The Pocket Bible; or, Christian the Printer: A Tale of the Sixteenth Century

"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 Paré, 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 Hervé – 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: "Hervé 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.

CHAPTER XVIII.
FOR BETTER AND FOR WORSE

Sister St. Frances-in-the-Tomb, as Hena Lebrenn was christened in religion, occupied in the cottage a chamber contiguous to that of her father. The young girl still wore the nun's garb. The pallor of her visage, framed in the folds of her coif and her long white veil, was hardly distinguishable from the dull whiteness of the linen. Pain and resignation were traced on her features, that emaciation rendered almost transparent. Seated near a window, her hands clasped over her knees, and her large blue eyes raised to heaven, she seemed to contemplate without seeing them the somber clouds which the north wind drove before it with weird moanings. Hena's thoughts turned upon the events of the last three days. Despite her decision to devote herself to a nun's life, as the only means of again seeing her family, to live never again under the same roof with her brother whose passion for her inspired the maid with invincible horror, and to bury forever in the chilly shadows of the cloister her fatal love for St. Ernest-Martyr – despite these sentiments, on the night that, her vows being pronounced, she was praying in the solitude of the Virgin's chapel, she welcomed her uncle Josephin as a liberator, and never hesitated an instant to flee with him from the convent of the Augustinian sisters. She was ignorant of her mother's fate. The hope of soon, after so cruel a separation, being again in the embrace of the parents she loved so dearly, occupied all her thoughts. When, upon seeing Christian again, the young girl learned of her mother's death, the persecutions that he himself was the object of, and the presence of Brother St. Ernest-Martyr in the same retreat, her head reeled. Weakened by suffering and bewildered by so many unexpected events, the girl's mind threatened for a moment to go astray. Her native vigor carried, however, the day. She said to herself:

"My duty is clear. I shall stay near my father. I shall endeavor with my tenderness to soften his sorrow for the loss of my mother. He must flee this place. I shall accompany him in his exile. I shall also take my mother's place to my brother Odelin. I shall not endeavor to forget Brother St. Ernest-Martyr. But, while preserving this love sacred in the recesses of my heart, to you, O, my God, I pray – grant through Your infinite mercy that this love do not kill me – grant to preserve my life for the sake of my father, who stands in need of my care and my affection!"

Such were the reflections of the young girl, when, some hours after his interview with Robert Estienne, she saw Christian enter her chamber. The printer's face reflected suppressed happiness. Tears, sweet tears they now were, flowed from his eyes. Despite his desire not to betray his joy before his daughter, lest he cause her too deep an emotion, he could not withhold pressing her repeatedly to his heart, and covering her face with kisses. Touched by such tender effusion, and struck by the change in her father's appearance, Hena cried:

"God be praised, father, you bring me good news! Are you no longer pursued? You will no longer have to keep in hiding?"

Christian shook his head, and still holding his daughter in his arms, contemplated her, enraptured. He sat down; placed her on his knees, as a little child is placed; and in a voice that trembled with emotion, said:

"Yes, my dear Hena; yes, my beloved child, I have good news for you – but not what you thought. We are soon to leave this retreat, where our persecutors might discover us, and we shall go far away from here, in order to escape all pursuit."

"And yet, father, your voice trembles with joy. I read happiness on your face."

"The good, the unexpected tidings that I bring – concern you – you alone – "

"Me alone, father?"

"No; not you alone – what is good to you, is it not good to me also?"

Hena looked at her father, surprised. The latter hesitated to say more, fearing the consequences of too sudden a revelation. He paused for a moment and proceeded:

"Do you know, my child, what the pastor of the reformed religion is?"

"I believe he is a minister of the Evangelium; is it not?"

"Yes, the pastors spread the Evangelical word. But, contrary to the Catholic priests, who are condemned to celibacy by the Church, the ministers of the reformed cult are free to contract matrimony, and to fulfil its obligations."

A smile of sadness flitted over Hena's lips. Her father followed her closely with his eyes. He fathomed her secret thoughts.

"The right of its ministers to be husbands and fathers, recognized by the Evangelical church, has induced several Catholic priests to break with Rome and embrace the Reformation."

Dropping her head upon her father's shoulder, Hena wept. Christian drew himself slightly back in order to raise the tear-bedewed visage of his daughter, whom he still kept upon his knees, his arms around her, and his heart beating with hope.

"Hena, no doubt you have been thinking to yourself: 'Alas, Brother St. Ernest-Martyr is a Catholic priest!'"

"You have guessed my thoughts, dear father. I thought to myself there was nothing for me but to bow before so fatal a state of things. But let us talk about that good news which you seem so anxious to impart to me."

"Very well, dear child – but in order not to have to return again to a matter painful to you, I shall begin by saying that Brother St. Ernest-Martyr, or rather Ernest Rennepont, which is his real name, withdraws himself from the Catholic Church and embraces the Reformation."

Christian felt Hena trembling convulsively upon his knees. The poor child carried both her hands to her face, whence fresh drops of tears flowed down upon her robe.

"My dear child," resumed the artisan, hardly able to repress his gladness, "there is still another confession which I expect from your frankness. You are saying to yourself, are you not: 'Ernest Rennepont abjured his vows – he is free – he can now choose a wife – if he would only love me!'"

"Father, good father, let us drop such thoughts!"

"Oh, my beloved child!" cried the artisan radiant with joy. "Oh, my only support, my only consolation! Courage! Courage! Not now any more in order to resist sorrow – but to defend you – from the transports that an unexpected happiness often causes us – "

"An unexpected happiness, father?"

"Yes, the gladsome tidings that I bring to you are – first, Ernest Rennepont's resolution to become a pastor of the Evangelical church. Thus he is free to marry, without discontinuing his services to God. Yes, and do you know, Hena, that if the most cherished wish of his heart is verified, do you know, Hena, who would be the wife of his choice? It would be – it would be you – you, my treasure! Ernest Rennepont loves you to distraction since the day he first saw you at Mary La Catelle's."

Despite the precautions taken by her father, Hena could not resist the shock of the revelation. Still holding his daughter upon his knees, Christian saw her lose color, her head dropped upon his shoulder, she lost consciousness. He rose, carried the girl to her bed, at the head of which he knelt down, and awaited the end of the crisis that the excess of joy had brought on. A moment later he heard a rap at the door. He asked:

"Is it you, Monsieur Estienne?"

"Yes – and I am not alone."

"Do not come in now," answered Christian. "Hena is in a swoon. I fear that in recovering consciousness the sight of her betrothed might cause an immediate relapse."

Certain motions of Hena, and the light flush that by degrees returned to her cheeks, announced the girl's gradual recovery. Her eyes remained half shut. She turned her haggard face towards her father. Presently, fixing upon him her still partly veiled eyes, she seemed to interrogate her confused recollections.

"No, my dear child," said the artisan; "it is not a dream. You are not the sport of an illusion. Ernest Rennepont renounces the monastic life; he embraces the Evangelical creed, of which he will be a pastor. He has long loved you with the purest and noblest love. I surprised the secret of his soul. Never did father wish for his daughter a husband more worthy of esteem and affection." And pointing with his finger to the door: "He is there, accompanied by our friend, Monsieur Estienne. Do you feel yourself strong enough to receive them, my poor, dear child? Would you like to have them come in?"

"He loves me!" cried Hena, taking her father's hands and kissing them. "He loves me, also! Since when?"

"Yes, yes – he will tell you all that himself," answered Christian with a smile of ineffable happiness. "He is there. He awaits but your consent to come to you, my dear child."

Hena sat up on her couch, placed one of her hands on her heart to restrain its throbs and still too much moved to speak, made to her father an affirmative sign. The artisan thereupon introduced Robert Estienne, supporting on his arm Ernest Rennepont. At that moment the sound of a horse's hoofs was heard from the yard. Yielding to an involuntary sense of uneasiness, Christian ran to the window, and was at once put at ease at seeing his brother-in-law the Franc-Taupin alighting from his mount. Hena and Ernest Rennepont, strangers to what went on around them, saw but each other. When the young man was near enough to the couch on which Hena was seated, he dropped on his knees before her, clasped his hands, and raised up to her his pale visage, now radiant with celestial bliss. Unable to utter a word, the two contemplated each other, absorbed. Robert Estienne could not hold back the tears that gathered in his eyes. The artisan stepped towards the two lovers, took Hena's hand, placed it in Ernest Rennepont's, who had remained on his knees, and said in a voice broken with emotion:

"Be betrothed – never have nobler hearts been worthier of each other."

Christian was pronouncing these solemn words when the Franc-Taupin entered. Already informed by his brother-in-law of the mutual love of the two young folks, the soldier of adventure thrilled with joy at seeing them united.

"Know the rest, my friend," said the artisan to Josephin. "My daughter and he who from this day is my son owe their liberty to you. You are entitled to know all that concerns them. Ernest Rennepont renounces his monastic vows; he abjures Catholicism and embraces the Reformation, of which he is to be a pastor. As you know, the Evangelical pastors can marry."

"It is my advice that the marriage be promptly concluded," answered the Franc-Taupin in a low voice as he led Christian and Robert Estienne to the window, while the betrothed couple remained under the spell of a profound ecstasy, hearing nothing, seeing nothing of what happened around them. The Franc-Taupin proceeded in a low voice: "I have come from Paris in a hurry. I heard an announcement made to the sound of trumps, to the effect that Sister St. Frances-in-the-Tomb and Brother St. Ernest-Martyr are adjudged relapsed, and subject to the punishment visited upon such a sin – the stake!"

"The stake!" muttered Robert Estienne, shivering with horror, while making an instant sign intended to check an exclamation of terror that Christian was on the point of giving vent to.

"Time presses," proceeded the Franc-Taupin. "My brother-in-law, his daughter and the young monk must leave this house this very night. It will not be safe to-morrow."

"I am of your opinion," answered Robert Estienne. "This is the way we shall proceed: You, Josephin, will return to Paris on the spot with a letter from me to one of our pastors, urging him to come here this very evening in order to take the abjuration of Ernest Rennepont, and give his nuptial benediction to the betrothed couple. Immediately after, Hena and her husband will set out, with you, and Christian, who will take my horse. His daughter will ride on the crupper."

"The young monk shall ride behind me on my nag," said the Franc-Taupin. "I shall escort the fugitives to a distance of five or six leagues from Paris."

"When you come back here bring with you lay clothes for the young couple," said Robert Estienne, handing his purse to the Franc-Taupin. "You will also pay the price of your nag to the stableman from whom you have the animal. Ernest Rennepont shall keep it, and ride on it with Christian and his daughter to La Rochelle. Only there will they all three be safe. There is not an instant to lose. Quick, to horse, Josephin, to horse! The lives of us all are at stake."