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Updated: May 18, 2025
Will you join me, in a half-hour's silent consideration of the scenes that are now taking place in old St. Gudule? I am sure there is no limit to the imagination when we give over our thoughts to that subject."
"You might be Satan the Hermit," replied Gudule, who was regaining hope, "but I should have nothing else to say to you, and I should never be afraid of you." "Tete-Dieu," said Tristan, "here is a crone! Ah! So the witch girl hath fled! And in which direction did she go?" Gudule replied in a careless tone, "Through the Rue du Mouton, I believe."
With anthems in Saint Gudule, with bonfires, festive illuminations, roaring artillery, with trumpets also, and with shawms, was the glorious holiday celebrated in court and camp, in honor of the vast murder committed by the Most Christian King upon his Christian subjects; nor was a moment lost in apprising the Huguenot soldiers shut up with Louis of Nassau in the beleaguered city of the great catastrophe which was to render all their valor fruitless.
Quentin, of course, was loath to believe that Prince Ugo would resort to underhand means to checkmate a rival whose real purpose had not yet been announced. In six weeks the finest wedding in years was to occur in Brussels. St. Gudule, that historic cathedral, was to be the scene of a ceremony on which all European newspapers had the eye of comment.
It was already light enough to distinguish its shape and its colors. "Let me see that shoe," said the gypsy, quivering. "God! God!" And at the same time, with her hand which was at liberty, she quickly opened the little bag ornamented with green glass, which she wore about her neck. "Go on, go on!" grumbled Gudule, "search your demon's amulet!"
And directly the fly containing Clarissa had rattled off, he ran to the nearest stand and chartered another. "Drive to St. Gudule," he said to the man, "and when you see a carriage going that way, keep behind it, but not too near."
Many crowded about the scaffold, and dipped their handkerchiefs in the blood, to be preserved afterwards as memorials of the crime and as ensigns of revenge. The bodies were afterwards delivered to their friends. A stately procession of the guilds, accompanied by many of the clergy, conveyed their coffins to the church of Saint Gudule.
"Why did you not come to meet me with the children?" he cried peevishly; "do you begrudge me even that pleasure?" "I begrudge you a pleasure?" Gudule ventured to remark, as she raised her swimming eyes to his face. "Why do you look at me so tearfully?" he almost shouted. Ascher loved his wife, and when he saw the effect which his rough words had produced, he tenderly embraced her.
Brussels at one time preserved, and perhaps does now, the teeth of St. Gudule. The faithful, who suffered from the tooth-ache, had only to pray, look at them, and be cured. Some of these holy bones have been buried in different parts of the Continent. After a certain lapse of time, water is said to ooze from them, which soon forms a spring, and cures all the diseases of the faithful.
His voice faltered, he broke down, searched for his MS., could not find his place, fell into complete confusion, turned tail, and bolted down the stairs and out of the church. He was a recently ordained seminarist rehearsing his first sermon. Two years later I was in Brussels. A new dean had been appointed to S. Gudule, and was to preach his first sermon. I went there with a friend.
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