The Pocket Bible; or, Christian the Printer: A Tale of the Sixteenth Century. Эжен Сю
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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."11
"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."
Saying this, and followed by his friend, Justin stepped into a narrow space left between the natural wall and the boulder. Suddenly they heard the noise of footsteps and the voices of several persons drawing near from the side of the opening through which they had themselves shortly before entered the cavern. As much surprised as alarmed, the first motion of Justin was to extinguish the candle, and approaching his lips to the ear of Christian he whispered: "Let us not budge from this spot. We may here remain unseen, should these people come this way."
The two artisans held their breath and remained motionless in their hiding place, wondering with as much astonishment as anxiety who it might be that was resorting at so late an hour to so solitary a spot.
The personages who penetrated into the quarry had also equipped themselves with lighting materials. One of them lighted a large wax candle, the reddish glare of which illuminated the features of the new arrivals, seven in number. The one who came in last, cast around him soon as the torch was lighted, looks indicative of the retreat being familiar to him. He walked with difficulty, and he stooped low as he leaned upon a heavy staff much resembling a crutch. Yet he seemed to be a man in the maturity of life. Black, threadbare and shabby clothes outlined his tall and robust stature. A Spanish ruff of doubtful white set off his long and olive-hued visage that terminated in a pointed beard. His head was almost bare of hair. His dominating eyes, his imperious brow, the haughty carriage of his head – all imparted to his strongly marked physiognomy the impression of absolute
For a thrilling account of one of these invasions, see "The Iron Arrow Head," the tenth of this series.