The Pocket Bible; or, Christian the Printer: A Tale of the Sixteenth Century

"The society being organized, what name is it to assume?"

"The name of the Society of Jesus."

"In what manner is the Society of Jesus to become a counterpoise to the papacy, and, if need be, dominate the papacy itself, should the latter swerve from the route it should pursue in order to insure the absolute government of the nations of the world to the Catholic Church?"

"Independent of the established Church, from whom it neither expects nor demands aught – neither the purple, nor the cross, nor benefices – the Society of Jesus, thanks to its accommodating and tolerant doctrines, will speedily conquer the empire of the human conscience. It will be the confessor of Kings and lackeys, of the mendicant monk and the cardinal, of the courtesan and the princess, the female bourgeois and her cook, of the concubine and the empress. The concert of this immense clientage, acting as one man under the breath of the Society of Jesus, and inspired by its General, will insure to him such a power that, at a given moment, he will be able to dictate his orders to the papacy, threatening to unchain against it all the consciences and arms over which he disposes. The General will be more powerful than the Pope himself."

"Besides its action upon the conscience, will the Society of Jesus dispose over any other and secondary levers?"

"Yes, master, and very effective ones. Whosoever, whether lay or clerical, poor or rich, woman or man, great or small, will blindly surrender his soul to the direction of the Society of Jesus, will always and everywhere, and against whomsoever, be sustained, protected, favored, defended and held scathless by the Society and its adherents. The penitent of a Jesuit will see the horizon of his most ardent hopes open before him; the path to honors and wealth will be smoothed before his feet; a tutelary mantle will cover his defects, his errors and his crimes; his enemies will be the Society's enemies; it will pursue them, track them, overtake them and smite them, whoever and wherever they may be, and with all available means. Thus the penitent of a Jesuit may aspire to anything. To incur his resentment will be a dread ordeal."

"Accordingly, you have faith in the accomplishment of our work?"

"An absolute faith."

"From whom do you derive that faith?"

"From you, master; from you, Ignatius Loyola, whose breath inspires us; from you, our master, him through whom we live."

"The work is immense – to dominate the world! And yet there are only seven of us."

"Master, when you command, we are legion."

"Seven – only seven, my sons – without other power than our faith in our work."

"Master, faith removes mountains. Command."

"Oh, my brave disciples!" exclaimed Ignatius Loyola rising and supporting himself with his staff. "What joy it is to me to have thus imbued you with my substance, and nourished you with the marrow of my doctrine! Be up! Be up! The moment for action has come. That is the reason I have caused you to gather this evening here at Montmartre, where I have so often come to meditate in this hollow, this second to that cavern of Manres, where, in Spain, after long years of concentration, I at last perceived the full depth, the immensity of my work. Yes, in order to weld you together in this work, I have broken, bent and absorbed your personalities. I have turned you into instruments of my will as docile as the cane in the hand of the man who leans upon it. Yes, I have captured your souls. Yes, you are now only corpses in my hands. Oh, my dear corpses! my canes! my serfs! my slaves! glorify your servitude. It delivers to you the empire of the world! You will be the masters of all the men! You will be supreme rulers of all the women!"

Loyola's disciples listened to him in devout silence. For a moment he remained steeped in the contemplation of his portentous ambition, meditating universal domination. Presently he proceeded:

"We must prepare ourselves by means of the holy sacrifice of the mass for the last act of this great day. We must receive the body of Jesus, we who constitute his intrepid militia! We the Jesuits!" And addressing himself to Lefevre: "You have brought with you the necessaries for the celebration of mass. Yonder rock" – pointing to the boulder behind which Christian and Justin were concealed – "yonder rock will serve us for altar. Come, to work, my well-beloved disciple."

Lefevre opened the bundle which he had taken charge of. He drew from it a surplice, a chasuble, a Bible, a stole, a chalice, a little box of consecrated wafers, and two small flasks with wine and water. He clothed himself in sacerdotal garb, while one of the disciples took the wax candle, knelt down and lighted the improvised altar upon which the other Jesuits were engaged in disposing the rest of the requisites for the celebration of the divine sacrifice. It was done before Loyola and his disciples. The voice of Lefevre, as he droned the liturgy, alone disturbed the silence of the solitude upon which the wax candle cast a flickering ruddy glow. The time for communion having come, the seven founders of the Society of Jesus received the Eucharist with unction. The service over, Loyola rose again to his feet, and with an inspired mien said to his disciples:

"And now, come, come."

He walked away, limping and followed by his acolytes, leaving behind them the religious implements on the block of stone.

Soon as the Jesuits moved away, Christian and Justin cautiously emerged from their hiding place, astounded at the secret they had just had revealed to them. Christian could still hardly believe that Lefevre, one of his oldest friends, and whose sentiments inclined him to the Reformation, had become a priest, and was one of the most ardent sectarians of Loyola.

"They are gone," Justin whispered to his companion; "I have not a drop of blood left in my veins. Let's flee!"

"What imprudence! We might run against those fanatics. I doubt not they will come back. Let us wait till they have departed."

"No, no! I will not stay here another minute. I am overcome with fear."

"Then let us try to escape by the other issue, which, as you were telling me, runs behind this rock. Come, be brave!"

"I am not sure whether that passage is not now obstructed. It would be dangerous to enter it without a light. A light would betray us. Let's return upon our steps."

More and more frightened, Justin walked rapidly towards the entrance of the quarry. Christian followed, unwilling to leave him alone. The moment they were about to emerge from the subterranean cavern, their ears were struck by the sound of human voices coming from above. The moon was now high in the sky, and lighted the only path that led to the abbey.

"We can not leave this place without being seen," observed Justin in a low and anxious voice. "Those men have gathered upon the platform above the entrance of the cave."

"Listen," said Christian, yielding to an irresistible impulse of curiosity; "listen, they are talking."

The artisans remained motionless and mute. For a moment a solemn silence reigned. Presently the voice of Ignatius Loyola reached them as if it descended from heaven.

"Do you swear?" came from the founder of the Society of Jesus. "Do you swear in the name of the living God?"

"In the name of God," responded the Jesuits. "We swear! We shall obey our master!"

"My sons," Loyola's voice resumed solemnly, "from this place you can see the four cardinal points of that world whose empire I parcel out among you, valiant soldiers of the Society of Jesus. Down yonder, towards the north, lie the land of the Muscovite, Germany, England. To you, Germany, England and the land of the Muscovite – John Lainez."

"Master, your will be done!"

"Yonder, to the east, Turkey, Asia, the Holy Land. To you, Turkey, Asia and the Holy Land – Rodriguez of Acevedo."

"Master, your will be done!"

"Yonder, towards the west, the new America and the Indies. To you, the new America and the Indies – Alfonso Salmeron."

"Master, your will be done!"

"Yonder, to the south, Africa, Italy, Spain, Portugal, the islands of Corsica and Sardinia, and the Balearic Isles. To you, Africa, Italy, Spain, Portugal, the islands of Corsica and Sardinia and the Balearic Isles – Inigo of Bobadilla. Behold your empire."

"Master, your will be done!"

"Finally, here at our feet, Paris, the capital of France, a world in itself. To you, Paris, to you, France – John Lefevre."

"Master, your will be done!"

"Beginning with to-morrow, gird up your loins. Depart, staff in hand, alone, unknown. To work, soldiers of Jesus! To work, Jesuits! The kingdom of earth is ours! To-morrow I depart for Rome, to offer or force upon the Pope our invincible support."

Loyola's voice died away. Hearing the sectarians descending from the platform, Christian and Justin hurried back to their hiding place, behind the huge rock upon which were the implements that Lefevre had used in the celebration of the mass. The latter soon came back, followed by his companions. He doffed his sacerdotal vestments, and approached the improvised altar to gather the sacred vessels. So busied, his hand struck against the chalice, which rolled down and fell behind the rock at the place where the two artisans were crowding themselves from sight. John Lefevre walked back of the rock after the chalice which had fallen close to Christian's feet. The latter saw the Jesuit approach; stoop down and pick up the vase, without seeming, in the demi-gloom, to notice his old friend, whom his hand almost touched, and rejoin the other disciples.

"Lefevre has seen us!" thought Christian to himself. "It is impossible he should not have noticed us. And yet, not a word, not a gesture betrayed upon his countenance the astonishment and uneasiness into which he must have been plunged by our presence at this place, and the knowledge that we are in possession of the secret of his society."

While Christian was absorbed by these thoughts, Lefevre, ever imperturbable, returned to his bag the objects which he used in celebrating the mass, walked out of the cavern with his companions, and whispered a few words into the ear of Loyola. A slight tremor ran through the frame of the latter, who, however, immediately recovered his composure, and whispered back his answer to Lefevre. The latter lowered his head in token of acquiescence. Thereupon the founder of the Society of Jesus and his disciples disappeared in the windings of the road and reached Paris.

Such was the origin of that infernal society.

CHAPTER XI.

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER

As soon as Christian returned home, late towards midnight, he hastened to communicate to his guest the occurrences at Montmartre. Monsieur John concluded it was urgent to assemble the chiefs of the Reformation in the abandoned quarry, where there was no danger of apprehending the return of the Jesuits, seeing that Ignatius Loyola was to depart immediately for Rome, while his disciples were to scatter to the distant countries parceled out to them. Finally, if, as Christian persisted with good reason in believing, Lefevre had noticed the presence of the two artisans at the Jesuit conventicle, it would be an additional reason to keep them from returning to the spot. Accordingly, Monsieur John decided to convoke the chiefs of the Reformation in Paris for six o'clock in the afternoon of the following day at Montmartre. To this effect he prepared a letter giving the directions to the trysting place. Justin was to proceed in time to make certain that the second issue was practicable. Furthermore, it was agreed between Bridget and her husband that she would absent herself together with her daughter before sunset, in order to allow the stranger to leave the house unnoticed by Hena. On his part, Christian was to pretend an invitation to supper with a friend, in order to engage his son's company in a walk, and was to dismiss him when he thought that Monsieur John had departed. The program was carried out as agreed. When Bridget and Hena returned home after a short walk along the banks of the Seine, the proscribed man had quitted his hospitable refuge, and betaken him to the Montmartre Gate, where Christian was to await him, and conduct him to the place of meeting.

The artisan's wife and daughter busied themselves at their trade of embroidery. They worked in silence by the light of a lamp – Bridget musing over Hervé's repentance, while Hena, lost in revery, frequently allowed her needle to drop inactive on her lap. The young girl was absorbed in her own thoughts, a stranger to what went on around her. The hour of nine struck from the distant clock in the tower of St. James-of-the-Slaughter-House.

"Nine o'clock," observed Bridget to herself. "My son can not be long in coming back. With what joy shall I not embrace him this evening! What a heavy load did not his repentance roll off my heart! The dear child!"

And addressing Hena without removing her eyes from her needlework:

"God be blessed! Dear child, you will no longer have cause to complain of Hervé's indifference. No, no! And when my little Odelin comes back from Italy we shall then all live together again, happy as of old. I am awaiting with impatience the return of Master Raimbaud, the armorer, who will bring us back our gentle Odelin."

Not receiving any answer from her daughter, Bridget looked up and said to her:

"I have been speaking to you some time, dear daughter. You do not seem to hear me. Why are you so absentminded?"

Hena remained silent for an instant, then she smiled and answered naïvely:

"Singular as it may be, why should I not tell you, mother? It would be the first time in my life that I kept a secret from you."

"Well, my child, what is the reason of your absent-mindedness?"

"It is – well, it is Brother St. Ernest-Martyr, mother."

Dropping her embroidery, Bridget contemplated her daughter with extreme astonishment. Hena, however, proceeded with a candid smile:

"Does that astonish you, mother? I am, myself, a good deal more astonished."

Hena uttered these words with such ingenuousness, her handsome face, clear as her soul, turned to her mother with such trustfulness, that Bridget, at once uneasy and confident – uneasy, by reason of the revelation; confident, by reason of Hena's innocent assurance – said to her after a short pause:

"Indeed, dear daughter, I am astonished at what I learn from you. You saw, it seems to me, Brother St. Ernest-Martyr only two or three times at our friend Mary La Catelle's, before that unhappy affair of the other evening on the bridge."

"Yes, mother. And that is just the extraordinary thing about it. Since day before yesterday I constantly think of Brother St. Ernest-Martyr. And that is not all. Last night I dreamt of him!"

"Dreamt of him!" exclaimed Bridget.

So far from evading her mother's gaze, Hena's only answer was two affirmative nods of the head, which she gave, opening wide her beautiful blue eyes, in which the childlike and charming astonishment, that her own sentiments caused her, was depicted.

"Yes, mother; I dreamt of him. I saw him picking up at the door of a church a poor child that shook with cold. I saw him pick up the child, hold it in his arms, warm it with his breath, and contemplate it with so pitying and tender an air, that the tears forced themselves to my eyes. I was so moved that I woke up with a start – and I really wept!"

"That dream is singular, my daughter!"

"Singular? No! The dream is explainable enough. Day before yesterday Hervé was telling me of the charitable nature of Brother St. Ernest-Martyr. That same evening we saw the poor monk carried into our house with his face bleeding. That I should have been deeply impressed, and should have dreamt of him, I understand. But what I do not understand is that when I am awake, wide awake, I should still think of him. Look, even now, when I shut my eyes" – and, smiling, Hena suited the action to the words – "I still see him as if he stood there, with that kind face of his that he turns upon the little children."

"But, my dear daughter, when you think of Brother St. Ernest-Martyr, what is the nature of your thoughts?"

Hena pondered for an instant, and then answered:

"I would not know how to explain it to you, mother. When I think of him I say to myself: 'How good, how generous, how brave is Brother St. Ernest-Martyr! Day before yesterday he braved the sword to defend Mary La Catelle; another day, on the Notre Dame Bridge, he leaped into the water to save an unhappy man who was drowning; he picks up little deserted children, or gives them instruction with so much interest and affection that their own father could not display more solicitude in them.'"

"Thinking over it, dear child, there is nothing in all that but what is perfectly natural. The brother is an upright man. Your thoughts turn upon his good deeds. That's quite simple."

"No, mother, it is not quite so simple as you put it! Are not you all that is best in this world? Is not my father as upright a man as Brother St. Ernest-Martyr? Are not you two my beloved and venerated parents? And yet – that is what puzzles me, how comes it that I oftener think of him than of either of you?"

And after a pause the young maid added in an accent of adorable candor:

"I tell you, mother, it is truly extraordinary!"

Several impatient raps, given at the street door interrupted the conversation. Bridget said to her daughter:

"Open the window, and see who it is that knocks. Probably it is your brother."

"Yes, mother; it is he; it is Hervé," said Hena, opening the window.

She descended to the floor below.

"My God!" thought Bridget to herself in no slight agitation. "How am I to interpret the confidence of Hena? Her soul is incapable of dissimulation. She has told me the whole truth, without being aware of the sentiments the young monk awakens in her. I can hardly wait to inform Christian of this strange discovery!"

The sound of Hervé's steps hurriedly ascending the stairs drew Bridget from her brown study. She saw her son rush in, followed by his sister. As he stepped into the room he cried with a troubled countenance:

"Oh, mother! mother!" and embracing her tenderly he added: "Oh, mother! What sad news I bring you!"

"Dear child, what is it?"

"Our poor Mary La Catelle – "

"What has happened to her?"

"This evening, as I was about to leave the printing shop, father asked me to accompany him part of the way. He was going to a friend's, with whom he was to take supper this evening. Father said: 'La Catelle's house is on our way, we shall drop in and inquire whether she is still suffering from her painful experience of the other evening' – "

"Yesterday morning," Bridget broke in, "after I took her home with your sister, we left Mary calm and at ease. She is a brave woman."

"Notwithstanding her firm nature and her self-control, she succumbed to the reaction of that night's excitement. Last night she was seized with a high fever. She was bled twice to-day. A minute ago we found her in a desperate state. A fatal end is apprehended."

"Poor Mary!" exclaimed Hena, clasping her hands in despair, and her eyes filling with tears. "What a misfortune! This news overwhelms me with sorrow!"

"Unhappily her sister-in-law left yesterday for Meaux with her husband," remarked Hervé. "La Catelle, at death's door, is left at this moment to the care of a servant."

"Hena, quick, my cloak!" said Bridget rising precipitately from her seat. "I can not leave that worthy friend to the care of mercenary hands. I shall run to her help."

"Good, dear mother, you but forestall father's wishes," observed Hervé, as his sister hurried to take Bridget's cloak out of a trunk. "Father told me to hurry and notify you of this misfortune. He said he knew how attached you were to our friend, and that you would wish to spend the night at her bed, and render her the care she stands in need of."

Wrapping herself in her cloak, Bridget was about to leave the house.

"Mother," said Hena, "will you not take me with you?"

"How can you think of such a thing, child, at this hour of night!"

"Sister, it is for me to escort mother," put in Hervé; and, with a tender voice, accompanied with the offer of his forehead for Bridget to kiss, the hypocrite added:

"Is it not the sweetest of my duties to watch over you, good mother?"

"Oh," said Bridget, moved, and kissing her son's forehead, "I recognize you again, my son!" With this passing allusion to the painful incidents of the last few days, which she had already forgiven, the unsuspecting mother proceeded: "A woman of my age runs no risk on the street, my son; besides, I do not wish your sister to remain alone in the house."

"I am not afraid, mother," Hena responded. "I shall bolt the door from within. I shall feel easier that way than to have you go out without company at this hour of night. Why, mother, remember what happened to La Catelle night before last! Let Hervé go with you."

"Mother," put in Hervé, "you hear what my dear sister says."

"Children, we are losing precious time. Let us not forget that, at this hour, our friend may be expiring in the hands of a stranger. Good-bye!"

"How unlucky that just to-day our uncle should have gone to St. Denis!" put in Hervé with a sigh. But seeming to be struck with an idea he added: "Mother, why could not both Hena and I accompany you?"

"Oh, darling brother, you deserve an embrace, twenty embraces, for that bright thought," said the young girl, throwing her arms around Hervé's neck. "It is agreed, mother, we shall all three go together."

"Impossible. The house can not be left alone, children. Who will open the door to your father when he comes home? Besides, did not Master Simon send us yesterday a little bag of pearls to embroider on the velvet gown for the Duchess of Etampes? The pearls are of considerable value. I would feel very uneasy if these valuable articles remained without anybody to watch them. Knowing you are here, Hervé, I shall feel easy on that score," remarked Bridget with a look of affectionate confidence that seemed to say to her son: "Yesterday you committed larceny; but you are now again an honorable boy; to-day I can entrust you with the guardianship of my treasure."

Hervé divined his mother's thoughts. He raised her hand to his lips and said:

"Your trust in me shall be justified."

"Still, this very evening, shortly before nightfall, we left the house all alone for a walk along the river," objected Hena. "Why should we run any greater risk now, if we go out all three of us?"

"Dear daughter, it was then still light; the shops of our neighbors were still open; burglars would not have dared to make a descent upon us at such a time. At this hour, on the contrary, all the shops being closed, and the streets almost deserted, thieves are in season."

"And it is just at such an hour that you are going to expose yourself, mother."

"I have nothing about me to tempt the cupidity of thieves. Good-bye! Good-bye, my children!" Bridget said hastily, and embracing Hena and her brother: "To-morrow morning, my dear girl, your father will take you to La Catelle's, where you will find me. We shall return home together. Hervé, light me downstairs."

Preceded by her son, who carried the lamp, Bridget quickly descended the stairs and left the house.

CHAPTER XII.

HERVE'S DEMENTIA

No sooner had Hervé closed the street door upon his mother than he slowly re-ascended the stairs to the upper chamber, saying to himself:

"It will take my mother an hour to reach La Catelle's house; at least as long to return; father will not be home until midnight; I have two full hours to myself. They shall be turned to profit."

Pressing with a convulsive hand against his heart the scapulary containing Tezel's letter of absolution, Hervé entered the room in which Hena was left alone.

From the threshold Hervé saw his sister on her knees. Astonished at her posture, he stepped towards her and asked:

"Hena, what are you doing?"

"I was praying to God that He may guard mother, and restore our friend to health," answered the young girl, rising; and she proceeded with a sigh: "My heart feels heavy. May no misfortune threaten us."

Saying this, the confiding girl sat down to her embroidery. Her brother took a seat beside her on a stool. After a few seconds he broke the silence: