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

"Oh, that would be the merest child's play, provided no priest were concerned," broke in the Tire-Laine; "besides the abduction of your niece, the violation of a sanctuary!"

"Yesterday I despatched my seventh man," put in the Mauvais-Garçon. "Accordingly, my conscience is not very well at ease, because, to obtain absolution for a murder, I would have to pay more than the murder fetches me. But a lay murder is but a peccadillo beside a sacrilege! – And then, if after the expedition that you propose to us, the dice should fail to give me the apostolic schedule? What then! St. Cadouin! I would dream only of the eternal flames ever after."

"That is your risk," again replied Josephin imperturbably. "The hour approaches. Have you decided? Is it yes? Is it no? Must I look for assistance elsewhere?"

"When will you deliver the letter to us?"

"Just as soon as my niece is safely with her father, and the casket is in my hands. Agreed?"

"And if you deceive us? If after the expeditions have been successfully carried out, you refuse to deliver the letter to us?"

"By the bowels of St. Quenet! And if, taking advantage of a moment when I may not be on my guard, you should stab me to-night, that you may seize the letter before rendering me the services which I expect of you? The risks are equal, and compensate each other. Enough of words!"

"Oh, Josephin, such a suspicion against me – me your old comrade in arms!"

"By the confession! To take us – us who have drunk out of the same pot, for capable of so unworthy an action!"

"God's blood! Night draws near. We shall need some time to prepare for the escalade," ejaculated the Franc-Taupin. "For the last time – yes or no?"

The two bandits consulted each other for a moment with their eyes. At the end of the consultation Pichrocholle reached out his hand to the Franc-Taupin, saying:

"Upon the word of a Mauvais-Garçon, and by the salvation of my soul – 'tis done! You can count with me to the death."

"Upon the word of a Tire-Laine, and by the salvation of my soul – 'tis done! You may dispose of me."

"To work!" ordered the Franc-Taupin.

Josephin left the tavern of the Black Grape accompanied by the two bandits.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE COTTAGE OF ROBERT ESTIENNE

The cottage or country-house, that Robert Estienne owned near St. Ouen, on the St. Denis road, was located in a secluded spot, and at a considerable distance from the village. The byroad which led to the entrance of the residence ran upon a gate of grated iron near a little lodge occupied by the gardener and his wife. The principal dwelling rose in the center of a garden enclosed by a wall. The day after that on which the Franc-Taupin, the Mauvais-Garçon and the Tire-Laine held their conference at the tavern of the Black Grape, Michael, Robert Estienne's gardener, having returned from the field late in the afternoon, and being not a little out of sorts at not finding his wife Alison at their home, the key of which she had carried away with her, was grumbling, storming and blowing upon his fingers numb with the December chill. Finally his wife, no doubt returning from the village, hove in sight, and wended her way towards the gate.

"Where the devil did you go to?" Michael called out to Alison as he saw her from a distance. "Could you not at least have left the key in the door? The devil take those forgetful women!"

"I went – to confession," answered the gardener's wife avoiding her husband's eyes, and pushing open the gate. "I took the key with me because you were afield."

"To confession! – To confession!" replied Michael with a growl. "And I was freezing to death."

"All the same I must see to my salvation. You sent me this morning with a letter to our master. The curate was good enough to wait for me at the confessional after dinner. I availed myself of his kindness."

"Very well. But, may the devil take it! I wish you would try to gain paradise without exposing me to be frozen to death."

The couple had barely stepped into the lodge when Michael stopped to listen in the direction of the gate and said, surprisedly:

"I hear the gallop of a horse!"

The brave Michael stepped out again, looked through the grating of the gate, recognized Robert Estienne, and called out:

"Alison, come quick; it is our master!"

Saying this the gardener threw open the gate to Robert Estienne. The latter alighted from his horse, and giving the reins to his servant said:

"Good evening, Michael. Any news?"

"Oh, monsieur, many things – "

"Does my guest run any danger? Has any indiscretion been committed?"

"No, thanks to God, monsieur. You may be easy on that score. You can rely upon my wife as upon myself. No one suspects at the village that there is anyone hiding at the house."

"What, then, has happened, since my last call? Alison brought me this morning a note from the friend to whom I am giving asylum. But although the note urged my coming here, it indicated nothing serious."

"No doubt the person who is here, monsieur, reserves for his own telling the news that he is no longer alone at the house."

"How is that?"

"Day before yesterday, the tall one-eyed fellow who comes here from time to time, and always at night, called in broad daylight, mounted upon a little cart, drawn by a donkey and filled with straw. He told me to watch the cart, and he went in search of your guest. The two came out together, and out of the straw in the cart they pulled – a monk!"

"A monk, say you! – A monk!"

"Yes, monsieur, a young monk of the Order of Saint Augustine, who looked as if he had not another hour to live, so pale and weak was he."

"And what has become of him?"

"He remained here, and your guest said to me: 'Michael, I beg you to keep the arrival of the monk an absolute secret. I shall inform Monsieur Estienne of the occurrence. Your master will approve the measures I have taken.'"

"Did you follow his recommendation?"

"Yes, monsieur, but that is not all. Last night the big one-eyed fellow came back just before dawn. He was on horseback, and behind him, wrapped in a cloak on the crupper of his mount, he brought – a nun! I went immediately to notify your guest. He came out running, and almost fainted away at the sight of the nun. Bathed in tears he returned with her into the house, while the big one-eyed man rode off at a gallop. It was daylight by that time. Finally, towards noon to-day, the big one-eyed man returned once more, but this time clad in a peasant's blouse and cap. He brought a little casket to your guest, and then went off – "

Astounded at what the gardener was telling him, Robert Estienne walked up to the house, where he rapped in the nature of a signal – two short raps and then, after a short pause, a third. Instantly Christian opened the door.

"My friend, what is the matter? What has happened?" cried Robert Estienne, struck by the profound change in the appearance of the artisan, who threw himself into the arms of his patron, murmuring between half-smothered sobs:

"My daughter! – My daughter!"

Robert Estienne returned Christian's convulsive embrace, and under the impression that some irreparable misfortune had happened, he said in sympathetic accents:

"Courage, my friend! Courage!"

"She has been found!" cried Christian. The light of unspeakable joy shone in his eyes. "My child has been restored to me! She is here! She is with me!"

"True?" asked Robert Estienne, and recalling the gardener's words he added: "Was she the nun?"

"It is Hena herself! But come, come, monsieur; my heart overflows with joy. My head swims. Oh, never have I needed your wise counsel as much as now! What am I now to do?"

Christian and his patron had all this while remained at the entrance of the vestibule. They walked into a contiguous apartment.

"For heaven's sake, my dear Christian, be calm," remarked Robert Estienne. "Let me know what has happened. Needless to add that my advice and friendship are at your service."

Recovering his composure, and wiping with the back of his hand the tears that inundated his face, the artisan proceeded to explain:

"You are aware of the arrest of my wife, my daughter and my eldest son at our house. I would also have been arrested had I been found at home. My brother-in-law, who lingered in the neighborhood of my house, notified me of the danger I ran, and made me retrace my steps. Thanks to Josephin and yourself I found a safe refuge, first in Paris itself, and then here, in this retreat which seemed to you to offer greater security."

"Did I not by all that but repay a debt of gratitude? Your hospitality to John Calvin is probably the principal cause of the persecution that you and your family have been the victims of. Despite my pressing solicitations, Princess Marguerite, whose influence alone has hitherto protected me against my enemies, declined to attempt aught in your behalf. Cardinal Duprat said to her: 'Madam, the man in whom you are interesting yourself is one of the bitterest enemies of the King and the Church. If we succeed in laying hands upon that Christian Lebrenn he shall not escape the gallows, which he has long deserved!' Such set animosity towards you, a workingman and obscure artisan, passes my comprehension."

"I now know the cause of that bitter animosity, Monsieur Estienne. Before proceeding with my narrative, the revelation is due to you. It may have its bearings upon the advice that I expect from you."

Christian opened the casket that contained the chronicles of his family, brought to him that very noon by the Franc-Taupin. He took from the casket a scroll of paper and placed it in Robert Estienne's hand, saying:

"Kindly read this, monsieur. The manuscripts to which this note refers are the family chronicles that I have occasionally spoken of to you."

Robert Estienne took the note and read:

"IGNATIUS LOYOLA, GENERAL OF THE SOCIETY OF JESUS"A. M. D. G"(Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam)

"Despite the incorrectness of their style and other defects of form, the within manuscripts may, especially since the invention of the printing press, become a weapon of great mischief.

"This narrative, transmitted from century to century at the domestic hearth to obscure generations of common people could not, before the invention of the printing press, have any evil effect further than to perpetuate execrable traditions within a single family. It is so no longer. These rhapsodies are stamped with the race hatred borne by the Gauls towards the Franks, the conquered towards the conquerors, the serf towards the seigneur, the subject towards the Crown and the Church. To-day these rhapsodies could be multiplied indefinitely through the printing press, and thus diffused among the evil-minded people, ever but too prone to rebellion against the pontifical and royal authorities. Enlightened by these narratives upon historical events that should forever be a closed book to them, if they are to entertain a feeling of blind submission, a sense of respect, and a wholesome dread for the throne and the altar, the evil-minded common people would in the future engage with ever greater audacity in those revolts that not a single century has hitherto been wholly free from, – a state of things that the Society of Jesus, with the aid of God, will reduce to order.

"Therefore, it is urgent that these manuscripts be destroyed without delay, as proposed by our beloved son Lefevre, and that the traditions of the Lebrenn family be shattered by the following means:

"To cause the father and mother to be sentenced as heretics. The proofs of their heresy are plentiful. The torture and the pyre for the infamous wretches.

"To lock up in a convent the son and the daughter (Hena and Hervé) now in Paris, and compel them to take the vows.

"As to the youngest son, Odelin, fifteen years of age, and at present traveling in Italy with Master Raimbaud, an armorer, who is also reported to be a heretic, the return of the lad to Paris must be awaited, and then the identical course pursued towards him – capture him, lock him up in a convent, and compel him to take the vows. He is fifteen years old. Despite the taint of his early bringing-up, it will be easy to operate upon a child of that age. If, contrary to all likelihood, he can not be reduced to reason, he shall be kept in the convent until eighteen. Then he shall be pronounced guilty of heresy, and burned alive.

"I insist– it is important, not only to destroy the said manuscripts, but also to shatter the traditions of the Lebrenn family, and extinguish the same, either by delivering it to the secular arm on crimes of heresy, or by burying its last scions forever in the shadow of the cloister.

"The fact must be kept well in mind – there is no such thing as small enemies. The slightest of causes often produces great effects. At a given moment, on the occasion of a rebellion, one resolute man may be enough to carry the populace with him. Due to its secular traditions, the Lebrenn family might produce such a man. Such an eventuality must be prevented; the family must be uprooted.

"If, supposing the impossible, the measures herein indicated should fail of success, if this dangerous stock should perpetuate itself, then, it is necessary that our ORDER, equally perpetual, always keep its eye upon these Lebrenns, who are certain to generate infamous scoundrels.

"The instance of this family is one instance among the thousand that go to prove the necessity of the register I have often mentioned. I order that one be kept in each division by the provincial of our Society. I order that the names of the families upon whom the attention of our Society should be particularly directed, be inscribed in these registers. These records, preserved and transmitted from century to century, will furnish our Society the means of surveillance and of action upon future generations. Such is my will.

"Our beloved son Lefevre will therefore start the register for the province of France by entering in it the name of the Lebrenn family. There shall also be entered the names of Robert Estienne, of Gaspard of Coligny, of the Prince of Gerolstein, of Ambroise Paré, of Clement Marot, of Bernard Palissy, of the Viscount of Plouernel and of others, too numerous to recite at this place, but who will be found on the heretics' lists furnished by Gainier to the Criminal Lieutenant, who shall furnish the said documents without delay to our beloved son Lefevre, whom may God guard.

"I. L."

"Ignatius Loyola!" explained Christian translating the initials I and L pronounced by Robert Estienne, who gazed upon the artisan dumbfounded. The latter proceeded with a mournful and bitter tone: "The orders of Ignatius Loyola were followed. My wife – " and he choked a sob, "my wife was arrested and imprisoned for a heretic. Blessed be Thou, Oh, God! she died in prison. Her death saved her, no doubt, from the stake! My daughter was taken to the convent of the Augustinian sisters, where the poor child was yesterday compelled to pronounce eternal vows. My son Hervé – Oh, the monster no longer deserves to be called a son – "

"What is there against him?"

"A letter of my daughter, written to her mother, whose death she was not aware of, put me on the scent of a horrible secret. This morning I questioned my brother-in-law, who, happier than I, had the opportunity of seeing Bridget in her prison. He unveiled to me a distressful mystery – "

"Proceed with your tale, my friend."

Wiping away the cold perspiration that bathed his forehead, the artisan went on to say: "Hervé entered the Convent of the Cordeliers, not against his will, but joyfully! He will not part from Fra Girard, the demon who led him astray. They are now waiting for my son Odelin to return from Italy. Alas, the boy is on his way to Paris and I have not been able to notify Master Raimbaud of what has happened, not knowing where to address a letter to him. They will fall into the hands of our enemies."

"Just heavens!" exclaimed Robert Estienne, struck by a sudden thought and breaking in upon Christian. "There can be no doubt about it. A minute ago, as I listened to your account of how the orders of Ignatius Loyola were followed, I wondered how – even in these sad days when the freedom and lives of our citizens are at the mercy of the good or ill will of Cardinal Duprat and his agent, the Criminal Lieutenant, John Morin – I wondered how the plot concocted against your whole family could be executed with such rapidity. I now wonder no longer. Ignatius Loyola exercises a powerful influence over the Cardinal, who has joined the Society of Jesus."

"Is, then, the Society of Jesus already so highly connected?"

"No doubt about it! When I went to entreat the intercession of Princess Marguerite in behalf of Mary La Catelle, John Dubourg, Laforge and others of our friends, my protectress inquired from me whether I knew a certain nobleman, still young of years and lame of foot, who almost every day held protracted conferences with the Cardinal, over whom he wielded an absolute sway. Thanks to the information I had from you, I was able to enlighten the Princess concerning the chief of the new Order of Jesuits. It is evident that it was with the connivance of the Cardinal that Ignatius Loyola was enabled to smite your family. But what I could not yet understand was the reason that drove that man to pursue you with such inveteracy and to aim at your very life."

"Ignatius Loyola undoubtedly does not pardon my having surprised the secret of his Order. Lefevre, one of his disciples and a former friend of mine, saw me on the occasion of that fatal night concealed behind a big boulder at the bottom of the quarry. He affected not to notice me, in order not to awaken my suspicions, and the very next day he led the archers of the patrol to my house, seized my family papers, with which I had made him acquainted, and climbed to the garret, where, finding some scraps of letters left behind him by John Calvin, he must by those means have been put upon the track of the council of the reformers held at Montmartre. Only an hour or two after the arrival of our co-religionists the quarry was invaded by the archers."

"But how did your family chronicles and the note about them fall back into your hands?"

"Also through the efforts of my wife's brother, the soldier of adventure I have often spoken of to you. Josephin, that is my brother-in-law's name, was going to our house when Bridget and my children were arrested. He saw them taken away. He also saw a man, clad in a black frock, with the cowl over his head, carry off the casket that contained our legends. That man was my friend Lefevre. Once out of my house, and no longer deeming it necessary to conceal his face, he raised his cowl and Josephin recognized him. The discovery was a revelation to me. That night my brother-in-law could not attempt to free my wife and children from the hands of the archers. He remained in the neighborhood on the watch for me. It was by him I was apprized of the arrest of my family. At length, yesterday, having encountered near my house an Augustinian monk, who left the convent surreptitiously, he learned from him that my daughter had been made to take the veil. Once posted upon where Hena was to be found, the Franc-Taupin decided to abduct her from the cloister, helped therein by two other resolute fellows. He succeeded in the perilous undertaking. Finally, having no doubt that the casket containing my family chronicles was in Lefevre's possession, he repaired early in the morning to Montaigu College with his two trusty companions, and took away from the Jesuit the casket in which, jointly with our family chronicles, was the note of Ignatius Loyola. These he brought to me at noon to-day."

"What devotion! Thanks to the brave adventurer, your daughter is restored to you! The monk to whom you have extended hospitality is, I suppose, the same who escaped from the convent, and placed the Franc-Taupin in position to deliver your daughter. The situation begins to look less dangerous."

"Yes, Monsieur Estienne. And now I implore you, lighten my path with your advice. My head swims. I am a prey to cruel perplexities."

"Are you afraid your daughter may be traced to this house?"

"That fear is terrible enough, but is not what troubles me most."

"What is it that troubles you?"

Christian sobbed aloud: "You do not yet know all. The monk is Brother St. Ernest-Martyr."

"He is a true disciple of Christ! Often did Mary La Catelle tell me he inclined towards the Reformation."

"Listen, Monsieur Estienne. The monk was hardly in the house, where he arrived worn to a skeleton by a slow fever, when he lost consciousness. I gave him all the care I could. I divested him of his frock, laid him in my bed, and watched over him. A few leaves of paper dropped out of his clothes. I picked them up. As I ran my eyes over them I read the name of my daughter. I admit that I yielded to an impulse of curiosity, blameworthy, perhaps, but irresistible. I opened the leaves. What a discovery!"

"The leaves of paper – "

"Contained fragments of a sort of diary, to which the thoughts of the young monk were confided. From them I learned that he was chosen for the confessor and instructor of my daughter at the convent of the Augustinian sisters – and he became enamored of her. He loves Hena to distraction!"

"Does he know you to be aware of his secret?"

"Yes. When he recovered consciousness he saw the fragments of his journal in my hands. He uttered a cry of fear. 'Be calm,' I said to him; 'it is the soul of an honest man that stands reflected in these revelations. I can only pity you.'"

"Is your daughter here in the house with him?"

"My daughter," answered Christian, turning to Robert Estienne a face bathed in tears, "my daughter is not aware of the young monk's passion – and, in her turn, she loves him."

"Unhappy child!"

"Her love is killing her. It was one of the reasons that decided her to take the veil. She has told me all, with her natural candor."

"Have Hena and the young monk met since they are here?"

"No. The poor young man – his name was Ernest Rennepont before he took orders – the moment he learned from me of my daughter's presence in the house, wanted to deliver himself forthwith to the Superior of his Order, lest we be all taken for accomplices in his flight. I firmly objected to his determination, seeing it meant the loss of his life."

"Then these young folks are unaware that their love is reciprocated?"

"It will be her death, Monsieur Estienne, it will be her death! I lose my head endeavoring to find a way out of this tangle of ills. What am I to do? What shall I decide? I asked you to come to me without saying why, because I rely upon your great wisdom. You may, perhaps, be able to light the chaos of these afflictions which cause me to stagger with despair. I see only pitfalls and perils around us."

Christian paused.

Robert Estienne remained a few minutes steeped in silent reflection.

"My friend," said the latter, "you know the life of Luther as well as I. That great reformer, a monk like Ernest Rennepont, and, like him, one time full of faith in the Roman Church, withdrew from her fold on account of the scandals that he witnessed. Do you think Ernest Rennepont is ready to embrace the Reformation?"

"I do not know his intentions in that regard. But when he saw I was informed of his love for Hena, he exclaimed: 'Miserable monk that I am, by loving Hena I have committed a crime in the eyes of the Church. And yet, God is my witness, the purity of my love would do honor to any upright man, not condemned to celibacy.'"

"Let us return to Luther. That reformer always took the stand with irresistible logic against the celibacy of clergymen – "

"Great God!" cried Christian breaking in upon Robert Estienne. "What recollections your words awaken in my memory! The fragments of the diary written by the unfortunate monk mention a dream in which he saw himself a pastor of the Evangelical religion, and husband of Hena, giving, like herself, instruction to little children."

"Why should not Ernest Rennepont conform his conduct with the precepts of Luther?"

"Oh, monsieur!" murmured Christian, carrying both his hands to his burning temples. "Hope and doubt disturb my reason. I dare not give myself over to such a thought, out of fear that I be miserably disillusioned. And yet, your words bear the stamp of wisdom and good will."