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-Garcon 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 Herve)
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 Pare_, 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
Herve--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: "Herve 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."
"My friend, let us reason calmly. Control your anxiety for a moment. The
young monk is a man of heart; we may not doubt that. Has not his conduct
during these recent circumstances increased your affection for him?"
"It is true. I esteem him greatly."
"Does not, as he expressed it, his pure and noble love for Hena do honor
to any upright man?"
"I firmly believe so after reading the pages which Ernest Rennepont
believed he wrote for none but his own eyes."
"Now, my friend, let us suppose he embraces the reformed religion. His
knowledge, his good habits and his liking for teaching little
children--all that would render him worthy of being a minister of the
new church. I feel almost certain our friend would present his name with
joy to our brothers for election, and these will acclaim him their
pastor. Never could the Evangelical word have a worthier interpreter."
"Oh, Monsieur Estienne, have mercy! Do not cheer my heart with such
supreme hopes, destined, perhaps, to be dashed."
"Alas, you have suffered so much, that I can well understand your
hesitation to foster a consoling hope. But reflect an instant, and you
will admit that the hope is in no wise an exaggerated one. Let us sum
up--Ernest Rennepont renounces his Order, embraces the Reformation, is
chosen a pastor, and he can then contract marriage. Granting all this,
do you not believe your daughter will consent to the union, if you
approve of it?"
"She is dying of that fatal love, believing herself separated from
Ernest Rennepont by an unbridgeable chasm of impossibilities. She surely
would not refuse to wed the man she loves."
"Well, then, my friend, what other obstacles do you see? Do not these
expectations, so far from being deceptive, become certainties? Does not
the grief of the unfortunate couple change into ineffable bliss? You
remain worried, dejected."
"Monsieur Estienne, the project is too beautiful!"
"Christian! How can you, a man of sense and firmness, succumb to such
weakness of spirit!"
"The death of my wife, the lamentable position in which my beloved
daughter finds herself, the crime of the wretch whom I can no longer
call my son--so many sorrows, heaped one upon the other, have cracked
the springs of my soul. I feel myself overwhelmed and nerveless."
"And yet, at no time have you been in greater need of energy. You say,
my friend, that the plan is too beautiful? But, should it be realized,
do you not still run grave dangers? Do you forget that your freedom and
life are both threatened? Do you forget that, at this very hour, they
are seeking to track Ernest Rennepont and your daughter? Regain courage
with the hope of triumphing over your enemies. We must carry on the
struggle without truce or let."
"Thanks, Monsieur Estienne; thanks! Your words comfort me. Yes;
nevertheless, the plan you propose and which would snatch my daughter
from the despair that is killing her--that plan is yet far from being
accomplished."
"This is what I shall do. Should the errand embarrass you, I shall
myself see Ernest Rennepont, shall propose to him to embrace the
Reformation and become a pastor of the new church in order to verify his
dream--provided Hena accepts the union. When we shall have made sure of
Ernest Rennepont's consent, you shall see your daughter. I do not
believe there is any doubt about her answer. The marriage being agreed
upon, we must make haste. The disappearance of Hena and the forceful
restitution of your family archives will redouble the zeal of your
persecutors. Neither you, your daughter, nor her husband would any
longer be safe in the neighborhood of Paris. I have already considered
the emergency when this retreat would cease to offer security to you. I
have a friend who is a printer in La Rochelle, a fortified town, rich,
industrious, well armed, wholly devoted to the Reformation, and so full
of reliance on the power of her municipal franchise, her ramparts and
the bravery of her numerous inhabitants, as confidently to defy our
enemies. You and yours will be there in perfect safety. You can live
there on the fruit of your labor. Better than anyone else, I know how
skilled a mechanic you are. Finally, if you should have to leave Paris
before the return of Odelin--"
"Oh, Monsieur Estienne, I tremble at the thought of that Lefevre on the
watch for the lad's return in order to kidnap him! What a blow that
would be to me! What a fate have our enemies in store for my poor
Odelin!"
"I shall take charge of that. To-morrow I shall see Madam Raimbaud. Her
husband has probably notified her when she may expect him home from
Italy. If so, and even otherwise, your brother-in-law, the Franc-Taupin,
who already has given you so many proofs of his devotion, will be able
to aid us in preventing your son from being kidnapped. I greatly rely
upon his assistance."
"May heaven hear you!"
"Travelers from Italy usually enter Paris by the Bastille Gate."
"Yes. Besides, seeing that Master Raimbaud, like most all armorers,
resides in the neighborhood of that fortress, it is almost certain he
will come by the suburb of St. Antoine. That point is settled."
"If Madam Raimbaud is informed upon the date of her husband's arrival,
the Franc-Taupin must be placed on watch along the road from Italy, or
near the Bastille. He will then warn your son not to enter the city, and
deliver to him a letter from you directing him to meet you in La
Rochelle. I shall take charge of supplying Odelin with the necessary
funds for the journey. When in La Rochelle, near you, he will continue
his armorer's trade. And now, Christian, I share your prevision. The
times are approaching when, more than ever, there will be work for those
whose occupation is the forging of implements of war. Come, courage! Let
us reserve ourselves for the struggle."
"How can I express my gratitude to you. You think of everything."
"My friend, for the space of two generations your family and mine have
mutually rendered each other so many services that it is impossible to
say on which side the debt lies heavier. Let us not lose an instant's
time. Take me to Ernest Rennepont. So soon as I shall know his mind, I
shall inform you. You will then propose the marriage to your daughter
with the caution that the occasion requires. In her present delicate
condition, after all the sufferings she has undergone, care must be
taken not to shock her even with joy. Joy may kill, as well as despair."
Christian led Robert Estienne to the apartment of the young monk, and
leaving the two alone, impatiently awaited the issue of their interview,
whereupon he was to see Hena.