THE "TEST OF THE LUTHERANS."
At the time of this narrative there rose at about the middle of St. John
of Beauvais Street a large, new house built in the simple and graceful
style recently imported from Italy. Upon a gilt sign, ornamented with
the symbolical arms of the University of Paris, and placed immediately
over the door, the inscription: ROBERT ESTIENNE, PRINTER was painted in
bold letters. Heavy iron bars protected the windows of the ground floor
against any bold attempts that might be contemplated by the bandits that
the city was infested with, and the defensive precaution was completed
by a heavy sheet of iron fastened with heavy nails to an already solid
and massive door that was surmounted by a sculptured allegory of the
Arts and Sciences, an elegant piece of work from the chisel of one of
the best pupils of Primaticio, a celebrated Italian artist whom Francis
I called to France. The house belonged to Master Robert Estienne, the
celebrated printer, the worthy successor of his father in that learned
industry, and one of the most erudite men of the century. Profoundly
versed in the Latin, Greek and Hebrew languages, Master Robert Estienne
raised the art of printing to a high degree of perfection. Passionately
devoted to his art, he lavished so much care upon the publications that
issued from his establishment, that not only did he himself correct the
proofs of the Latin, Greek and Hebrew works which he printed, but he
furthermore stuck the revised proofs to his office door and kept them
there for a certain time with the offer of a reward to whomsoever should
point out an error or blemish. Among the handsomest works published by
Master Robert Estienne were a Bible and a New Testament, both translated
into French. These two productions were the admiration of the learned
and the source of profound uneasiness to the Sorbonne[8] and the clergy,
who felt as alarmed as irritated to see the press popularize the textual
knowledge of the holy books that condemned a mass of abuses, idolatrous
practices and exactions which the Church of Rome had for centuries been
introducing into the Catholic cult.
Robert Estienne was recently wedded to Perrine Bade, a young and
handsome woman, the daughter of another learned printer, and herself
well versed in the Latin. The home of Robert Estienne presented the
noble example of those bourgeois families whose pure morals and virile
domestic virtues so strongly contrasted with the prevalent corruption of
those days. Accused of being a partisan of the religious Reformation,
and both the Sorbonne and parliament, both of which were bound by
personal and material interests to the Catholic cause, having expressed
their anger at him, Robert Estienne would long before have been dragged
to the pyre as a heretic, but for the powerful protection of Princess
Marguerite of Valois, the sister of Francis I, a woman of letters, of
daring spirit, a generous nature, and withal secretly inclined to the
reform. The King himself, who loved the arts and letters more out of
vanity and the desire to imitate the princes of Italy than out of true
intellectual loftiness, extended his protection to Robert Estienne, whom
he considered an illustrious man whose glory would reflect upon his
prince as a Maecenas. His rare mental equipment, his talent, and, last
not least, the considerable wealth that he had inherited from his father
and increased by his own labor, had won for the celebrated printer
numerous and bitter enemies: his fellow tradesmen were jealous of the
inimitable perfection of his works: the members of the Sorbonne, of the
parliament and of the court, among all of whom the King and his evil
genius, the Cardinal and Chancellor Duprat, distributed the goods
confiscated from the heretics, had many times and oft expected to be
about to enrich themselves with the plunder of Robert Estienne's
establishment. But ever, thanks to the potent influence of Princess
Marguerite, the printer's adversaries had remained impotent in their
machinations against him. Nevertheless, knowing but too well how
capricious and precarious royal favor is, Robert Estienne was ever ready
for the worst with the serenity of the wise man and the clear conscience
of a man of honor, while the affection of his young wife was a source of
inexhaustible support in his struggle with the evil-minded.
The workshop of Master Robert Estienne occupied the ground floor of the
house. His artisans, all carefully selected by himself, and almost all
of whom were the sons of workmen whom his father had employed before
him, were worthy of the confidence that he reposed in them. More than
once did they have to repel with arms the assaults of fanatical bandits,
egged on by the monks, who pointed at the printing shop as a hot-bed of
diabolical inventions that should be demolished and burned down. The
populace, ignorant and credulous, rushed upon the house of Robert
Estienne, and but for the courage displayed by the defenders of the
establishment, the place would have been looted. Due to such
possibilities many employers felt under the necessity of building around
themselves a sort of bodyguard composed of their own workmen. The famous
goldsmith Benvenuto Cellini, whom Francis I invited from Florence to
settle in Paris, was in such constant dread of the jealousy of the
French and Italian artists, that he never went out upon the street
without being accompanied by several of his pupils, all armed to the
teeth. And not long ago he had sustained a regular siege in the little
Castle of Neste of which the King had made him a present. The fray
lasted two full days; victory remained with Benvenuto and his private
garrison; and Francis I was highly amused at the occurrence. Such is the
order that reigns in the city, such the security enjoyed by the citizens
in these sad days.
Robert Estienne's establishment resembled an arsenal as much as it did a
printing shop. Pikes, arquebuses and swords hung near the presses, the
composers' cases or the stone tables. Although it was night, Christian
remained on this evening at the shop; he remained behind upon his
master's request, and was waiting for him. The artisan's face, which had
borne the marks of worry since the conversation that he had with his son
Herve on the preceding night, now looked cheerful. When Herve returned
from the Church of St. Dominic, long after the customary hour for work
to be begun at Master Estienne's shop, and saw his father surprised and
displeased at the renewed absence from work, he said hypocritically:
"Please do not judge me by appearances; be sure, father, that I shall
again be worthy of you--you will pardon me a fatal slip. I begin to
realize the danger of the influence that I was blindly yielding to."
Saying this, the lad had hastened to make good the lost time, and
diligently set to work. Shortly after, the conversation among the
workingmen turned accidentally upon the sale of indulgences, which they
condemned with renewed energy. So far from violently taking up the
cudgels for the nefarious traffic, as he had done on previous occasions,
Herve remained silent and even looked confused. Christian drew favorable
conclusions from his son's embarrassment.
"Our last night's conversation must have borne good fruit," thought the
artisan to himself; "the poor boy's eyes must have been opened; he must
have realized that fanaticism was driving him down into an abyss.
Patience! The principles in which I brought him up will win the upper
hand. I may now hope for the better."
When towards the close of the day's work he was notified by Master
Estienne that he wished to speak with him, and was asked to remain
behind, Christian told his son to inform Bridget of the reason of his
anticipated delay, in order that she be not alarmed at not seeing him
home at the usual hour. When he was finally left alone at the shop, he
continued the paging of a Latin book by the light of a lamp. In the
midst of this work he was interrupted by one of his friends named
Justin, a pressman in the shop. Some urgent presswork had kept him in a
contiguous room. Surprised at finding Christian still at work, Justin
said:
"I did not expect to find you here so late, dear comrade. The hour for
rest has sounded."
"Master Estienne sent me word asking that I wait for him after the shop
closed. He wishes to speak with me."
"That fits in with my plans. I had meant to call at your house this
evening and propose a trip for to-morrow to Montmartre, in order to
visit the place that you know of--the more I think of the matter, the
more convinced am I that we could select no better place for our
purpose."
"I am inclined to believe you after all the details that you have given
me upon the matter. But are you quite certain that the place offers us
all the requisite guarantees of secrecy and safety?"
"In order to convince ourselves fully upon the matter, I wished to
examine the place once more with you. It is a long time since I was
there. Maybe the place is no longer what it was. Well, shall we make the
investigation to-morrow evening?"
"Yes; I think it is high time for us to set to work, and organize our
army, Justin! I can see no other means to combat our powerful enemies;
they seem almost all-powerful. From day to day they become more
threatening. On their side they have force, numbers, power, audacity,
the judges, the trained soldiers, the priests, the jailers and
executioners, moss-grown tradition, the ferocious fanaticism of a
populace whose mind is poisoned and who are misled by the monks. And we,
what have we? This," added Christian pointing to a printing press that
stood in the center of the shop, "that instrument, that lever of
irresistible force--thought--the mind! Courage, my friend! Let us,
humble soldiers of reason, know how to wait. The printing press will
change the face of the earth--and all our casqued, mitred and crowned
tyrants will have seen their day! The printing press will be the weapon
of emancipation!"
"As well as you, Christian, I have faith in that future, whether it be
near or far away. Thought, subtle as light itself, will penetrate
everywhere. The midnight darkness of ignorance will be dispelled, and
freedom will dart its rays upon all. Let us to work, Christian. The
moment we shall have chosen our place, we will put our projects into
execution. I shall be at your house to-morrow evening. The moon will be
up late; her light will guide us; and--" here Justin interrupted himself
saying: "Here is our master; I shall leave you. Until to-morrow! I
shall be promptly on time."
"Till to-morrow," answered Christian as his friend left by a door of the
shop that opened upon a deserted side street.
Master Robert Estienne, a man of about thirty years of age, was of
middle size, and of a firm, kind and at once serious physiognomy. His
eyes sparkled with intelligence; a few premature lines furrowed his wide
forehead; study and concentration of mind had begun to thin out his
hair. He wore a coat and puffed-out hose of black taffeta; a white
crumpled cap sat upon his head, and seemed fastened under his chin by a
light and closely cropped beard that ended in a point.
"Christian," said Robert Estienne, "I have a service to ask of you, a
great service."
"Speak, Master Estienne; you know the feelings that I entertain for your
house and all that concerns you; I am as devoted to you as my father was
to yours. If it pleases God," added the artisan smothering a sigh, "it
will be so with my son towards yours."
"These long-continued relations between our two families honor them
both, Christian. It is for that reason that I do not hesitate to ask a
great service from you. This is the matter: As you know, my house is a
thorn in the side of my enemies; without mentioning the assault that it
had to sustain against the wretched fanatics whom the monks aroused
against it, the place is constantly spied upon. The persecutions
redouble in number and vehemence against all those who are suspected of
favoring the religious Reformation, especially since printed placards
violently hostile to the Church of Rome were posted over night in the
streets of Paris. John Morin, the Criminal Lieutenant and worthy
instrument of Cardinal-Chancellor Duprat, who keeps himself informed by
the miserable spy who goes under the name of Gainier, keeps Paris in a
state of terror through his police searches. Only the other day he
issued an order by which the sergeants of the gendarmes are empowered at
all hours of the day or night to search from cellar to garret the
residence of whomsoever is accused of heresy. I am among these. Despite
the protection of Princess Marguerite, it may happen that, at any
moment, my domicile is invaded by the lackeys of Duprat's lieutenant."
"That is unfortunately true; your enemies are powerful and numerous."
"Well, now, Christian, a man whom I love like my own brother, an
honorable man, foe to the priests, and proscribed by them, has asked me
for asylum. He is here since last evening, in hiding. I am in constant
apprehension of having my house searched, and my friend's place of
refuge discovered. His life is at stake."
"Great God! I can understand your uneasiness. Your friend is, indeed, in
great peril."
"Driven to this extremity, I determined to turn to you. It occurred to
me that your happy obscurity saves you from the espionage that pursues
me. Could you extend hospitality to my friend for two or three days, and
take him this very evening to your house? You would be running no
risk."
"With all my heart!"
"I shall never forget this service," said Master Robert Estienne, warmly
pressing the artisan's hand; "I knew I could count upon your
generosity."
"All I wish to remind you of, sir, is that the asylum is as humble as it
is safe."
"The proscribed man has for several months been accustomed to travel
from city to city; more than once, the generous apostle has spent the
night in the woods and the day in some dark cavern. Any place of refuge
is good to him."
"That being so, I have this proposition to make to you. I live, as you
know, on the Exchange Bridge; there is a garret under the roof of the
house; it is so very low one can hardly stand in it; but it is
sufficiently ventilated by a little window that opens upon the river.
To-morrow morning, after my son and I shall have left the house to come
to the shop, my wife--I shall have to take her into the secret, but I
answer for her as for myself--"
"I know it, Bridget deserves your full confidence; you may tell her
everything."
"Well, then, to-morrow morning, after we shall have left the house, my
wife will send my daughter on some errand or other, and will, during her
absence, transport to the garret a mattress, some bed linen and whatever
else may be necessary in order to render the refuge bearable. To-night,
however, our guest will have to resign himself to a simple quilt for
bedding; but a night is soon over--"
"That matters little. But how is he to be taken to your house to-night
without the knowledge of your family? I know your domestic habits. Your
wife and children are now waiting for you to take supper in the ground
floor room, the door of which opens on the bridge. They will all see you
come in with the stranger. Then also, it occurs to me, does not your
wife's brother, the old Franc-Taupin, join you almost every evening at
meals? That is an additional difficulty to be overcome."
"That is true; and I do not intend to take him into the secret, although
his faults--and these are numerous with the poor soldier of
adventure--are wholly counterbalanced in my eyes by his devotion to my
family; he fairly worships his sister and her children."
"How, then, shall we manage this evening?"
"I shall take the proscribed man to my house as an old friend whom I met
and invited to supper. As customary, my son and daughter will withdraw
to their rooms after the meal, and my wife, her brother the
Franc-Taupin, if he calls this evening, and I will remain alone with my
guest. I shall then request my wife's brother to go out for a pot of
wine in order that we close the day pleasantly. The wine is sold at a
tavern near the wharf and at some little distance from my house. I shall
profit by the Franc-Taupin's absence in order to apprize my wife in a
few words of the secret; my guest will go up into the garret: and when
my brother-in-law returns I shall tell him that our guest feared it
would grow too late, and left, requesting me to present his regards to
the Franc-Taupin and bid him adieu. As you see, the matter can be safely
and secretly arranged."
"Yes, very well. But, Christian, there is a matter that I must seriously
call your attention to. It is not an impossible thing that, despite all
your precautions, the proscribed man may be discovered in your house by
the police of Duprat's lieutenant; it is my duty to remind you that, in
such an event, you run the risk of imprisonment, perhaps even of a
severer, more terrible punishment; remember that justice can not be
relied upon in these days. The ecclesiastical tribunals are implacable;
it is with them--torture or death."
"Master Estienne, do you think me accessible to fear?"
"No, I know your devotion to me. But I wish you to feel sure that were
it not for the strictness of the surveillance that is kept over my
house, and that renders it impossible for me to offer asylum to the
friend whom I entrust to you, I would not then expose you to dangers
that I would otherwise be anxious myself to brave. I first thought of
hiding him in my cottage at St. Ouen; that country-seat is secluded and
far enough from the village. But for several reasons that I am not yet
free to communicate to you, my friend should remain hidden in the very
heart of Paris. I repeat it, Christian: if, however improbable, it
should betide that you are put to trouble, if harm should come to you by
reason of the service that you will have rendered me, your wife and your
children will find protection and support in my family."
"Master Estienne, I shall never forget that my father, laboring under
the shameless calumnies of the successor of the printer John Saurin,
would have himself and his family died of hunger and despair but for the
generous assistance of your father. Whatever I may do, never could I pay
that debt of gratitude to you and yours. My modest havings and myself
are at your disposal."
"My father acted like an upright man, that was all; but if you
absolutely insist upon considering yourself in our debt, your noble
assistance in this instance will be to us one more proof of your
gratitude. But I have not yet told you all, worthy Christian. Yielding
no doubt to a feeling of delicacy, you have not asked me in behalf of
whom I solicited asylum with you."
"The proscribed man is worthy of your friendship; he is an apostle,
Master Estienne; need I know more?"
"Without imparting to you a secret that is not mine, I feel free to
inform you that this proscribed man is the bravest of the apostles of
the Reformation. I owe only to your personal attachment the service that
you render to me, seeing that, in granting asylum to my friend, you are
not yet aware whether you are in accord with his ideas. Your generous
action is dictated by your affection towards me and mine; in my turn, I
now contract a debt of gratitude towards you and yours. And once upon
this subject, Christian," added Master Estienne in penetrating accents,
"allow me frankly to state my thoughts to you with respect to your son.
We have recently talked more than once upon the worry that he caused
you; I regret the circumstance doubly; I expected great things from
Herve. He has developed a variety of aptitudes in other directions
besides the mechanical part of our art in which he begins to excel. The
lad's precocious knowledge, his exceptional eloquence--all these
qualities ranked him in my eye among that small number of men who are
destined to shine in whatever career they embrace. Finally, that which
enhanced with me Herve's intellectual powers was the goodness of his
heart and the straightforwardness of his character. But his habits have
latterly become irregular; his one-time affectionate, open and
communicative nature has undergone a change. I have hitherto refrained
from letting him perceive the grief that his conduct caused me. In the
midst of all this I imagine he has preserved some love and respect for
me. Would you authorize me to have a serious and paternal conversation
with him? It may have a salutary effect."
"I thank you, Master Estienne, for your kind offer. I am glad to be able
to say that I have reasons to think that since to-day my son has turned
to better thoughts; that a sudden and happy change has come over him,
because--" Christian could not finish his sentence. Madam Estienne, a
handsome young woman of a sweet and grave countenance, precipitately
entered the shop and handing to her husband an open letter said to him
in a moved voice:
"Read, my friend; as you will see, there is not a minute to lose;" and
turning aside to Christian: "Can we count with you?"
"Absolutely and in all things, madam."
"There is no longer any doubt!" cried Master Estienne after he read the
letter. "Our house will be searched, this very night perhaps; they are
on my friend's tracks."
"I shall run for him," said Madam Estienne; "Christian and he will go
out by the side street. I think the house is watched on the St. John of
Beauvais Street side."
"Master Estienne," said the artisan to his employer, "in order to make
assurance doubly sure I shall go down to the end of the side alley and
reconnoiter whether the passage is clear; I shall explore it
thoroughly."
"Go, my friend, you will find us in the small yard with the proscribed
man."
Christian left the shop, crossed the small yard, drew the bolt of a door
that opened into the side alley and stepped out. He found the lane
completely deserted, from end to end not a soul was in sight. Although
it was night there was light enough to see a long distance ahead. Having
convinced himself that the issue was safe, Christian returned to the
door of the yard where he found Master Estienne pressing in his own the
hand of a man of middle size and clad in plain black.
"Master Estienne," said Christian to his employer, "the alley is
deserted; we can go out without being seen by anyone."
"Adieu, my friend," said Master Estienne in a trembling voice to the
proscribed man. "You may rely upon your guide as upon me. Follow him
and observe all that he may recommend to you for your safety. May heaven
protect your precious life!"
"Adieu! Adieu!" answered the unknown who seemed to be no less moved than
the printer; saying which he followed Christian. After issuing from the
alley and walking for a while in the direction of the Exchange Bridge,
the two men arrived at a gate which they had to pass in order to cross
the Cour-Dieu. At that place their progress was delayed by a compact
mass of people who were gathered near the gate, in the center of which
was a turnstile intended to keep horses and wagons from entering the
square. Many patrolmen were seen among the crowd.
"What is the meaning of this gathering?" inquired Christian from a man
of athletic carriage, with the sleeves of his shirt turned up, a
blood-bespattered apron and a long knife by his side.
"St. James!" exclaimed the butcher in a tone of pious satisfaction; "the
reverend Franciscan fathers of the Cour-Dieu have been struck by a good
idea."
"In what way?" again Christian asked. "What is their idea? Inform us of
what is going on."
"The good monks have placed upon the square in front of the door of
their convent a lighted chapel at the foot of a beautiful station of the
Holy Virgin, and a mendicant monk stands on either side of the statue,
with a club in one hand and a purse in the other--"
"And what is the purpose of the chapel and the mendicant monks and their
clubs?"
"St. James!" and the butcher crossed himself; "thanks to that chapel the
Lutheran dogs can be discovered as they pass by."
"How can they be recognized?"
"If they pass before the chapel without kneeling down at the feet of the
Holy Virgin, and without dropping a piece of money into the purse of the
mendicant monks, it is a proof that the painim are heretics--they are
immediately set upon, they are slain, they are torn to shreds. Listen!
Do you hear that?"
Indeed, at that moment, piercing shrieks half drowned by an angry roar
of many voices went up from the interior of the Cour-Dieu. As the
turnstile allowed a passage to only one person at a time, the approaches
of the square were blocked by a crowd that swelled from moment to moment
and that was swayed with the ardent desire to witness the _Test of the
Lutherans_, as the process was called. Every time that the cries of a
victim ceased, the clamor subsided, and the mob awaited the next
execution. The butcher resumed:
"That painim has ceased to scream--his account is settled. May the fire
of St. Anthony consume those laggards who are getting so slowly through
the gate! I shall not be able to witness the killing of a single one of
those accursed fellows!"
"My friend," said the mysterious companion of Christian to the butcher,
"those Lutherans must be very great criminals, are they not? I ask you
because I am a stranger here--"
A score of voices charitably hastened to answer the unknown man, who,
together with Christian was so completely hemmed in by the crowd that
they had no choice but patiently to wait for their turn at the
turnstile.
"Poor man, where do you come from?" said some, addressing the unknown.
"What! You ask whether the Lutherans are criminals? Why, they are
infamous brigands!"
And thereupon they vied with one another in citing the felonies that the
reformers were guilty of:
"They read the Bible in French!"
"They do not confess!"
"They do not sing mass!"
"They believe neither in the Pope, nor the saints, nor in the virginity
of Mary, nor in holy relics!"
"Nor in the blood of our Savior!--nor in the drop of milk of his holy
mother!--nor in the miraculous tooth of St. Loup!"
"And what do those demons substitute for the holy mass? Abominable
incantations and orgies!"
"Yes, yes--it is so!"
"I, who now speak to you, knew the son of a tailor who was once caught
in the net of those ministers of the devil. I'll tell you what he
saw--he told me all about it the next day. The Lutherans assembled at
night--at midnight--in a large cave, men, young girls and women to
celebrate their _Luthery_. A rich bourgeois woman, who lived on the same
street with the tailor attended the incantation with her two daughters.
When all the canting hypocrites were assembled, their priest donned a
robe of goatskin with a headgear of spreading oxhorns; he then took a
little child, spread the poor little fellow upon a table lighted by two
tall wax candles, and, while the other heretics sang their psalms in
French, interspersed with magical invocations, their priest cut the
child's throat!"
"The assassins! The monsters! The demons!"
"The priest of Lucifer thereupon gathered the child's blood in a vase
and sprinkled the assembly with the warm gore! He then tore out the
child's heart and ate it up! That closed the celebration of the
Luthery."
"Holy St. James, and shall we not bleed these sons of Satan to the last
man?" cried the butcher, carrying his hand to his knife, while the
proscribed man exchanged significant glances with Christian and remarked
to those standing near him:
"Can such monstrosities be possible? Could such things have happened?"
"Whether they are possible! Why, Brother St. Lawrence-on-the-gridiron, a
reverend Carmelite who is my confessor, told me, Marotte, there never
was an assembly of those heretics held without at least one or two
little children being sacrificed."
"Jesus, God! Everybody knows that," pursued the first narrator; "the
tailor's son that I am talking about witnessed the heretical orgy; he
saw everything with his own eyes; then, after the Lutherans had been
sprinkled with the child's blood as a sort of baptism, their priest
spoke up and said: 'Now, take off your clothes, and pray to God in our
fashion. Long live hell and the Luthery!' As soon as he said this, he
put out the two wax candles, whereupon all the he and she canting
hypocrites, with as much clothing on as Adam and Eve, men, women and
young girls, all thrown helter-skelter in the dark--well, you
understand--it is an abomination!"[9]
"What a horror! Malediction upon them!"
"Mercy! May God protect us from such heretics!"
"Confession! Such infamies portend the end of the world!"
"Brother St. Lawrence-on-the-gridiron, the reverend Carmelite friar, my
confessor, told me, Marotte, that all the Lutheries closed in the same
fashion. The good father felt so indignant that he gave me accurate
details upon the devilish heretics; they were details that made my
cheeks burn red and hot like a piece of coal."
These snatches of reports, that summed up the stupid and atrocious
calumnies spread about by the monks against the reformers, were
interrupted by new shrieks and vociferations that went up from the
Cour-Dieu. Listening with secret disgust and silent indignation to the
calumnious indignities that were huckstered about by an ignorant and
credulous populace, Christian and the unknown man in his charge had
followed the stream of the crowd, and presently found themselves under
the vault of the gate that led to the square, whence they could take in
at a glance what was happening there. A sort of altar lighted with wax
candles rose in front of the main entrance to the Franciscan Convent; a
life-sized statue of the Virgin wrought in wood and gorgeously attired
in a robe of gold brocade and with her face painted like a picture,
surmounted the altar. Several Franciscan monks, among whom Christian
recognized Fra Girard were stationed near the lighted chapel. Two of
them, holding large velvet purses in their hands, were posted one on
either side of the statue. A large crowd of tattered men and women, of
cynical, repulsive or brutal countenances, all armed with clubs and
grouped near the door of the convent, stood waiting for the moment when,
at a signal from the monks, they were to rush upon the ill-starred
passer-by who was designated as suspected of heresy. Each passer-by had
inevitably to cross the square at only a slight distance from the statue
of the Virgin. If they knelt down before it and dropped their alms into
the purse of the mendicant friars, no danger threatened them. But if
they failed to fulfil this act of devotion, the ferocious band that
stood in waiting would be let loose at the signal from the monks, and
would rush upon the Lutheran, beat him with their sticks, and not
infrequently leave him lying dead upon the square. All the persons who
were just ahead of Christian and the unknown man proceeded straight to
the altar, and either out of fear or out of piety knelt down before the
image of the Virgin and then rose and deposited their offerings in the
purse held out by the Franciscans. A man, still young but frail and
short of stature, behind whom Christian stood, said to himself in an
undertone just as he was about to thread the turnstile and emerge into
the square:
"I am a Catholic, but by the blood of God! I prefer to be cut to pieces
rather than submit to such extortion. May the devil take the monks!"
"You will be wrong," said Christian to him in a low voice. "I revolt as
much as you at the indignity. But what is to be done against force?
Submit to the ignominy."
"I shall protest at the peril of my life! Such excesses dishonor
religion," the man answered Christian, and stepping out of the gate into
the square with a firm step, he crossed the place without turning his
head in the direction of the altar. Hardly, however, had he passed by
when the tattered mob who stood near the monks, ready at the latters'
beck, rushed forward in pursuit of the unhappy fellow; they overtook
him, surrounded, and bawled at him: "Heretic!" "Lutheran!" "He insults
the image of the mother of the Savior!" "Down on your knees!" "The
canting hypocrite!" "Down on your knees!" "Death to the heretic!"
While these fanatics surrounded their victim, Christian said to his
companion:
"Let us profit by the tumult to escape from these ferocious beasts;
unfortunately it were idle to seek to snatch that senseless but
stout-hearted man from the clutches of his assailants."
Christian and the unknown man in turn stepped out of the gate into the
square and were hurriedly walking towards the opposite issue without
stopping at the altar when, being caught sight of by the monks, the
latter cried out:
"There go two other heretics! They are trying to escape without kneeling
before the holy Virgin! Stop them! Bring them back and make them empty
their purses!"
The voices of the Franciscans did not reach the ears of the demoniac
pack, greedy as it was for its prey; they emitted savage yells as they
beat to death, not a heretic, but a Catholic, whose sin consisted in
refusing to submit to an adoration imposed upon him in a brutal manner,
and which he otherwise would cheerfully have complied with. After the
unhappy fellow had bravely defended himself with his cane, the only
weapon that he carried, he was finally overwhelmed by numbers and fell
livid, bleeding, and almost unconscious upon the pavement. A
horrid-looking shrew seized him by the hair and while she dragged the
almost lifeless body towards the altar other dastards from the dregs of
the mob struck him in the face with their feet.
"Mercy!" cried the unhappy fellow in a faint voice. "Jesus!--My
God!--Have pity upon me!--They are murdering a good Catholic!"
These were the brave fellow's last words. His voice was soon heard no
more. The butcher with whom Christian had exchanged a few words ran
towards and joined the assassin mob. He piously knelt down before the
statue of the Virgin, then rose, drew his knife, and brandishing it in
the air cried:
"St. James! Let me bleed the damned Lutheran! It will be worth an
indulgence to me! You know, bleeding is my profession!"
The sanguinary sally was received with loud outbursts of laughter; room
was made for the butcher near the bleeding body; he squatted upon its
still palpitating chest, slashed his knife through the prostrate man's
throat, cut the head from the trunk, seized it by the hair, and, holding
up the shocking trophy to the gaze of the mob, he cried with wild
ecstasy:
"The heretic dog would not bow down before the mother of the Savior--he
shall now plant his forehead on the pavement at her feet!"
So said, so done. Followed by the demented band at his heels, the
butcher ran back to the altar, holding the livid head in his hands, red
and streaming with the warm blood of the victim; he knelt down himself,
and slammed the head face down upon the ground at the feet of Mary,
amidst the savage acclaim of his fellow assassins, all of whom piously
threw themselves down upon their knees like himself.
"Oh, monsieur, this is frightful!" murmured Christian suffocating for
breath as his companion and he stepped out of the square. "To think that
such horrors are perpetrated in the name of the benign mother of Christ!
Oh, the wretches, as stupid as they are bloodthirsty!"
"Ignorance, misery and fanaticism!--that is their excuse. Let us not
blame these unhappy people; they are what the monks have made them,"
answered the unknown with a bitter and desolate smile. "Oh, these monks,
these monks! When will society be finally purged of the infernal breed!"
Christian and his companion hastened their steps towards the artisan's
house, nor dared they to turn and look behind.