistance is useless. I am a layman in the art of war. Nevertheless, I can imagine the Dutch army will surrender as soon as it has been beheaded. However, how will you find in the consternation all officers of the States General you want to eliminate? The secret members of la Tau will identify them and keep a close eye on them, and inform us betimes and sufficiently. Be aware that Maastricht people are mostly supporting our side, and will soon cooperate with us. I trust in that. God is on our side, too, unless He wants to punish us. Well, lets suppose the garrison does surrender. Then you have to replace those soldiers. I begin with that at once. I can take one half of the soldiers of this fortress of Navagne with me to Maastricht. And then? The mercenaries of the Dutch garrison can join us, or go wherever they want to go. Within a couple of days, the Spanish governor will come to make his solemn entrance, bringing fresh Spanish troops. The reverend Ludovicus returns to Holland. We thank God, and sing a Te Deum in the reclaimed church of Saint John. Te Deum laudamus. O God, we praise Thee. The colonel saw his guest was tired. He said the father should go to bed early. But the father wished to relax a bit first, because he thought he couldnt sleep very well if he didnt. So the commander called for the royal game. It was a rare and beautiful chess set, with crystal pieces on a large marble board. Both were experienced players. The guest got the white pieces. They played an Italian opening with early castlings. But they were distracted by an aged servant who spilled white wine. Vinck put a horse on a bad square at the utmost right side of the board. His adversary became a bit reckless, and overlooked a combination some fifteen minutes later on. So father Vinck came off triumphant. That night he slept like a baby. Mzires couldnt restrain from scolding at the servant who spilt the Bourgogne. He found it difficult to fall asleep. Next morning, the munk was awakened by a crowing cock. He thanked God for the new day, quickly put on his clothes, and walked outside. He saw a horse before a wagon loaded with sugar beets. There was a seat for him next the driver on the box. A black stallion came galloping along. The horseman said he was the captain who was going to escort him to Maerland with two other soldiers. But Vinck, being a priest, had to say mass first. The chaplain of the fortress, Karel Desmedt, came to pick him up. He led the father to the chapel, and assisted him as a sacristan and altar server. Colonel Mzires attended the low mass. After the mass, he gave the father the obligation for Lansmans, in a cylinder with a little cord. The commander showed the guardian and his escort out to the horsestable that friar Nottin had repaired. Do you know friar Nottin?, he asked, looking at father Vinck. Yes, I do, he answered. He wears a white beard, doesnt he? He is a Jesuit, and collects butterflies. The guards at the gates of Maastricht always let him pass freely. He often goes to Mount Saint Peter. Then he returns with strange stones. People think they can see on the stones traces of the era before the Deluge. The commander said goodbye. The wagon jolted over the sandy path and was followed by three horsemen on black horses. Bye and bye, this escort lagged behind. Near Maerland, three robbers jumped from the bushes upon the path. One of them stopped the horse before the wagon, another one pulled the driver from the box, and the third one stood still in front of father Vinck. They were the three tramps who had been standing in the doorway of the fortress of Navagne together with father Vinck. Damned!, cried the bandit standing in front of the father. Its the fool we met near the Elvenschans. He disguised himself as a priest. I am a real one, said Vinck. He took out his chaplet. Do you think I should call in the assistance of Saint Michal, the archangel? He began to mutter a Latin payer, and looked at the far horizont past the robbers. He saw the escort approaching. The robbers also saw the three black figures and took fright. They dived back into the bushes, and didnt know how to get away as fast as possible. The three guardian angels stopped near them. When the father put his thumbs up, they turned around and rode back to Navagne. But when the wagon was past Maerland, the spy of Goltstein already saw Vinck from far away. Meanwhile, Lansmans had followed the advice of father pater Vinck. He had gone in search of the little mother he had so cruelly expelled from her farm in Itteren. This had not been an easy task. Was she with her son in Maastricht? But this son was unfindable too. Near the place where the young man had been living lately, people told he used to drink too much wine. He might have fallen in the river Jeker and drowned. With his wagon full of beer, the brewer rode to Itteren. The new tenant of his farm in Itteren had seen the old woman a short time ago. She had been begging things from her former neighbours to furnish her new dwelling: a little shed near the river Maas. But she had already left this cottage, because the water of the river had been rising. Nobody knew where she was now. A young farmer informed the brewer that the old woman had been suffering during the siege of 1632, because of the quartering. Furthermore, he told the following: After the beginning of the siege, a Spanish army of fifteen thousand men under the marquis of Santa Cruz threatened the Dutch besiegers. He settled at the banks of the river Maas, opposite Itteren, to build a bridge. Against this, the Dutch constructed earthen walls between the village and the river Geul near Voulwames. Yet Santa Cruz tried to make his troops cross the river. Covered by heavy canons and by the guns of three thousand musketeers, three hundred Walloon and German soldiers were rowed to the other side of the river in large boats. Immediately after disembarkation, they began to dig in the earth to construct an entrenchment. However, French battalions of the Dutch army had laid an ambush in the corn field. As soon as all boats had landed, while the soldiers were busy with entrenching themselves, the Dutch troops jumped out of the ambush. Then three hundred soldiers perished, most of them belonging to the Spanish army of relief. One month later, Itteren was lying in the line of fire again. Fifteen thousand men under the field marshall Pappenheim threatened the besiegers near Itteren. These retired to a camp near Borgharen. This way, Santa Cruz could in the end construct his bridge. But he couldnt prevent that Maastricht surrendered. The beer brewer began walking and searching along the river Maas, up to Voulwames. The battle was almost five years ago, but there might be some remains. He found something else: the little woman he had sought in vain. She was living in a stable near Bunde. Dear lady, began Lansmans. You are a cocky ass, replied the little woman, with fiery eyes. Why do you trouble a poor widow? I have seen your face before. Thats true, said the brewer. We had a difference of opinion about some pennies your son had borrowed from me. I treated you unjustly. The old woman couldnt recall the affair. But she was not foolish. She understood that the situation was in her favour. Did you come to pay back your guilt?, she asked briefly. Yes, my guilt of honour, said Jan Lansmans. I found for you a better dwelling than this stable where you are staying between cows and pigs. Then that little house has to be as warm as this one, claimed the lady. And it cant cost a penny, for I dont have money. Dont worry. Your house is in Maastricht, next mine. Do you know the Hell street near the church of Our Lady? Maastricht?, said the little wife, pulling a long face. Then I suppose I have to say loong instead of long, and thaank instead of thank. Please consent, insisted the brewer. I will come to pick you up presently, with horse and wagon to load your things on. I consent, sighed the little woman. Well before closing time, the brewer and the granny arrived at Saint Peters gate. The guards didnt notice them. Jan Lansmans installed the little mother in in the cottage next the Half Moon. He already thought she was a clever old girl. However, in her new cottage she immediately got lost. Within an hour after the arrival, the brewer noticed there was something wrong. She asked where her chest of drawers was. But Lansmans had just put it in the living room. The chest was right in front of her, but she didnt recognize the surroundings. Here it is, isnt it?, answered the beer brewer. You may begin with putting your things in it. Can I help you? No anwer. She was biting her lips. Where is my pussy Ninette?, she lamented. Jan Lansmans didnt know she owned a pussycat. The little beast was somewhere in Bunde or Itteren, of course. Even if he could find it, it probably wouldnt be willing to be transferred. Its crowded with cats in Maastricht , isnt it?, he tried. She reacted as if she had been bitten by a snake. Her eyes shot fire. She made a gesture of disapproval and shouted: Bah! The brewer considered he could send someone to look after her. But this didnt fit in with his plans: because, tonight, bricklayer Caters was going to start in the cellar with opening the little city gate. Jan Lansmans went to get some bread for the old woman. He brought her some cheese, milk and butter. He also gave her three eggs. But she kept sitting in a chair and staring to the walls all the time. This was a disappointment for Jan. What should he do know? He showed her a small door that gave entry to a little inner court at the rear end of The Half Moon, and said to her: This way you get to the privy. All right, said the woman. The host kept thinking for a moment. How should he prepare this timid old widow for the strange sounds of somebody breaking stones in the cellar, and for a strange man called Caters? But he thought the solution to this problem would come of itself. So it did. Somebody knocked softly at the front door. Lansmans opened the door. In the twilight he saw a flaxen haired guy with a large moustache, who brought his own tools in a big bag. It was the bricklayer Lenart Caters. You have come early!, greeted the brewer. Time flies, was the answer. Show me where I have to work. The two conspirators entered the room. The brewer introduced the bricklayer to the old woman. Lenart kissed her hand, and smiled so gallantly that she became as merry as a cricket. Her face was beaming. It seemed her feet didnt touch the ground anymore. Lansmans directed his fellow conspirator to the cellar. As soon as their eyes were adapted to the darkness, they saw between its brick borders the little gate, whose lower part joined the cellar. The large yellow marl stones with which the postern had been walled up, were still looking fresh at the city side of the wall. The two men went there together, bent down, between the casks of wine and the barrels of beer. The bricklayer began his work. Jan Lansmans went back to the widow. They listened together to the noise that reached them from the cellar. Apparently the old woman was now quite at ease. The brewer left the house. But the widow was fickler than he thought. She was also too unpredictable for the hard working bricklayer, whose conscience was not all clear. In the dark of the night there appeared a phantom behind bricklayer Caters. It looked like a witch with a candlestick. The black shadow of her bony figure stood out sharp against the wall, which was lit up by the candle. Vade retro, Satane!, she said at once, with a hollow voice. Go back to hell! Lenarts fists dropped the hammer and the chisel. He jumped up and past the little mother, fleeing upstairs and out of the house. The candlestick fell on the ground between the broken marl stones. The draught of the air from the field side of the city wall to the cellar made the candle flare up and go out. The witch was flabbergasted and went back to her chair in the living room. She sat down and fell asleep. Bricklayer Caters came soon to his senses. Damned, what a coward he had been. Normally, he wasnt so easily frightened. And what a fool he was. Because, if the devil goes out hunting for people, of course he doesnt pronounce formulas of exorcism. Then, who had come to disturb his illegal work? It must have been the widow, with whom he had so kindly made acquaintance. Now she probably thought he was a mistress, in spite of his large moustache. But, never mind! This little woman was even more lost than he himself. Most likely, she had already forgotten the incident. What should he do now? Within a few days, the little gate had to be entirely open. Then, at the first streak of dawn, the invasion would take place. Colonel Mzires was already preparing the feigned attack at the western side of the city, and the assault from the village of Sint Pieter. All depended on his own courage and thoroughness. Lenart Caters knocked at the front door of Jan Lansmans to consult with him. The brewer answered the door, and looked surprised. Hell, why was this Lenart not doing his work? Anyhow, the visit of the bricklayer fitted in well. Because his guild brother Jan Rompen was in The Half Moon, too. This way, they could once again go through all the details of the important task they were facing. You are here, Jan?, asked Caters, who was surprised to see Rompen. Yes, I am here, replied his companion. I cant forget Maastricht, now that it needs me. I want to help you. But why aint you chiseling in the cellar of the cottage next door? The bricklayers apprentice reported about the widow who was off the track in her old age. He told she had silently approached him from behind, with a flickering candle, and suddenly pronounced a formula to expel devils, with a hollow voice. He said he wasnt afraid of ghosts, if only they kept their mouth shut. Ill take care of the old lady, said Lansmans. As soon as the forthcoming events have happened, added Rompen, Ill take her with me to my granny in Liege. Is your grandmother still alive?, asked Lansmans, surprised. You said she was lying on het death bed, didnt you? But I said a novena devoted to Saint Clara of Assisi, explained the bricklayer. At the ninth and last day of the novena, the fever left grandma. She pushed the blankets away, and put her clothes on. Now she goes around again, wearing the trousers. The two others nodded at each other to express understanding, and lifted their eyebrows. Now the master and his apprentice set to work. If nobody was going to disturb them again, they would have plenty of time to finish the job. However, after half an hour of chiseling, the two bricklayers saw through the hole in the city walls a light wandering over the river Jeker. Hush! It was a little boat. If they kept quiet, the crew wouldnt notice the hole in the postern. But this way a full hour passed by. Suddenly there was an infernal noise behind them! Somebody was rattling at the door of the cellar. Could Goltsteins secret agents have tracked them down? The door came open. a crooked figure appeared. For shame It was the woman again Why had Lansmans not chained her up? She giggled, and shouted in a high-pitched voice: Who wants beer? Behind her sounded the creaking of a door. She turned around and raised her arm. Had she attracted the attention of some people who turned night into day? So it seemed. A commanding voice at the front door made her stand still. And it wasnt the voice of Lansmans or was it? Ive got enough of it, said Rompen. He wriggled through the hole they had made in the city walls, to the field side of them, and disappeared into the dark of the night. Caters had enough of it, too. But he stayed calm. He put the loose marl stones back into the wall of the fortified city, as well as he could. Lansmans was standing behind him, holding the hand of the widow CHAPTER 4 Is singing allowed to a priest, when he is walking? Indeed, he even is obliged to sing! To keep courage, father Vinck sang a beautiful song: The owl was sitting in the tree, the owl was sitting in the tree, and under the tree was waiting a cat, o Jimmy oDay-o, o Farilonla! And under the tree was waiting a cat. The owl vivat! The owl vivat! The Minorite friar saw the bridge over the river Maas, from a distance. To get there, he had to walk an hour. But his feet and his back were protesting against the pace. The sun was behind the dark clouds. If only it could stay dry! Stop! shouted someone near him. The munk started. He turned around, and saw the legs of a black horse. There was a soldier sitting on it, in a dark blue uniform. A Dutchman! Good afternoon!, stammered the Franciscan. Where do you come from?, said somebody else. It was another horseman, under a weeping willow. He looked almost the same as the first one. Ive come from Maerland, answered the priest, truthfully. What did you do there?, asked the fist horseman, in his turn. I paid a visit to a farmer who had sent for me. Meanwhile, the other soldier had come very close, and he looked down at the father beneath him. He saw the little cord around his neck. What is this?, he shouted, and his hand grabbed at it. He saw the cylinder that peeped out from under the habit. It is a letter, answered the mendicant friar. I beg you to leave me in peace. Im sure you have better things to do. The two scouts looked at each other. They jumped off their horses. One seized Vinck from behind, the other took the cylinder away. The smaller of the two soldiers ran a finger through his beard, and pointed at the wax the letter had been sealed with. Now they didnt dare to open it. They jumped upon their horses again. This letter is suspicious. We bring it to our commander Goltstein, said one of them, harsly. And they galloped away, in the direction of Maastricht. Father Vinck stayed behind, flabbergasted. He thought feverishly. What a misery! Goltstein was about to know he had visited Mzires. He hoped the colonel had not written too many things confidential or incriminating. Alas the obligation ad 22000 florins was in it! What could he say, if the Dutch commander would put him through his paces? Well, in fact he didnt know what exactly it said in the letter. The obligation could be related to any ordinary transaction of business While brooding over it, the father got to the gates of the city of Maastricht. The guards at the gate saw how absent-minded he was: an ideal victim of jest and joke! Dont get tired, father, by preparing your sermon. You resemble this well known donkey driver who imagined he was a papist priest, and would give a lecture to his donkeys. But they ran away to eat thistles and thorns in the grass verge of the road. Vinck started from his thoughts. However, he had enough presence of mind to reply calmly to the comical guards of the gate: Listen. I once knew a donkey who was a far better guard than you are. Every afternoon he would endure the heat of the sun for hours. One day, a soldier passed who beat the poor animal with a stick, just for fun. God decided the donkey would be admitted to heaven after his death. Thus it happened. The beast looked carefully through the gate of heaven. But when he saw the soldier was there too, he refused to walk any further. Saint Peter knew at once the real hang of the thing. He put the soldier outside the gate, and took the donkey to a nice place close to Our Lord Jesus. This a popish story for donkeys, said one of the guards. Thats why I told it to you, said father Vinck. And he entered the city. When he was back in the chapel of the convent, the guardian of the Franciscans knelt down before the tabernacle, and took time to reflect upon the Holy Family. First he thought about his spiritual mother, the mother of Jesus. She was the handmaid of the Lord, and the first one who fully cooperated with Gods plan: to save mankind by sending Jesus Christ. Born among the Jews, she listened to the words of the prophet Isaiah: We all, like sheep, have gone astray. Each of us has turned to his own way. And the Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all. He was oppressed and afflicted, yet He did not open his mouth. He was led like a lamb to the slaughter. And as a sheep is silent before its shearers, so He did not open his mouth ... She would follow her son Jesus, full of confidence, as His disciple in all phases of His life: conception, birth, childhood, public life, the death on the cross and the resurrection. Blessed was she who believed that the word of the Lord was to be fulfilled in herself. Thereafter the father thought about the foster father of Jesus. Saint Joseph could comply with his task as the head of the holy family, with all the required maturity and responsibility and with the authority he needed, but only because he had prepared for it with deep humbleness. He listened to the words of God, which have been written in the Holy Scriptures: As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways Finally, the father reflected upon the words of Jesus: I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me. Yes, Jesus is the way from God to man, and from man to God. He is truth itself, which makes people truly free. He is the life of God Himself, as against all forms of death: He leads man to new life on the earth, and to new life with God hereafter. Father Vinck sighed. But what was that? The big statue of Jesus on the cross, above the altar, was moving to and fro, as if there were a strong draught. Did Jesus stretch out his arms to him? What did He want to say with this gesture? It seemed Jesus was coming to him I want to say something to you, my dear Servatius, He said, in a low voice. Now He was standing next the kneeling father. Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening. Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. The father looked up at Jesus, but Jesus had disappeared. He was hanging on the cross again. However, now the statue of Saint Joseph appeared from its niche. He laid down his square hook and his lily branch, and stood with crossed arms before the mendicant friar. Do you know why Jesus came to meet you?, he asked. No, I dont understand. Being the foster father of Jesus, I taught him throughout His childhood to answer anybody who turns to him. He will be busy, then. Hes not ever so busy. But you will need the help of God during the next few days, to be able to serve Him in the right way. Behind Saint Joseph loomed up the beautiful statue of virgin Mary which the Franciscans held in esteem. She had put down the Child somewhere, but where? At some place in the background, father Vinck heard a Baby sobbing softly. She put her white hands on the shoulder of her husband, whose statue was fading away. Do exactly what Jesus will tell you, she said to the Minorite. Will He appear at my side again and again, like a few minutes ago, when He descended from the cross? No, He wont. But He will send the Helper, the Holy Spirit, Who will be active in you like a flame in an oil lamp. Now the father fell asleep He dreamt he was floating above Maastricht, like a bird. Beneath he saw a forest of towers. The towers of the churches of Our Lady, Saint Servatius and Saint John were rising above the others. He looked at the city walls and the rivers Jeker and Maas. He could see as far as Liege in the south, Aachen in the east, Sittard in the north, and Hasselt in the west. Flying higher still and higher, he saw all Holland, and above it in the clouds a scene like a clear fata morgana: a group of croaking frogs in a ditch between the meadows. Turning around, he saw France, and above it the sun. This heavenly body grew ever larger. Some lackeys came close to it and bowed to it. When the light became unbearable, the dreamer bent his eyes upon the southern horizont. What was approaching there? Flying lowly, to see it better, he perceived an army of horsemen and canons. The horsemen had long curly hair, and they wore hats with a feather. The procession marched in the direction of Maastricht, and finally it settled on the hill called Louwberg near the church of the village of Wolder. It was as if the sun was setting there to take its place of rest in a tent Suddenly a deafening noise broke out. The canons began spitting fire, the sky darkened, and the horsemen fell upon the city As time went by, the smoke cleared away. The sun was at its usual place in the sky, and the army had disappeared. All church bells of Maastricht began ringing. It sounded like a Te Deum. From Mount Saint Peter a procession of observant Franciscan friars marched toward the city. The mendicant friar woke up. His back was aching. But it had been a nice dream Where was he? In the chapel of the convent. What time was it? The middle of the night. Hed better go to bed, to sleep a bit before the bell would ring to announce the matins. Moving like a sleepwalker, father Vinck went to his convent cell. He took off his habit. He filled the chamber pot to the brim, and put the cover on it. And he lay down on his wooden bed. The munk fell asleep again. He dreamt further, as if he hadnt been awake. With a birds-eye view, high above the city of Maastricht, he saw an ant hill full of diggers and builders who were constructing fortifications around the city walls. The Franciscan in his bed turned over on his other side. A new scene appeared: merrymakers were dancing around the trunk of a tree with a green garland at its top. Where had he seen this before? At once he perceived at the top of a hill a thickset man on a horse. He kept staring at the horizont. Apparently, he wanted to give the world a new ordering. He radiated authority. Did his tight-lipped face cause this? Father Vinck started awake. He rose up, and walked with the chamber pot to the outdoor privy in the convents garden. It was too early for the matins. He went back to bed. It was a strange night. Why did he dream so much? Did God want to say something to him? It was all related to the city he loved. The guardian closed his eyes, and drowsed away again What was happening? Here and there came big buildings with large thin towers, from which black smoke was curling into the air. Parts of the city walls were broken down. A multitude of meagre and pale men and women came outside from one of these buildings. It was like a nightmare. Now he saw a room with in it a family: the father was lying in his bed, the mother was standing at his side, the children were rolling about on the ground. What was wrong with this man? His eyes were hollow, and he coughed up phlegm. Fortunately, there was a crucifix hanging against the wall. Now the bell rang for the matins. The monks assembled in the chapel. Father Vinck joined them. The monk next him looked at him anxiously. Did you sleep well, father Servatius?, he asked. In the tavern The Sleeping Cock in Vis, all guests were broad awake. Yet a dead silence prevailed, because nobody dared to breathe or to put down his cup. In the pot on the poker table there were a big number of silver francs and thalers. The players kept holding their cards against their breasts and staring into space. I bet, bluffed one of them. You could have heard a pin drop. The guests looked at the meagre man with the bald head, who had begun betting. I think my cards are even better than yours!, said a gallant player with a black moustache and goatee, in a calm voice. It was seigneur Delacourt. He looked at his fellow players without visible emotions in his face. How much do you want to stake?, asked the thick man in front of him. The noble looked at the fatty with a mocking laugh. He drew his sword, so all adversaries grew pale with fright, and put it in the pot. Look: I warrant twice the contents of the pot. I fold, said the fat man. He swallowed a lump in his throat. He put his cards back in the stock. Both of the other players folded too. The noble rose up, put the sword back in the scabbard, and took the money. Can I see your cards?, asked the thick man, who was curious. Delacourt complied with the request. He had a king and a queen of diamonds. Furthermore, a nine and a ten of clubs and a seven of spades. In short: nothing much. Youve made game of us, observed the baldy with the sour face. He himself showed a four of a kind consisting of four jacks and an ace of spades. That is what I always do with cowards, answered seigneur Delacourt. He laughed at the failed bluffer. The long one hesitated. Someone was calling him a coward. On the other hand, the offender was a bombastic character, and he did it within the scope of an innocent game of cards. Was it worth reacting? He studied his fingers. Damned, he had already lost a lot of money here, and was in danger of losing his respectability. He saw Claude Delacourt was already putting on his cape, to return to Maastricht, and decided at the last moment to say something about it. You are a deserter!, he asserted in a soft tone. The new lieutenant of the States army reacted fiercely. He pulled off his white gloves, and beat the large baldhead in his face with it. All people in the taproom grew pale. This was going to be a duel to the death! I accept your challenge, stammered the tall one. At sunrise before the castle of Eysden, said the noble. Choose your weapon. Pistol, stuttered the baldhead. If you will bring a pistol and a second, because I have neither. Hmm, said Delacourt. He came to his senses, and thought about it. Well, he would win the duel with his eyes closed, that wasnt the point. But there were several difficulties. First, his adversary wasnt worth the effort of a noble. Second, it wasnt simple to find a pistol and a second here and now. Third, he was going to cooperate in an attack on the city of Maastricht before long. He was musing on a way to get rid of the duel. You may ask for excuse, he said to the big one, who was sitting and trembling on a stool against the wall of the room. Ex-excuse, stammered the addressed. Jaccepte!, said Delacourt. He gave the landlord the money for the consumptions and a big tip, put on his broad hat, and disappeared through the door into the dark of the night. Among the witnesses in the taproom there were two Dutch men, disguised as farmers. They had seen and heard everything: the card game, the challenge and the reconciliation. Of course, they had recognized the noble. They were wondering what he was doing in Vis, and why he was behaving so conspicuously. The behaviour of Delacourt was not becoming to a lieutenant of the States General. And where had he got so much money? Because, from the beginning of the game of cards he had put tens of guilders in the pot. The landlord saw them whispering to each other. Who were these people? Judging from their clothes, they could be Walloons from Huy or Namur. But they were speaking Flemish. The landlady saw her husband was looking at the pair of strange guests, and frowning. She gave him a wink, and stepped up to the guests. Do you want to eat or drink some more?, she asked them. They were rather repellent. One of them had no teeth anymore, the other had a scar on his left cheek. The one with the scar had a hunch, and the one without teeth was so thin as a chicken without feathers. Do you have another bottle of wine, madam?, asked the chicken. The landlady gave him a wink too. This just happened because she involuntarily twitched her left eye. She nodded yes. Add a piece of cheese from the land of Herve, said the hunchback. His voice sounded so shrill that the other guests looked up with annoyance. The landlord watched the scene from behind the counter. He saw his wife made a gallant curtsey, and turned around to fetch the ordered consumptions. But what was that? Did the chicken really tap on the bottom of his wife when she was about to leave? The landlord could not believe his eyes. With his mouth wide open he looked into the eyes of his wife. She gestured: they are crazy, both of them. Meanwhile, the chicken and the hunchback were grinning at each other. The toothless gave the hunchback a friendly tap on his crooked back Now the landlord stood bolt upright. He straightened his shoulders and stepped up solemnly to the pair of twits. Wine and cheese?, he asked. Sil vous plat, monsieur, murmured the man with the hunch. The publican strode back to his place behind the counter, and returned slowly with a large chamber pot. The two disguised farmers were watching it with wide open eyes. What was going to happen? They soon would find out. The landlord poured the contents of the chamber pot on the head of the chicken, and slapped down the pot on the table. That was the wine, he explained. If you should wish some cheese, I will gladly comply with your desire. If not, then disappear rapidly from my tavern. The two friends walked out with their tails between their legs. What had happened? Didnt the landlady give them a wink? This gave them the right to tap on her buttocks, didnt it? They began to discuss the nature of local people. Maastricht people were unreliable. And how could they ever be reliable, being educated the popish way? Imagine: they tell little children Saint Nicholas is riding on horseback over the roofs at night, and throwing a kind of brown hard cakes into their shoes through the chimneys. All lies! Imagine: the curates tell young girls their future husbands would visit them each summer in September, and nine months later on they would find a little baby in the garden, between the bees and the flowers. All lies! And they tell aged people Saint Peter at the gates of heaven would ask them to show him the viaticum as a passport. What is a viaticum?, asked the hunchback. Its the provisions for the last journey, the holy host, which the dying person gets when the curate administers him the last unction, said the toothless. How do you know all these things? Did you chat with the Maastricht Jesuits too much? Only a few times. Whatever. You wont be admitted to heaven. Why not?, asked the chicken. You dont smell fresh enough, answered the hunchback. I tell you the truth: we perceive your stench if you are one hour away at the leeward side. The two comrades took no risk. The guards at Saint Peters gate shouldnt think they were tramps. They took a bath in the icy cold water of the river Jeker. A few moments later, some people of the hamlet of Biesland were watching two nude men running after five naughty boys. Because, when the two spies had been splashing each other and making each other duck into the river, the young toughs had run away with their clothes. The local rural constable took up both strangers. While their clothes were drying in the wind, they had to help repairing the local watermill in the river Jeker. They finally arrived at Saint Peters city gate, one minute after the closing hour. One of the guards recognized them by their faces, another guard noticed they spoke with a Dutch accent. So they were admitted to enter Maastricht through a postern near the gate of Tongeren. They hastened to the house of Goltstein, and learnt the commander was about to go to bed. But the toothless mentioned a possible plot. This worked. Within three minutes they were standing face to face with Joachim von Goltstein himself, although he was already wearing a night shirt and a night cap. We have seen lieutenant Delacourt in Vis, said the man with the crooked back. You did? And what was he doing there? He was playing at cards and quarreling, said the man without teeth. And, because he had caught a cold, he added: Aaaa choo! And why did you come to me to blab about it? We were asking ourselves how he did get so much money. Achoo! Goltstein bit his lips. Was Claude Delacourt flinging his money about in Vis? What was he doing in Vis anyway? He turned himself to some brisk sergeant who was marching to and fro before his door. I command you arrest Claude Delacourt, lieutenant of the States army. He has to answer for reckless conduct and associating with the enemy without a permit. The sergeant nodded eagerly, and asked: Where is this sly dog? Goltstein looked at his two spies inquiringly. They looked at each other, and began to answer at the same time: He was in the Sleeping Cock. He fled to Maerland. In fact, at that moment, seigneur Delacourt was sitting on horseback, and his horse standing outside the closed gate of Saint Peter. After a while, the sergeant who had to find and arrest him arrived too, also on horseback. The guards told him who was waiting outside the gate. Open the gate, said the sergeant. The gate was unlocked, and the portcullis pulled up. The noble entered the city. As soon as he was inside, the portcullis fell down after him. The sergeant directed his horse to a place near the horse of Delacourt. Messire Delacourt, he sounded. The commander of the fortified city of Maastricht, who is in charge of maintaining the authority of the States General of the United Netherlands, orders and commands your detention. The noble took fright. He first seized the reins and then his sword. But he soon came to his senses. Resistance was useless, fleeing wasnt possible any longer. Hed better cooperate. What do I stand accused of?, he asked waspishly. Er .. conduct without a permit .. and associating with a reckless enemy, was the answer. The day was far spent, and the darkness deepening, but the detention didnt pass Maastricht people without being noticed. Behind the shutters and the doors they were listening attentively. A solitary passer-by watched the scene from a safe distance. While the lieutenant was brought up before Goltstein, the news was spreading like wild-fire. It soon reached the members of la Tau as well. Meanwhile, the commander had ordered that nobody was allowed to pass the city gates until further notice, and that shady characters should be arrested immediately. It was quiet and cold in the city now, but inside the houses people were feverishly consulting together. Most of them thought they should be reserved. What did you do in Vis?, inquired Goltstein of the noble Claude Delacourt, in a gruff voice. And how did you get there? I rode to Vis on my horse, and I was playing poker there . Now the captain really got angry. He put his trembling hand on his moustache, and said with unconcealed fury: Your regiment already missed you several days. Your battalion was without its leader. I went reconnoitring on horseback, but two Spanish soldiers arrested me near the fortress Elvenschans in Navagne. And they let you go again? No. I escaped by setting spurs to my horse. One of my guards was just reloading his pistol. The other one was peeping at a beautiful farmers daughter, whom he happened to see on the yard of a farm. The commander looked into the eyes of his lieutenant for a while. If this man was lying, he was a good actor. But this was characteristic of players of poker! Who gave you so much money, then?, he suddenly asked. He recalled what his spies had told him. The noble hesitated. He stared at his feet. What did Joachim von Goltstein know? Who had informed him? You are lying, decided the commander. And he continued, addressing himself to one of the guards: Lock him up! Stop!, said the hard pressed noble. He didnt want to end up in a cold prison cell. As soon as the Dutch would consider him a traitor, some sharp examination would be awaiting him. Although he was always a hero during his fights with the naked sword, he shrunk from making acquaintance with the torture. He thought it all over for a minute, while the commander kept staring at him. How could he escape from this? His phantasy was working hard. Ill tell you everything, he said at last. The noble now told the following: In the tavern The Black Sheep he had once heard some taylors apprentices talking about an attempt on the city. The name they mentioned most often was Jan Lansmans. They also were talking about a secret club of sworn companions, called la Tau. The apprentices were quite sure the brewer was also a member of this club. The noble went to the brewer to convince him they had the same purpose: the liberation of Maastricht. Then he joined the illustrious society. However, in fact he only wished to know the names of all the traitors, to be able to tell these to his superiors in the Dutch army. But Goltstein didnt trust the blabbing Frenchman any more. He clearly wasnt a deserter, but a spy. The commandere of the city sent a courier to Bouillon. It was now important for both of them that Claude Delacourt would stay communicative. The commander called for bread and pea soup, and began to eat it with relish. He tried to intimidate the noble by reciting a rhymed version of a psalm in a loud voice: As panting deer desire the waterbrooks, when wandering in a dry and desert place, so yearns my thirsty soul for you, o God, and longs at last to see you face to face. This had the desired effect. Delacourt began sweating, and got so much thirst that the joint waters of the rivers Jeker and Maas couldnt allay it. There they saw Bouillon already. Goltstein told him in short what Delacourt had said. The duke asked whether the noble knew exactly which plans the traitors had hatched. No, not exactly. But in the tavern he had once heard about a postern in the city walls, behind the house of Lansmans. The two commanders looked at each other. They didnt know this postern. They would have it examinated. It slowly came home to Goltstein the socalled deserter had been maintaining contacts with the enemy, both inside and outside the city. You are a traitor, he shouted to the man he had appointed lieutenant of his garrison. We send you to hell! Thats impossible, for Ive recently confessed with the Liege Jesuits, said the fallen noble. He had forgotten he didnt want to be Catholic anymore. Goltstein put his eyes wide open. He didnt pay attention to the slip of the tongue, but to what the noble said about the followers of Saint Ignatius of Loyola. Aha!, he sighed softly. I thought so, didnt I? The Jesuits are involved! They are fanning the fire again! He beckoned to the strong door guard. This fellow embraced the waist of seigneur Delacourt, so he couldnt fetch his sword. Goltstein himself took the weapon away. Two firm soldiers brought the noble to the Lanscroon in the dark of the night. These guards wanted to lock him up in a cell there, but this wasnt easy. In his desperation he used forces he didnt know he had. He wrenched himself free, and gave the soldier at his right side a push in the face with his elbow. Then he turned around and planted his knee in the crotch of the other. The two guards of the escort jumped around like frogs to endure the pain. But their yelping alarmed the guard of the Lanscroon. It was a fat fellow with a puffy face. Delacourt saw he appeared at the top of the stairs, and dived away behind a door. When the fatty arrived downstairs, gasping for breath, he stumbled over the leg the noble had stretched out. But three were too many. The two of the escort recovered, and the guard of the Lanscroon struggled to his feet. The three of them surrounded the suspect. In the end they could throw the resisting noble against a wall inside a cell. Now the prisoner stayed lying there motionless, so the guards feared for his life. However, closer examination learnt he was only unconscious. So they left him there in the cell and locked him up. He slowly came to his senses and deplored his painful situation. He reflected upon his dear parents in heaven. Meanwhile, Goltstein and Bouillon took counsel together about the discovered treason, and especially about the postern behind the house of Lansmans. There is a granny living with Lansmans, said the Dutch captain to the duke of Bouillon. She once told me the brewer would send her some Spaniards to drink a cup of wine with. But I thought she was crazy. Drunks and fools always tell the truth, said the duke. I go there tomorrow early in the morning to see if there is a little gate in the city walls. By the way, we have to arrest the brewer. Why dont you go and arrest him right now? Im too tired. Furthermore, its easier to lift a person from his bed in the morning than to arrest him in the evening. Because in his bed he doesnt think of danger. Im going to my bed, too, said Bouillon, yawning. Tomorrow we will put every suspect through his paces. Commander Goltstein went to bed confidently, and he was soon sound asleep. Although the commander was often quickly roused, he usually calmed down almost immediately. However, the duke of Bouillon didnt intend to set out for dreamland. Instead, he headed to the convent of the Jesuits. This way he put his good relationship with the citys commander at stake. So be it, because the good fathers had to know what was hanging over their heads. After a short walk, Bouillon arrived at the door of the convent, together with a doggy. The animal had joined him in the street, just a moment ago. We dont admit dogs, said the doorkeeper. You have heard what brother doorkeeper said, havent you?, said the duke to the doggy, and he slipped past the brother into the convent. And while brother doorkeeper spread himself out over the width of the door in order to stop the tail wagging friend of man from entering, the duke was already making for the room of rector Boddens. He found the rector at work at his writing desk. Boddens had left the door of his room open. Being good old friends, they greeted each other most cordially. Ive come to warn you, said the convert to his teacher. Goltstein will soon launch a witch hunt for Jesuits. One warned man is worth two men that aint. Brewer Jan Lansmans found out the truth of this saying, after his guardian angel warned him in a dream and woke him up from his sleep. Goltstein wished to lift Lansmans from his bed, but he came too late. His soldiers had forced the big front door of the Half Moon, and run into the bedroom. They had examined all corners of the house. But the bird was flown that is, Lansmans. The commander bit his lips. What should he do now? He had the door of the adjacent house opened. It seemed the old widow thought it normal that Goltstein and six of his soldiers ran into her room without knocking at the door. Her cottage was inspected as scrupulously as Lansmans house. In her cellar they found the bricked up postern. On closer investigation it turned out some of the marl stones were loose in the postern. They sent for the old lady. She explained this was the devils work. First she had summoned Satan to go back to hell, and later on she had offered him a mug of beer, but both in vain. Joachim von Goltstein shrugged his shoulders. Where is brewer Lansmans?, he asked without enthusiasm. He didnt dare to hope the old woman could say much that would make sense. But he was agreeably surprised. It was as if a gust of wind blew away the mist in her head. He went to the privy, she said, and she pointed to the entrance of the cesspit that belonged to the couple of houses. Goltstein and his merry men defied the stench and explored the little courtyard wherein Jan Lansmans and his guests, and the woman next door, used to retire in case of emergency. There was a ladder standing there, that could be used to climb the city walls in two stages. The soldiers mounted the walls. Their captain shouted instructions to them from below: they should go in both directions to find the fleeing brewer. As soon as they would have caught the rat, they should bring him before the commander of the city. Three soldiers walked to the north over the city wall. Two of them, standing upon the wall, watched the grounds around the church of Our Lady, and Stock Street. The third one viewed the terrain along the rivers Jeker and Maas. However, they only saw that the brewer could have descended from the city walls at several places, and that there were many places where he could hide himself. The three other soldiers walked to the south over the city wall. They descended from the wall near the Hell gate, and noticed they were at fault. Where was Lansmans? In the convent of the Veiled Sisters? This would be risky, but quite possible nonetheless. In the convent of the Minorites? Then it would be difficult to discover all hiding places. The devil himself, in the shape of a cat, came to the rescue of Goltstein. When the commander had almost arrived at the door of his own house, he saw in an alley a black cat with a high rump who was blowing at a door. Had someone treaded on its tail? He went there to have a look. There was sitting, with lifted knees, the fugitive beer brewer. Meanwhile, the cat had silently disappeared. Well, well, my dear Lansmans, said the commander. Only a moment ago, I knocked at your door, but you werent at home. This may be correct, said the brewer. I left my house to do some shopping. Then why are you sitting here with lifted knees in the porch of a house? Because I dont fit in the porch with my knees stretched out. Commander Goltstein grew impatient. He stepped up to the beer brewer, and seized him by the collar. He gestured he should rise up. I arrest you, he said, in the name of the Republic, which has entrusted me with the rule of Maastricht. You are being accused of treason. What wrong did I do? We discovered a postern in the city walls behind your house. We suspect you wished to let the Spaniards enter Maastricht. I want a lawyer to assist me. We can arrange that. Come along with me. Goltstein directed Jan Lansmans to the Dinghouse. There was nobody on the street so early in the morning. The city house with its fronts of frame work and big stones from Namur was dominating its surroundings. The door was still closed, but the commander had a key. He led his prisoner to the cellar, as a part of a guided tour. The brewer swallowed a lump in his throat when he saw the instruments of torture that were standing here: the rack and the thumbscrews. He didnt want further explanations. The prisoner and his guard mounted the stairs, until they finally arrived in the attic, gasping for breath. The view from the window was breathtaking. For his own safety, Jan Lansmans was to be temporarily enclosed in the attic. Being a prisoner of the Republic, of course he should get everything he needed. He was to appear before the high judge here in the Dinghouse within a month. If he would cooperate, they would treat him mercifully. Or did he want to communicate something right now? Can I receive a bit of breakfast?, asked the brewer. And a lawyer? The commander thought Jan didnt need a lawyer. Couldnt Jan simply inform him about the whole plan of the attack, and give him the names of his accomplices? He ignored the request of food and drink. Will you set me free, then?, asked the poor brewer. Perhaps they will pardon you, was the answer. Right. I will speak. But give me my breakfast first. The commander locked Lansmans up, and went downstairs. After half an hour he returned with bread rolls, butter, honey and milk. He smiled while watching his prisoner eat it all. Tell me everything!, he ordered when the meal was finished. The beer brewer shrugged his shoulders and wiped his mouth and his moustache. From the corners of his eyes, he looked at his tyrant, and began, pretending he didnt care: Two bricklayers had to open the postern in the cellar of the lady next door. You already knew that, didnt you? Their names are: Jan Rompen and Lenart Caters. The Spanish colonel Mzires planned to have carried out a feigned attack at the Gate of Brussels. Meanwhile, a company of soldiers would enter the city through the opened postern. Goltstein looked at his prisoner with a bit of compassion. What a miserable man! Why did you participate? I didnt take part voluntarily. They informed me it would happen this way. They required my house in the name of the king of Spain. The Dutchman rose up. He gestured the other had to remain seated. He left the attic, locked the door, and went downstairs. He greeted the three singing charwomen who had just begun their morning tasks, and he quickly went outside. On the way to his dwelling, a messenger came to meet him. This man brought the official letter that had been taken from father Vink in the fields near the village of Heugem. He apologized for the delay. The soldiers accidentally dropped the letter, and it had been missing for a few days. The commander broke the seal, and he hastily unrolled the parchment. He read the letter with his eyes wide open. It was an obligation of 22000 Liege florins from colonel Mzires to brewer Lansmans, found upon the body of father Vinck! Goltstein turned on his heels. Back to Lansmans! The prisoner was surprised when he saw the commander coming back to him so soon. Had he something to say to him yet? This turned out to be true. The commander of the city showed him the letter containing the obligation. Lansmans eyes filled with tears. These 22000 Liege florins were being taken from under his nose! But things were getting worse. This letter is your death sentence, said Joachim von Goltstein. You got a big reward for your treacherous job. But you can still escape the sword. Tell me which role the Franciscans and Jesuits played in the treason. Well , hesitated the brewer. I dont know anything about the Jesuits. But I explained the plans for the attack to father Vinck during confession This information made the commander shrink back with surpise. What would the reverend Ludovicus think about it? The minister was just writing a dissertation to map out the problems with the popish auricular confession. Now you bet the Dutch would immediately send a patrol to the convent of the Minorites to arrest the guardian. But after consulting the Brabant magistracy, which happened to assemble this morning, the commander decided to postpone the apprehension of the popular Franciscan for a few days. They should first explore how Maastricht people would react to such an arrest. A revolt of the people could harm the Dutch quite a lot. Furthermore, the capture would alarm possible other conspirators. The magistracy appointed a spy from Valkenburg who had a reasonable grasp of Maastricht dialect. He had to act as an eavesdropper to detect what people within the city already knew about the planned attack. The convert from Valkenburg would soon be unmasked as a farmer if he would chat with real Maastricht people. But he could pass for real when talking with members of the Liege magistrates, who happened to attend mass in Our Ladys church to celebrate some jubilee of the prince-bishop. He addressed one on the square before the church, between the pigeons, whilst the bells were lustily ringing. The gentlemen were used to it that local citizens would come to meet them there in a roguish way. Mister, dont you fear the Spanish will attack the city today?, the spy asked with twinkling eyes. Quest-ce-que ?, answered the Liege magistrate. No, man, but the earlier they come, the better it will turn out. Perhaps theyll come on the first of March! Allons, I have to go on. What a noise. And he entered the church, while covering his ears with his hands. All messages of this nature alarmed the Dutch governors of the city. They put the garrison into its highest level of preparedness. The city gates and the most important houses were being guarded twice. They doubled the number of patrols. Leaves were canceled, and rules strictly maintained. The citizens looked at each other. There was peril imminent in the air. This had become clear during the last few days. But the expected attack from outside the city was becoming ever less probable. The real danger might come from the garrison itself Indeed, the number of actions of the garrison was three times the normal number. This became clear to Agnes Delacourt too. She didnt know yet that her husband had been arrested, but she already thought he stayed away too long. Perhaps he was flirting with that slutty kitchen maid. What was her name again? Liliane! Where was her carpet beater? Where was the rolling pin? Agnes grew furious whenever she thought of the ample bosom and the full lips of her rival, even though she had never met the very phantom. Suddenly she heard a bumping noise on the stairs. It were the footsteps of three big fellows. What were they doing near her apartment in the street of la vache volante? How could she protect herself? Three soldiers kicked her door open. One of them took her by her right arm, another by her left one. The third stationed himself before her, with his arms crossed. It was a big chap with a potbelly and a double chin. His voice was rather high. He fired off a lot of questions. Was she involved in the conspiracy? Where had she hidden the secret documents? Who were her accomplices? Did she know her husband was in prison? These questions produced a curious effect upon the spirited little woman. She calmed down entirely, and looked at the examiner with a smile. What do they charge him with?, she asked. He betrayed the city of Maastricht, was the answer. And so did you. Agnes Delacourt held her hands up, and said: If only he didnt betray me, Ill gladly join him in prison. They brought her outside in chains. The potbelly walked ahead of them, to show the way. She herself was walking solemnly and upright. The two soldiers who were holding her looked like lackeys. In fact, it was a sort of triumphal march. But the cell in the Lanscroon wasnt that nice. It was dim there. At the entrance, Agnes felt cobwebs in her face. Rats were running before her feet, on their way to their holes. The stench from the loo was unbearable. Her eyes slowly accustomed to the dark. Now she distinguished her Claude, doubled up on his wooden bed. Her heart was exulting at seeing him again. Someone slammed the door shut behind her. Now the married couple was united again, so they could prove they remained true to each other in bad times too. Agnes lay down next her husband, and put a hand on his shoulder. He turned over to her, and smiled tenderly. They embraced each other, and fell asleep. When they woke up, it was already late in the afternoon. Agnes had never been so happy before. Now she didnt even need to ask her husband to stay with her. Are you awake at last?, asked Delacourt, laughing. Whats cooked? Donkey ears, answered his wife, winking at him. But I dont cook myself. The servants of the Lanscroon will serve us. The hatch in the door creaked and opened. Someone pushed a tray inside. On it there was a jug of water, with two little cracked stone bottles. And a big lump of bread. Merci, mademoiselle!, shouted the noble, at a venture. But the gruff answer made him suspect the maid servant had a beard, and was stinking of beer. Claude Delacourt fetched a chaplet from his pocket. So they hadnt taken it from him yet. He put his wifes hand on the first bead. After the chaplet, the noble broke the bread. They enjoyed their meal. The bread was rather fresh, and so was the water. But their happiness came to an abrupt end. The door was thrown wide open, and the guard with the potbelly forced his way into the cell. Agnes Delacourt!, he roared. You will be detained elsewhere. And he murmured softly: This is an order from the reverend Ludovicus. The woman shrank together. Her spouse groped for his sword, but in vain. The potbelly kept him under control, although only with a lot of trouble. A soldier entered with a blanket in his hands. He put it over the head of Agnes, and showed her out. They brought her to a better guestroom in the Lanscroon. However, she would have preferred to stay next her husband. But the Dutch thought if she didnt like it she might lump it. They took severe measures for the defence of Maastricht. Because, at the same time, some ten German mercenaries invaded the Black Sheep. The Prussians had prepared themselves punctually. Four of them stationed themselves near doors and windows, in order to block the passage of them that might try to flee. Three others kept those that were present under control. And three were looking for guests that matched a certain profile. They didnt find them among the landlord and landlady and the servants, nor among the guests who were drinking or playing at cards. However, they did find bricklayer Caters among three men who were smoking a pipe. The bricklayers apprentice had just inhaled deeply, so he was hiding in dense blue smoke. But this drew attention. The little man was recognized by his flaxen hair and hanging moustache, even though the description didnt imply a stone pipe. Are you Lenart Caters?, asked the Prussian who had found him. I am!, was the proud answer. Where is your friend Jan Rompen? Somewhere in the fields, I think. Hes studying the free birds. I arrest you in the name of the States General of ther Seven United Netherlands. You stand accused of treason. I have nothing to do with your republic! On the first of May, nothing violent happened. The guards at the city gates and on the walls were on the alert to hear every noise and to see every motion in the fields, but everything stayed calm and still. The patrols in the city were walking about with much tension in their bodies. Only tramps and dogs and cats would startle them. Capitain Goltstein was in a bad temper. All his men left him alone as much as possible. Wherever he turned up, people would silently walk away. On the second of March, the storm broke out, although it was only a little one. A Bohemian mercenary kicked up a row, because someone had cut his long hair while he was sleeping. The commander had the battalions lined up to inspect them. He degraded some sergeants and corporals, and sentenced some soldiers to a diet of water and bread. To compensate a bit for these wrongs, he treated the guards at Saint Peters gate to balls of minced meat. But they were too salt to make an impression. On the third of March, the commander went to the convent of the Minorites, to arrest father Vinck. He found the guardian walking in the convents garden with his elder bother. He could see their breath in the cold morning. Joachim von Goltstein first marched firmly to them, but he hesitated. How should he do this? He cleared his throat, and said grumpily: Good morning, father Vinck. How do you do? Im a bit sick, was the answer. Ive got a pain in my side last night. Father, you are studying too much. Have you got news about your governor in Brussels, the cardinal-infante Ferdinand? I didnt hear any news. Im busy with my sermons. The three of them kept talking for a long time: first about their particular affairs, then about the situation in the city and in the country. After a while, the conversation suddenly broke down. Goltstein looked timidly at the ground before his feet, and said in a trembling voice: Father, you have to go with me to my house. The father was frightened. He understood immediately what would be the consequences. He looked at his brother for support, and answered thoughtfully: I agree, but I want some companion of my own to go with me too. The request was granted. The superior of the Franciscans consulted his colleagues Bernardus Pompen, Antonius Quaedvliegh and Guillaume du Pr. He prepared himself in his cell, and was soon standing ready with the companion assigned to him: brother Eligius Olchowicz. This man was small and slender, but he could fluently speak seven languages: Dutch, French, German, Spanish, Polish, Russian and Latin. Goltstein was annoyed by the fact that the two Franciscans muttered an Ave Maria at every little statue of virgin Mary they met on their way to his dwelling, and a Pater Noster at each crucifix. By and by more people joined the procession which accompanied the three men to the house of the commander. When they arrived at his front door, the commander turned on his heel. He asked the people to part. He only wished to ask father Vinck a few questions, and guaranteed his safety. Whoever kept troubling them, would be imprisoned. The murmuring group of some thirty people began to disperse. But a half hour later on, at least a hundred people were demonstrating before his house. A large fellow with blond curls took the lead. He raised a fist and began to sing without fear a canon for three voices. Ever more people joined the song that had a hidden sense: Le coq est mort, le coq est mort. Le coq est mort, le coq est mort. Il ne pleura plus cocodi, cocoda. Il ne pleura plus cocodi, cocoda. Coco coco coco cocodi, cocoda. The singing swelled up ever more, and grew ever more threatening. At last a sergeant on duty drew his sword. He stationed himself before the crowd, and shouted: Silence! Some soldiers of the guard began to push the crowd away. At noon there wasnt anybody to be seen near the front door of the commander. In the house there was a dead silence. In the afternoon, the court martial already assembled for its first session in Goltsteins house. It consisted of three persons: captain Joachim von Goltstein and his lieutenants Pieter Buyskens and Willem Velthuisen van der Zee. Father Vinck was brought up before the court. There stood already the lawyer who had been assigned to him for his defence, mr Jean Kirchhoffs from Aachen. The companion of Vinck, brother Eligius Olchowicz, was going to act as his own witness for the defence. The commander of the city opened the session, and began to pronounce both the accusation and the requisitory: Although he didnt even dare to look at the suspected anymore, he accused him of treason. The well known Maastricht brewer Lansmans had informed the guardian about his treacherous plans during confession, but the confessor didnt inform the government of the city. He demanded that the suspected be put to death with an instrument to be fixed. Mr Kirchhoffs disputed the authority of the court, because the prince-bishop of Liege didnt have any part in it. Goltstein answered that affairs of war were reserved to the States General of the Dutch Republic. The counsel put forward his client wasnt a subject of this Dutch Republic, but the captain replied all Maastricht inhabitants should be considered subjects of the Republic in the turbulent times of war. Now brother Eligius came proudly forward. He claimed his guardian had a good reputation. Furthermore, as a Catholic priest he was subject to the secret of the confessional. This explanation made the president of the court martial furious. He gasped for breath and reddened, coughing loudly, while the two lieutenants were tapping on his back with open hands. He looked at the brother, scowling. After a glass of water and a few minutes of breathing space, he said: If we hadnt discovered the plans of the treason, just by chance, some fifteen thousand souls would have perished. Father Vinck rose up. He spread his hands. I think that number is grossly exaggerated, he said. Or else the souls of all residents of Maastricht would have been in danger. But even if there were three times as many, I still could not tell tales out of confession. Lieutenant Pieter Buyskens, who didnt have any knowledge of the Catholic religion, was genuinely indignant. He first looked at his two colleagues of the court martial, and then at the priest who was standing his trial, and said in a trembling voice: Rascal, you should be quartered! Then take eight horses, said the father quietly. For I will stand firm. Now lieutenant Velthuisen began to speak. He reminded the father of the fact scouts had come across him in the fields near Heugem with an obligation to the value of Lansmans reward for his work as Judas. Perhaps he himself was the Pharisee who was about to bring the pieces of silver to the betrayer of Christ? Vincks counsel was about to object against the suggestive interrogation, but his client began to speak himself: We are not discussing the motives of brewer Lansmans. Neither can you know what sort of transaction Mziress obligation was intended for. However, I am not in any way allied to the fallen apostle Judas, but on the contrary to the apostle Peter whom Jesus Christ appointed his substitute on the earth. The king of Spain is also an ally of Peters successor, the pope in Rome. But you are allied to the perfidious heretics Luther and Calvin. The counsel of the Franciscan shook his head and looked sorrowful, and the companion began staring at an ornament on the wall. Goltstein grinned, and asked: Do you want to clear yourself with an appeal to the antichrist? They heard the noise of breaking glass. A gust of wind entered through the broken pane. On the floor there was a big stone. The commander ran to the window and saw a man running away in the distance. He shouted to the guard before his house he should seize the villain by the collar. The session was postponed until further notice. Within an hour, the guard returned and said the stone thrower had escaped. Father Vinck was brought to a guestroom in the house of the commander. There were a bed, a table with a chair, and an empty cupboard. On the plank floor there was a carpet. A servant came to bring a jug of water and a towel. Outside the room, a soldier stood guard. The father now had plenty of time to reflect upon his situation. Fortunately, he knew which things were worth thinking about, and which were not. For he had done the spiritual exercises of Saint Ignatius of Loyola more than once. Ignatius had learnt to discern between good and evil spirits in his own life. On his sickbed in Loyola he dreamt of warlike deeds and amorous adventures. At first he enjoyed toying with these thoughts, but in the long run they only made him feel empty and bored. But whenever he thought of a life in the service of God, these ideas would pervade him for a long time and keep him in high spirits. Whoever compares his life with the life of Jesus in the Gospel, will always be moved. So the father reflected upon the beatitudes, the parables, the miracles, the conversations and the passion of Christ. The Resurrection and the Ascension and the sending of the apostles filled him with joy. He didnt find it hard to resist the temptations which the devil was laying before him. There came to him a lascivious girl with wine and venison, but he sent her away. He asked the guard to bring him a slice of dry bread. After the meal he continued his reflections: The Counter-Reformatie had brought forth some great minds in Spain. Besides Saint Ignatius came to the fore people like Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross. The Minorite knew Santa Teresa would stand by him when he should be tortured. The doctor of the Church had entirely rendered herself to Gods will. Felled by malaria, in the long run she learnt how to endure the pain with resignation and even with joy. Together with San Juan de la Cruz she reformed the Carmelite convents who had strayed too far on the broad way of wordly pleasures. San Juan taught people should first give up everything on the earth so they could then gain all in heaven. This is not the same thing as ascetism, because ascetism is trying to reach heaven by exercise. In ascetism people forget its Gods mercy that brings them to heaven. You have to open yourself to Gods mercy. Then at a given moment a transformation will take place and the experience of Gods love will break through. You also realize this love has always been present. Contemplation implies receiving this love and this insight. Juan de la Cruz sought for images to express this: for example, the block of wood that at first only glows in the fire and will later on eject flames itself. To receive Gods mercy, the Franciscan in the guestroom recited Hail Marys, with the rosary he was carrying in his left sleeve. This way he calmed down entirely. Thereafter he recited a psalm from the bible he was carrying in his right sleeve. It was a psalm of David, who had fled from Saul into a cave: I cry out to God Most High, to God, who vindicates me. He sends help from heaven and saves me, rebuking those who pursue me. God sends forth his love and his faithfulness. I am in the midst of lions; I am forced to dwell among ravenous beasts men whose teeth are spears and arrows, whose tongues are sharp swords. They spread a net before my feet I was bowed down in distress. They dug a pit in my path but they have fallen into it themselves. Be exalted, O God, above the heavens; let your glory be over all the earth. My heart is firmly bent on singing and playing the harp. Knelt down next his bed, father Vinck fell asleep. Even the cries of protesters on the street didnt awaken him. After a couple of hours, Goltstein came to take a look. Together with the guard, he laid down the ordained guest on his bed. Early in the morning, the munk woke up for the matins. He rose up, as usually, and noticed that someone had locked the door of his room. Stella Maris Star of the Sea  This is the statue of mercy of Virgin Mary, Star of the Sea, which the Franciscan Friars preserved and venerated in their old church until they were banned from Maastricht after the 1638 treachery. CHAPTER 5 If March gives thunder, snow in May is no wonder, says the almanac. Thunder broke the dead silence. Black clouds poured rain over the streets. Heaven protested against the detention of father Vinck. People on wooden shoes forced their way through the mud. Heavy gusts of wind made the slender tower of Saint Johns church tremble, so the minister angrily stopped praising the Lord. The Maastricht residents were expecting a chilly spring. Indeed, the hearts of the States regents were cold, and wouldnt warm up easily. Whenever a little ray of sunshine was peeping through the clouds, people ran into the streets for to do their errands. Passers-by heard horrible cries coming from the dwelling house of commander Goltstein. They clenched their fists, but didnt dare to defy the government. The beloved guardian of the Minorites was being tortured. Were the torturers blinded by rage or drunk? An old man trudged slowly past the house. The guards didnt realize he could have a good sense of hearing. But this was the case, and the old man heard someone say loudly and clearly: We are going to strip off your skin, so your organs will be exposed. That would be a fine example of the art of skinning. But you never passed the masters test of the guild of tanners. We will burn your tongue out of your mouth. Then you should have to put ten buckets full of water next me first, for I would spit fire like a dragon, and this house is very inflammable. If you sing a more humble tune, we will slow down. Take your time. I look forward to heaven, but need not get it at once. The aged passer-by had only passed half of the house, and stood still to rest. He bent down to take a stone out of one of his clogs, and didnt miss a single word of what they were saying inside the house: Father Vinck, we will make you a proposal. I am open to any proposal thats honest and sensible. If you tell us which role the Jesuits Boddens, Pasman and Nottin are playing in the plot, we wont skin you alive. Thats not honest nor sensible. Furthermore, I dont know which plot you are talking about, so I dont know if they are partaking, either. Lansmans said he came out of Saint Nicholas church, three weeks ago, together with father Pasman, and asked him when the city would be free again. Father Pasman had aswered the point of time depended on Gods will. Perhaps they meant: free of pestilence? You dont want to maintain that rector Boddens and the other Jesuits didnt know anything about the betrayal? I dont want to maintain anything. Silence means consent. Do you know friar Nottin? Yes. Thats the charming porter of the convent in the broad street. He is an amateur of flora and fauna, and is clever with his hands. He is out of the city quite often, so he may be acting as a courier between the fortress at Navagne and the plotters in Maastricht. Your own scouts are out of the city at least as often. Now the old man had been lingering next the house of Goltstein a bit too long. The guard found it annoying the old fellow kept counting grains of sand so long. He stepped up to him, and kicked against his posteriors. The old man began moaning and looking around, all confused. He slowly began to move, and stumbled forward. He heard a long cry coming from the house. Did the torturers put the thumbscrews on poor father Vinck? The thumbscrews were used quite often, not to find the truth, but to force a suspect to plead guilty. Goltstein had delegated the painful examination of father Vinck to a couple of subordinates who were known for being bullies. They were allowed to go on till the suspect was almost dead, but not further. There was a doctor present, too, who had to stop the torture if the life of the tortured man was clearly in danger. The father lay trembling and twitching on his wooden bed, when the commander came to take a look. They looked at each other with dim eyes, but didnt say anything. The capitain discussed with the two examiners the results of the examination. He learnt the Franciscan didnt accuse the Jesuits of anything, but didnt exculpate them, either. In fact, they couldnt bring enough against Boddens and his companions. However, there would not shortly be a better occasion to clap the three followers of Saint Ignatius under lock and key. Bouillon was on his way to Sedan. So the duke couldnt use his influence right now to help the rector. Yet Goltstein kept lingering longer than a week. He preferred to wait until the people of Maastricht would become less rebellious. His strategy wasnt a great success. Although the minds of the people were distracted by storm and fire, and heavy showers of rain fell from heaven every now and then, patrols had to chase away a group of demonstrators twice, and run after saboteurs thrice. On the twelfth of March, a platoon of twenty soldiers, whose leader was lieutenant Schuyten, marched to the convent along the broad street. The lieutenant pulled the bell, and entered with five adjutants, while the others stood guard outside. Friar Philip Nottin was the porter. But they didnt recognize him, for he had cut his beard and didnt match the description any longer. He kindly asked the uninvited guests whom they wished to talk with and whether they wished to put off their mantles. Get us father Pasman and friar Nottin and rector Boddens, bawled the officer. But the friar was not foolish. He did take fright for a moment, but recovered himself almost immediately. He firmly intended to take his guests in a roundabout way outside again, and to give his colleagues a hint to make themselves scarce. Please, follow me, gentlemen, he said, making a showy gesture. He guided them through the passages, while singing loudly: Exsurgat Deus, et dissipentur inimici eius et fugiant qui oderunt eum a facie eius. This means: Let God arise, and let his enemies scatter and fly from his face. The friar emphasized fugiant let them fly. However, father Gerardus Pasman in his own cell was lost in an other psalm. He had an impatient nature, and ran into the passage in order to silence the noisemaker. In the very act, he bumped against friar Giulielmus van Meteren. Pardon me, father Pasman, said the friar who was lying on the ground. Lieutenant Schuyten heard the name of father Pasman and arrested him immediately, in the name of the States General of the United Netherlands. Why?, asked father Gerardus. Is it because I ran down friar van Meteren? Or is it because I wanted to storm at friar Nottin? The lieutenant didnt answer, but now he also arrested Nottin, whose name Pasman had just now pronounced, accusing him of betraying the Dutch government. I acted as a trustworthy porter, said friar Philippus. I admitted the servants of the Dutch government to this convent, even though it is exempt and therefore under the direct jurisdiction of the pope. Jan Schuyten shrugged his shoulders, and pressed his forefinger against the chest of friar Giulielmus. Take me to rector Boddens, he commanded grumpily. The rector came walking along at that very moment. The soldiers and the friars looked up at the tall stature who was striding towards them. Rector Boddens?, asked lieutenant Schuyten. Thats me, answered the rector. I arrest you in the name of Leave it at that, said the Jesuit. Im holding myself at your disposal. Jan Schuyten and his platoon escorted the three arrested persons to the Dinghouse. Far away, there was the strange sound of a canon in two voices. However, nobody saw the singers. The three Jesuits in the cellar of the Dinghouse got practical lessons about how to use a rack or a thumbscrew. Only Nottin was interested. The rector was clearly thinking about something else. Pasman turned as pale as chalk. The three of them were locked up together in one cell. There was just light enough to know the hour of the day approximately. Furthermore, they got at fixed hours a scanty meal of water and bread. Father rector, in concert with his two colleagues, made a time-table for sleeping and being awake in turns, because there was only one wooden bed. They also made a special time-table for praying, reading the bible, and being silent. Nottin proposed they would practise gymnastics before every meal. After three nights and days, father Pasman was taken out of the cell early in the morning for closer examination. The poor fellow said goodbye to his two cell mates, and shambled away with the guard who had come to pick him up. The guard led Pasman before Goltstein. The commander looked at the Jesuit with a mixture of indifference and irony. You resemble Jesus Christ a bit, he said, mockingly. But some voice deep inside warned him, and he turned as red as a beet. I hope I can bear comparison with Christ to some degree, answered the father. But then you must be Pontius Pilate. Goltstein nodded. He was aware of his duty to demonstrate the superiority of Calvinism by his methods of interrogation. If these damned Jesuits set about with tricks, he could set some of his own tricks against it. He began fishing in troubled waters. Why did you want to give the good city of Maastricht away to the Spaniards in the fortress at Navagne?, he tried. I dont know what you mean, stammered father Gerardus. And I speak the truth. Quid enim veritas?, said Goltstein. - What is truth?. He couldnt abstain from quoting the Gospel he had been spoonfeeded with. When he realized he was evoking the image of the Roman governor again, he gnashed his teeth. Father Gerardus Pasman relaxed. Goltsteins methods of interrogation didnt match those of the Inquisition. Lavabo manus meas inter innocentes, he said with a big smile. I will wash my hands in innocency. The captain bit his lips. He had to manage this differently. He whispered something in the right ear of the guard. A bit later on, this man entered with a thumbscrew and a nail puller. Pater Pasman swallowed a lump in his throat. He didnt fancy a manicure. What kind of relations were existing between friar Nottin and brewer Jan Lansmans?, tried the examinator, while playing with the nail puller. There were almost no relations at all, protested father Pasman. He shrugged his shoulders. Once I saw Nottin enter the Half Moon. But how many people didnt enter the Half Moon yet? And once I talked with him when he had just come back from Vis. He said there would be an attack on the city. But half the city talked in a like spirit. In a like spirit?, said the captain, scornfully. Did you study spiritology? Ecclesiastical law, answered the father. And your rector Bodders, tried the captain, fishing for information. What did he study? Boddens, corrected the prisoner. He studied a lot. What? Spanish? Ethics? Rhetorics? Metaphysics? The art of fortification? This last one he didnt study, I think. Why then did he tell you about the little gate? Which little gate? The little gate of heaven? He often told us about the gate of heaven. And did he tell you about the little gate of hell near the house of Lansmans? Do you mean the Hellgate? Thats quite possible. Aha! I kindly thank you for the information. Now it was Boddens turn. Two guards brought the rector before Joachim von Goltstein. The captain was still thinking. Meanwhile, he was trimming his own fingernails with a nail puller. "Do you want to have your nails cut?", he asked the Jesuit. Let me see them. The guards pulled the hands of the prisoner forward, so the commander could see them. They looked neat, but Goltstein didnt like them. Ill pull them off your fingers, he muttered. Unless youll draw my attention to something more interesting. Did you talk with colonel Mzires recently? I warn you I will later on withdraw all I confess under torture or threatening with torture. Well, as for your question: the answer is no. The last time I talked with the colonel was at the new years reception in Brussels. We only exchanged the usual compliments. Tell me what orders the Spanish government gave you. On behalf of the Spanish government, I have to maintain the diplomatic relations with the Dutch government in the Hague, especially with respect to those matters that are important for Maastricht. Which things are holding your attention at the moment? Especially those concerning the maintenance and development of the convents. In France there are a lot of youths who want to become a monk or nun in a Maastricht convent. We should set bounds to that!, roared the commander. Im glad you remind me of it! The States General are raising objections, too, answered the rector. But youll agree the monks and nuns are doing good work when they are nursing the patients of pestilence. I guess you would patch up sick donkeys and teach them Latin, only to provide the pope with fresh soldiers, wouldnt you? The rector didnt say a word. After a few minutes of silence, the commander grew impatient. He gestured to the guard he should bring the prisoner back to his cell. The interrogation had made Goltsteins head ache. He didnt feel like examining friar Nottin next. The friar would certainly digress on crickets and corn roses. A messanger brought a message from Lansmans. From the attic in the little tower of the Dinghouse where Goltstein was in session, he let the commander know something had entered his mind that might interest him. Apparently, the brewer wanted to appear as a loyal subject. Captain Goltstein jumped up. He buckled on the belt wherein his sword was, got into his red mantle, and put on his velvet hat. He delegated the supervision of the Jesuits to the messenger, lieutenant Pieter Kreek, and hastened upstairs. He arrived at the door of the attic, gasping for breath, and stayed there for some minutes to recover. Then he adjusted his clothes, and prepared to step in as if he were the archangel Gabriel himself. But he had forgotten to bring the key of the attic. It lasted another quarter of an hour before he was standing solemnly before Jan Lansmans. The commander asked in a grumpy voice what message the brewer wished to communicate. Lansmans explained that Mzires had asked him to buy the cottage next the Half Moon, and rent it to a complice. He first offered it to a canon of Our Ladys church, chaplain Toussaint Sylvius, because priests were exempt from quartering. But the chaplain didnt take the offer. Next Wait a bit!, interrupted the commander. This Toussaint Sylvius should have informed us! Where can I find him? You may arrest him when he is visiting his old father in the House of the Twelve Apostles, suggested the brewer officiously. I think the people of this old mens house know the points of time at which he uses to visit his father. This turned out to be the case. On the thirteenth of March, a platoon of soldiers invaded the home of the oldies. These were so frightened they dropped their playing cards. The chaplain was carried off a prisoner. Did Our Lord Jesus approve of father Vinck? The reverend Ludovicus couldnt picture it. Yet it was possible. Calvin once said there are brethren of the faith among the papists, although they be weak brethren. Many are invited, but few chosen. The clergyman advised Vinck to shave off his beard, to humble himself before God. But the monk preferred to keep his beard, and his habit and his sandals and his tonsure. If Ludovicus would advise him to walk on his hands, or to crow like a rooster, he wouldnt follow the advise, either. The guardian thought a fine appearance didnt suit him. He was a mendicant friar, and a friend of the poor. Unlike the protestant minister, he knew the trouble people experience to get into heaven is inversely proportionate to their wealth. For riches isnt a sign of being chosen, but poverty is. Tomorrow was Passion Sunday. Then all crucifixes in the churches would be covered with a purple veil. On this day the Gospel says: In illo tempore In that time, Jesus said to the multitude of the Jews: Which one of you convicts me of sin? If I tell the truth, why do you not believe me? Whoever is of God hears the words of God. The reason why you do not hear them is that you are not of God. The Jews answered him: Are we not right in saying that you are a Samaritan and have a demon? Jesus answered: I do not have a demon, but I honour my Father, and you dishonour me. Yet I do not seek my own glory; there is One who seeks it, and He is the judge. Truly, truly, I say to you, if anyone keeps my word, he will never see death. Of course, a Franciscan cant measure himself with the Lord Jesus. Yet he wants to be of God. Whoever accuses him of treason, has to examine first if he himself isnt a Pharisee. The superior of the Minorite friars wished to honour Christ by dedicating his passion to God like Jesus did. He was going to receive ample opportunity to do that. The private torture room in the dwelling of commander Goltstein had been equipped with the most modern instruments of torture: he had a thumb screw, a rack, various little whips, and a nail puller. However, the commanders secretary, corporal Hofmeijer, and his friend, sluggard Sleussel, didnt think the assortment would do. Jean Sleussel was a Maastricht resident of Liege nativity. His mother had come from Herstal to the city as a play girl for the garrison. He had grown up among skinners and tanners, and knew an instrument for to strip off the skin of father Vinck. He proudly turned up with it to show it to his companion. Yes!, beamed Hofmeijer. Thats exactly what we need. We have the permission of the commander, said Sleussel. On the condition a surgeon will be present to indicate the beginning and the end of the torture. Er I followed in the army that beginners course of surgery, didnt I?, said Hofmeijer. So we can begin the torture immediately. Well stop as soon as his life is in danger, or when hes about to confess. Now they looked at their victim for the first time. The father was clearly very calm, and he looked at the sinners with pastoral compassion. I pray God forgive you, he said. Because you dont know what you are doing. The two rascals looked at each other. They shrugged their shoulders at the same time. They thought they knew exactly what they were doing. Hofmeijer took the right arm of the father, and Sleussel cut off a piece of skin with his razor sharp skinners knife. The guardian was bleeding like a pig. Father!, he moaned. Into your hands I commit my spirit. Admit you committed treason!, said Hofmeijer in an icy voice. I admit I wronged my fellow men, answered the mendicant friar. The two criminals stopped the torture. This was a full confession. Hofmeijer took care of the wound, whilst the father softly sang the Te Deum. Henceforth, the guardian kept singing night and day, but never loudly. Because he was a guest in the house of the commander of the city, who didnt like gregorian chants. Goltstein would rather forget that one of the Fratres Minores was living under his own roof. But he was responsible for the well-being of the prisoner, and couldnt allow him to escape. He listened at the door of the guests room every now and then. What he heard made him confused. The chants of Alma Mater, Salve Regina and Magnificat had a strange effect on his mind, as if these hymns took him back to his childhood. Yet he heard them for the first time, as far as he could trace. He did know the hymn Lauda Jerusalem, but not in this form and melody. One day, the father in the guestroom was singing a marching song: Mitte Confitte. Then the commander had enough of it. He decided he wouldnt listen for three days. On the third day, a dazed servant came to tell him the bird had flown. There was only a night shirt on his bed. The window was open. Obviously, father Vinck had let himself down from the window, but without a rope. Then his feet would stay about a meter above the ground. Goltstein and a guard went in search of foot prints in the loose earth. There werent any. Had the father fled by flying like a bird? In that case he could have got at the other side of the wall, which was as high as a man. If he walked along the wall around the garden of the Franciscans, he would arrive at the little tower where the second circumvallation of the city split from the first one. Both Dutchmen hastened to the little tower by a roundabout way, with a ladder. There they found the fugitive, fast asleep. The commander beckoned to the guard, and the guard woke up the sleeper. Why do you sleep here on the hard ground?, asked Goltstein. Vinck looked at the captain and his adjutant, drowsily. The adjutant repeated the question. There was a twinkle in the eyes of father Vinck. As a child, I dreamt of having a tower of my own, he answered. He rose up, and from the little window of the tower he pensively looked at the round bastion called The Three Doves. It was as if he had a presentiment that his name would henceforth stay connected with the little tower and the round bastion. We can detain you here, if you wish, proposed the commander. But it would be a long walk for the chamber servant. The monk agreed upon going back to his guestroom in the house of his Dutch friend. He didnt want to put him to a lot of work. In the next few months, the friend showed his gratitude in a singular way. Whenever the father received his water and bread, Goltstein sat down cheerfully next his guest, bringing his own plate of food. On this plate there was usually something better than only water and bread: like lamb, wine, fruit and cheese. Now and then, the host offered one little grape or a small piece of cheese to the Minorite Friar, but the friar begged excuse and declined the offer. What did they discuss during the meals? The commander told about spring: the apple trees were blooming, the meadows were full of flowers of many colors. The father expressed his gladness about it: this way, it was as if he, too, could experience the spring. He was also grateful for the scarecrows that had been set around the house for to safeguard the reverend guest against the twittering birds that could disturb him during his meditations. This spring passed by very slowly ... On the sixth of June, someone knocked at the door of the guestroom at peep of day, which was one hour earlier than usual. What was up? An unknown man entered. He was tall and dignified, and wore a wig. The man didnt look at father Vinck. He unfolded a parchment letter, and began to read it aloud. It was the sentence of death. The Franciscan was glad he would go to heaven soon. He embraced the messenger. How beautiful are the lips of him who brings glad tidings ... In the wake of the failed messenger of disaster, the reverend Ludovicus had come as well. He was waiting in the passage, with a bible full of consolations. The messenger came out of the guestroom, still a bit confused by the embrace. Ludovicus adjusted his black mantle. He cleared his throat, and entered. He offered the condemned papist the reformed spiritual assistance with which he could free himself from the claws of the devil: in short, he only had to turn to Christ the Saviour with a contrite heart. The father explained he was feeling no contrition but gladness in his heart, because he would go to heaven soon. He wished to prepare for heaven like people are preparing for a feast: the confession would be his bath, and the extreme unction would be his perfume. Please, could the reverend see to it that one of his colleagues, preferably father Bernardus Pompen, would be allowed to visit him today? Ludovicus answered he was a good reformed minister, so he would act in the interest of the condemned. Popish detours did not serve anyones interests, so the prisoner should just turn to the Lord Jesus. Therefore, no Catholic priests could be admitted. Father Vinck bent his head and resigned. His conscience was clear, so he didnt really need a confession or unction. He could rely on Our Lord indeed. The minister proposed they would pray the Lords Prayer together. The Franciscan assented gladly. They were able to say the prayer together, because the Catholic version was almost the same as the Heidelberg version. But Ludovicus added one sentence: For Thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen, said the father. The two seekers of God shook hands. Now the minister asked in an anxious voice if the father was being treated well, and the prisoner in his turn inquired what the minister recently had been busy with. I led a funeral yesterday, communicated Ludovicus. I think you know the text: I am the resurrection and the life. Its in the Gospel according to John, said Vinck. Chapter eleven, verse twentifive, supplied the other. The Lord said this after resuscitating Lazarus, talking with Lazarus sister Marta. I knew He was talking with Marta. However, as for knowledge of the Bible, your erudition exceeds mine. They exchanged some more compliments. The minister promised he would return tomorrow, in good time, so he could help the condemned with the travel to heaven. He left the room, striding backwards and nervously rubbing his hands. The monk took a pause to digest the provided spiritual assistance. It made him think of a meal of fish he once ate in Antwerp, which had been difficult to digest. After an hour he was fit enough to sing a psalm: Rorate caeli desuper, et nubes pluant Iustum - Shower, O heavens, from above, and let the skies rain down righteousness. Consolamini, consolamini, popule meus: cito veniet salus tua Be comforted, my people, your salvation shall come soon. Quare moerore consumeris, quia innovavit te dolor? - why will you waste away in sadness? why has sorrow seized you? Salvabo te, noli timere: ego enim sum Dominus Deus tuus, Sanctus Israel, Redemptor tuus Dont fear, because I will save you: for I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Redeemer. The day passed slowly. The Franciscan enjoyed his last supper alone, since the commander was unable to come thank to God. He kept praying the rosary until sunset, reflecting upon, respectively, its joyful, sorrowful and glorious mysteries. He fell asleep, and slept quietly until it was time for the matins. That was at sunrise. He recited the hours loudly, so the guard came to ask why he was making such strange sounds. However, it was too late to explain this. The minister entered, rubbing his hands, and the headsman followed in his wake. This man presented himself as Marten Hackbijl. He wore a bag over his head, so nobody could see his countenance. There were two looking holes in the bag, and he carried a big axe. He had caused many heads to roll over the ground, and he was already rather skilful. Behind the headsman there was a young lad, who was carelessly carrying a large basket. Was it his son? Practice makes perfect! The minister proposed they would go now. He took father Vinck by the arm. They meekly followed the executioner to the market place, where the beheading was to be executed. There were already many people along the streets, but nobody made any sound. However, the birds kept singing as if there wasnt going on something important. Aurora, the red sky of morning, dispelled the twilight. At the corner of the mints street and the jews street there was standing an old friend of father Vinck: chaplain Jacobus van der Walle, who belonged to the church of Saint Nicholas. Was he praying his breviary? But what he held in his hands wasnt a breviary. It was a missal. At the moment the minister and his prisoner went past the priest, they clearly heard him say: Ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. And he made the sign of the cross over the condemned. To the annoyance of Ludovicus, Vinck prayed aloud an act of contrition. Now was this real repentance, or was it a magic formula with which the Catholics wanted to force the Lord Jesus to forgive them? The guardian recited the prayer so attentively it made the minister hesitate. Perhaps the repentance was really upright. But what did the father repent of? Was he pleading guilty? Further up the mints street there was standing mrs Sleussel. Father Vinck did know her quite too well. Her husband had set out to skin him alive. She herself had offered him her body more than once, both inside and outside the confessional box. The father always had declined her avances, and apparently she was going to take revenge for it right now. She had a bucket in her hands. The guardian had a presentiment she wanted to pour the contents of it over him. The minister thought the same. He stepped short, and gestured to the leader of the escort he should arrest the woman. Mrs Sleussel took fright. She had not expected they would be so alert. She put down the bucket. When the soldiers were almost next to her, she shrunk together. She put a hand on her breast, which was hurting. She was carried off a prisoner. The reverend Ludovicus and his traveler to heaven completed the leaden march to the place of the execution. On the market place, a scaffold had been built. There was a block of wood on it, whereon the condemned had to lay his head. Next the block, there were three chairs: one for Goltstein, one for Ludovicus, and one for the representative of the States General. The commander and the witnesses were waiting next to the scaffold. They welcomed the minister, and feigned they didnt see the father. On a wagon were standing the condemned persons who were going to be executed together with father Vinck: the noble Delacourt in his nightwear, bricklayer Caters with his moustache, brewer Lansmans with his fat belly, and friar Nottin with a stubby beard. Further away, behind low fences, were the Maastricht people, kept under control by half a battalion of soldiers. The sun was hiding up behind dark clouds. The Dutch had to press on with the executions, because the sky was clearly predicting buckets of rain. A black crow nestled to the ridge of the cloth hall. A dog walked nervously to the newly erected construction. He pulled up a hind paw, and peed against the foundations of the scaffold. The reverend Ludovicus was the first who climbed the scaffold, holding the bible in his right hand. Was he going to preach? He didnt often have so many listeners. However, his bass voice didnt carry far enough. Nobody would be able to hear him. From the scaffold he beckoned to a boy who was standing next commander Goltstein. The lad bent down. Now people could see he had brought a box full of bibles. He distributed the booklets among the public. The bookmarkers were at Saint Pauls letter to the Romans, the thirteenth chapter. The listeners could only hear a bit of the lecture: Let everyone be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God. ... Therefore whoever resists authority has opposed the ordinance of God and they will receive condemnation upon themselves But if you do wrong, be afraid, for rulers do not bear the sword for no reason. They are Gods servants, and avengers who carry out Gods wrath on the wrongdoer.... At this moment, from far away there sounded a thunder as if there was going to break out a thunderstorm. The headsman and his companions looked at the sky, where the sun was just then emerging from its hiding place behind the clouds. They heard the swelling sounds of wind and rain. But it wasnt real The sound was coming from behind the fences. A group of men, dressed in black, was imitating the sounds of wind and thunder and rain with their voices and their feet. After a while, the noise became deafening. The commander wanted to put an end to it. But the garrison was powerless. If they set out to arrest these people, the execution that was about to begin would degenerate into a chaos What could they best do? Go on with the execution? Goltstein and Ludovicus consulted the representative of the States General. They decided to wait a bit longer. It became an act of patience The black choir began humming a series of tear jerkers. That is to say: they humped at the top of their voices, but without pronouncing the words. It is rumoured they rendered the following songs: I cant but mourn always, Although the times, Is it for you I have to, I cant hold off, O, cruel fate, Hurted, Sweet love, we have to part, All my thinking, O, consolation, Weve come along here. The commander of the city had enough of it. He roared from the scaffold they had to go on with the public execution. Somewhere a woman shouted again. Finally, it became deadly quiet The noble Delacourt was the first to be beheaded. He was blindfolded, and brought upon the platform. The reverend Ludovicus was already awaiting him, rubbing his hands. Are you ready to appear before your Creator?, asked the minister, sticking to the point, and without looking at the noble. Quest ce que vous dites, eh ?, the noble asked grumpily, looking at the man who wanted to be his spiritual guide. Je nentends point le nerlandais. The minister turned to the public. He asked in a breaking voice if somebody could come and translate everything. A little wifey stepped forward from the public. It was Agnes Bourien, who was about to be the widow of Delacourt. She raised her hand. Are you of the reformed religion?, asked Ludovicus. Apparently, he didnt know her. Delacourts wife thought quickly. This was an unexpected occasion. Could she save her husband? To begin with, she had to gain the ministers confidence. She answered in almost a bass voice, so her husband could know she was acting. No, she had been educated in the Catholic religion. However, now she wished to free herself from it. Could the reverend please provide her with the necessary information? The minister bowed courteously to the lady, who climbed the scaffold. But Goltstein was in a hurry. He gestured the executioner should do his work. The headsman seized the noble, and laid him down in the appropiate position, with the head on the block. Delacourt shouted loudly Jsus, je taime! Agnes saw from only too close how Marten Hackbijl swung the axe and cut her husbands head from the trunk. She hid her face in her hands, and sobbed A young sergeant brought her back to her place behind the fences. Now the turn was to brewer Lansmans. The commander called his name, and they took the brewer upon the platform. Jan Lansmans thought this was strange. He voluntarily cooperated in the research, didnt he? He was to receive pardon at the very last moment, wasnt he? But then his turn should be the last of all. He tried to look into the eyes of commander Joachim von Goltstein, in vain. Hed better have turned to God instead! The brewer panicked. He desperately resisted when they blindfolded him. However, the headsman was much stronger. Within a few seconds, the head of the condemned rolled into the basket, next the head of Delacourt. The public watched it, all flabbergasted Lenart Caters, commanded Goltstein. The two heads in the basket were staring at him, as if they were angry with him. The bricklayer shook off his guards, and climbed the scaffold all alone. He looked at the blue sky above him for a moment, and knelt down before the chopping block. Dont delay!, he bravely said. The headsman nodded. He looked where exactly he had to chop. But he didnt use his full strength. He had to chop again. The damaged head of Caters rolled into the basket next the other two, and his slanting mouth showed his discontent. Friar Nottin!, sounded the commander. Can I help you?, asked the Jesuit, surprised. He looked up from the book about insects he had been lost in. Goltstein swallowed a lump in his throat. Now they blindfolded the beloved porter of the broad street convent. From the rows of spectators resounded curses and slogans. Many cried French curses like millard or nom de Dieu. Some shouted in Latin: vivat Maastricht. The exclamatations werent orchestrated this time, but spontaneous. It lasted a long time before the head of the monk was lying on the chopping block. But then, a moment later on, this head rolled next the other ones in the basket. One more hat, er head, muttered Goltstein. He started. Was he beginning to jabber in Maastricht dialect? He consulted Ludovicus, whispering. The minister called for father Vinck and kindly asked him to climb the scaffold, as if he wanted to confer with him, like colleagues. The monk climbed the stairs to the platform. He walked to the reverend Ludovicus with an interested face, and seized with two hands the right hand of the minister. Do you already have some information about mrs Sleussel?, he asked. I mean this woman who collapsed in the mint street. Has she recovered yet? Ludovicus consulted Goltstein. The commander sent a soldier to find out how the condition of the woman was now. The people, who had been very inquiet, were becoming as still as mice after some minutes. They thought the beloved monk might get reprieve. After a quarter of an hour, the courier returned. He talked in a whisper to Goltstein, and then to Vinck and Ludovicus. The public saw how the father bowed his head and made the sign of the cross. Through the rows of the public now spread the rumour the infamous wife of Sleussel was dead and going to hell. Who is this mrs Sleussel?, asked the commander, curiously. It seemed he thought now the execution could wait. Do you know Mary Magdalene from the bible?, answered the father. Well, in a sense mrs Sleussel is the opposite. The headsman and his helper came to listen. The monk explained mrs Sleussel as a child had been receptive to religion. But Satan had brought her in the wrong entourage. People made her think she would be happy if she gave her body to certain rich men. She couldnt free herself from these surroundings, and desperately blamed God and the Church. She wanted to take revenge on Jesus, but was so confused she tried to hurt Him by hurting the guardian of the Maastricht Franciscans. I think I understand, said Marten Hackbijl. May Magdalene felt strengthened by Jesus, and wanted to show Him her love. Mts Sleussel, however, was disappointed about Jesus, and wished to hurt Him. Yes, said father Vinck, but realize hatred is also a kind of love. In heaven hereafter, all things will be restaured in Christ. The reverend Ludovicus stepped backward. He realized he couldnt help here. This monk was blindly relying on his Saviour. Then he probably was going to be saved. They probably were going to assign him a place in heaven between some holy innocent children. There he would best feel at home anyway. Can we go on?, asked the commander of the city. He beckoned to the headsman. This man gently guided father Vinck to his place before the chopping block. The four heads in the basket were as white as snow and as red as poppies. The priest prayed in silence. He united his own suffering with Jesus passion, although he realized this one chop with an axe was nothing compared to the cross that Jesus had carried. He also prayed that the Protestants would repent and be converted, especially the gentlemen who were now putting him to death. A few seconds later on, the head of the monk fell into the basket. It seemed to be looking with sympathy at the heads that were already lying there. The headsman made the sign of the cross with his thumb on his own forehead and on the forehead of his son. Since twenty years he was a good Calvinist, but at moments like this one he simply did what his mother had taught him. From the rows of the spectators sounded a song: first timidly, then ever louder and louder. It was difficult to hear what they were singing. The minister and the commander recognized the melody, as if they had heard it long ago. Perhaps it was an ancient version of the following song: Hear, Mary, to my prayer, and please refuse it not. You gave me once a rosary that kept me close to God. Give me one more crown, sparkling by its own. Give me that sign of love - in heaven here above. The song was gradually transformed into another one, which sounded as follows: Your praise are the angels singing O Mary, we call upon you. Your praise are the spirits singing O Mary, we call upon you. Your praise are the prophets singing O Mary, we call upon you. Hear we are calling you, o mother of God. While the last strophe of this strange song was still sounding far away, the commander consulted with the reverend, and asked him what they should do with the heads. Bury them, thought Ludovicus. But Goltstein didnt agree at all. In the first place, because then they should take care there wouldnt grow a cult from it, and, next, because here he had an excellent occasion to let the Maastricht people know how he would henceforth deal with traitors. He spoke briefly to the lieutenant of the guard, who was standing next the platform, and thereafter to the headsman, who was standing upon it. Marten Hackbijl and his son took the basket with the heads. They carefully carried it off the scaffold. Under escort of a platoon of soldiers, Goltstein walked ahead of the lugubrious procession. They strode through the streets of the mint and the wolf. The spectators behind the fences kept calm, but their faces showed they were brooding on revenge. Next Our Ladys church, the citys priests were standing in full pontificals. They were carrying the beautiful wooden figure of virgin Mary that was usually standing in the church of the Minorites. She seemed to be watching, full of compassion, the five heads that were staring at the sky from the basket. Outside the Hellgate, the beguines and the lepers and the pestilence patients were standing in clean white shirts. They respectfully took off their hats when the procession went by. At the round bastion called The Three Pigeons, two sergeants of the guard received the basket from the executioner and his son. Goltstein gave the headsman a big bag full of money. Some soldiers brought the dad and the son to a coach outside Saint Peters gate. On the round bastion, a row of five pikes had been planted in the earth. The perplexed minister saw how the commander took the heads out of the basket, one at a time, and pierced them at the pikes with force: respectively Claude Delacourt, Jan Lansmans, father Vinck, friar Nottin and Lenart Caters. The five heads kept watching in the direction of the fortress at Navagne. The Spaniards in the fortress went into mourning for the ill-fated outcome. In the chapel of the fortress, they attended a funeral mass. The beheaded bodies had been left behind at the platform. As soon as the procession with the five heads had departed from the market square, some women hurried to the mortal remains. Agnes Delacourt was the first to report to the guard, who was a soldier of the garrison. She asked him whether she could bury her husband. The soldier had got no other orders than to keep guard. It was to be expected he wouldnt grant any request at all. However, the young man didnt think very long. He saw a woman who wished to bury her husband. She had a right to do that. So he allowed her to pass. Agnes had to look around for a while. Her man didnt wear his usual clothes. But she soon recognized the left leg with the birthmark, and smothered it with kisses. The corpse of Lenart Caters was kissed by three young women who claimed him all of them. They soon began to push each other and to pull at each others hairs. The soldier interfered when they began scoffing and spitting. Two Jesuits calmly mounted the platform. They seized the body of friar Nottin by the arms and the ankles, and carried him away. When the guard stopped them, they answered they were going to bury him in the garden of their convent. Two Franciscans wanted to do the same with the corpse of father Vinck. But they werent allowed to. The soldier knew the guardian was a special case. Agnes Delacourt and the three other women now unanimously carried away the dead bodies of the bricklayer and the noble. They brought them to Saint Catharines church to see whether they could be buried there. Nobody cared for brewer Lansmans. The soldiers appointed two volunteers among the public to carry him to Saint Nicholas church. These boys dropped his corpse in a corner of the mint street and ran away. This caused so much tumult that the beheaded body of father Vinck was lying unattended at the platform for some minutes. This was long enough for a run at the corpse. Ten people conquered precious relics: bits of his shroud, hairs, fingers, toes, ears, etc. They wanted to cut off even more parts of the body, but the guard came back just in time. The body snatchers ran away in all directions. In this compromising situation, the guard chose to reconsider his former decision. He now allowed the colleagues of father Vinck to take away his remains. However, at the gate of the convent there was standing a platoon of soldiers which Goltstein had sent there. They confiscated the mortal remains to bury them in a secret place. Rumour has it that the citizens of Maastricht followed them at a distance, and saw the soldiers entering the chapel of Saint Hilary. This way, only the heads of the five executed remained exposed. People tried to get nearer, but the garrison kept them at a distance. Only those who owned a pass to get out of Saint Peters gate, could see the lugubrious heads from far away. But there was a maiden who fooled the soldiers. It was a young lady with falling sickness. Elisabeth Strouven had lovingly nursed her for years. Father Vinck had tried to expel the devils from her body. In the beginning they would come back, but in the end they stayed away. To show her gratitude, she had woven warm underwear for the guardian. He had been very glad with it. The execution had grieved the girl very much. Elisabeth Strouven couldnt stop the flood of tears. She feared the child would put herself to serious problems. But Elisabeth was to be agreeably surprised. The mistress waited until it was dark. She took the black cat of the neighbours and sneaked to the Hellgate with it. There she drew the beast before the feet of the guards. They took fright and confusedly watched the beast run away. In the meantime the girl had slipped through the gate behind them. She hid herself under a bush. After another quarter of an hour, it was dark. The young lady heard the soldiers playing at cards. She quietly walked to the bastion and climbed the stone stairs. And then she kissed the dead head of her reverend mentor. After this act of love she returned to the Hellgate as if she had delivered laundry somewhere. The surprised soldiers of the guard were asking themselves how she had got to the new bulwark. Was there another postern in the city walls near the convent of the Veiled Sisters? The girl passed without looking back, and they let her go. She went to the house of her foster mother straightforwardly. When her pupil arrived at home, Elisabeth Strouven was in the act of burning her diary. She had written too much about father Vinck. It shouldnt end up in the hands of the Dutch. Before long she was going to travel to Brabant. Now she had to make a clean sweep. Elisabeth and her foster child didnt want to talk about what they had been doing. The child kissed the nurse and they went to bed. They both dreamt they were in heaven with the guardian. What do you want to eat as a farewell dinner, father Sylvius? The reverend Ludovicus was standing by his next client in his quality as a spiritual guide, rubbing his hands. The tired chaplain of Our Ladys church looked up from his meditations. He would have preferred the guidance of a colleague from his own chapter. White bread with butter, he answered. After a quarter of an hour, a servant brought a little table. He put a white cloth on it, and a basket with the food. He also offered an omelette, but the old priest didnt want any. However, he did gratefully accept a jug of beer. Lord, bless this meal, prayed the preacher aloud. Amen, said Sylvius. He ate with relish three loaves of white bread, each with a bit of butter. And he emptied the jug of beer ad fundum at one draught. Next, the minister informed him the Lord would lead his faithful sheep to green pastures, where they would lack nothing. The chaplain already knew this tune. Now Ludovicus placed an even bigger gun in position: Isaiah chapter 24, the final judgment of all the nations: From the ends of the earth we hear singing: Glory to the Righteous One. But also: I waste away, I waste away! Woe to me! The treacherous betray! With treachery the treacherous betray! (verse 16). This didnt make an impression, either. The priest only asked for a sheet of parchment, a goose quill and a pot of ink, so he could write a letter of goodbye to his old father in the House of the Twelve Apostles. Someone brought the things he had asked for. The chaplain wrote the following letter: Dear father, how do you do? You know I will be beheaded tomorrow, early in the morning. You also know Im innocent. So theres nothing to fear, and nothing to regret. On the contrary, it will be a feastday. For I will leave this earthly vale of tears, and see God! Father, dont forget to take a spoonful of cod liver oil each day of winter. I know you dont like these modern things, but youd surely be less troubled with winter diseases. We have to cooperate with Gods mercy, even in subordinate matters. In summer you must go outside frequently, but dont let the sun burn you too much. And dont forget to eat fresh fruits and vegetables. Perhaps you think I give you this advice because I dont want to see you soon in heaven. Well, you would be right. We have to thank God for each day He gives us on this earth, even though its sometimes a vale of tears. Remember the waiting time in heaven doesnt last long. Ill have to wait for you for only a short time, and you will soon appear before me again. Then we will both be youths, without any defects. We wont need cod liver oil any longer. So use up the little bottle I gave you, because it would be a pity if we should waste its content. Dear father, pray the rosary for me, then I will do the same for you. I have to finish this letter now, because the ink pot is empty and the parchment is almost full. Farewell, dear father. Your loving son Toussaint. The reverend Ludovicus read the letter with mixed feelings. How could the chaplain be sure he would be saved? These Catholics thought God was a sort of Santa Claus. In fact, they were silly and innocent people. Did he have to bring this letter to the house of the Twelve Apostles? Yes, he had to. He had promised it, didnt he? The condemned had got a pen and a sheet of paper, so he was expecting the letter was going to be delivered. People shouldnt think a Protestant minister would use popish tricks. Furthermore, he could try to convert the old men in the house. Perhaps one or two would see the light. Whilst the preacher was on his way to accomplish his mission, the priest was being led to the torture to be severely examined. The Dutch wanted to investigate whether he could give further information about the Jesuits. Sylvius had bad luck. Commander Goltstein was called away for things more urgent. He left the torture to Hofmeyer and Sleussel. The two police men had chosen to become heretics in order to flout Catholic morality. Sleussel had to square accounts with his father yet, who had called him a girl. Dash it, now he could show he was a man. The butchers son set to work with enthusiasm. Was the chaplain a real man? Why then did he refuse to take these perverse followers of Saint Ignatius to the decapitation block? Was he perverse too? Then his balls had to be cut off! Sleussel went on The chaplain was still digesting most of the bad news. Hofmeyer asked himself whether they should use the thumb screws first. But Sleussel already had the bloody balls of Sylvius in his hands. The two devils took fright. What was the commander going to say? Hed better not know it. Was there a cloth somewhere, and a pair of leather trousers? God had pity on his true servant Sylvius. The man lost conscience, and only awakened next morning, when somebody prodded his chest with a finger. It wasnt easy to make the chaplain rise from his bed. He plodded along heavily to the place of the execution. Hackbijl and son were waiting on the platform all alone. There werent many spectators, like three weeks ago. This ascension took place at the 24-th of June. It was the very day of the anniversary of the duke of Bouillons wife Catherine, and they were celebrating it in Sedan. Of course, the duke had learnt a few things about the tragical events that had occurred in Maastricht during the last few weeks, but he didnt reflect upon it. He was tired of war. He only wanted to be with his family. He thought Goltstein made roll too many heads, he couldnt deny this. But these things had already happened, so they couldnt be changed any more. He had warned the Jesuits personally. Then they probably could save themselves. The duke didnt know his favourite fathers were in big trouble. The letters rector Boddens had sent to him, had gone lost in a mysterious way. Nobody even had informed Bouillon about the existence of the letters. Frederic Maurice de La Tour dAuvergne wasnt only a duke of Bouillon, but he was also a grandson of prince William of Orange. His mother, Elisabeth von Nassau, had educated him in Calvinism. Against the will of his own family, he married in 1634 with a Catholic lady, named Catherine van Wassenaar van Berg. Now their four years old little daughter Elisabeth was swaggering between the distinguished guests at Sedan castle. A lackey announced to the guests an intimate friend had just arrived. It was an old officer with a white moustache. He had once been the steward of an estate of Bouillon. He had brought a porcelain puppet for little Elisabeth. The toddler made a curtsy, and she elegantly said merci, monsieur. She wanted to go to her father, to show him the new trophy. The duke had just left the room to fetch a glass of wine, and was returning into the room. He stumbled over his little daughter. The puppet and the wine fell on the ground. The porcelain head broke off the porcelain body and landed in a red puddle of wine. Now Bouillon suddenly grasped what was happening in Maastricht He lifted Elisabeth and dried her tears. The steward was already putting the head back on the puppet. A lackey cleaned the floor. The duke looked around. Among the guests of the feast there was a captain who had to go to Brussels today. What a convenient coincidence! Bouillon instructed the captain. He should make the governor realize what was happening in Maastricht. The decapitations were violating international laws and implicating an attack on the Catholic Church. The captain was already about to leave, when his general called him back. Emphasize the prosecution of the Jesuits, he ordered. Among the first five victims was a friar Philippe Nottin, the porter of their convent. Alright, this is a past event. God save his soul. But now father Pasman and rector Boddens are going to be beheaded as well. The officer made the duke a bow, and set out for Brussels. He walked straight to the stables and asked the stable master the very best horse. He galoped over the bad roads to Brussels and arrived there during the evening twilight. The reaction of Archduke Ferdinand, the Cardinal-Infante, was a bit reserved. Of course, the Dutch in Maastricht were heretics. However, as long as they were governing the city, they could not be blamed for making short work with traitors. The captain couldnt believe his ears. Was this a son of Philip II, the champion of the counter reformation? Do you really believe rector Boddens is a traitor?, he asked. The governor shook his head. Bouillon was right. He kept thinking about it for a while. He decided a courier should be sent to the Hague, to plead the rectors cause with the stadtholder, prince Frederik Hendrik of Orange, who was an uncle of the duke. The captain proposed he himself would be the courier of this message. Next morning, he was carried to the Hague in a special coach, drawn by four black horses. He entered the palace to hand the stadtholder the sealed letter from the Spanish governor. Alas, the stadtholder couldnt receive him during the next few days. Now the courier gave the letter to the baron who was in charge of the court, and went back to Sedan. This was to cost him dearly. After all the service he had rendered, he was reduced to lieutenant. He should have waited in the Hague until the prince could talk with him. Then rector Boddens would probably have had a chance. Now he had no chance at all At the twentieth of July, both Jesuits, Boddens and Pasman, were escorted to the platform on the market square. They followed Goltstein and Ludovicus without resisting. On the platform there were standing the headsman Hackbijl and his son Louis. The latter had brought two little baskets, with little tops on it. The rector asked the commander whether he was allowed to speak to the public behind the fences. There were about two hundred people standing there. Goltstein looked at the minister, who doubtfully shook his head. But the captain thought he himself was a reasonable man. He thought this must be possible. If only the rector would keep his speech short. Dear people, began father Boddens. Dont believe what they are accusing me of. I only have fought and prayed for the wellbeing of your beloved Maastricht. I was a mediator between the governments in Brussels and the Hague. But I didnt practise deceit He stepped up to the chopping block, and laid his head on it. The headsman swayed the axe, and the head of the rector fell into the basket. The son put the top on it. Now father Pasman was led to the block. The Dutch lingered a bit to learn if he would like to speak too, but he was not able to say a single word. There rolled the head of Pasman. But the boy had put the basket too far from the block, and the head missed the basket. It almost rolled off the platform The crowd shuddered at the sight of it. The baskets with the heads were loaded on a carriage to which a horseman had put a horse. Some soldiers laid the beheaded bodies next the baskets, with a blanket over it. The horse pulled the carriage out of the gate of Saint Peter EPILOGUE From heaven, father Vinck was looking at the whole show on earth. He smiled. He saw so many miracles he couldnt even marvel at the lily. What lily?, you ask. The lily of father Vinck. Rumour has it a white lily would arise from his grave every year. Indeed its appropiate that the immaculate soul of the beheaded Minorite should be represented on earth by a lily. People say somewhere in the marl pits there must still be an image of it. How do you manage to have a lily grow on my grave?, asked Servatius Vinck, looking at Saint Peter. In a natural way, or in a supernatural way? What?, asked the bearer of the key of heaven. Oh, the lily? One moment, please. He turned his face to the Light and sent the question to God. The answer came at once. Modo supernaturali, he said. Is Latin the current language here?, asked the father. He looked like a young god, even though he had chosen to wear his old habit. Latin and classical Greek, was the answer. But we only use the Greek in some hymns of praise and laudatory chants. Are we allowed to speak our good old Maastricht language?, said some voice behind them. It was mrs Sleussel. How did she get here?, inquired Vinck of Saint Peter, with a smile. He looked at the woman approvingly, because she was as beautiful as a young Venus. She had chosen to wear no clothes at all. She arrived here after one week of purgatory, said the apostle. She jolly well expiated her sins. And he continued, turning to the beautiful young lady: Of course, please do use your own mother tongue. Jolly good!, said mrs Sleussel. Vinck, I still love you. That doesnt make any difference here, said the guardian. We are one big family, and we all love each other. Modo platonico, added Saint Peter, winking at Vinck. Do you enjoy heaven ?, inquired the Franciscan of his former stalker. I do, she aswered, without much enthusiasm. She sighed. Heaven is great. But its not Maastricht, is it? The two gentlemen looked at her as if they were going to reprimand her. Now she put on a cheerful face. She shrugged her shoulders. They could see Maastricht clearly, if they wished. They only had to concentrate. It was even possible to pay a visit to Maastricht, but only with special permission of God Himself, and escorted by an angel. Then you would appear in a dream or a vision of someone who was still alive in Maastricht. Vinck, said mrs Sleussel. How come your head is on your body again? Simple, answered the Minorite. Its my ideal head. Its handsome, isnt it? Its more handsome than the one you used to have, was the reply. I love to hear people speak in this Maastricht dialect, said Saint Peter. We can speak all languages here, even the very small ones, like Manx. However, if we speak Dutch, we use the soft letter g of Limburg people. Do you speak heathen, too?, asked mrs Sleussel. No problem, replied Saint Pieter. Na mi bi o ala bibi. Re kokali sa webe fo polabi gera simi. Ho fimbi ajoela. And what does that mean?, inquired father Vinck. We dont like mashed potatoes, answered Saint Peter. His conversation partners grinned like horses. They were having a pleasant time. It all went on for ever, but everybody would forget about time if he or she was beholding the divine Light. Father Vinck could easily see what was happening in Maastricht throughout the centuries. Now what about the lily? Well, the lily was growing on his grave in the chapel of Saint Hilary, which was standing on the spot where now the Eglise Wallonne is. In the lifetime of father Vinck, the Protestant community used this chapel to study the Bible together with compliant Catholics. The Dutch had buried there the beheaded body of the father. The lifeless head, which during some weeks had been staring at the fortress in Navagne from its pike on the bastion, was in the end reunited, without fuss, with the rest of the mortal remains. In the next spring, the verger who came to clean up noticed there was a beautiful white lily on the grave of the Franciscan. Its stem was growing from a cleft in the stone on the grave. The verger took a fright. To be honest, he was a bit moved by it and dashed away some tears. But what would the minister think of it? Ludovicus came to take a look, and he was frightened as well. How was this ever possible? He thought about it for some minutes, and concluded there must be a foxy Jesuit hiding among the Catholic participants of the Bible study. The Jesuits must have sent an agent who was a good actor and knew a lot about plants and graves. Someone like the late friar Nottin. Ludovicus and his wife scrutinized the participants in the Bible study. This didnt yield them any clue. A guardian angel drew the attention of one of the suspected Catholics to the flourishing lily, just before a devil whispered in the left ear of the ministers wife she might just cut the flower off the stone. The authorities covered up the case as much as possible. But one year later the flower came up again. It appeared as unexpectedly as a year ago. This time the vergers wife was the first to notice it. Her name was Jacqueline van der Vaart. Jacqueline first informed all her Protestant girl friends, later on the Catholic ones, and at last her husband the minister. Ludo bit his lips, and was about to cut the flower off. But his wife stopped him. She thought some gardener had to come first to examine the flower thoroughly. The minister asked from the pulpit whether somebody happened to know some gardener who would be so kind as to take care of the plants in the chapel of Saint Hilary. This encouraged the legend, because there were not normally in the chapel any plants that needed special care. A soldier of the garrison reported to the minister for the task. He examined the lily, and decided it was a very rare sort of lily. The infamous speculation with tulips was already in the past. There were no more fools who thought they could become rich by trading lilies. But the Maastricht authorities were still on the alert when some flower popped up that resembled a lily. That this happened on the very grave of father Vinck couldnt be mere chance. Everybody who showed interest in the flower was put through his catechism in the torture room of the Dinghouse. This didnt ever diminish the interest, but henceforth the interest didnt appear in broad daylight. The verger was appointed guard of the lily. He had to see to it that the lily be cut off each year within an hour after its appearance. From the middle of February, his wife and he would keep watch on the grave of father Vinck. The guardian himself didnt watch it anymore. He concentrated on contemplating God. After Vinck had done so for some tens of years, he suddenly saw Saint Michael before him. The archangel was sitting on horseback in full armour, with a sword in his hands. How many people are there in hell?, asked father Vinck. Thirteen, was the answer. And in purgatory? At the moment 3 342 169, er 170, 171, . Behind the archangel there were standing some old acquaintances of father Vinck: The duke of Bouillon, Joachim von Goltstein and the reverend Ludovicus. The reverend was hypocitically walking to and fro with a rosary in his hands and reading a breviary. Goltstein bowed shyly to his former enemy. But Vinck greeted him jovially. Indeed, the tragic events of the war of eighty years were just trifles in the light of eternity. Vinck knew his former waylayers had acted in accordance with their consciences, though the consciences had been deformed by one-sided education. The commander and the minister probably had spent a full day in purgatory. The pains they had endured there had certainly been even worse than those of the torture they themselves had performed on the earth. But what is one day of purgatory compared to heaven, which is to stay forever? The Franciscan looked at his former enemies and smiled. You often called me junior friar instead of minor friar, didnt you?, he inquired of the commander. It wasnt a slip of the tongue, was it? I thought the Franciscans were scabs, and the Jesuits swindlers, said Goltstein. You also thought you knew who were to find favour in the eyes of the Lord and who didt. In your opinion, the guns in the army of Frederik Hendrik were like the famous trumpets of the Israelites that leveled the city walls of Jericho. But our Catholic priests preserve their strength after they are tonsured, like Samson after Delilah cut off his hair. During the plague the friars and nuns from all convents were useful to Maastricht. After it, we thought the religious werent useful anymore. We also believed the Jesuits were fanatically promoting popish superstitions. The veneration of the wooden statue of the blessed virgin Mary in the chapel of your convent annoyed us. Although we understood we shouldnt set the people against us too much, after the treason of last year it was logical we had to expel the convents involved in it. The minister nodded approbation, and added: I was glad the monks were going to leave, for this would make room for a fundamental reformation of the Maastricht people. We decided to proclaim our decree from the pulpit, on the next Sunday, and not only in our own churches, but also in the damned temples of the Catholics. In the church of Saint Nicholas, the proclaimer read aloud the following text: Dear citizens of Maastricht, More than a year ago, your beloved city was betrayed by, among others, a brewer and two bricklayers, a guardian of the Franciscans, three Jesuits, and a chaplain from the chapter of the church of Our Lady. These people have deceived you. We also ascertained that their monastic orders have been a sort of nurseries in which their aberrations could prosper. Measures against these monastic orders are necessary. We command they be exiled from our city, in the forthcoming summer. Before the end of the month of July, the Franciscans and the Jesuits must have left Maastricht. Then the faithful in the church made a lot of noise. They uttered cries of indignation, and the uproar became ever more threatening. Under the escort of our soldiers, our confused spokesman slunk away. After the proclamation, consternation prevailed in the convent of the Minorite friars, said Vinck. However, soon there was resignation instead. God would help us. The new guardian, father Plechelmus van der Heyden, walked to the monastery of the Observant Franciscan friars, which from Saint Peters Mountain was facing the river. The father superior of the monastery had good news: there was plenty of room to shelter all Maastricht Minorites. The Observant friars, also called Recollect friars, were glad they could share their frugal provisions with their Maastricht colleagues. This way they could imitate the Redeemer and Saviour even better. What had become of your statue of virgin Mary?, asked Ludovicus. The Minorites had brought the statue to a safe and secret resort, answered the guardian. They did so just before your soldiers invaded the chapel to confiscate the statue. I remember the day of your departure, said the minister. I too, said Vinck. The sun was spreading its beneficial rays over the good and the bad. Goltstein here was gnashing his teeth while watching the Franciscans who were lining up in the garden of the convent to stride to the village of Saint Peter in a solemn procession. Goltstein laughed like a farmer with toothache. Vinck continued: The bell on the roof of the chapel jingled goodbye. The procession began to move. In front went the fathers, wearing brown habits with white cinctures, singing the canticle Magnificat. Thereafter came the members of the third order, carrying the busts of Saint Anthony and Saint Francis. At the rear end strode the new guardian, father Plechelmus, under a baldachin. He was bearing a monstrance with the Host. The Jesuits left Maastricht in silence, observed the minister. Thats right, said Vinck. They moved into the convent of their Tongeren colleagues, who had established a Latin school there lately. The Dutch sent an envoy from the Hague to check the Jesuits had left Maastricht, said the commander. We couldnt even tell them where the Jesuits had taken refuge. But in September they emerged in the Spanish and Liege regions: they were preaching missions in Liege and Huy (in French), and in Sint Truiden, Hasselt, Tongeren and Bilsen (in Flemish). Our spies also saw some wellknown former Maastricht residents among the multitude of the listeners in Tongeren. They, too, had emigrated. Saint Petrus had joined them silently. He said: In their sermons, the Jesuits referred to the Last Judgment, which was to separate the sheep from the goats. They also spoke of the martyrdom of the fathers Boddens, Pasman and Vinck, who had been led to the slaughter like lambs. Numerous countrymen found inspiration in the story of father Vinck, who held the secret of the confessional box in even higher esteem than his own life. During the missions they themselves would confess too and many of them thereafter made a pilgrimage to Scherpenheuvel. Father Vinck modestly watched his own bare feet. Joachim von Goltstein put his hand on the shoulders of the Franciscan to encourage him, and said: I encamped my lieutenants in the convent at the broad street. The sergeants settled in the Latin school, and we fitted the church up as a horse stable. The soldiers and their families had already plundered these buildings. They had profaned and broken the crucifixes and the statues of the saints. We didnt act against this. No, added the minister. We were angry because the counter reformation was so furious in the regions near Maastricht. But we knew the Spaniards were about to leave. Apparently, the government in Madrid was seeing the bottom of its treasury. People in the Hague heard whisper that Spain was willing to recognize the Republic. The battle of the Downs speeded up this process, said Saint Peter. Honour where honour is due. This was a mighty trick of the Dutch. How was the course of the battle?, asked father Vinck. It took place in the Channel near the southern coast of England, at the last day of October in 1639. The Dutch admirals Maarten Tromp and Witte de With beat the Spanish armada, led by admiral Antonio de Oquendo, consisting of seventy-seven ships. The Dutch were the first in history to apply the tactics of the line of battle. Tromp crossed the course of the Spanish fleet on the leeside, so his ships could by turns fire at the strongest Spanish ships. Saint Peter paused for a moment, because mrs Sleussel went by. The gentlemen kept looking back at her as if they were still on the earth. Thereafter he continued: Tromp sent a messenger to Oquendo to ask why he didnt dare to battle with his superior guns. The Spanish admiral explained he didnt have enough materials to repair his ships. The Dutchman gave him all necessary things and five hundred casks of powder. Yet the Spaniards lost at least fifteen thousand men and sixty ships. The fleet of the Republic lost only one ship and about a hundred men. Aha, said father Vinck. Now I understand. The favourable reports of the sea battle excited strong feelings of Christian charity in the mind of our minister Ludovicus, didnt they? The Franciscan convent was empty, and this gave him the opportunity to put his charity in practice. Maastricht still lacked a reformed orphanage, whereas several smaller Dutch cities, like Zutphen and Delft, already had one. Ludovicus stared at his hands. I was the formal director of the Maastricht deacons, said the minister. But in reality my wife was the boss. I had added her to the council for the poor, because she insisted she would provide all people of good will with her precious soup. She firmly undertook to furnish the convent again. She took all statues and pictures off the refectory and put on the wall texts like The Lord is just and Christ is your Saviour. So your wife controlled the orphanage?, asked father Vinck. Yes, because I didnt like children, admitted the reverend Ludo. They were too loud for me, and without discipline. I reckoned God would settle accounts with them. We ourselves had to use the rod to chastise those children that still could be saved. I asked myself which children were accessible to the Christian discipline. In short: which shoots were belonging to the Chosen People? Your sermons made us fall asleep, laughed father Vinck. Although the Franciscans and Jesuits had left the city of Maastricht, ever less people came to the church of Saint John to hear your drawling voice. No Calvinist could ever preach like the wellknown Franciscan father Jan Brugman, added Saint Peter. But the Observant friars had preserved the spirit of their colleague in their midst. Yet already two centuries had passed since Brugman became famous by preaching everywhere about the simplicity of Christian life. Father Plechelmus van der Heijden had joined the circle of conversation. He had chosen to bring his bald head and white beard to heaven. He friendly nodded to each of them, spread his hands, and spoke the following words: In our Observant monastery on Saint Peters mountain, we read aloud Brugmans life of Saint Lidwina during the meals. This gave the monks much to think about. When she was still a young maiden, the virgin from Schiedam was skating on the ice of a frozen canal. She fell and had to stay in bed for thirty-eight years. At first she couldnt accept her illness, but later on she gave in: because she realized her suffering could liberate many souls from purgatory. After a couple of years, she stopped eating anything except the holy Host, since the body of Christ was sufficient for her to stay alive. Miracles and visions revealed her piety. She gave advice to all desperate persons who came flocking to her in great number. They felt comforted when they returned home. We, the Observants in the marl stone monastery on the hill, used to preach on Sundays about Saint Lidwina and about the wounds of Christ that had been visible on her body: for her hands and her feet were exhibiting holes, as if someone had beaten nails through them, her head was showing a circle of scratches, as if somebody had pressed down a crown of thorns on it, and on her side people could see the wound that the lance of the Roman soldier had poked into the side of Christ. Crowds of Maastricht Catholics came over the hill or along the river Maas to the monastery to attend Sunday mass and to hear the Franciscan sermons. Goltstein nodded assent and put in his mite, as follows: At first, the government of the city had let the Maastricht people go to church on Slavante, because the exiled fathers used to preach they should be patient and accept authority. But as soon as I learnt they were preaching about miraculous Hosts, I changed my attitude of tolerance. In 1645 I prohibited all association with Minorites, Franciscans, Observants and Recollects. We strictly maintained the prohibition, both at the city gates and near the monastery. During some centuries, father Vinck was absorbed in the contemplation of God. When he emerged from it, he first asked himself what had happened to the miraculous statue of virgin Mary. In heaven, one can get such info on claim. The answer is put up in a spiritual report, which the adressed clearly can see before him: The father saw the French Sun King, Louis the Fourteenth. This king believed his light had to shine even in the darkest corners of the earthly realm. Whereever the pope and the king were reigning together by the grace of God, people would realize that Jesus Christ is the real king of the universe. After the Catholics had reconquered Maastricht in 1673 under the direction of Louis XIV, the Minorites returned to the city from the monastery of the Observants on the mountain, in a solemn procession. Of course they carried the well known wooden statue of virgin Mary, Star of the Sea. Many people wept with emotion. The statue reminded the Maastricht inhabitants of the terrible years when father Vinck was dishonoured and beheaded. But it was also a light they could bend their steps to, like sailors use to find their latitude by the polar star. One of the main acts in the 1912 festival in honour of virgin Mary, Star of the Sea, was the solemn coronation of the statue. A gifted women composed a beautiful song for the occasion. When he woke up from his visions, Vinck didnt see his two contemporaries anymore. Well, they couldnt be far, because in heaven a light year is bridged in no time. The Franciscan looked at the earth. What a rubbish. Apparently there had been a sad holocaust, two atom bombs had been thrown on Japan, and now the old Occident was being influenced by the predominantly Protestant United States of America. In Vatican city a council had taken place which didnt respect nor thomistic philosophy nor tridentine liturgy. As a consequence, the convents became empty. During many centuries the monasteries had been centers of civilization. Countless monks and nuns had been working for the love of God in education, care of the poor and the sick, and pastoral care. The conventuals couldnt have done so many good works if they hadnt really believed in the goodness of God and in heaven. Of course there had also been some problems in the convents, but they didnt outweigh the good things. However, it seemed the devil was getting the upper hand. Speculators received bonuses and usurious interests, whereas the governments economized on the third world and the environment. The society became as hard as stone and it oppressed the Catholic Church. Nor could you blame most of the people for erring through life without sufficient understanding of themselves and with a weakened will. The Minorite relaxed. God would order all for the best. Anima naturaliter christiana, said the Church Father Tertullian in the second century of our Christian era, the soul is Christian by its nature. Most people try to organize their lives in such a way that it please God, even if they dont know Him. They are Catholic without knowing it, by the baptism of desire. In the new situation, people who were aware they were Catholic had to approach society in a different way with more tact. The surviving Franciscans were often aged. On the pictures in their magazines you could see most of them had a bald head and a white beard. But now there was flourishing a movement of laymen that elaborated Franciscan spirituality: SantEgidio. Their leaders participated in important international peace negotiations, and their followers engaged in the care of the poor and the refugees. Pater Vinck sighed. He knew the earth was to remain a vale of tears until the Last Judgment. He decided he would be open to anybody who needed him. But they had to call him loudly. Because the souls of the deceased prefer to contemplate God. Literature: I based the main lines and important details of my historical novel on the following books which have very distinct intentions and contents: Broeder Borromeus: Maastricht in de tachtigjarige oorlog, Vos Maastricht 1948 Pater Ladislaus van den Berk ofm: Een beschrijving van den marteldood van pater Servatius Vinck, Sint Truiden 1868 Arnaud de Trega (pseudoniem van Jules Schaepkens van Riempst): Ramp en Misdaad 1632-1638. Historische roman, Brugge 1925 Vlekke, dr BMH: Van het gruwelijk verraet in den jaere 1638 op Maastricht gepractiseert, Neerlandia Antwerpen 1938 Furthermore, I consulted some five more general books on Maastricht history, in which there is a short account of the story of father Vinck. I first learnt about the subject by reading Edmond Jaspar: Kint geer eur eige stad?, Schenk-Veldeke Maastricht 1968 By the modern commentaries I suspect that, since the last Vatican council, people cant sufficiently understand seventeenth century Catholic thinking. For instance, see Ubachs, dr Pierre JH en Evers, drs Ingrid MH: Historische Encyclopedie Maastricht, uitg. Walburg Pers Zutphen en Regionaal Historisch Centrum Limburg 2005. APPENDIX: THE PHILOSOPHY OF SAINT THOMAS AQUINAS Does an ideal circle exist, or only objects that are nearly circular? The Greek philosophers of the classic antiquity already reflected on the existence of abstract notions: Plato considered the abstract notions as independent entities, the ideas , and the concrete things as dim reflections of these ideas (thus a wheel is a dim reflection of the idea circle). According to Plato, we know these ideas beforehand (a priori), as a kind of reminiscence from a life befor birth. The concrete things dont really exist, but only as a faint shadow or copy. So, if there would not have been ideas first, concrete things would not exist. Aristotle judged that abstract notions have no independent existence, but exist only in the things. The concrete things do really exist. If there would not have been concrete things first, ideas would not exist. We come in the world as a blank paper (tabula rasa), and there is nothing in our minds except when it was first in our senses. In the thirteenth century there was a dispute on these issues between the followers of Aristotle and those of Plato, the so-called dispute of universalia. We can take together the platonic standpoint with universalia ante res (the ideas exist before the things), and the aristotelic standpoint with universalia in rebus (the abstract notions exist only in the things). Thomas Aquinas made a great synthesis that contained all domains of thinking and made him the prince of all philosophers (the other philosophers usually exaggerate by distrusting either the senses or the intellect). Thomas took from Aristotle his objective conception of nature, and from Saint Augustine of Hippo (who built on Plato) an ideal conception of the supernatural things. Thomas teaches that the concrete things are created by God according to his godly ideas, and that they really exist since then. The simple abstract notions have no independent existence in nature, but they are the most knowable among all things because of their simplicity. We don't know in advance, for example, what an ideal circle is, but we form the notion circle by abstraction. So in God the universalia are before the things, in nature they are in the things, and in our minds they are after the things. To prove that God exists, Thomas begins with the so-called principle of contingency: each thing (plant, animal, man) that can be objectively experienced has something accidental, something that could have been different as well. It has properties that come to them in an accidental way (accide to them). For instance: a football (for soccer) has an imperfect and, thus, rather accidental ball-form, a leather circumference, and air inside. The ball-form belongs to its essence, but is only present in an imperfect shape. An ideal ball does not really exist in nature. In the same way, we see that on earth the ideal goodness does not exist. Which creature is good by essence, is goodness itself? The creatures have their properties by participation. A rose, for example, is sometimes in full bloom, but not always. It participates in beauty, but is not beauty itself. Beauty is only one component of the rose. The cause of the thing (plant, animal, man) lies outside itself. That is the principle of causality : whatever we find in anything, if it does not coincide with its essence it must be caused. The inflorescence of the rose, with rather accidental phases of opening, bloom and decay, must have a cause. But this cause has a cause itself, and an infinite chain of caused causes doesnt have its existence from itself, either, but is a caused chain of causes. Furthermore, he shows that in nature every thing (plant, animal, man) has a disposition (potentia) to some completion (actus). The rose that opens itself has a disposition to bloom. Matter strives after its ideal form. This is related to the finality principle. Everything that does something, does so for some goal. The completion of this goal is limited or slowed down by the finiteness and materiality of matter. Everything in nature finally refers to a first cause and a last end, a non-contingent Being in which all properties are present and perfect and coincide with its Essence. This is God, the Ipsum Esse Subsistens (the Being that exists from Itself). The things, plants, animals and men all reflect, in a limited way, something from Gods Essence. But God does not coincide with the universe, because the universe is composed out of parts and therefore has a contingent existence. He is beyond nature and, at the same time, the deepest and everlasting cause of it (transcendence and immanence of God). He creates the universe according to his godly ideas, and can omit this creation as well. Human mind can imagine and assimilate everything, that is: become equal to it in some sense. By abstraction and deduction, he can ascertain some characteristics of God. Thus, for example, the negative attributes of God: His singularity and spirituality, his unchangeableness and untemporariness, his immeasurability and infinity. Some positive attributes: He is allmighty and all-knowing, the highest life and the highest good. So human mind can know, by reasoning from nature, the universal ideas and some of the characteristics of God. Therefore, he is essentially spiritual, although he needs the senses and the nerves and the brain during the time that he is tied to the body. He is also inclined to the eternal (he wants eternal life). According to Saint Thomas, man has a natural longing for God. And God is such that He wants to fulfil this longing (otherwise He would not have laid this longing in man). From these three facts we deduce that the human mind is immortal. He strives after one final end: the eternal contemplation of God. Here follow some more remarks about the human soul according to thomistic philosophy: The soul is the form of the body, so it is what the body wants to be (materia appetit formam: matter strives after its ideal form). I have an ideal form which I must approach. I cannot reach this perfection by myself, but I can reach it (in heaven) with the help of Gods grace. We are free to co-operate with this grace, or to resist against it. The latter choice is often easier, because the transient partial good is attractive too, and lies more directly within our reach. But God respects our freedom. He wants us to give Him our love and our confidence. This has much to do with our turning ourselves to our fellow men and creatures, as Jesus showed to us. Those who in 1638 have been engaged in the so-called treachery of Maastricht, have set up a club of their own in heaven. Once I was allowed to attend a meeting, in a vision. Father Vinck opened the session. To begin with, he welcomed the comrades who had been beheaded together with him. They all had a head again. Subsequently, he welcomed the Dutch executioners who happened to be present. What did they talk about? I remember they questioned the terrestrial publications on the events of 1638. I decided this case had to be examined thoroughly.  Until some years ago, dr HFH Reuvers (Maastricht 1951), was a teacher of mathematics for a teacher training college, but he was discharged due to his worsening hardness of hearing. He still solves problems of mathematics, and writes stories and articles. Because of his affinity to Maastricht history and preconciliar Catholicism, he felt an inner call to describe the story of father Vinck from this mans point of view. Hendrik Reuvers is a married man, and father of four children of between thirty and fourty years of age. 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