CHAPTER IX.
A GAME OF CHESS.
Monseigneur Ryder was a busy man, but he allowed himself one relaxation—an occasional game of chess. One evening he stepped into the private office of the Chancellor of Brabant, to indulge in his favorite pastime. It was only a few squares from the cathedral buildings, where the prelate resided, to the home of the magistrate.
The latter welcomed his guest with apparent cordiality. The two men formed a striking contrast as they sat opposite each other. The Chancellor was a repulsive personality to gaze upon, with his pointed head, and his face with its expression of low cunning, his red eyes, and stooping, undersized figure. There was tremendous intellectual power suggested by the physiognomy of the churchman, with his regular features, full dark eyes, and massive head. His tall and elegantly-proportioned figure was in harmony with the rest of the man.
“You are welcome, Monseigneur, very welcome!” said the Chancellor. “I have had presented to me recently a memorial, about which I should like your advice.”
“I am weary,” replied the Superior. “Let us have a game first, to rest our brains.”
“Many persons consider chess work instead of play, and hard work at that,” said his companion.
“Heer Chancellor,” said the prelate, “few people know what hard work is.”
And the Jesuit spoke advisedly. The Order which he represented, and to which he devoted his activities, was tireless in its labors. Jesuitism was the working out of a detailed program. To the faithful Catholic the Church was everything, but to the sincere Jesuit, everything must bend to his Order. For the carrying out of this principle, it was the conceived duty of every Jesuit to sweep every obstacle from his path, if that obstacle stood in the way of the ultimate success of the Order.
The game proceeded for a time in silence.
“Check!” said Monseigneur Ryder.
“The King is in trouble. Let us bring a knight to his relief,” remarked the Chancellor.
“Check again!” said the Superior, taking the knight with a pawn.
“Let us bring out her Highness and see if she can assist the King,” said the magistrate, moving his queen.
“Checkmate!” said the Superior, following this move of the enemy with the bishop. “The Church triumphs now and evermore!” and Monseigneur smiled with complacency.
“Thanks, Father, for the lesson you have just given me in strategy. I wish the heretics in the Netherlands could be as easily disposed of as these counterfeit kings, queens, knights and pawns,” he continued, as he dropped the ivory pieces into a box.
“No one can stay the march of time or the power of the Church,” said the Superior. “Either the heretics must return to the fold of the Church, or they will be crushed. By the way, what was that memorial of which you spoke?”
“It was a document from the advocate Chenoweth, setting forth the claims of a certain Madame La Tour and her daughter.”
“I received a similar petition in my ecclesiastical capacity,” said the Superior. “The facts in the case are these: Madame La Tour was a Catholic, but against the tenets of the Church married a French Huguenot. They had one child, whom, it is supposed, her mother reared in the Catholic faith. During the persecution of the Huguenots, the estates of Monsieur La Tour were confiscated, and after the death of her husband, Madame and her daughter were reduced to poverty.”
“But why was such severity allowed, if mother and daughter were staunch Catholics?” inquired the Chancellor.
“Because it was fitting that Madame should be punished for not converting her husband to the true faith, instead of living with him in perfect contentment until his death.”
“How much property is involved?” asked the magistrate.
“A half million riksdalers, I believe. Madame La Tour has a near relative living in Amsterdam, who has recently died and bequeathed his property to her and the daughter. They evidently sought the advice of Chenoweth, in order to establish their claims.”
“I wonder why they selected that young man, in preference to older and more noted counsel?” said the Chancellor.
“It is a sort of family matter,” replied Monseigneur Ryder. “My position, as you know, enables me to obtain much information of a private character. Mademoiselle La Tour formed an attachment for Colonel Van Straalen in her childhood, which attachment I understand was ardently returned. This latter individual wrote to his intimate friend, Conrad Chenoweth, (who, by the way, is a lover of the Burgomaster's daughter,) and prayed him to use his influence with the authorities and help the plaintiff to secure her estates. I should like to have these schemes succeed in part and fail in part; that is to say, I want the money secured to the daughter and then handed over to the Church.”
“The game of that rascally Chenoweth shall fail, if I can compass it,” snarled the Chancellor with a painful sort of a smile, which had a sneer in it.
“The pretty face of the Burgomaster's daughter is working mischief in more quarters than one,” remarked the Superior with a significant look.
“Monseigneur is witty,” said the Chancellor stiffly. “Your reverence takes his recreation in chess. I do myself the honor of being in love.”
“Every man to his liking,” said the churchman. “But we have digressed from the subject. I was about to unfold to you my plan in reference to these worthy ladies. While their suit is pending before the ecclesiastical authorities, I shall invite them to take up their residence as guests of the Convent of the Sacred Heart. The mother will be allowed to leave this retreat as soon as we are convinced that all heretical notions imbibed from her husband have been uprooted. The daughter will be persuaded to take the veil—willingly if we can bring it about, by compulsion if necessary. We shall accomplish two things by this procedure: we shall save a soul, and add to the depleted treasuries of the Church.”
The Chancellor looked with admiration upon the Jesuit. “You have a subtle brain, Father, and you have solved the riddle with your accustomed wisdom. But one other point occurs to me: according to an established law, a child born of parents, one Catholic and the other Protestant, is not considered legitimate. If this girl is not legitimated by law this snug little fortune would revert to the State. Why should not the government profit as well as the Church?”
The Superior regarded his companion with a look of pitying contempt.
“Do you not see that there is a serious flaw in your reasoning? Madame La Tour is a Catholic. It we ignore her claims entirely, this will afford her a fitting excuse for joining the heretics. If she should do this, the commissioners in Amsterdam, who have the will in charge, will dispose of the property otherwise, and neither Church nor State will profit thereby. If my plan is adhered to, you may rest assured that your services will be amply compensated. The Church never fails to reward her loyal children.”
“As you wish, Father. I am willing to let the matter proceed as you have stated. I only hope you will not meet with opposition.”
“I am used to opposition,” replied the Jesuit, “but our resources are infinite. I have yet to meet the man or woman who has been subjected to the discipline of our Order who could not by some means be reduced to submission. My success is foreordained.”
“There is one other matter, Monseigneur, about which I should like to speak. I wish you would send a Jesuit, in whom you can trust, to spy upon the movements of Dr. John Chenoweth of Antwerp. I have reasons for desiring a complaint to be lodged against him to the authorities in that city. It will not answer for me to place a check upon that rascally advocate, Conrad Chenoweth, for he is under the powerful protection of William of Orange.”
“How about the Burgomaster, Van Straalen?” said the Superior, with a touch of sarcasm. “He certainly should be under surveillance. He does not enforce the Edicts as he ought. Or perhaps you will sacrifice a principle for the sake of your mistress?”
“You Jesuits know everything,” replied the Chancellor, in some confusion. “Yes, it is true that for the sake of Hilvardine Van Straalen I should like to let that family slip along as easily as possible.”
“You are inconsistent, my friend,” said Monseigneur. “You spare one heretic and condemn another in the same breath. Remember the motto of your office: ‘Fiat justitia, ruat cœlum.’”
Then, as though the words were pleasant to his ears, he repeated them in sonorous tones: “Let justice be done, though the heavens fall!”