OUR house stood a little way from the rambling, old-fashioned village street, and we had few, if any, near neighbors. A house, so much larger than our own that to us children it seemed almost a mansion, was separated from ours only by a low wall and a garden; but as for some years it had stood empty, we often played in its garden, or enjoyed a merry game of hide and seek among its winding passages and oddly-shaped cupboards.
It was no small surprise when one morning in early spring a party of workmen arrived and began putting the rambling old place into repair; we heard, soon after, that it had been purchased by Herr Johns, a well-to-do merchant of Prague, as his wife, who was far from strong, had been advised by the doctors to try country air, and that as soon as everything was in readiness she would with three of her children arrive, to make a stay of at least the summer months.
There was not much change or variety in our lives, and the preparations were a great interest both to my brother and me. He was then about five years old, while I was between ten and eleven. Masons, bricklayers, painters and paperhangers were followed by gardeners who, though they looked surprised at the seemingly hopeless tangle the garden and shrubbery presented, set to work with a will, and a pretty flower garden was in less than a week laid out and planted. Wagons, laden with what we thought costly furniture, and accompanied by a man-servant and two maids, next excited our wonder and surprise. In a few days our new neighbors would arrive. Casper and I never tired of talking about them and wondering what they would be like. Would the children be about our own ages? Should we be allowed to play with them? We could certainly peep over the low boundary-wall into the garden, but that would be a very different thing from playing in it, as we had been used to do.
We knew that Herr Johns was a Romanist, so it was almost certain that his family were of the same persuasion. Indeed, we were told that Madame Johns was nearly related to Father Jacques, who, though he had only taken up his abode in our village for two or three weeks, seemed to know and be known to every one. I had only seen him at a distance, yet felt, though I could not have explained why, strangely interested in him. He was, we heard, an Italian by birth, tall and dark, with deep-set eyes that seemed to look one through and through; his quick, firm step and erect bearing gave me the impression that he was used to command.
We had not long to wait. One afternoon a traveling carriage, piled with trunks, stopped at the gate of "Verney," as the house was called by its new owners, and a tall lady, closely veiled, who walked very slowly along the garden path, was assisted to alight and led into the house; she was closely followed by three children. The eldest, whose name I afterward learned was Greta, was, though much taller, only a year or two older than myself. A maid, carrying rugs and cushions, followed them into the house. In less than an hour the maid, who spoke more French than any other language, came to our door, saying that
THE FATIGUE OF THE JOURNEY
had proved far too great for her lady, who had fainted. Would the doctor go to her at once? My father was from home at the time, and his return was not expected for some hours, but my mother, who was, she said, "a born nurse," and always seemed to know what ought to be done in case of illness, offered to go and see if she could be of any use. Her offer was thankfully accepted and taking some simple restoratives from the surgery, she went.
In about two hours she returned, saying that Madame was much better, she had seen her placed comfortably in bed, and she had been able to take some slight refreshment. I asked several questions, but soon found that mother was not inclined to talk much, and there was an anxious, almost troubled look on her face I had not often seen. That night, after Casper was in bed, she called me to her, and said, almost in a whisper, “Christine, perhaps it is that I have so little faith, but I am sad to-night. I tremble for my children. Your father and I have taught you the pure faith of the Bible; perhaps we have not said enough about the errors of Rome; we believe that you love and wish to please the Lord Jesus. Nothing, however, has yet been allowed to try your faith. While Father Andre lived we were allowed greater liberty of conscience and freedom of worship than was enjoyed by our brethren in any other part of Bohemia. But it will not be so-now. His successor will leave no stone unturned to bring those he looks upon as heretics into the fold of what he calls the ‘true and holy Catholic Church.' But for my children, the greatest dangers will come from Verney.'
“When I entered Madame's dressing-room, she had not recovered from her faint, but lay pale and unconscious upon a couch, while Greta, her daughter, knelt before a silver crucifix, calling upon the Virgin Mary, whom she addressed as the mother of God, to save her mother. I cannot prevent, even if I felt it right to do so, my children from sometimes playing with those of ‘Verney,' yet I know snares will be spread for you, and I beg you to pray very earnestly that you may not be led into temptation.”
“Mother,"I said, almost impatiently," you need have no fear for me.
I SHALL NEVER BE A ROMAN CATHOLIC.
Often when you have told of our brethren's sufferings in other parts of the country, I have felt it was so noble to suffer in a good cause, I have almost wished I might be called upon to do the same."But my mother was not reassured. Tears were in her eyes, as she answered gravely," Christine, my child, self-confidence and pride are your besetting sins, and will sooner or later bring you into trouble. You are trusting yourself, not God. Do you not remember how Peter said to the Lord, ‘If I should die with thee, I will not deny thee in any wise.' (Mark 14:3131But he spake the more vehemently, If I should die with thee, I will not deny thee in any wise. Likewise also said they all. (Mark 14:31).) Can you tell me what followed?”
I answered promptly, ready to show my knowledge of scripture, "Yes! Peter did deny the Lord, and even said he did not know Him. But afterward he was sorry for having done so, and Christ forgave him, and he used to preach to both Jews and Gentiles." Something in my mother's face and voice gave me a feeling almost of awe, and I promised her that I would pray not to be led into temptation.
She then told me that Madame, as soon as she was sufficiently recovered to talk, was very friendly and gracious, thanked her for going to her help, and said she had been pleased to learn that the doctor and his family would be her nearest neighbors. Her eldest daughter, Lucilla, was a boarder in a convent school some miles distant. She was seventeen years of age, and intended to "take the veil," or become a nun, as soon as the rules of the Order to which she wished to belong would permit. Greta was thirteen; her two younger children, Editha and Carl, were eight and six years of age. During their stay at "Verney" they would not attend school, but do lessons for an hour or two daily with Father Jacques, her nephew, who, she told my mother, had taken deeply to heart the neglected state in which he found his parish, but hoped that in less than a year every man, woman and child in it would be drawn or driven into the fold of the Catholic Church.
The return of my father put a stop to our conversation. He was no less interested than I had been in all we had to tell him about our new neighbors, but I thought his face looked even more full of trouble than my mother's had done. Mother noticed it, and said, "Father has had a very busy day, he is tired, we will leave him to rest for a little while." She then bade me help her prepare the evening meal. While we were having supper he told us that the outlook was anything but a bright one. In many places the priests and magistrates had received orders to stamp out heresy. All persons who refused to attend mass were to be treated as law breakers. And as it was suspected that the Hussites still held meetings among themselves, any one who would give information as to these secret meetings, which were not allowed by law, would be rewarded.
It was mother who spoke words of cheer and hope, reminding my father how often they had proved the faithfulness and care of God, who would never leave nor for sake His poor, tried people; and then he prayed so earnestly for grace and strength to do or suffer the will of God, and that his children might be true and faithful to Christ.