Collected Works of Eugène Sue, page 434
“‘My son,’ I would answer, ‘it is a crime to steal, unless one is driven thereto by extreme necessity; and even less so if grave reasons prompt the act.’”
“I am rich, but I give alms sparingly, if at all. I accuse myself.”
“‘My son,’ I would answer, ‘charity towards our fellows is a Christian duty. Nevertheless, if superfluity is needed by you, you commit no sin by not depriving yourself of those things which, in your eyes, are necessaries. I absolve you.’”
“I coveted a certain inheritance. I accuse myself of having poisoned the man from whom I was to inherit. May I retain the property?”
“‘My son,’ I would answer, ‘the possession of property, acquired by unworthy means, and even through manslaughter, is legitimate, so far as possession is concerned. You may retain the property.’”
“I am summoned to take an oath. My conscience forbids, my interest orders me to commit perjury. You are my confessor. I wish to consult you on the matter.”
“‘You can, my son, reconcile your interest and your conscience. This way — I suppose you will be asked: “Do you swear you did not commit such and such an act?” You will answer aloud: “I swear before God and man that I have not committed that act,” and then you add mentally: “On such and such a day.” Or, you are asked: “Do you swear you will never do such or such a thing?” You will answer: “I swear,” and mentally you add: “Unless I change my mind; in which case I shall do the thing.”’“
“I am an unmarried woman. I have yielded to a seducer. I fear the anger and reproaches of my family.”
“‘My daughter,’ I would answer, ‘take courage. A woman of your age is free to dispose of her body and herself. Have all the lovers you please. I absolve you.’”
“I am a woman, passionately addicted to gambling. I accuse myself of having purloined some moneys from my husband, in order to repay my losses at the gaming table.”
“‘My daughter,’ I would answer, ‘seeing that, between man and wife, everything is, or ought to be, in common, you have not sinned by drawing from the common purse. You may continue to do so. I absolve you.’”
“I am a woman. I love ornaments. I accuse myself.”
“‘My daughter,’ I would answer, ‘if you ornament yourself without impure intentions, and only in order to satisfy your natural taste for ornamentation, you do not sin.’”
“I accuse myself of having seduced the wife of my best friend.”
“‘My son,’ I would answer, ‘let us distinguish: If you treacherously seduced the woman just because she was the wife of your best friend, then you have sinned. But if you seduced her, as you might have done any other woman, you have not outraged friendship. It is a natural thing to desire the possession of a handsome woman. You have not sinned. There is no occasion for absolution.’”
“Well done!” exclaimed Loyola. “But I notice you grant absolution for all that human morality and the Fathers of the Church condemn.”
“Master, you said: ‘Absolved penitents will never complain.’”
“What is the object of the complaisance of your doctrines in all circumstances?”
“At this season an incurable corruption reigns among mankind. Rigor would estrange them from us. Our tolerance for their vices is calculated to deliver the penitents to us, body and soul. By leaving to us the direction of their souls, this corrupt generation will later relinquish to us the absolute education of their children. We will then raise those generations as may be suitable, by taking them in charge from the cradle to the grave; by molding them; by petrifying them in such manner that, their appetites being satisfied, and their minds for all time delivered from the temptation of those three infernal rebels — Reason, Dignity and Freedom — those generations will bless their sweet servitude, and will be to us, master, what we are to you — servile slaves, body and soul, mere corpses!”
“Among the obstacles that our work will, or may encounter, you mentioned the papacy.”
“Yes, master, because the elections of the sacred college may call to the pontifical throne Popes that are weak, stupid or vicious.”
“What is the remedy at such a juncture?”
“To organize, outside of the papacy, of the college of cardinals, of the episcopacy, of the regular clergy and of the religious Orders, a society to whose members it shall be strictly forbidden ever to be elected Pope, or to accept any Catholic office, however high or however low the office may be. Thus this society will ever preserve its independence of action for or against the Church, free to oppose or uphold its Chief.”
“What shall be the organization of that redoubtable society?”
“A General, elected by its own members, shall have sovereign direction over it.”
“What pledge are its members to take towards him?”
“Dumb, blind and servile obedience.”
“What are they to be in his hands?”
“That which we are in yours, O, master! Instruments as docile as the cane in the hand of the man who leans upon it.”
“What will be the theater of the society’s work?”
“The whole world.”
“Into what parts will it divide the universe?”
“Into provinces — the province of France, the province of Spain, the province of Germany, the province of England, the province of India, the province of Asia, and others. Each will be under the government of a ‘provincial,’ appointed by the General of the society.”
“The society being organized, what name is it to assume?”
“The name of the Society of Jesus.”
“In what manner is the Society of Jesus to become a counterpoise to the papacy, and, if need be, dominate the papacy itself, should the latter swerve from the route it should pursue in order to insure the absolute government of the nations of the world to the Catholic Church?”
“Independent of the established Church, from whom it neither expects nor demands aught — neither the purple, nor the cross, nor benefices — the Society of Jesus, thanks to its accommodating and tolerant doctrines, will speedily conquer the empire of the human conscience. It will be the confessor of Kings and lackeys, of the mendicant monk and the cardinal, of the courtesan and the princess, the female bourgeois and her cook, of the concubine and the empress. The concert of this immense clientage, acting as one man under the breath of the Society of Jesus, and inspired by its General, will insure to him such a power that, at a given moment, he will be able to dictate his orders to the papacy, threatening to unchain against it all the consciences and arms over which he disposes. The General will be more powerful than the Pope himself.”
“Besides its action upon the conscience, will the Society of Jesus dispose over any other and secondary levers?”
“Yes, master, and very effective ones. Whosoever, whether lay or clerical, poor or rich, woman or man, great or small, will blindly surrender his soul to the direction of the Society of Jesus, will always and everywhere, and against whomsoever, be sustained, protected, favored, defended and held scathless by the Society and its adherents. The penitent of a Jesuit will see the horizon of his most ardent hopes open before him; the path to honors and wealth will be smoothed before his feet; a tutelary mantle will cover his defects, his errors and his crimes; his enemies will be the Society’s enemies; it will pursue them, track them, overtake them and smite them, whoever and wherever they may be, and with all available means. Thus the penitent of a Jesuit may aspire to anything. To incur his resentment will be a dread ordeal.”
“Accordingly, you have faith in the accomplishment of our work?”
“An absolute faith.”
“From whom do you derive that faith?”
“From you, master; from you, Ignatius Loyola, whose breath inspires us; from you, our master, him through whom we live.”
“The work is immense — to dominate the world! And yet there are only seven of us.”
“Master, when you command, we are legion.”
“Seven — only seven, my sons — without other power than our faith in our work.”
“Master, faith removes mountains. Command.”
“Oh, my brave disciples!” exclaimed Ignatius Loyola rising and supporting himself with his staff. “What joy it is to me to have thus imbued you with my substance, and nourished you with the marrow of my doctrine! Be up! Be up! The moment for action has come. That is the reason I have caused you to gather this evening here at Montmartre, where I have so often come to meditate in this hollow, this second to that cavern of Manres, where, in Spain, after long years of concentration, I at last perceived the full depth, the immensity of my work. Yes, in order to weld you together in this work, I have broken, bent and absorbed your personalities. I have turned you into instruments of my will as docile as the cane in the hand of the man who leans upon it. Yes, I have captured your souls. Yes, you are now only corpses in my hands. Oh, my dear corpses! my canes! my serfs! my slaves! glorify your servitude. It delivers to you the empire of the world! You will be the masters of all the men! You will be supreme rulers of all the women!”
Loyola’s disciples listened to him in devout silence. For a moment he remained steeped in the contemplation of his portentous ambition, meditating universal domination. Presently he proceeded:
“We must prepare ourselves by means of the holy sacrifice of the mass for the last act of this great day. We must receive the body of Jesus, we who constitute his intrepid militia! We the Jesuits!” And addressing himself to Lefevre: “You have brought with you the necessaries for the celebration of mass. Yonder rock” — pointing to the boulder behind which Christian and Justin were concealed— “yonder rock will serve us for altar. Come, to work, my well-beloved disciple.”
Lefevre opened the bundle which he had taken charge of. He drew from it a surplice, a chasuble, a Bible, a stole, a chalice, a little box of consecrated wafers, and two small flasks with wine and water. He clothed himself in sacerdotal garb, while one of the disciples took the wax candle, knelt down and lighted the improvised altar upon which the other Jesuits were engaged in disposing the rest of the requisites for the celebration of the divine sacrifice. It was done before Loyola and his disciples. The voice of Lefevre, as he droned the liturgy, alone disturbed the silence of the solitude upon which the wax candle cast a flickering ruddy glow. The time for communion having come, the seven founders of the Society of Jesus received the Eucharist with unction. The service over, Loyola rose again to his feet, and with an inspired mien said to his disciples:
“And now, come, come.”
He walked away, limping and followed by his acolytes, leaving behind them the religious implements on the block of stone.
Soon as the Jesuits moved away, Christian and Justin cautiously emerged from their hiding place, astounded at the secret they had just had revealed to them. Christian could still hardly believe that Lefevre, one of his oldest friends, and whose sentiments inclined him to the Reformation, had become a priest, and was one of the most ardent sectarians of Loyola.
“They are gone,” Justin whispered to his companion; “I have not a drop of blood left in my veins. Let’s flee!”
“What imprudence! We might run against those fanatics. I doubt not they will come back. Let us wait till they have departed.”
“No, no! I will not stay here another minute. I am overcome with fear.”
“Then let us try to escape by the other issue, which, as you were telling me, runs behind this rock. Come, be brave!”
“I am not sure whether that passage is not now obstructed. It would be dangerous to enter it without a light. A light would betray us. Let’s return upon our steps.”
More and more frightened, Justin walked rapidly towards the entrance of the quarry. Christian followed, unwilling to leave him alone. The moment they were about to emerge from the subterranean cavern, their ears were struck by the sound of human voices coming from above. The moon was now high in the sky, and lighted the only path that led to the abbey.
“We can not leave this place without being seen,” observed Justin in a low and anxious voice. “Those men have gathered upon the platform above the entrance of the cave.”
“Listen,” said Christian, yielding to an irresistible impulse of curiosity; “listen, they are talking.”
The artisans remained motionless and mute. For a moment a solemn silence reigned. Presently the voice of Ignatius Loyola reached them as if it descended from heaven.
“Do you swear?” came from the founder of the Society of Jesus. “Do you swear in the name of the living God?”
“In the name of God,” responded the Jesuits. “We swear! We shall obey our master!”
“My sons,” Loyola’s voice resumed solemnly, “from this place you can see the four cardinal points of that world whose empire I parcel out among you, valiant soldiers of the Society of Jesus. Down yonder, towards the north, lie the land of the Muscovite, Germany, England. To you, Germany, England and the land of the Muscovite — John Lainez.”
“Master, your will be done!”
“Yonder, to the east, Turkey, Asia, the Holy Land. To you, Turkey, Asia and the Holy Land — Rodriguez of Acevedo.”
“Master, your will be done!”
“Yonder, towards the west, the new America and the Indies. To you, the new America and the Indies — Alfonso Salmeron.”
“Master, your will be done!”
“Yonder, to the south, Africa, Italy, Spain, Portugal, the islands of Corsica and Sardinia, and the Balearic Isles. To you, Africa, Italy, Spain, Portugal, the islands of Corsica and Sardinia and the Balearic Isles — Inigo of Bobadilla. Behold your empire.”
“Master, your will be done!”
“Finally, here at our feet, Paris, the capital of France, a world in itself. To you, Paris, to you, France — John Lefevre.”
“Master, your will be done!”
“Beginning with to-morrow, gird up your loins. Depart, staff in hand, alone, unknown. To work, soldiers of Jesus! To work, Jesuits! The kingdom of earth is ours! To-morrow I depart for Rome, to offer or force upon the Pope our invincible support.”
Loyola’s voice died away. Hearing the sectarians descending from the platform, Christian and Justin hurried back to their hiding place, behind the huge rock upon which were the implements that Lefevre had used in the celebration of the mass. The latter soon came back, followed by his companions. He doffed his sacerdotal vestments, and approached the improvised altar to gather the sacred vessels. So busied, his hand struck against the chalice, which rolled down and fell behind the rock at the place where the two artisans were crowding themselves from sight. John Lefevre walked back of the rock after the chalice which had fallen close to Christian’s feet. The latter saw the Jesuit approach; stoop down and pick up the vase, without seeming, in the demi-gloom, to notice his old friend, whom his hand almost touched, and rejoin the other disciples.
“Lefevre has seen us!” thought Christian to himself. “It is impossible he should not have noticed us. And yet, not a word, not a gesture betrayed upon his countenance the astonishment and uneasiness into which he must have been plunged by our presence at this place, and the knowledge that we are in possession of the secret of his society.”
While Christian was absorbed by these thoughts, Lefevre, ever imperturbable, returned to his bag the objects which he used in celebrating the mass, walked out of the cavern with his companions, and whispered a few words into the ear of Loyola. A slight tremor ran through the frame of the latter, who, however, immediately recovered his composure, and whispered back his answer to Lefevre. The latter lowered his head in token of acquiescence. Thereupon the founder of the Society of Jesus and his disciples disappeared in the windings of the road and reached Paris.
Such was the origin of that infernal society.
CHAPTER XI.
MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.
AS SOON AS Christian returned home, late towards midnight, he hastened to communicate to his guest the occurrences at Montmartre. Monsieur John concluded it was urgent to assemble the chiefs of the Reformation in the abandoned quarry, where there was no danger of apprehending the return of the Jesuits, seeing that Ignatius Loyola was to depart immediately for Rome, while his disciples were to scatter to the distant countries parceled out to them. Finally, if, as Christian persisted with good reason in believing, Lefevre had noticed the presence of the two artisans at the Jesuit conventicle, it would be an additional reason to keep them from returning to the spot. Accordingly, Monsieur John decided to convoke the chiefs of the Reformation in Paris for six o’clock in the afternoon of the following day at Montmartre. To this effect he prepared a letter giving the directions to the trysting place. Justin was to proceed in time to make certain that the second issue was practicable. Furthermore, it was agreed between Bridget and her husband that she would absent herself together with her daughter before sunset, in order to allow the stranger to leave the house unnoticed by Hena. On his part, Christian was to pretend an invitation to supper with a friend, in order to engage his son’s company in a walk, and was to dismiss him when he thought that Monsieur John had departed. The program was carried out as agreed. When Bridget and Hena returned home after a short walk along the banks of the Seine, the proscribed man had quitted his hospitable refuge, and betaken him to the Montmartre Gate, where Christian was to await him, and conduct him to the place of meeting.
The artisan’s wife and daughter busied themselves at their trade of embroidery. They worked in silence by the light of a lamp — Bridget musing over Hervé’s repentance, while Hena, lost in revery, frequently allowed her needle to drop inactive on her lap. The young girl was absorbed in her own thoughts, a stranger to what went on around her. The hour of nine struck from the distant clock in the tower of St. James-of-the-Slaughter-House.
“Nine o’clock,” observed Bridget to herself. “My son can not be long in coming back. With what joy shall I not embrace him this evening! What a heavy load did not his repentance roll off my heart! The dear child!”
And addressing Hena without removing her eyes from her needlework:
“I am rich, but I give alms sparingly, if at all. I accuse myself.”
“‘My son,’ I would answer, ‘charity towards our fellows is a Christian duty. Nevertheless, if superfluity is needed by you, you commit no sin by not depriving yourself of those things which, in your eyes, are necessaries. I absolve you.’”
“I coveted a certain inheritance. I accuse myself of having poisoned the man from whom I was to inherit. May I retain the property?”
“‘My son,’ I would answer, ‘the possession of property, acquired by unworthy means, and even through manslaughter, is legitimate, so far as possession is concerned. You may retain the property.’”
“I am summoned to take an oath. My conscience forbids, my interest orders me to commit perjury. You are my confessor. I wish to consult you on the matter.”
“‘You can, my son, reconcile your interest and your conscience. This way — I suppose you will be asked: “Do you swear you did not commit such and such an act?” You will answer aloud: “I swear before God and man that I have not committed that act,” and then you add mentally: “On such and such a day.” Or, you are asked: “Do you swear you will never do such or such a thing?” You will answer: “I swear,” and mentally you add: “Unless I change my mind; in which case I shall do the thing.”’“
“I am an unmarried woman. I have yielded to a seducer. I fear the anger and reproaches of my family.”
“‘My daughter,’ I would answer, ‘take courage. A woman of your age is free to dispose of her body and herself. Have all the lovers you please. I absolve you.’”
“I am a woman, passionately addicted to gambling. I accuse myself of having purloined some moneys from my husband, in order to repay my losses at the gaming table.”
“‘My daughter,’ I would answer, ‘seeing that, between man and wife, everything is, or ought to be, in common, you have not sinned by drawing from the common purse. You may continue to do so. I absolve you.’”
“I am a woman. I love ornaments. I accuse myself.”
“‘My daughter,’ I would answer, ‘if you ornament yourself without impure intentions, and only in order to satisfy your natural taste for ornamentation, you do not sin.’”
“I accuse myself of having seduced the wife of my best friend.”
“‘My son,’ I would answer, ‘let us distinguish: If you treacherously seduced the woman just because she was the wife of your best friend, then you have sinned. But if you seduced her, as you might have done any other woman, you have not outraged friendship. It is a natural thing to desire the possession of a handsome woman. You have not sinned. There is no occasion for absolution.’”
“Well done!” exclaimed Loyola. “But I notice you grant absolution for all that human morality and the Fathers of the Church condemn.”
“Master, you said: ‘Absolved penitents will never complain.’”
“What is the object of the complaisance of your doctrines in all circumstances?”
“At this season an incurable corruption reigns among mankind. Rigor would estrange them from us. Our tolerance for their vices is calculated to deliver the penitents to us, body and soul. By leaving to us the direction of their souls, this corrupt generation will later relinquish to us the absolute education of their children. We will then raise those generations as may be suitable, by taking them in charge from the cradle to the grave; by molding them; by petrifying them in such manner that, their appetites being satisfied, and their minds for all time delivered from the temptation of those three infernal rebels — Reason, Dignity and Freedom — those generations will bless their sweet servitude, and will be to us, master, what we are to you — servile slaves, body and soul, mere corpses!”
“Among the obstacles that our work will, or may encounter, you mentioned the papacy.”
“Yes, master, because the elections of the sacred college may call to the pontifical throne Popes that are weak, stupid or vicious.”
“What is the remedy at such a juncture?”
“To organize, outside of the papacy, of the college of cardinals, of the episcopacy, of the regular clergy and of the religious Orders, a society to whose members it shall be strictly forbidden ever to be elected Pope, or to accept any Catholic office, however high or however low the office may be. Thus this society will ever preserve its independence of action for or against the Church, free to oppose or uphold its Chief.”
“What shall be the organization of that redoubtable society?”
“A General, elected by its own members, shall have sovereign direction over it.”
“What pledge are its members to take towards him?”
“Dumb, blind and servile obedience.”
“What are they to be in his hands?”
“That which we are in yours, O, master! Instruments as docile as the cane in the hand of the man who leans upon it.”
“What will be the theater of the society’s work?”
“The whole world.”
“Into what parts will it divide the universe?”
“Into provinces — the province of France, the province of Spain, the province of Germany, the province of England, the province of India, the province of Asia, and others. Each will be under the government of a ‘provincial,’ appointed by the General of the society.”
“The society being organized, what name is it to assume?”
“The name of the Society of Jesus.”
“In what manner is the Society of Jesus to become a counterpoise to the papacy, and, if need be, dominate the papacy itself, should the latter swerve from the route it should pursue in order to insure the absolute government of the nations of the world to the Catholic Church?”
“Independent of the established Church, from whom it neither expects nor demands aught — neither the purple, nor the cross, nor benefices — the Society of Jesus, thanks to its accommodating and tolerant doctrines, will speedily conquer the empire of the human conscience. It will be the confessor of Kings and lackeys, of the mendicant monk and the cardinal, of the courtesan and the princess, the female bourgeois and her cook, of the concubine and the empress. The concert of this immense clientage, acting as one man under the breath of the Society of Jesus, and inspired by its General, will insure to him such a power that, at a given moment, he will be able to dictate his orders to the papacy, threatening to unchain against it all the consciences and arms over which he disposes. The General will be more powerful than the Pope himself.”
“Besides its action upon the conscience, will the Society of Jesus dispose over any other and secondary levers?”
“Yes, master, and very effective ones. Whosoever, whether lay or clerical, poor or rich, woman or man, great or small, will blindly surrender his soul to the direction of the Society of Jesus, will always and everywhere, and against whomsoever, be sustained, protected, favored, defended and held scathless by the Society and its adherents. The penitent of a Jesuit will see the horizon of his most ardent hopes open before him; the path to honors and wealth will be smoothed before his feet; a tutelary mantle will cover his defects, his errors and his crimes; his enemies will be the Society’s enemies; it will pursue them, track them, overtake them and smite them, whoever and wherever they may be, and with all available means. Thus the penitent of a Jesuit may aspire to anything. To incur his resentment will be a dread ordeal.”
“Accordingly, you have faith in the accomplishment of our work?”
“An absolute faith.”
“From whom do you derive that faith?”
“From you, master; from you, Ignatius Loyola, whose breath inspires us; from you, our master, him through whom we live.”
“The work is immense — to dominate the world! And yet there are only seven of us.”
“Master, when you command, we are legion.”
“Seven — only seven, my sons — without other power than our faith in our work.”
“Master, faith removes mountains. Command.”
“Oh, my brave disciples!” exclaimed Ignatius Loyola rising and supporting himself with his staff. “What joy it is to me to have thus imbued you with my substance, and nourished you with the marrow of my doctrine! Be up! Be up! The moment for action has come. That is the reason I have caused you to gather this evening here at Montmartre, where I have so often come to meditate in this hollow, this second to that cavern of Manres, where, in Spain, after long years of concentration, I at last perceived the full depth, the immensity of my work. Yes, in order to weld you together in this work, I have broken, bent and absorbed your personalities. I have turned you into instruments of my will as docile as the cane in the hand of the man who leans upon it. Yes, I have captured your souls. Yes, you are now only corpses in my hands. Oh, my dear corpses! my canes! my serfs! my slaves! glorify your servitude. It delivers to you the empire of the world! You will be the masters of all the men! You will be supreme rulers of all the women!”
Loyola’s disciples listened to him in devout silence. For a moment he remained steeped in the contemplation of his portentous ambition, meditating universal domination. Presently he proceeded:
“We must prepare ourselves by means of the holy sacrifice of the mass for the last act of this great day. We must receive the body of Jesus, we who constitute his intrepid militia! We the Jesuits!” And addressing himself to Lefevre: “You have brought with you the necessaries for the celebration of mass. Yonder rock” — pointing to the boulder behind which Christian and Justin were concealed— “yonder rock will serve us for altar. Come, to work, my well-beloved disciple.”
Lefevre opened the bundle which he had taken charge of. He drew from it a surplice, a chasuble, a Bible, a stole, a chalice, a little box of consecrated wafers, and two small flasks with wine and water. He clothed himself in sacerdotal garb, while one of the disciples took the wax candle, knelt down and lighted the improvised altar upon which the other Jesuits were engaged in disposing the rest of the requisites for the celebration of the divine sacrifice. It was done before Loyola and his disciples. The voice of Lefevre, as he droned the liturgy, alone disturbed the silence of the solitude upon which the wax candle cast a flickering ruddy glow. The time for communion having come, the seven founders of the Society of Jesus received the Eucharist with unction. The service over, Loyola rose again to his feet, and with an inspired mien said to his disciples:
“And now, come, come.”
He walked away, limping and followed by his acolytes, leaving behind them the religious implements on the block of stone.
Soon as the Jesuits moved away, Christian and Justin cautiously emerged from their hiding place, astounded at the secret they had just had revealed to them. Christian could still hardly believe that Lefevre, one of his oldest friends, and whose sentiments inclined him to the Reformation, had become a priest, and was one of the most ardent sectarians of Loyola.
“They are gone,” Justin whispered to his companion; “I have not a drop of blood left in my veins. Let’s flee!”
“What imprudence! We might run against those fanatics. I doubt not they will come back. Let us wait till they have departed.”
“No, no! I will not stay here another minute. I am overcome with fear.”
“Then let us try to escape by the other issue, which, as you were telling me, runs behind this rock. Come, be brave!”
“I am not sure whether that passage is not now obstructed. It would be dangerous to enter it without a light. A light would betray us. Let’s return upon our steps.”
More and more frightened, Justin walked rapidly towards the entrance of the quarry. Christian followed, unwilling to leave him alone. The moment they were about to emerge from the subterranean cavern, their ears were struck by the sound of human voices coming from above. The moon was now high in the sky, and lighted the only path that led to the abbey.
“We can not leave this place without being seen,” observed Justin in a low and anxious voice. “Those men have gathered upon the platform above the entrance of the cave.”
“Listen,” said Christian, yielding to an irresistible impulse of curiosity; “listen, they are talking.”
The artisans remained motionless and mute. For a moment a solemn silence reigned. Presently the voice of Ignatius Loyola reached them as if it descended from heaven.
“Do you swear?” came from the founder of the Society of Jesus. “Do you swear in the name of the living God?”
“In the name of God,” responded the Jesuits. “We swear! We shall obey our master!”
“My sons,” Loyola’s voice resumed solemnly, “from this place you can see the four cardinal points of that world whose empire I parcel out among you, valiant soldiers of the Society of Jesus. Down yonder, towards the north, lie the land of the Muscovite, Germany, England. To you, Germany, England and the land of the Muscovite — John Lainez.”
“Master, your will be done!”
“Yonder, to the east, Turkey, Asia, the Holy Land. To you, Turkey, Asia and the Holy Land — Rodriguez of Acevedo.”
“Master, your will be done!”
“Yonder, towards the west, the new America and the Indies. To you, the new America and the Indies — Alfonso Salmeron.”
“Master, your will be done!”
“Yonder, to the south, Africa, Italy, Spain, Portugal, the islands of Corsica and Sardinia, and the Balearic Isles. To you, Africa, Italy, Spain, Portugal, the islands of Corsica and Sardinia and the Balearic Isles — Inigo of Bobadilla. Behold your empire.”
“Master, your will be done!”
“Finally, here at our feet, Paris, the capital of France, a world in itself. To you, Paris, to you, France — John Lefevre.”
“Master, your will be done!”
“Beginning with to-morrow, gird up your loins. Depart, staff in hand, alone, unknown. To work, soldiers of Jesus! To work, Jesuits! The kingdom of earth is ours! To-morrow I depart for Rome, to offer or force upon the Pope our invincible support.”
Loyola’s voice died away. Hearing the sectarians descending from the platform, Christian and Justin hurried back to their hiding place, behind the huge rock upon which were the implements that Lefevre had used in the celebration of the mass. The latter soon came back, followed by his companions. He doffed his sacerdotal vestments, and approached the improvised altar to gather the sacred vessels. So busied, his hand struck against the chalice, which rolled down and fell behind the rock at the place where the two artisans were crowding themselves from sight. John Lefevre walked back of the rock after the chalice which had fallen close to Christian’s feet. The latter saw the Jesuit approach; stoop down and pick up the vase, without seeming, in the demi-gloom, to notice his old friend, whom his hand almost touched, and rejoin the other disciples.
“Lefevre has seen us!” thought Christian to himself. “It is impossible he should not have noticed us. And yet, not a word, not a gesture betrayed upon his countenance the astonishment and uneasiness into which he must have been plunged by our presence at this place, and the knowledge that we are in possession of the secret of his society.”
While Christian was absorbed by these thoughts, Lefevre, ever imperturbable, returned to his bag the objects which he used in celebrating the mass, walked out of the cavern with his companions, and whispered a few words into the ear of Loyola. A slight tremor ran through the frame of the latter, who, however, immediately recovered his composure, and whispered back his answer to Lefevre. The latter lowered his head in token of acquiescence. Thereupon the founder of the Society of Jesus and his disciples disappeared in the windings of the road and reached Paris.
Such was the origin of that infernal society.
CHAPTER XI.
MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.
AS SOON AS Christian returned home, late towards midnight, he hastened to communicate to his guest the occurrences at Montmartre. Monsieur John concluded it was urgent to assemble the chiefs of the Reformation in the abandoned quarry, where there was no danger of apprehending the return of the Jesuits, seeing that Ignatius Loyola was to depart immediately for Rome, while his disciples were to scatter to the distant countries parceled out to them. Finally, if, as Christian persisted with good reason in believing, Lefevre had noticed the presence of the two artisans at the Jesuit conventicle, it would be an additional reason to keep them from returning to the spot. Accordingly, Monsieur John decided to convoke the chiefs of the Reformation in Paris for six o’clock in the afternoon of the following day at Montmartre. To this effect he prepared a letter giving the directions to the trysting place. Justin was to proceed in time to make certain that the second issue was practicable. Furthermore, it was agreed between Bridget and her husband that she would absent herself together with her daughter before sunset, in order to allow the stranger to leave the house unnoticed by Hena. On his part, Christian was to pretend an invitation to supper with a friend, in order to engage his son’s company in a walk, and was to dismiss him when he thought that Monsieur John had departed. The program was carried out as agreed. When Bridget and Hena returned home after a short walk along the banks of the Seine, the proscribed man had quitted his hospitable refuge, and betaken him to the Montmartre Gate, where Christian was to await him, and conduct him to the place of meeting.
The artisan’s wife and daughter busied themselves at their trade of embroidery. They worked in silence by the light of a lamp — Bridget musing over Hervé’s repentance, while Hena, lost in revery, frequently allowed her needle to drop inactive on her lap. The young girl was absorbed in her own thoughts, a stranger to what went on around her. The hour of nine struck from the distant clock in the tower of St. James-of-the-Slaughter-House.
“Nine o’clock,” observed Bridget to herself. “My son can not be long in coming back. With what joy shall I not embrace him this evening! What a heavy load did not his repentance roll off my heart! The dear child!”
And addressing Hena without removing her eyes from her needlework:
