Collected works of eugen.., p.432
Collected Works of Eugène Sue, page 432
“The dear boy!” observed Bridget tenderly, as her thoughts flew to her absent son. “May he soon again be back in our midst! It looks so long to us before his return.”
“His absence grieves me as much as it does you,” interjected Christian. “It seems to me so long since his place is vacant at our hearth.”
“You will see him return to us grown up, but so grown that we shall hardly know him,” put in Hena. “How we shall celebrate his return! What a joy it will be to us to make him forget the trials of the journey! What a delight it will be to hear him tell us all about his trip to Milan, his experiences on the road, and his excursions in Italy!”
Hervé alone had not a word on the absence of his brother.
Rising from the seat into which he had dropped for a moment, the young monk took leave of the artisan, saying:
“May the heavens continue to bless your hospitality and your happy home, the sanctuary of the domestic virtues that are so rare in these days!”
“The devil, my friend! Your words are golden!” exclaimed the Franc-Taupin, as he offered the monk the support of his arm. “Whenever I step into this poor but dear house, it seems to me I leave the big devil of hell behind me at the door; and whenever I go out again, I feel as if I am quitting paradise. Look out! Who knows but Beelzebub, the wicked one with the cloven hoofs, is waiting for me outside? But to-night, seeing me in your company, my reverend man, he will not dare to grab me. Come, let’s start, reverend sir!”
So saying, the Franc-Taupin left with the monk; Bridget led La Catelle to Hena’s chamber; and Christian climbed up to the garret for a chat with Monsieur John.
Left alone in the lower apartment, his fists clenched and his lips drawn tight together, Hervé murmured moodily:
“Oh, that monk — that accursed monk!” The lad relapsed into gloomy thoughts; suddenly he resumed: “What a scheme! Yes, yes — it will remove even the shadow of a suspicion. I shall follow the inspiration, whether it proceed from the devil or from God—”
Hervé did not finish his sentence. He listened in the direction of the staircase by which Mary La Catelle, Bridget and Hena and his father had just mounted to the floor above.
CHAPTER VIII.
IN THE GARRET.
CAUTIOUSLY CLIMBING THE ladder that led up to the garret, Christian found the stranger seated upon the sill of the narrow window that opened upon the river. The moon, then on the wane, was rising in a sky studded with stars, and shed her pale light upon the austere visage of the unknown guest. Drawn from his absorbing thoughts, he turned towards Christian:
“I thought I heard some noise toward the bridge. Has anything happened?”
“Some seigneurs, out on a carousal, attempted to do violence to a woman. Several of our neighbors rushed to her aid with me and my brother-in-law. Thanks be to God, Mary La Catelle is safe.”
“What!” cried Monsieur John with deep concern, breaking in upon the artisan’s report. “Was that worthy widow, who is associated with John Dubourg, the draper of St. Denis Street, with Etienne Laforge, the rich bourgeois of Tournay, and the architect Poille in the charitable work of gathering abandoned orphans, in peril? Poor woman, her charity, the purity of her principles and her devotion to the little ones entitle her to the esteem of all right-minded people.”
“The task that she has imposed upon herself bristles with dangers. The monks and friars of her quarter suspect her of partaking of the ideas and hopes of the reformers. Already has she been locked up in the Chatelet, and her school been closed. Thanks, however, to the intervention of one of her relatives, who is in the service of Princess Marguerite, a protector of the reform, Mary was set at liberty and her school was re-opened. But the persecutions of the heretics are redoubling, and I apprehend fresh dangers for our friend, whose faith is unshakable.”
“Yes, the persecutions are redoubling,” rejoined Monsieur John thoughtfully. “Monsieur Christian Lebrenn, I know I can unbosom myself to you with all frankness. I am a stranger in Paris; you know the city. Could I find within the walls, or even without, some secluded spot where about a hundred persons could be gathered secretly and safely? I must warn you, these persons belong to the Reformation.”
The artisan reflected for a moment and answered: “It would be difficult and dangerous to assemble so large a number of people within Paris. Gainier, the chief spy of the Criminal Lieutenant, expends undefatigable activity to discover and denounce all assemblages that he suspects. His agents are spread everywhere. So considerable a gathering would undoubtedly call their attention. Outside of Paris, however, we need not apprehend the same watchfulness. I may be able to indicate some safe place to you. But before proceeding farther, I should make a confidential disclosure to you. A friend of mine and myself contemplate printing secretly a few handbills intended to propagate the reform movement. We are in the hope that, scattered through Paris, or posted over night on the walls, these placards may stir public opinion. Only one obstacle has, so far, held us back — the finding of some safe and secluded place, where, without danger of being detected, we might set up our little printing establishment. I understand from my friend that he has at last found a suitable place for our purpose. It may turn out to be suitable for yours also.”
“Is the house outside the walls of Paris?”
“It is not a house; it is an abandoned quarry situated on Montmartre. My friend was born in that suburb; his mother still lives there; he is familiar with every nook and corner of that rocky hill. He is of the opinion that a certain wide and deep grotto which he inspected will guarantee to us the seclusion and safety that we are in search of. If he is not mistaken, the meeting that you have mentioned to me might be held at Montmartre. To-morrow evening I am to go with my friend to look the place over. When I shall have done so, I shall acquaint you with the circumstances, and if the place is fit, you may fix the day of your gathering.”
“Suppose that your excursion to Montmartre to-morrow evening satisfies you that the quarry is suitable for my meeting, that it offers perfect safety; in what manner could the people, whom I shall convoke, be furnished with the necessary directions to find the place?”
“I think that would be an easy matter, after the locality had been carefully inspected. I shall be able to furnish you to-morrow with the full particulars.”
“Monsieur Christian, could you also tell me where I could find some trustworthy person whom I could commission to carry the letters of convocation to certain persons, who, in their turn, would notify their friends?”
“I shall carry those letters myself, if you will, monsieur. I realize the gravity of such a mission.”
“In the name of the Cause that we both serve, Monsieur Christian, I thank you heartily for your generous offer,” replied the stranger with effusion. “Oh, the times bode evil. The conversation that we had this evening with your brother-in-law was almost a revelation to me concerning the singular man, the intrepid swordsman, the former runner of gallant adventures, whose darksome dealings I was previously acquainted with.”
“Ignatius Loyola? And what may be his scheme?”
“Some slight overtures made by him to a man whom I hold worthy of all credence, and whom he hoped to capture, were reported to me. I was thereby enabled to penetrate the infernal project pursued by Ignatius Loyola, and—”
Bridget’s voice, sounding from the middle of the ladder that led up to the garret, and cautiously calling her husband, interrupted the unknown. Christian listened and heard his wife say:
“Come down quick; I heard Hervé come out of his room; I hear him coming upstairs; he may want to see us.”
The artisan made a sign to his guest that he had nothing to fear, and quickly descended the stairs into a dark closet, the only door of which opened into the chamber occupied by himself and his wife. Christian had just time to close noiselessly the door of the closet and to sit down, when Hervé rapped gently at his father’s door and called him. Bridget opened and said to her son:
“What do you want, my child?”
“Dear parents, grant me a few words with you.”
“Gladly,” responded Christian, “but let us go downstairs. Our poor friend Mary La Catelle is sharing your sister’s bed; the woman needs rest; our conversation might disturb her sleep.”
CHAPTER IX.
THE PENITENT.
FATHER, MOTHER AND son proceeded downstairs to the room on the ground floor where the distressing scene of the night before was enacted. Hardly had they touched the lowermost step of the staircase when Hervé threw himself upon his knees, took his father’s hands, kissed them tearfully and murmured in a smothered voice:
“I beg your pardon — for my past conduct — pardon me — my good parents!”
“God be praised! We were not deceived in the boy,” was the thought that rushed to the minds of Christian and Bridget as they exchanged a look of profound satisfaction. “The unfortunate lad has been touched by repentance.”
“My son,” said the artisan, “rise.”
“No, not before I have obtained from you and my mother forgiveness for my infamous act;” and he added, amid sobs: “It was myself, I, your son — it was I who stole your gold!”
“Hervé,” replied Christian, deeply moved by the manifestations of remorse which he took to be sincere, “last night, in this same room, your mother and I said to you: ‘If you forgot yourself for a moment and committed the theft, admit it — you will be forgiven.’”
“And we shall gladly keep our promise,” added Bridget. “We pardon you, seeing that you repent. Rise.”
“Oh, never more so than at this moment am I penetrated with the unworthiness of my conduct. Good God! So much kindness on your part, and so much baseness on mine! My whole life shall be consecrated to the atonement of my infamy!” said Hervé, rising from the floor.
“I shall not conceal it from you, my boy,” proceeded Christian with paternal kindness. “I was quite prepared for this admission of your guilt. Certain happy symptoms that your mother and myself noticed to-day, led us to expect your return to the right path, to the principles of honesty in which we brought you up.”
“Did I not tell you so, yesterday?” broke in Bridget. “Could our son really become unworthy of our tenderness, unworthy of the example that we set to him, as well as to his sister and brother? No; no; we will regain him; he will see the error of his ways. So you see, dear, dear boy,” she added embracing him effusively, “I knew you better than you knew yourself! Blessed be God for your return to the path of righteousness!”
The consummate hypocrite threw himself upon his mother’s neck, and answering her caresses with feigned affection, said in a moved voice:
“Good father, good mother, the confession of my shameful act earned your pardon for me. Later I hope your esteem for me may return, when you will have been able to judge of the sincerity of my remorse. Let me tell you the cause of my repentance, the suddenness of which may astonish you.”
“A sweet astonishment, thanks be to God. Speak, speak, my son!”
“You surmised rightly, father. Yes, led astray, corrupted by the counsel of Fra Girard, I pilfered your money for the purpose of consecrating it to works that I took to be pious.”
“Ah, it is with pride both for us and yourself that I say it,” cried Bridget; “never once, while we suspected you, did we believe you capable of the guilty act out of love for gold, out of a craving for selfish enjoyment, or out of cupidity! No, a thousand times no!”
“Thanks! Oh, thanks, good mother, to do me at least that justice, or, rather, to do it to the bringing up that I owe you! No; the fruit of my larceny has not been dissipated in prodigality. No; I did not keep it like a miser, out of love for gold. The gold pieces were all thrown into the chest of the Apostolic Commissioner of indulgences, for the purpose of obtaining the redemption of the souls in purgatory.”
“I believe you, my son. The charitable and generous side of that idolatry, that is so profitable to the cupidity of the Church of Rome, must have had its fascination for your heart. But how did you discover the fraud of that monastic traffic? Explain that to me.”
“This morning, after I deposited my offering in the chest of indulgences that was set up in the Church of St. Dominic, I heard the Apostolic Commissioner preach. Oh, father, all the still lingering sentiments of honor within me revolted at his words. My eyes were suddenly opened; I fathomed the depth of the abyss that blind fanaticism leads to. Do you know what that monk, who claimed to speak in the name of the Almighty, dared to say to the mass of people gathered in the church? ‘The virtue of my indulgences is so efficacious,’ the monk cried out, ‘so very efficacious, that, even if it were possible for any man to have raped the mother of our Savior, that crime without name would be remitted to him by the virtue of my indulgences. So, then, buy them, my brothers! Bring, bring your money! Rummage in your purses, rummage’—”
Christian and his wife listened to their son’s tale in silent affright. The sacrilegious words which the lad reported to them caused them to shiver with horror and their own horror explained to them the repentance and remorse of Hervé.
“Oh, I now see it all, my child!” cried Christian. “The sacrilegious monstrosity was a revelation to you! It shocked you back to your senses! Yes, your eyes were suddenly opened to the light; you conceived a horror for those infamous priests; you recoiled with dread from the fatal slope down which superstition was driving you!”
“Yes, father, the monstrous thought was a revelation to me; the veil was torn; I regained my sight. I was to be either the dupe or the accomplice of these abominable frauds. Disgust and indignation recalled me to myself. It was to me as if I awoke from a painful dream. When I recalled that, for several months, I had been dominated by the influence of Fra Girard, I cursed the detestable charm under which the man had held me captive, and which was alienating me from a cherished, a venerated family. I cursed the devilish sophisms, which, exactly as you expressed it, father, were corrupting in my mind the most elemental principles of right and wrong, and led me to the commission of a theft, an act that was doubly infamous seeing that it was perpetrated under the trusting security of the paternal roof! Oh, mother, in the measure that I thus regained the possession of my soul, overwhelmed with shame as I was, and torn with remorse, I felt there was but one way of safety — repentance! Only one hope — your pardon! Only one refuge — your love. I have returned to you, beloved parents.”
Christian and Bridget could not suspect their son’s sincerity. They reposed faith in his repentance, in the return of his filial devotion, in the horror that the past inspired him with. Father and mother devoutly rendered thanks to God for having restored their son to them. When the two closed their eyes in sleep that night their last thought concerned their son Hervé — alas, a treacherous happiness.
CHAPTER X.
LOYOLA AND HIS DISCIPLES.
THE DAY AFTER the proscribed stranger and friend of Robert Estienne had found an asylum in the home of Christian, the latter sallied forth after dark with his friend Justin for the purpose of inspecting the abandoned quarry where the two expected to be able to set up their secret press. The secluded spot was also expected speedily to serve as the trysting place for the leaders of the Reformation in Paris. The late moon was rising when the two artisans arrived in the neighborhood of the Abbey of Montmartre. They struck a road to the left of the church, leading to a hillock crowned with a cross. Arrived there they descended a steep path at the bottom of which was the entrance to the quarry.
“Unless the recollections of my childhood deceive me,” said Justin to Christian, “I’m under the impression that this quarry formerly had two openings — one being this, through which we are about to enter, the other, the issue of a sort of underground gallery, located at the opposite slope of the hill, and through which the descent is steep down to the bottom of the quarry. I even recall that a portion of the gallery bore traces of some very ancient masonry.”
“It probably is one of those places of refuge that, centuries ago, were dug into the bowels of the earth by the inhabitants of these regions, in the days of the invasions of the Northman pirates.”
“Quite probable. At the same time, seeing it is well to be prepared for all emergencies, this quarry can be rendered an all the safer meeting place for our friends of the Reformation by placing a watchman at each entrance. The alarm being given from either side, escape could then be safely made by the other. The agents of the Criminal Lieutenant have a hundred eyes and as many ears. We cannot take too many precautions.”
“If your recollections are correct, that double entrance would be a priceless fact. The meeting place would be doubly guarded.”
“We can easily make sure of that,” said Justin. Saying this he fumbled in his pocket for his tinder and flint, while Christian drew out of his pocket the butt of a candle that he had provided himself with for the occasion.
The jagged opening of the grotto was overhung by an abutting ledge of lime rock, covered with a few inches of earth overgrown with briars and furze. A rather abrupt path led to the species of platform that lay under the beetling rock. The two artisans stepped in. They did not light their candle at first for fear it would be extinguished by the wind. But after having groped their way through the dark for a few paces, they struck a light, and presently the feeble flame of the candle threw its light into the wide though low-arched cavern. A huge boulder, about five or six feet high and from eight to ten through, that doubtlessly had been loosened and dropped from the walls of the cave, seemed to mark the further extremity of the underground walk.
“I now remember the place exactly,” said Justin; “the inside opening of the gallery that I spoke of to you must be on the other side of the stone. Let’s move on. We are on the right path.”
