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

"And now, my friend," resumed Monsieur Serdan addressing John De Witt, "if you entertained any doubt upon the reliableness of the information transmitted to you by Monsieur Lebrenn concerning the popular sentiment in Brittany, the lofty sentiments of my worthy friend and his son should cause you, I hope, to place full confidence in them."

"Their straightforwardness and nobility of character do, indeed, deserve my full confidence," answered John De Witt. "I shall listen with interest to any further information that your friends may have concerning the political affairs of your country."

"Well, monsieur, this is the actual state of things in Brittany: A strong portion of the bourgeoisie of Rennes and Nantes, belonging to the Reformed religion, favors a federative Republic, agreeable to the Protestant traditions of the last century. The majority of the members of the provincial parliament, of the officeholders, and even a portion of the bourgeoisie, although they execrate Louis XIV, do nevertheless hold to the monarchic form of government, but desire to subordinate the same to the States General, the sovereignty of which was proclaimed in the Fourteenth Century by Etienne Marcel. This element desires to reduce the throne to the functions of an executive agent of the national assemblies. The nobility and seigneurs are royalists, but they are not numerous. As to the urban population, you know, monsieur, in what a state of subjection and of calculated ignorance they are held. Weighed down with taxes, they would rebel against misery and tax collectors sooner than against the King, or the monarchy. The rustic population, which consists mainly of vassals and is exploited and oppressed by the clergy, the seigneurs, the tax collectors and the armed forces quartered upon them, would also, driven to extremities by misery, revolt against their sufferings, against the seigneurs, against the priests, against the tax collectors and against the soldiers, but would remain no less indifferent to the form of government than the city folks. You see, accordingly, Monsieur De Witt, that I yield to no illusions. As certain as I am of an imminent uprising in Brittany, am I also of its consequences. No doubt, the republican form of government, to which your provinces owe so much of their power, their prosperity, and greatness, is, in my opinion, the ideal government; but I entertain no hopes of seeing the same prevail in my country for the present. In fine, I shall go so far as to say, it is possible, it is even probable that, in case the insurrection triumph, and that Brittany reconquer, arms in hand, her freedom and ancient franchises, the victory will be thwarted the very next day, and she will lose again almost all the fruits of her triumph, owing to the lack of organization and of oneness of view, of abnegation, or of intelligence on the part of the victors themselves. This notwithstanding, the insurrection in Brittany will have favorable consequences to progress. The King, the nobility and the clergy, frightened by the violence of the popular movement, will feel constrained, out of fear of new reprisals, to lighten the yoke that to-day they cause to bear heavily upon our people in general. Such relief would be a modest conquest, but it will be sure. Experience will justify my words. My conviction upon this head is so firm, that neither I nor my son will hesitate to take part in a struggle in which he and I will probably be the first victims, as were so many of our ancestors, who embarked in similar undertakings. But what does that matter? A step will have been taken towards the day of ultimate deliverance. This is the reason, Monsieur De Witt, that I have come to you, in the name of the discontented elements of Brittany, to request the moral and financial support of the Republic of the United Provinces, in order to combat the execrable Louis XIV, who is both your enemy and ours."

"My friend," replied John De Witt after listening attentively to Salaun Lebrenn's presentation, "last year, at about this time, our friend Serdan returned from a journey through France. Before him, Monsieur Roux Marcilly, a Huguenot captain, an active and observing man, who has many friends among the independent members of the British House of Commons opposed to the French alliance, noticed, just as our friend did, the sprouting germs of the uprising that is to-day imminent. Both asked me at the time whether, in case of an outbreak, it would receive the support of the Republic."

"You answered me in the negative," interrupted Monsieur Serdan, "on the ground, as you expressed it, that the Republic was bound to Louis XIV by a treaty concluded at a time when there was nothing to indicate that that prince would become an oppressor. I foretold you that the alliance would be observed by you only, but would be trampled under foot by Louis XIV. Have not events confirmed my foresight?"

"It is true – but I would have considered it criminal to forestall one act of treason by another. The face of things is changed to-day. In violation of his oath of renunciation, taken at the time of his marriage with the Infanta of Spain, Louis XIV has invaded Flanders without cause, broken the alliance by declaring war upon us without the shadow of even a pretext, and suborned England to his aid. The Republic finds itself now legitimately entitled to take up arms, and it thereby does an act that is at once generous and politic, by affording help to the oppressed people of France. By these means dangerous complications can be conjured up against Louis XIV within his own kingdom, and furthermore, we would be aiding the French people in their effort to break his yoke, at least to render it less galling. I therefore give you my formal promise to induce my friends in the Assembly of the States to lend the moral and material aid of the Republic to the people of France. If they rise against Louis XIV, I promise you arms and funds."

"Oh! father," cried Nominoë with the enthusiastic ardor and presumptuous confidence of his age; "we shall deal the death blow to despotism! The Republic is with us! Commune and Federation!"

Without sharing his son's confidence of success Salaun Lebrenn said to John De Witt solemnly: "In the name of so many oppressed people, who will see, if not the finish, at least a relief of their sufferings, a blessing upon you, monsieur! Once more you show yourself faithful to the principle that has guided your whole life. Perhaps our success may turn out greater than I expect, if the Republic gives us a helping hand. Its moral and material support, at this season, may now be considered certain. Your powerful influence as Grand Pensionary of Holland will be determining and decisive in the Assembly of the States."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER VI.

CORNELIUS DE WITT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"'Neither the unjust clamor of the people, nor the angry frown of a tyrant, is able to dethrone the mind of a man upright and true to his cause.'"2

"Oh! my noble brother!" cried John De Witt breaking the silence of admiration that followed the narrative of Monsieur Tilly. "Often did you make the remark —the dark iniquity of the guilty but causes the virtue of the just to shine forth with all the greater luster!"

"Yes!" continued Monsieur Tilly. "And at this very moment that beautiful sentiment is approved true. The executioners and judges were seized with respect and admiration for the grandeur of soul of Cornelius De Witt, and they gazed upon one another in a sort of stupor, as if the absurdity of the hateful process had broken its way into their vision. The judges conferred. The ignominy of submitting one of the greatest citizens of the Republic, one of the victors of Chatham and Solway, to the torture, and upon no stronger grounds than the word of a noted wretch, smote their consciences. Even paler than the patient himself, the registrar informed me, the judges ordered the torture to cease, and, addressing Cornelius in a faltering voice said to him: 'So, then, monsieur, you insist upon making no confession?' 'Save me and yourselves the trouble of such questions,' was Cornelius's answer; 'you have the power to proceed with the torture; my body belongs to you.' Recoiling before the thought of repeating the barbarous act, the judges ordered the executioners to untie their victim. Your brother was taken back to his prison, where the registrar of the States announced to him a few minutes later the decree that was pronounced upon him. It is as follows:

"'The court of Holland, having considered and examined the documents, submitted to it by the attorney general of the court, against and in accusation of Master Cornelius De Witt, former burgomaster of Dortrecht and ruart of the district of Putten, at present a prisoner of the said court, as well as examined him, his confrontations, and all that was said by himself, declares the prisoner forfeit of all his offices and dignities, banishes him from the provinces of Holland, never to return again under pain of still severer punishment, and sentences him to pay the costs of the trial.'"

"But this very decree proves the innocence of Cornelius De Witt," cried Salaun Lebrenn. "Devoted Orangemen though the judges are, they have recoiled before their own iniquity. They did not even dare to mention the alleged crime of the prisoner. If the crime were mentioned, the death penalty would be the necessary punishment. Oh, the miserable, the infamous fellows!"

"You are correct," replied Monsieur Tilly. "After hearing his sentence read, Cornelius De Witt said to the registrar: 'Monsieur, if I am an assassin I deserve death; if I am innocent I should be set free, and my accuser punished. I appeal from this sentence to the Supreme Council.' 'If so, monsieur,' said the registrar, 'be kind enough to formulate your objection at the foot of the decree and to sign the same.' Cornelius De Witt cast a bitter smile upon the registrar, and raising his two hands mutilated by the torture and bandaged in blood-stained wrappages: 'I can not write, monsieur, I shall dictate to you my objections to the sentence.' So saying, Cornelius formulated his objection in the following terms: 'In the face of God and of man, I must be pronounced an assassin or innocent: death or freedom.'"

"Oh!" cried John De Witt. "I shall devote all the power left to me, all my life, to seek and obtain the rehabilitation of my brother! I shall not falter in the task."

"Do you now understand," asked Tilly, "why I consider that you would be lost, without profit to your brother, if you were now to be seen at the prison? The agents of the Prince of Orange quickly spread among the mob the news of Cornelius's banishment, and stirred up the popular rage at his not having been put to death. These moves have raised the popular exasperation to a still higher pitch, and incited the mob's cravings for vengeance. The crowd has threatened to tear down the gates of the prison in order to take your brother and do him to death. The registrar having hastened to notify me of these events, I ordered The Hague cavalry to the spot. It is now drawn up before the castle. Our horsemen are not Orangemen, as you know; the prison will not be broken in so long as they are allowed to remain on guard. You see, you may feel at ease, for the present, on the fate of Cornelius. I conjure you, my friend, renounce the purpose of proceeding to the prison. You are known by the whole city. To cross its streets at this moment of ferment, is uselessly to challenge the greatest risk. Think of your own dear family."