Maitre Cornelius.................................................................................................................................................1

Honore de Balzac .....................................................................................................................................1

CHAPTER I. A CHURCH SCENE OF THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY ...............................................1

CHAPTER II. THE TORCONNIER ......................................................................................................8

CHAPTER III. THE ROBBERY OF THE JEWELS OF THE DUKE OF BAVARIA .......................17

CHAPTER IV. THE HIDDEN TREASURE .......................................................................................28

In 1479, on All Saints' day, the moment at which this history begins, vespers were ending in the cathedral of

Tours. The archbishop Helie de Bourdeilles was rising from his seat to give the benediction himself to the

faithful. The sermon had been long; darkness had fallen during the service, and in certain parts of the noble

church (the towers of which were not yet finished) the deepest obscurity prevailed. Nevertheless a goodly

number of tapers were burning in honor of the saints on the triangular candletrays destined to receive such

pious offerings, the merit and signification of which have never been sufficiently explained. The lights on

each altar and all the candelabra in the choir were burning. Irregularly shed among a forest of columns and

arcades which supported the three naves of the cathedral, the gleam of these masses of candles barely lighted

the immense building, because the strong shadows of the columns, projected among the galleries, produced

fantastic forms which increased the darkness that already wrapped in gloom the arches, the vaulted ceilings,

The crowd presented effects that were no less picturesque. Certain figures were so vaguely defined in the

"chiaroscuro" that they seemed like phantoms; whereas others, standing in a full gleam of the scattered light,

attracted attention like the principal heads in a picture. Some statues seemed animated, some men seemed

petrified. Here and there eyes shone in the flutings of the columns, the floor reflected looks, the marbles

The existence of Peoples has no more solemn scenes, no moments more majestic. To mankind in the mass,

movement is needed to make it poetical; but in these hours of religious thought, when human riches unite

themselves with celestial grandeur, incredible sublimities are felt in the silence; there is fear in the bended

knee, hope in the clasping hands. The concert of feelings in which all souls are rising heavenward produces

an inexplicable phenomenon of spirituality. The mystical exaltation of the faithful reacts upon each of them;

the feebler are no doubt borne upward by the waves of this ocean of faith and love. Prayer, a power electrical,

draws our nature above itself. This involuntary union of all wills, equally prostrate on the earth, equally risen

into heaven, contains, no doubt, the secret of the magic influences wielded by the chants of the priests, the

harmonies of the organ, the perfumes and the pomps of the altar, the voices of the crowd and its silent

contemplations. Consequently, we need not be surprised to see in the middleages so many tender passions

begun in churches after long ecstasies,passions ending often in little sanctity, and for which women, as

usual, were the ones to do penance. Religious sentiment certainly had, in those days, an affinity with love; it

was either the motive or the end of it. Love was still a religion, with its fine fanaticism, its naive superstitions,

The manners of that period will also serve to explain this alliance between religion and love. In the first place

society had no meeting place except before the altar. Lords and vassals, men and women were equals

nowhere else. There alone could lovers see each other and communicate. The festivals of the Church were the

theatre of former times; the soul of woman was more keenly stirred in a cathedral than it is at a ball or the

opera in our day; and do not strong emotions invariably bring women back to love? By dint of mingling with

life and grasping it in all its acts and interests, religion had made itself a sharer of all virtues, the accomplice

of all vices. Religion had passed into science, into politics, into eloquence, into crimes, into the flesh of the

sick man and the poor man; it mounted thrones; it was everywhere. These semilearned observations will

serve, perhaps, to vindicate the truth of this study, certain details of which may frighten the perfected morals

At the moment when the chanting ceased and the last notes of the organ, mingling with the vibrations of the

loud "Amen" as it issued from the strong chests of the intoning clergy, sent a murmuring echo through the

distant arches, and the hushed assembly were awaiting the beneficent words of the archbishop, a burgher,

impatient to get home, or fearing for his purse in the tumult of the crowd when the worshippers dispersed,

slipped quietly away, at the risk of being called a bad Catholic. On which, a nobleman, leaning against one of

the enormous columns that surround the choir, hastened to take possession of the seat abandoned by the

worthy Tourainean. Having done so, he quickly hid his face among the plumes of his tall gray cap, kneeling

upon the chair with an air of contrition that even an inquisitor would have trusted.

Observing the newcomer attentively, his immediate neighbors seemed to recognize him; after which they

returned to their prayers with a certain gesture by which they all expressed the same thought,a caustic,

jeering thought, a silent slander. Two old women shook their heads, and gave each other a glance that seemed

The chair into which the young man had slipped was close to a chapel placed between two columns and

closed by an iron railing. It was customary for the chapter to lease at a handsome price to seignorial families,

and even to rich burghers, the right to be present at the services, themselves and their servants exclusively, in

the various lateral chapels of the long sideaisles of the cathedral. This simony is in practice to the present

day. A woman had her chapel as she now has her operabox. The families who hired these privileged places

were required to decorate the altar of the chapel thus conceded to them, and each made it their pride to adorn

their own sumptuously,a vanity which the Church did not rebuke. In this particular chapel a lady was

kneeling close to the railing on a handsome rug of red velvet with gold tassels, precisely opposite to the seat

vacated of the burgher. A silvergilt lamp, hanging from the vaulted ceiling of the chapel before an altar

magnificently decorated, cast its pale light upon a prayerbook held by the lady. The book trembled violently

To that response, sung in a sweet low voice which was painfully agitated, though happily lost in the general

The words were said in a tone of innocence which a man of any delicacy ought to have obeyed; they went to

the heart and pierced it. But the stranger, carried away, no doubt, by one of those paroxysms of passion which

stifle conscience, remained in his chair and raised his head slightly that he might look into the chapel.

"He sleeps!" he replied, in so low a voice that the words could be heard by the young woman only, as sound

The lady turned pale; her furtive glance left for a moment the vellum page of the prayerbook and turned to

the old man whom the young man had designated. What terrible complicity was in that glance? When the

young woman had cautiously examined the old seigneur, she drew a long breath and raised her forehead,

adorned with a precious jewel, toward a picture of the Virgin; that simple movement, that attitude, the

moistened glance, revealed her life with imprudent naivete; had she been wicked, she would certainly have

dissimulated. The personage who thus alarmed the lovers was a little old man, hunchbacked, nearly bald,

savage in expression, and wearing a long and discolored white beard cut in a fantail. The cross of

SaintMichel glittered on his breast; his coarse, strong hands, covered with gray hairs, which had been

clasped, had now dropped slightly apart in the slumber to which he had imprudently yielded. The right hand

seemed about to fall upon his dagger, the hilt of which was in the form of an iron shell. By the manner in

which he had placed the weapon, this hilt was directly under his hand; if, unfortunately, the hand touched the

iron, he would wake, no doubt, instantly, and glance at his wife. His sardonic lips, his pointed chin

aggressively pushed forward, presented the characteristic signs of a malignant spirit, a sagacity coldly cruel,

that would surely enable him to divine all because he suspected everything. His yellow forehead was

wrinkled like those of men whose habit it is to believe nothing, to weigh all things, and who, like misers

chinking their gold, search out the meaning and the value of human actions. His bodily frame, though

deformed, was bony and solid, and seemed both vigorous and excitable; in short, you might have thought him

a stunted ogre. Consequently, an inevitable danger awaited the young lady whenever this terrible seigneur

woke. That jealous husband would surely not fail to see the difference between a worthy old burgher who

"Libera nos a malo," she said, endeavoring to make the young man comprehend her fears.

The latter raised his head and looked at her. Tears were in his eyes; tears of love and of despair. At sight of

them the lady trembled and betrayed herself. Both had, no doubt, long resisted and could resist no longer a

love increasing day by day through invincible obstacles, nurtured by terror, strengthened by youth. The lady

was moderately handsome; but her pallid skin told of secret sufferings that made her interesting. She had,

moreover, an elegant figure, and the finest hair in the world. Guarded by a tiger, she risked her life in

whispering a word, accepting a look, and permitting a mere pressure of the hand. Love may never have been

more deeply felt than in those hearts, never more delightfully enjoyed, but certainly no passion was ever more

perilous. It was easy to divine that to these two beings air, sound, footfalls, etc., things indifferent to other

men, presented hidden qualities, peculiar properties which they distinguished. Perhaps their love made them

find faithful interpreters in the icy hands of the old priest to whom they confessed their sins, and from whom

they received the Host at the holy table. Love profound! love gashed into the soul like a scar upon the body

which we carry through life! When these two young people looked at each other, the woman seemed to say to

her lover, "Let us love each other and die!" To which the young knight answered, "Let us love each other and

not die." In reply, she showed him a sign her old duenna and two pages. The duenna slept; the pages were

young and seemingly careless of what might happen, either of good or evil, to their masters.

The young nobleman had scarcely said these words in a low voice, when the hand of the old seigneur

dropped upon the hilt of his dagger. Feeling the cold iron he woke, and his yellow eyes fixed themselves

instantly on his wife. By a privilege seldom granted even to men of genius, he awoke with his mind as clear,

his ideas as lucid as though he had not slept at all. The man had the mania of jealousy. The lover, with one

eye on his mistress, had watched the husband with the other, and he now rose quickly, effacing himself

behind a column at the moment when the hand of the old man fell; after which he disappeared, swiftly as a

bird. The lady lowered her eyes to her book and tried to seem calm; but she could not prevent her face from

blushing and her heart from beating with unnatural violence. The old lord saw the unusual crimson on the

cheeks, forehead, even the eyelids of his wife. He looked about him cautiously, but seeing no one to distrust,

In spite of this sarcastic query, the wily old man pretended to believe in this excuse; but he suspected some

The benediction was given. Without waiting for the end of the "Soecula soeculorum," the crowd rushed like a

torrent to the doors of the church. Following his usual custom, the old seigneur waited till the general hurry

was over; after which he left his chapel, placing the duenna and the youngest page, carrying a lantern, before

As he made his way to the lateral door which opened on the west side of the cloister, through which it was his

custom to pass, a stream of persons detached itself from the flood which obstructed the great portals, and

poured through the side aisle around the old lord and his party. The mass was too compact to allow him to

retrace his steps, and he and his wife were therefore pushed onward to the door by the pressure of the

multitude behind them. The husband tried to pass out first, dragging the lady by the arm, but at that instant he

was pulled vigorously into the street, and his wife was torn from him by a stranger. The terrible hunchback

saw at once that he had fallen into a trap that was cleverly prepared. Repenting himself for having slept, he

collected his whole strength, seized his wife once more by the sleeve of her gown, and strove with his other

hand to cling to the gate of the church; but the ardor of love carried the day against jealous fury. The young

man took his mistress round the waist, and carried her off so rapidly, with the strength of despair, that the

brocaded stuff of silk and gold tore noisily apart, and the sleeve alone remained in the hand of the old man. A

roar like that of a lion rose louder than the shouts of the multitude, and a terrible voice howled out the

And the Comte Aymar de Poitiers, sire de SaintVallier, attempted to draw his sword and clear a space

around him. But he found himself surrounded and pressed upon by forty or fifty gentlemen whom it would be

dangerous to wound. Several among them, especially those of the highest rank, answered him with jests as

With the rapidity of lightning the abductor carried the countess into an open chapel and seated her behind the

confessional on a wooden bench. By the light of the tapers burning before the saint to whom the chapel was

dedicated, they looked at each other for a moment in silence, clasping hands, and amazed at their own

audacity. The countess had not the cruel courage to reproach the young man for the boldness to which they

"Will you fly with me into the adjoining States?" said the young man, eagerly. "Two English horses are

"Ah!" she cried, softly, "in what corner of the world could you hide a daughter of King Louis XI.?"

"Alas!" said her lover, "I did not reckon on the trouble I should feel in being near you, in hearing you speak

to me. I have made plans,two or three plans,and now that I see you all seems accomplished."

"We are saved!" the young man cried in the blind enthusiasm of his love. "Listen to me carefully!"

"This will cost me my life!" she said, letting the tears that rolled in her eyes flow down her cheeks. "The

count will kill me,tonight, perhaps! But go to the king; tell him the tortures that his daughter has endured

these five years. He loved me well when I was little; he called me 'Mariefullofgrace,' because I was ugly.

Ah! if he knew the man to whom he gave me, his anger would be terrible. I have not dared complain, out of

pity for the count. Besides, how could I reach the king? My confessor himself is a spy of SaintVallier. That

is why I have consented to this guilty meeting, to obtain a defender,some one to tell the truth to the king.

Can I rely on Oh!" she cried, turning pale and interrupting herself, "here comes the page!"

"Fear nothing," said the young seigneur, "he is won! You can safely trust him; he belongs to me. When the

count contrives to return for you he will warn us of his coming. In the confessional," he added, in a low

voice, "is a priest, a friend of mine, who will tell him that he drew you for safety out of the crowd, and placed

you under his own protection in this chapel. Therefore, everything is arranged to deceive him."

At these words the tears of the poor woman stopped, but an expression of sadness settled down on her face.

"No one can deceive him," she said. "Tonight he will know all. Save me from his blows! Go to Plessis, see

the king, tell him" she hesitated; then, some dreadful recollection giving her courage to confess the secrets

of her marriage, she added: "Yes, tell him that to master me the count bleeds me in both armsto exhaust

me. Tell him that my husband drags me about by the hair of my head. Say that I am a prisoner; that"

Her heart swelled, sobs choked her throat, tears fell from her eyes. In her agitation she allowed the young

"Poor darling! no one can speak to the king. Though my uncle is grand master of his archers, I could not

gain admission to Plessis. My dear lady! my beautiful sovereign! oh, how she has suffered! Marie, let

"What will become of us?" she murmured. Then, seeing on the dark wall a picture of the Virgin, on which the

"This evening," he replied, "I shall offer myself as apprentice to Maitre Cornelius, the king's silversmith. I

have obtained a letter of recommendation to him which will make him receive me. His house is next to yours.

Once under the roof of that old thief, I can soon find my way to your apartment by the help of a silken

"Oh!" she said, petrified with horror, "if you love me don't go to Maitre Cornelius."

"Ah!" he cried, pressing her to his heart with all the force of his youth, "you do indeed love me!"

"Yes," she said; "are you not my hope? You are a gentleman, and I confide to you my honor. Besides," she

added, looking at him with dignity, "I am so unhappy that you would never betray my trust. But what is the

good of all this? Go, let me die, sooner than that you should enter that house of Maitre Cornelius. Do you not

"I cannot pay too dearly for the joy of serving you," he said, with a look that made her drop her eyes.

"Here is something to put him to sleep," replied her lover, drawing from his belt a little vial.

"I would long ago have defied him to mortal combat if he were not so old," he said. "God preserve me from

"Forgive me," said the countess, blushing. "I am cruelly punished for my sins. In a moment of despair I

thought of killing him, and I feared you might have the same desire. My sorrow is great that I have never yet

been able to confess that wicked thought; but I fear it would be repeated to him and he would avenge it. I

have shamed you," she continued, distressed by his silence, "I deserve your blame."

"Do not come," she said, "my husband sleeps lightly; my duty is to wait for the help of Heaventhat will I

"Ah!" cried the young man, "order me to do so and I will kill him. You will see me tonight."

"I was wise to destroy that drug," she said in a voice that was faint with the pleasure of finding herself so

"If the king is willing, the pope can annul my marriage. We will then be united," she said, giving him a look

Instantly the young nobleman, surprised at the short time he had gained with his mistress and wondering at

Thanks to the darkness, he reached the great portal safely, gliding from column to column in the long

shadows which they cast athwart the nave. An old canon suddenly issued from the confessional, came to the

side of the countess and closed the iron railing before which the page was marching gravely up and down

A strong light now announced the coming of the count. Accompanied by several friends and by servants

bearing torches, he hurried forward, a naked sword in hand. His gloomy eyes seemed to pierce the shadows

The Comte de SaintVallier found his wife kneeling on the steps of the alter, the old priest standing beside

her and reading his breviary. At that sight the count shook the iron railing violently as if to give vent to his

The priest took a key from his sleeve, and unlocked the railed door of the chapel. The count, almost in spite

of himself, cast a look into the confessional, then he entered the chapel, and seemed to be listening attentively

"Monsieur," said his wife, "you owe many thanks to this venerable canon, who gave me a refuge here."

The count turned pale with anger; he dared not look at his friends, who had come there more to laugh at him

He took his wife by the arm and, without allowing her to finish her curtsey to the canon, he signed to his

servants and left the church without a word to the others who had accompanied him. His silence had

something savage and sullen about it. Impatient to reach his home and preoccupied in searching for means to

discover the truth, he took his way through the tortuous streets which at that time separated the cathedral from

the Chancellerie, a fine building recently erected by the Chancellor Juvenal des Ursins, on the site of an old

fortification given by Charles VII. to that faithful servant as a reward for his glorious labors.

The count reached at last the rue du Murier, in which his dwelling, called the hotel de Poitiers, was situated.

When his escort of servants had entered the courtyard and the heavy gates were closed, a deep silence fell on

the narrow street, where other great seigneurs had their houses, for this new quarter of the town was near to

Plessis, the usual residence of the king, to whom the courtiers, if sent for, could go in a moment. The last

house in this street was also the last in the town. It belonged to Maitre Cornelius Hoogworst, an old

Brabantian merchant, to whom King Louis XI. gave his utmost confidence in those financial transactions

Observing the outline of the houses occupied respectively by Maitre Cornelius and by the Comte de Poitiers,

it was easy to believe that the same architect had built them both and destined them for the use of tyrants.

Each was sinister in aspect, resembling a small fortress, and both could be well defended against an angry

populace. Their corners were upheld by towers like those which lovers of antiquities remark in towns where

the hammer of the iconoclast has not yet prevailed. The bays, which had little depth, gave a great power of

resistance to the iron shutters of the windows and doors. The riots and the civil wars so frequent in those

As six o'clock was striking from the great tower of the Abbey Saint Martin, the lover of the hapless countess

passed in front of the hotel de Poitiers and paused for a moment to listen to the sounds made in the lower hall

by the servants of the count, who were supping. Casting a glance at the window of the room where he

supposed his love to be, he continued his way to the adjoining house. All along his way, the young man had

heard the joyous uproar of many feasts given throughout the town in honor of the day. The illjoined shutters

sent out streaks of light, the chimneys smoked, and the comforting odor of roasted meats pervaded the town.

After the conclusion of the church services, the inhabitants were regaling themselves, with murmurs of

satisfaction which fancy can picture better than words can paint. But at this particular spot a deep silence

reigned, because in these two houses lived two passions which never rejoiced. Beyond them stretched the

silent country. Beneath the shadow of the steeples of SaintMartin, these two mute dwellings, separated from

the others in the same street and standing at the crooked end of it, seemed afflicted with leprosy. The building

opposite to them, the home of the criminals of the State, was also under a ban. A young man would be readily

impressed by this sudden contrast. About to fling himself into an enterprise that was horribly hazardous, it is

no wonder that the daring young seigneur stopped short before the house of the silversmith, and called to

mind the many tales furnished by the life of Maitre Cornelius,tales which caused such singular horror to

the countess. At this period a man of war, and even a lover, trembled at the mere word "magic." Few indeed

were the minds and the imaginations which disbelieved in occult facts and tales of the marvellous. The lover

of the Comtesse de Saint Vallier, one of the daughters whom Louis XI. had in Dauphine by Madame de

Sassenage, however bold he might be in other respects, was likely to think twice before he finally entered the

The history of Maitre Cornelius Hoogworst will fully explain the security which the silversmith inspired in

the Comte de SaintVallier, the terror of the countess, and the hesitation that now took possession of the

lover. But, in order to make the readers of this nineteenth century understand how such commonplace events

could be turned into anything supernatural, and to make them share the alarms of that olden time, it is

necessary to interrupt the course of this narrative and cast a rapid glance on the preceding life and adventures

Cornelius Hoogworst, one of the richest merchants in Ghent, having drawn upon himself the enmity of

Charles, Duke of Burgundy, found refuge and protection at the court of Louis XI. The king was conscious of

the advantages he could gain from a man connected with all the principal commercial houses of Flanders,

Venice, and the Levant; he naturalized, ennobled, and flattered Maitre Cornelius; all of which was rarely

done by Louis XI. The monarch pleased the Fleming as much as the Fleming pleased the monarch. Wily,

distrustful, and miserly; equally politic, equally learned; superior, both of them, to their epoch; understanding

each other marvellously; they discarded and resumed with equal facility, the one his conscience, the other his

religion; they loved the same Virgin, one by conviction, the other by policy; in short, if we may believe the

jealous tales of Olivier de Daim and Tristan, the king went to the house of the Fleming for those diversions

with which King Louis XI. diverted himself. History has taken care to transmit to our knowledge the

licentious tastes of a monarch who was not averse to debauchery. The old Fleming found, no doubt, both

pleasure and profit in lending himself to the capricious pleasures of his royal client.

Cornelius had now lived nine years in the city of Tours. During those years extraordinary events had

happened in his house, which had made him the object of general execration. On his first arrival, he had spent

considerable sums in order to put the treasures he brought with him in safety. The strange inventions made

for him secretly by the locksmiths of the town, the curious precautions taken in bringing those locksmiths to

his house in a way to compel their silence, were long the subject of countless tales which enlivened the

evening gatherings of the city. These singular artifices on the part of the old man made every one suppose

him the possessor of Oriental riches. Consequently the NARRATORS of that regionthe home of the tale in

Francebuilt rooms full of gold and precious tones in the Fleming's house, not omitting to attribute all this

Maitre Cornelius had brought with him from Ghent two Flemish valets, an old woman, and a young

apprentice; the latter, a youth with a gentle, pleasing face, served him as secretary, cashier, factotum, and

courier. During the first year of his settlement in Tours, a robbery of considerable amount took place in his

house, and judicial inquiry showed that the crime must have been committed by one of its inmates. The old

miser had his two valets and the secretary put in prison. The young man was feeble and he died under the

sufferings of the "question" protesting his innocence. The valets confessed the crime to escape torture; but

when the judge required them to say where the stolen property could be found, they kept silence, were again

put to the torture, judged, condemned, and hanged. On their way to the scaffold they declared themselves

The city of Tours talked much of this singular affair; but the criminals were Flemish, and the interest felt in

their unhappy fate soon evaporated. In those days wars and seditions furnished endless excitements, and the

drama of each day eclipsed that of the night before. More grieved by the loss he had met with than by the

death of his three servants, Maitre Cornelius lived alone in his house with the old Flemish woman, his sister.

He obtained permission from the king to use state couriers for his private affairs, sold his mules to a muleteer

of the neighborhood, and lived from that moment in the deepest solitude, seeing no one but the king, doing

his business by means of Jews, who, shrewd calculators, served him well in order to gain his allpowerful

Some time after this affair, the king himself procured for his old "torconnier" a young orphan in whom he

took an interest. Louis XI. called Maitre Cornelius familiarly by that obsolete term, which, under the reign of

SaintLouis, meant a usurer, a collector of imposts, a man who pressed others by violent means. The epithet,

"tortionnaire," which remains to this day in our legal phraseology, explains the old word torconnier, which

we often find spelt "tortionneur." The poor young orphan devoted himself carefully to the affairs of the old

Fleming, pleased him much, and was soon high in his good graces. During a winter's night, certain diamonds

deposited with Maitre Cornelius by the King of England as security for a sum of a hundred thousand crowns

were stolen, and suspicion, of course, fell on the orphan. Louis XI. was all the more severe because he had

answered for the youth's fidelity. After a very brief and summary examination by the grand provost, the

unfortunate secretary was hanged. After that no one dared for a long time to learn the arts of banking and

In course of time, however, two young men of the town, Touraineans, men of honor, and eager to make

their fortunes,took service with the silversmith. Robberies coincided with the admission of the two young

men into the house. The circumstances of these crimes, the manner in which they were perpetrated, showed

plainly that the robbers had secret communication with its inmates. Become by this time more than ever

suspicious and vindictive, the old Fleming laid the matter before Louis XI., who placed it in the hands of his

grand provost. A trial was promptly had and promptly ended. The inhabitants of Tours blamed Tristan

l'Hermite secretly for unseemly haste. Guilty or not guilty, the young Touraineans were looked upon as

victims, and Cornelius as an executioner. The two families thus thrown into mourning were much respected;

their complaints obtained a hearing, and little by little it came to be believed that all the victims whom the

king's silversmith had sent to the scaffold were innocent. Some persons declared that the cruel miser imitated

the king, and sought to put terror and gibbets between himself and his fellowmen; others said that he had

never been robbed at all,that these melancholy executions were the result of cool calculations, and that

The first effect of these rumors was to isolate Maitre Cornelius. The Touraineans treated him like a leper,

called him the "tortionnaire," and named his house Malemaison. If the Fleming had found strangers to the

town bold enough to enter it, the inhabitants would have warned them against doing so. The most favorable

opinion of Maitre Cornelius was that of persons who thought him merely baneful. Some he inspired with

instinctive terror; others he impressed with the deep respect that most men feel for limitless power and

money, while to a few he certainly possessed the attraction of mystery. His way of life, his countenance, and

the favor of the king, justified all the tales of which he had now become the subject.

Cornelius travelled much in foreign lands after the death of his persecutor, the Duke of Burgundy; and during

his absence the king caused his premises to be guarded by a detachment of his own Scottish guard. Such

royal solicitude made the courtiers believe that the old miser had bequeathed his property to Louis XI. When

at home, the torconnier went out but little; but the lords of the court paid him frequent visits. He lent them

money rather liberally, though capricious in his manner of doing so. On certain days he refused to give them

a penny; the next day he would offer them large sums,always at high interest and on good security. A good

Catholic, he went regularly to the services, always attending the earliest mass at SaintMartin; and as he had

purchased there, as elsewhere, a chapel in perpetuity, he was separated even in church from other Christians.

A popular proverb of that day, long remembered in Tours, was the saying: "You passed in front of the

Fleming; illluck will happen to you." Passing in front of the Fleming explained all sudden pains and evils,

involuntary sadness, illturns of fortune among the Touraineans. Even at court most persons attributed to

Cornelius that fatal influence which Italian, Spanish, and Asiatic superstition has called the "evil eye."

Without the terrible power of Louis XI., which was stretched like a mantle over that house, the populace, on

the slightest opportunity, would have demolished La Malemaison, that "evil house" in the rue du Murier. And

yet Cornelius had been the first to plant mulberries in Tours, and the Touraineans at that time regarded him as

A few seigneurs having met Maitre Cornelius on his journeys out of France were surprised at his friendliness

and goodhumor. At Tours he was gloomy and absorbed, yet always he returned there. Some inexplicable

power brought him back to his dismal house in the rue du Murier. Like a snail, whose life is so firmly

attached to its shell, he admitted to the king that he was never at ease except under the bolts and behind the

vermiculated stones of his little bastille; yet he knew very well that whenever Louis XI. died, the place would

"The devil is amusing himself at the expense of our crony, the torconnier," said Louis XI. to his barber, a few

days before the festival of AllSaints. "He says he has been robbed again, but he can't hang anybody this time

unless he hangs himself. The old vagabond came and asked me if, by chance, I had carried off a string of

rubies he wanted to sell me. 'PasquesDieu! I don't steal what I can take,' I said to him."

"Misers are afraid of only one thing," replied the king. "My crony the torconnier knows very well that I shall

not plunder him unless for good reason; otherwise I should be unjust, and I have never done anything but

"You wish he did, don't you?" replied the king, with the malicious look at his barber.

"VentreMahom, sire, the inheritance would be a fine one between you and the devil!"

"There, there!" said the king, "don't put bad ideas into my head. My crony is a more faithful man than those

For the last two years Maitre Cornelius had lived entirely alone with his aged sister, who was thought a

witch. A tailor in the neighborhood declared that he had often seen her at night, on the roof of the house,

waiting for the hour of the witches' sabbath. This fact seemed the more extraordinary because it was known

to be the miser's custom to lock up his sister at night in a bedroom with ironbarred windows.

As he grew older, Cornelius, constantly robbed, and always fearful of being duped by men, came to hate

mankind, with the one exception of the king, whom he greatly respected. He fell into extreme misanthropy,

but, like most misers, his passion for gold, the assimilation, as it were, of that metal with his own substance,

became closer and closer, and age intensified it. His sister herself excited his suspicions, though she was

perhaps more miserly, more rapacious than her brother whom she actually surpassed in penurious inventions.

Their daily existence had something mysterious and problematical about it. The old woman rarely took bread

from the baker; she appeared so seldom in the market, that the least credulous of the townspeople ended by

attributing to these strange beings the knowledge of some secret for the maintenance of life. Those who

dabbled in alchemy declared that Maitre Cornelius had the power of making gold. Men of science averred

that he had found the Universal Panacea. According to many of the countrypeople to whom the townsfolk

talked of him, Cornelius was a chimerical being, and many of them came into the town to look at his house

The young seigneur whom we left in front of that house looked about him, first at the hotel de Poitiers, the

home of his mistress, and then at the evil house. The moonbeams were creeping round their angles, and

tinting with a mixture of light and shade the hollows and reliefs of the carvings. The caprices of this white

light gave a sinister expression to both edifices; it seemed as if Nature herself encouraged the superstitions

that hung about the miser's dwelling. The young man called to mind the many traditions which made

Cornelius a personage both curious and formidable. Though quite decided through the violence of his love to

enter that house, and stay there long enough to accomplish his design, he hesitated to take the final step, all

the while aware that he should certainly take it. But where is the man who, in a crisis of his life, does not

willingly listen to presentiments as he hangs above the precipice? A lover worthy of being loved, the young

This mental deliberation was so painfully interesting that he did not feel the cold wind as it whistled round

the corner of the building, and chilled his legs. On entering that house, he must lay aside his name, as already

he had laid aside the handsome garments of nobility. In case of mishap, he could not claim the privileges of

his rank nor the protection of his friends without bringing hopeless ruin on the Comtesse de SaintVallier. If

her husband suspected the nocturnal visit of a lover, he was capable of roasting her alive in an iron cage, or of

killing her by degrees in the dungeons of a fortified castle. Looking down at the shabby clothing in which he

had disguised himself, the young nobleman felt ashamed. His black leather belt, his stout shoes, his ribbed

socks, his linseywoolsey breeches, and his gray woollen doublet made him look like the clerk of some

poverty stricken justice. To a noble of the fifteenth century it was like death itself to play the part of a

beggarly burgher, and renounce the privileges of his rank. Butto climb the roof of the house where his

mistress wept; to descend the chimney, or creep along from gutter to gutter to the window of her room; to risk

his life to kneel beside her on a silken cushion before a glowing fire, during the sleep of a dangerous husband,

whose snores would double their joy; to defy both heaven and earth in snatching the boldest of all kisses; to

say no word that would not lead to death or at least to sanguinary combat if overheard,all these voluptuous

images and romantic dangers decided the young man. However slight might be the guerdon of his enterprise,

could he only kiss once more the hand of his lady, he still resolved to venture all, impelled by the chivalrous

and passionate spirit of those days. He never supposed for a moment that the countess would refuse him the

soft happiness of love in the midst of such mortal danger. The adventure was too perilous, too impossible not

Suddenly all the bells in the town rang out the curfew,a custom fallen elsewhere into desuetude, but still

observed in the provinces, where venerable habits are abolished slowly. Though the lights were not put out,

the watchmen of each quarter stretched the chains across the streets. Many doors were locked; the steps of a

few belated burghers, attended by their servants, armed to the teeth and bearing lanterns, echoed in the

distance. Soon the town, garroted as it were, seemed to be asleep, and safe from robbers and evildoers,

except through the roofs. In those days the roofs of houses were much frequented after dark. The streets were

so narrow in the provincial towns, and even in Paris, that robbers could jump from the roofs on one side to

those on the other. This perilous occupation was long the amusement of King Charles IX. in his youth, if we

Fearing to present himself too late to the old silversmith, the young nobleman now went up to the door of the

Malemaison intending to knock, when, on looking at it, his attention was excited by a sort of vision, which

the writers of those days would have called "cornue,"perhaps with reference to horns and hoofs. He rubbed

his eyes to clear his sight, and a thousand diverse sentiments passed through his mind at the spectacle before

him. On each side of the door was a face framed in a species of loophole. At first he took these two faces for

grotesque masks carved in stone, so angular, distorted, projecting, motionless, discolored were they; but the

cold air and the moonlight presently enabled him to distinguish the faint white mist which living breath sent

from two purplish noses; then he saw in each hollow face, beneath the shadow of the eyebrows, two eyes of

porcelain blue casting clear fire, like those of a wolf crouching in the brushwood as it hears the baying of the

hounds. The uneasy gleam of those eyes was turned on him so fixedly that, after receiving it for fully a

minute, during which he examined the singular sight, he felt like a bird at which a setter points; a feverish

tumult rose in his soul, but he quickly repressed it. The two faces, strained and suspicious, were doubtless

The young man feigned to be looking about him to see where he was, and whether this were the house named

on a card which he drew from his pocket and pretended to read in the moonlight; then he walked straight to

the door and struck three blows upon it, which echoed within the house as if it were the entrance to a cave. A

faint light crept beneath the threshold, and an eye appeared at a small and very strong iron grating.

Philippe Goulenoire put the letter through the slit of an iron box above which was a loophole.

"The devil!" thought he, "plainly the king comes here, as they say he does; he couldn't take more precautions

He waited for more than a quarter of an hour in the street. After that lapse of time, he heard Cornelius saying

A clinking of chains resounded from within. Philippe heard the bolts run, the locks creak, and presently a

small low door, ironbound, opened to the slightest distance through which a man could pass. At the risk of

tearing off his clothing, Philippe squeezed himself rather than walked into La Malemaison. A toothless old

woman with a hatchet face, the eyebrows projecting like the handles of a cauldron, the nose and chin so near

together that a nut could scarcely pass between them, a pallid, haggard creature, her hollow temples

composed apparently of only bones and nerves,guided the "soidisant" foreigner silently into a lower

"Sit there," she said to Philippe, showing him a threelegged stool placed at the corner of a carved stone

On the other side of the chimneypiece was a walnut table with twisted legs, on which was an egg in a plate

and ten or a dozen little bread sops, hard and dry and cut with studied parsimony. Two stools placed beside

the table, on one of which the old woman sat down, showed that the miserly pair were eating their suppers.

Cornelius went to the door and pushed two iron shutters into their place, closing, no doubt, the loopholes

through which they had been gazing into the street; then he returned to his seat. Philippe Goulenoire (so

called) next beheld the brother and sister dipping their sops into the egg in turn, and with the utmost gravity

and the same precision with which soldiers dip their spoons in regular rotation into the messpot. This

performance was done in silence. But as he ate, Cornelius examined the false apprentice with as much care

Philippe, feeling that an icy mantle had descended on his shoulders, was tempted to look about him; but, with

the circumspection dictated by all amorous enterprises, he was careful not to glance, even furtively, at the

walls; for he fully understood that if Cornelius detected him, he would not allow so inquisitive a person to

remain in his house. He contented himself, therefore, by looking first at the egg and then at the old woman,

Louis XI.'s silversmith resembled that monarch. He had even acquired the same gestures, as often happens

where persons dwell together in a sort of intimacy. The thick eyebrows of the Fleming almost covered his

eyes; but by raising them a little he could flash out a lucid, penetrating, powerful glance, the glance of men

habituated to silence, and to whom the phenomenon of the concentration of inward forces has become

familiar. His thin lips, vertically wrinkled, gave him an air of indescribable craftiness. The lower part of his

face bore a vague resemblance to the muzzle of a fox, but his lofty, projecting forehead, with many lines,

showed great and splendid qualities and a nobility of soul, the springs of which had been lowered by

experience until the cruel teachings of life had driven it back into the farthest recesses of this most singular

human being. He was certainly not an ordinary miser; and his passion covered, no doubt, extreme enjoyments

"What is the present rate of Venetian sequins?" he said abruptly to his future apprentice.

After giving vent to that exclamation, the old man covered his knee with the skirt of his dalmatian, a species

of robe made of black velvet, open in front, with large sleeves and no collar, the sumptuous material being

defaced and shiny. These remains of a magnificent costume, formerly worn by him as president of the

tribunal of the Parchons, functions which had won him the enmity of the Duke of Burgundy, was now a mere

Philippe was not cold; he perspired in his harness, dreading further questions. Until then the brief information

obtained that morning from a Jew whose life he had formerly saved, had sufficed him, thanks to his good

memory and the perfect knowledge the Jew possessed of the manners and habits of Maitre Cornelius. But the

young man who, in the first flush of his enterprise, had feared nothing was beginning to perceive the

difficulties it presented. The solemn gravity of the terrible Fleming reacted upon him. He felt himself under

lock and key, and remembered how the grand provost Tristan and his rope were at the orders of Maitre

"Have you supped?" asked the silversmith, in a tone which signified, "You are not to sup."

The old maid trembled in spite of her brother's tone; she looked at the new inmate as if to gauge the capacity

"You have not stolen your name; your hair and moustache are as black as the devil's tail."

"Well then," replied the miser, "you can come back and see me to morrow. I have done without an

"Hey! by SaintBavon, monsieur, I am a Fleming; I don't know a soul in this place; the chains are up in the

streets, and I shall be put in prison. However," he added, frightened at the eagerness he was showing in his

"Silence," replied Cornelius. "In his letter Oosterlinck tells me he will answer for this young man. You

know," he whispered in his sister's ear, "we have a hundred thousand francs belonging to Oosterlinck? That's

"And suppose he steals those Bavarian jewels? Tiens, he looks more like a thief than a Fleming."

Both misers listened. A moment after the "Hush!" uttered by Cornelius, a noise produced by the steps of

"Do you mean to leave us alone, without light?" cried Cornelius, in a meaning tone of voice. "At your age

The sister understood the meaning hidden beneath these words and left the room. Looking at this singular

creature as she walked towards the door, Philippe Goulenoire was able to hide from Cornelius the glance

which he hastily cast about the room. It was wainscoted in oak to the chairstrip, and the walls above were

hung with yellow leather stamped with black arabesques; but what struck the young man most was a match

lock pistol with its formidable trigger. This new and terrible weapon lay close to Cornelius.

"I have but little money," replied Philippe, "but I know good tricks in business. If you will pay me a sou on

The pair went out beneath the portico and mounted a spiral stone staircase, the round well of which rose

through a high turret, beside the hall in which they had been sitting. At the first floor up the young man

"No, no," said Cornelius. "The devil! this nook is the place where the king takes his ease."

The architect had constructed the room given to the apprentice under the pointed roof of the tower in which

the staircase wound. It was a little room, all of stone, cold and without ornament of any kind. The tower stood

in the middle of the facade on the courtyard, which, like the courtyards of all provincial houses, was narrow

and dark. At the farther end, through an iron railing, could be seen a wretched garden in which nothing grew

but the mulberries which Cornelius had introduced. The young nobleman took note of all this through the

loopholes on the spiral staircase, the moon casting, fortunately, a brilliant light. A cot, a stool, a mismatched

pitcher and basin formed the entire furniture of the room. The light could enter only through square openings,

placed at intervals in the outside wall of the tower, according, no doubt, to the exterior ornamentation.

"Here is your lodging," said Cornelius; "it is plain and solid and contains all that is needed for sleep. Good

After giving his apprentice a last look full of many meanings, Cornelius doublelocked the door, took away

the key and descended the staircase, leaving the young nobleman as much befooled as a bell founder when

on opening his mould he finds nothing. Alone, without light, seated on a stool, in a little garret from which so

many of his predecessors had gone to the scaffold, the young fellow felt like a wild beast caught in a trap. He

jumped upon the stool and raised himself to his full height in order to reach one of the little openings through

which a faint light shone. Thence he saw the Loire, the beautiful slopes of SaintCyr, the gloomy marvels of

Plessis, where lights were gleaming in the deep recesses of a few windows. Far in the distance lay the

beautiful meadows of Touraine and the silvery stream of her river. Every point of this lovely nature had, at

that moment, a mysterious grace; the windows, the waters, the roofs of the houses shone like diamonds in the

trembling light of the moon. The soul of the young seigneur could not repress a sad and tender emotion.

He stood there, feeling already the terrible emotions his adventure offered him, and yielding to the fears of a

prisoner who, nevertheless, retains some glimmer of hope. His mistress illumined each difficulty. To him she

was no longer a woman, but a supernatural being seen through the incense of his desires. A feeble cry, which

he fancied came from the hotel de Poitiers, restored him to himself and to a sense of his true situation.

Throwing himself on his pallet to reflect on his course, he heard a slight movement which echoed faintly

from the spiral staircase. He listened attentively, and the whispered words, "He has gone to bed," said by the

old woman, reached his ear. By an accident unknown probably to the architect, the slightest noise on the

staircase sounded in the room of the apprentices, so that Philippe did not lose a single movement of the miser

and his sister who were watching him. He undressed, lay down, pretended to sleep, and employed the time

during which the pair remained on the staircase, in seeking means to get from his prison to the hotel de

About ten o'clock Cornelius and his sister, convinced that their new inmate was sleeping, retired to their

rooms. The young man studied carefully the sounds they made in doing so, and thought he could recognize

the position of their apartments; they must, he believed, occupy the whole second floor. Like all the houses of

that period, this floor was next below the roof, from which its windows projected, adorned with spandrel tops

that were richly sculptured. The roof itself was edged with a sort of balustrade, concealing the gutters for the

rain water which gargoyles in the form of crocodile's heads discharged into the street. The young seigneur,

after studying this topography as carefully as a cat, believed he could make his way from the tower to the

roof, and thence to Madame de Vallier's by the gutters and the help of a gargoyle. But he did not count on the

narrowness of the loopholes of the tower; it was impossible to pass through them. He then resolved to get out

upon the roof of the house through the window of the staircase on the second floor. To accomplish this daring

By way of precaution, the young man had brought with him, concealed under his clothes, one of those

poignards formerly used to give the "coup de grace" in a duel when the vanquished adversary begged the

victor to despatch him. This horrible weapon had on one side a blade sharpened like a razor, and on the other

a blade that was toothed like a saw, but toothed in the reverse direction from that by which it would enter the

body. The young man determined to use this latter blade to saw through the wood around the lock. Happily

for him the staple of the lock was put on to the outside of the door by four stout screws. By the help of his

dagger he managed, not without great difficulty, to unscrew and remove it altogether, carefully laying it aside

and the four screws with it. By midnight he was free, and he went down the stairs without his shoes to

He was not a little astonished to find a door wide open which led down a corridor to several chambers, at the

end of which corridor was a window opening on a depression caused by the junction of the roofs of the hotel

de Poitiers and that of the Malemaison which met there. Nothing could express his joy, unless it be the vow

which he instantly made to the Blessed Virgin to found a mass in her honor in the celebrated parish church of

the Escrignoles at Tours. After examining the tall broad chimneys of the hotel de Poitiers he returned upon

his steps to fetch his dagger, when to his horror, he beheld a vivid light on the staircase and saw Maitre

Cornelius himself in his dalmatian, carrying a lamp, his eyes open to their fullest extent and fixed upon the

"If I open the window and jump upon the roofs, he will hear me," thought the young man.

The terrible old miser advanced, like the hour of death to a criminal. In this extremity Philippe, instigated by

love, recovered his presence of mind; he slipped into a doorway, pressing himself back into the angle of it,

and awaited the old man. When Cornelius, holding his lamp in advance of him, came into line with the

current of air which the young man could send from his lungs, the lamp was blown out. Cornelius muttered

vague words and swore a Dutch oath; but he turned and retraced his steps. The young man then rushed to his

room, caught up his dagger and returned to the blessed window, opened it softly and jumped upon the roof.

Once at liberty under the open sky, he felt weak, so happy was he. Perhaps the extreme agitation of his

danger of the boldness of the enterprise caused his emotion; victory is often as perilous as battle. He leaned

He looked at them all. With the instinct given by love, he went to all and felt them to discover in which there

had been a fire. Having made up his mind on that point, the daring young fellow stuck his dagger securely in

a joint between two stones, fastened a silken ladder to it, threw the ladder down the chimney and risked

himself upon it, trusting to his good blade, and to the chance of not having mistaken his mistress's room. He

knew not whether SaintVallier was asleep or awake, but one thing he was resolved upon, he would hold the

Presently his feet gently touched the warm embers; he bent more gently still and saw the countess seated in

an armchair; and she saw him. Pale with joy and palpitating, the timid creature showed him, by the light of

the lamp, SaintVallier lying in a bed about ten feet from her. We may well believe their burning silent kisses

The next day, about nine in the morning, as Louis XI. was leaving his chapel after hearing mass, he found

"Sire, I would willingly pay a thousand gold crowns if I could have a moment's talk with you; I have found

"Let us hear about that," said Louis XI., going out into the courtyard of Plessis, followed by his silversmith,

Coyctier his physician, Olivier de Daim, and the captain of his Scottish guard. "Tell me about it. Another man

The grand provost, who was walking up and down the courtyard, came with slow steps, like a dog who

exhibits his fidelity. The group paused under a tree. The king sat down on a bench and the courtiers made a

"Sire, a man who pretended to be a Fleming has got the better of me" began Cornelius.

"Oh, yes!" replied the silversmith, bitterly. "But methinks he'd have snared you yourself. How could I distrust

a beggar recommended to me by Oosterlinck, one hundred thousand francs of whose money I hold in my

hands. I will wager the Jew's letter and seal were forged! In short, sire, I found myself this morning robbed of

those jewels you admired so much. They have been ravished from me, sire! To steal the jewels of the Elector

of Bavaria! those scoundrels respect nothing! they'll steal your kingdom if you don't take care. As soon as I

missed the jewels I went up to the room of that apprentice, who is, assuredly, a pastmaster in thieving. This

time we don't lack proof. He had forced the lock of his door. But when he got back to his room, the moon was

down and he couldn't find all the screws. Happily, I felt one under my feet when I entered the room. He was

sound asleep, the beggar, tired out. Just fancy, gentlemen, he got down into my strong room by the chimney.

Tomorrow, or tonight, rather, I'll roast him alive. He had a silk ladder, and his clothes were covered with

marks of his clambering over the roof and down the chimney. He meant to stay with me, and ruin me, night

after night, the bold wretch! But where are the jewels? The countryfolks coming into town early saw him on

the roof. He must have had accomplices, who waited for him by that embankment you have been making.

Ah, sire, you are the accomplice of fellows who come in boats; crack! they get off with everything, and leave

no traces! But we hold this fellow as a key, the bold scoundrel! ah! a fine morsel he'll be for the gallows.

With a little bit of QUESTIONING beforehand, we shall know all. Why, the glory of your reign is concerned

The king was not listening. He had fallen into one of those gloomy meditations which became so frequent

He rose, walked a few steps away, and the courtiers left him alone. Presently he saw Cornelius, mounted on

"Ah! sire, you are too great a king! there is no sum that can pay for your justice."

Louis XI. smiled. The courtiers envied the frank speech and privileges of the old silversmith, who promptly

disappeared down the avenue of young mulberries which led from Tours to Plessis.

Exhausted with fatigue, the young seigneur had indeed fallen soundly asleep. Returning from his gallant

adventure, he no longer felt the same ardor and courage to defend himself against distant or imaginary

dangers with which he had rushed into the perils of the night. He had even postponed till the morrow the

cleaning of his soiled garments; a great blunder, in which all else conspired. It was true that, lacking the

moonlight, he had missed finding all the screws of that cursed lock; he had no patience to look for them. With

the "laisseraller" of a tired man, he trusted to his luck, which had so far served him well. He did, however,

make a sort of compact with himself to awake at daybreak, but the events of the day and the agitations of the

night did not allow him to keep faith with himself. Happiness is forgetful. Cornelius no longer seemed

formidable to the young man when he threw himself on the pallet where so many poor wretches had wakened

to their doom; and this lighthearted heedlessness proved his ruin. While the king's silversmith rode back

from Plessis, accompanied by the grand provost and his redoubtable archers. The false Goulenoire was being

watched by the old sister, seated on the corkscrew staircase oblivious of the cold, and knitting socks for

The young man continued to dream of the secret delights of that charming night, ignorant of the danger that

was galloping towards him. He saw himself on a cushion at the feet of the countess, his head on her knees in

the ardor of his love; he listened to the story of her persecutions and the details of the count's tyranny; he

grew pitiful over the poor lady, who was, in truth, the bestloved natural daughter of Louis XI. He promised

her to go on the morrow and reveal her wrongs to that terrible father; everything, he assured her, should be

settled as they wished, the marriage broken off, the husband banished,and all this within reach of that

husband's sword, of which they might both be the victims if the slightest noise awakened him. But in the

young man's dream the gleam of the lamp, the flame of their eyes, the colors of the stuffs and the tapestries

were more vivid, more of love was in the air, more fire about them, than there had been in the actual scene.

The Marie of his sleep resisted far less than the living Marie those adoring looks, those tender entreaties,

those adroit silences, those voluptuous solicitations, those false generosities, which render the first moments

of a passion so completely ardent, and shed into the soul a fresh delirium at each new step in love.

Following the amorous jurisprudence of the period, Marie de Saint Vallier granted to her lover all the

superficial rights of the tender passion. She willingly allowed him to kiss her foot, her robe, her hands, her

throat; she avowed her love, she accepted the devotion and life of her lover; she permitted him to die for her;

she yielded to an intoxication which the sternness of her semichastity increased; but farther than that she

would not go; and she made her deliverance the price of the highest rewards of his love. In those days, in

order to dissolve a marriage it was necessary to go to Rome; to obtain the help of certain cardinals, and to

appear before the sovereign pontiff in person armed with the approval of the king. Marie was firm in

maintaining her liberty to love, that she might sacrifice it to him later. Nearly every woman in those days had

sufficient power to establish her empire over the heart of a man in a way to make that passion the history of

his whole life, the spring and principle of his highest resolutions. Women were a power in France; they were

so many sovereigns; they had forms of noble pride; their lovers belonged to them far more than they gave

themselves to their lovers; often their love cost blood, and to be their lover it was necessary to incur great

dangers. But the Marie of his dream made small defence against the young seigneur's ardent entreaties.

Which of the two was the reality? Did the false apprentice in his dream see the true woman? Had he seen in

the hotel de Poitiers a lady masked in virtue? The question is difficult to decide; and the honor of women

At the moment when the Marie of the dream may have been about to forget her high dignity as mistress, the

lover felt himself seized by an iron hand, and the sour voice of the grand provost said to him:

The young man saw the black face of Tristan l'Hermite above him, and recognized his sardonic smile; then,

on the steps of the corkscrew staircase, he saw Cornelius, his sister, and behind them the provost guard. At

that sight, and observing the diabolical faces expressing either hatred or curiosity of persons whose business

it was to hang others, the socalled Philippe Goulenoire sat up on his pallet and rubbed his eyes.

"MortDieu!" he cried, seizing his dagger, which was under the pillow. "Now is the time to play our knives."

"Ho, ho!" cried Tristan, "that's the speech of a noble. Methinks I see Georges d'Estouteville, the nephew of

Hearing his real name uttered by Tristan, young d'Estouteville thought less of himself than of the dangers his

recognition would bring upon his unfortunate mistress. To avert suspicion he cried out:

After that outcry, made by a man who was really in despair, the young courtier gave a bound, dagger in hand,

and reached the landing. But the myrmidons of the grand provost were accustomed to such proceedings.

When Georges d'Estouteville reached the stairs they seized him dexterously, not surprised by the vigorous

thrust he made at them with his dagger, the blade of which fortunately slipped on the corselet of a guard;

then, having disarmed him, they bound his hands, and threw him on the pallet before their leader, who stood

Tristan looked silently at the prisoner's hands, then he said to Cornelius, pointing to them:

"Say a thief!" cried the torconnier. "My good Tristan, noble or serf, he has ruined me, the villain! I want to

see his feet warmed in your pretty boots. He is, I don't doubt it, the leader of that gang of devils, visible and

invisible, who know all my secrets, open my locks, rob me, murder me! They have grown rich out of me,

Tristan. Ha! this time we shall get back the treasure, for the fellow has the face of the king of Egypt. I shall

recover my dear rubies, and all the sums I have lost; and our worthy king shall have his share in the harvest."

The grand provost was engaged in attentively examining Georges d'Estouteville's clothes and the lock of the

"Oh, very good, be silent if you choose. You will soon confess on the holy rack," said Tristan.

Georges d'Estouteville asked permission to dress himself. On a sign from their chief, the men put on his

clothing with the clever rapidity of a nurse who profits by the momentary tranquillity of her nursling.

An immense crowd cumbered the rue du Murier. The growls of the populace kept increasing, and seemed the

precursors of a riot. From early morning the news of the robbery had spread through the town. On all sides

the "apprentice," said to be young and handsome, had awakened public sympathy, and revived the hatred felt

against Cornelius; so that there was not a young man in the town, nor a young woman with a fresh face and

pretty feet to exhibit, who was not determined to see the victim. When Georges issued from the house, led by

one of the provost's guard, who, after he had mounted his horse, kept the strong leathern thong that bound the

prisoner tightly twisted round his arm, a horrible uproar arose. Whether the populace merely wished to see

this new victim, or whether it intended to rescue him, certain it is that those behind pressed those in front

upon the little squad of cavalry posted around the Malemaison. At this moment, Cornelius, aided by his

sister, closed the door, and slammed the iron shutters with the violence of panic terror. Tristan, who was not

accustomed to respect the populace of those days (inasmuch as they were not yet the sovereign people), cared

At the voice of their leader the archers spurred their horses towards the end of the street. The crowd, seeing

one or two of their number knocked down by the horses and trampled on, and some others pressed against the

sides of the horses and nearly suffocated, took the wiser course of retreating to their homes.

"Make room for the king's justice!" cried Tristan. "What are you doing here? Do you want to be hanged too?

Go home, my friends, go home; your dinner is getting burnt. Hey! my good woman, go and darn your

Though such speeches showed that the grand provost was in good humor, they made the most obstreperous

At the moment when the first movement of the crowd took place, Georges d'Estouteville was stupefied at

seeing, at one of the windows of the hotel de Poitiers, his dear Marie de SaintVallier, laughing with the

count. She was mocking at HIM, poor devoted lover, who was going to his death for her. But perhaps she

was only amused at seeing the caps of the populace carried off on the spears of the archers. We must be

twentythree years old, rich in illusions, able to believe in a woman's love, loving ourselves with all the

forces of our being, risking our life with delight on the faith of a kiss, and then betrayed, to understand the

fury of hatred and despair which took possession of Georges d'Estouteville's heart at the sight of his laughing

mistress, from whom he received a cold and indifferent glance. No doubt she had been there some time; she

was leaning from the window with her arms on a cushion; she was at her ease, and her old man seemed

content. He, too, was laughing, the cursed hunchback! A few tears escaped the eyes of the young man; but

when Marie de Saint Vallier saw them she turned hastily away. Those tears were suddenly dried, however,

when Georges beheld the red and white plumes of the page who was devoted to his interests. The count took

no notice of this servitor, who advanced to his mistress on tiptoe. After the page had said a few words in her

ear, Marie returned to the window. Escaping for a moment the perpetual watchfulness of her tyrant, she cast

one glance upon Georges that was brilliant with the fires of love and hope, seeming to say:

Had she cried the words aloud, she could not have expressed their meaning more plainly than in that glance,

full of a thousand thoughts, in which terror, hope, pleasure, the dangers of their mutual situation all took part.

He had passed, in that one moment, from heaven to martyrdom and from martyrdom back to heaven! So then,

the brave young seigneur, lighthearted and content, walked gaily to his doom; thinking that the horrors of

As Tristan was about leaving the rue du Murier, his people stopped him, seeing an officer of the Scottish

"Nothing that concerns you," replied the officer, disdainfully. "The king has sent me to fetch the Comte and

The grand provost had scarcely reached the embankment leading to Plessis, when the count and his wife, both

mounted, she on her white mule, he on his horse, and followed by two pages, joined the archers, in order to

enter PlessislezTours in company. All were moving slowly. Georges was on foot, between two guards on

horseback, one of whom held him still by the leathern thong. Tristan, the count, and his wife were naturally in

advance; the criminal followed them. Mingling with the archers, the young page questioned them, speaking

sometimes to the prisoner, so that he adroitly managed to say to him in a low voice:

"I jumped the garden wall and took a letter to Plessis from madame to the king. She came near dying when

she heard of the accusation against you. Take courage. She is going now to speak to the king about you."

Love had already given strength and wiliness to the countess. Her laughter was part of the heroism which

In spite of the singular fancy which possessed the author of "Quentin Durward" to place the royal castle of

PlessislezTours upon a height, we must content ourselves by leaving it where it really was, namely on low

land, protected on either side by the Cher and the Loire; also by the canal SainteAnne, so named by Louis

XI. in honor of his beloved daughter, Madame de Beaujeu. By uniting the two rivers between the city of

Tours and Plessis this canal not only served as a formidable protection to the castle, but it offered a most

precious road to commerce. On the side towards Brehemont, a vast and fertile plain, the park was defended

by a moat, the remains of which still show its enormous breadth and depth. At a period when the power of

artillery was still in embryo, the position of Plessis, long since chosen by Louis XI. for his favorite retreat,

might be considered impregnable. The castle, built of brick and stone, had nothing remarkable about it; but it

was surrounded by noble trees, and from its windows could be seen, through vistas cut in the park

(plexitium), the finest points of view in the world. No rival mansion rose near this solitary castle, standing in

the very centre of the little plain reserved for the king and guarded by four streams of water.

If we may believe tradition, Louis XI. occupied the west wing, and from his chamber he could see, at a

glance the course of the Loire, the opposite bank of the river, the pretty valley which the Croisille waters, and

part of the slopes of SaintCyr. Also, from the windows that opened on the courtyard, he saw the entrance to

his fortress and the embankment by which he had connected his favorite residence with the city of Tours. If

Louis XI. had bestowed upon the building of his castle the luxury of architecture which Francois I. displayed

afterwards at Chambord, the dwelling of the kings of France would ever have remained in Touraine. It is

enough to see this splendid position and its magical effects to be convinced of its superiority over the sites of

Louis XI., now in the fiftyseventh year of his age, had scarcely more than three years longer to live; already

he felt the coming on of death in the attacks of his mortal malady. Delivered from his enemies; on the point

of increasing the territory of France by the possessions of the Dukes of Burgundy through the marriage of the

Dauphin with Marguerite, heiress of Burgundy (brought about by means of Desquerdes, commander of his

troops in Flanders); having established his authority everywhere, and now meditating ameliorations in his

kingdom of all kinds, he saw time slipping past him rapidly with no further troubles than those of old age.

Deceived by every one, even by the minions about him, experience had intensified his natural distrust. The

desire to live became in him the egotism of a king who has incarnated himself in his people; he wished to

All that the commonsense of publicists and the genius of revolutions has since introduced of change in the

character of monarchy, Louis XI. had thought of and devised. Unity of taxation, equality of subjects before

the law (the prince being then the law) were the objects of his bold endeavors. On AllSaints' eve he had

gathered together the learned goldsmiths of his kingdom for the purpose of establishing in France a unity of

weights and measures, as he had already established the unity of power. Thus, his vast spirit hovered like an

eagle over his empire, joining in a singular manner the prudence of a king to the natural idiosyncracies of a

man of lofty aims. At no period in our history has the great figure of Monarchy been finer or more poetic.

Amazing assemblages of contrasts! a great power in a feeble body; a spirit unbelieving as to all things here

below, devoutly believing in the practices of religion; a man struggling with two powers greater than his

ownthe present and the future; the future in which he feared eternal punishment, a fear which led him to

make so many sacrifices to the Church; the present, namely his life itself, for the saving of which he blindly

obeyed Coyctier. This king, who crushed down all about him, was himself crushed down by remorse, and by

disease in the midst of the great poem of defiant monarchy in which all power was concentrated. It was once

more the gigantic and ever magnificent combat of Man in the highest manifestation of his forces tilting

While awaiting his dinner, a repast which was taken in those days between eleven o'clock and midday,

Louis XI., returning from a short promenade, sat down in a huge tapestried chair near the fireplace in his

chamber. Olivier de Daim, and his doctor, Coyctier, looked at each other without a word, standing in the

recess of a window and watching their master, who presently seemed asleep. The only sound that was heard

were the steps of the two chamberlains on service, the Sire de Montresor, and Jean Dufou, Sire de

Montbazon, who were walking up and down the adjoining hall. These two Tourainean seigneurs looked at the

captain of the Scottish guard, who was sleeping in his chair, according to his usual custom. The king himself

appeared to be dozing. His head had drooped upon his breast; his cap, pulled forward on his forehead, hid his

eyes. Thus seated in his high chair, surmounted by the royal crown, he seemed crouched together like a man

At this moment Tristan and his cortege crossed the canal by the bridge of SainteAnne, about two hundred

"PasquesDieu!" cried Louis XI., "do you think me mad? People are crossing the bridge. It is true I am near

the chimney, and I may hear sounds more easily than you. That effect of nature might be utilized," he added

Louis XI. rose and went toward one of the windows that looked on the town. He saw the grand provost, and

"Ha, ha! here's my crony and his thief. And here comes my little Marie de SaintVallier; I'd forgotten all

about it. Olivier," he said, addressing the barber, "go and tell Monsieur de Montbazon to serve some good

Bourgeuil wine at dinner, and see that the cook doesn't forget the lampreys; Madame le comtesse likes both

those things. Can I eat lampreys?" he added, after a pause, looking anxiously at Coyctier.

For all answer the physician began to examine his master's face. The two men were a picture in themselves.

History and romancewriters have consecrated the brown camlet coat, and the breeches of the same stuff,

worn by Louis XI. His cap, decorated with leaden medallions, and his collar of the order of SaintMichel, are

not less celebrated; but no writer, no painter has represented the face of that terrible monarch in his last

years,a sickly, hollow, yellow and brown face, all the features of which expressed a sour craftiness, a cold

sarcasm. In that mask was the forehead of a great man, a brow furrowed with wrinkles, and weighty with

high thoughts; but in his cheeks and on his lips there was something indescribably vulgar and common.

Looking at certain details of that countenance you would have thought him a debauched husbandman, or a

miserly pedler; and yet, above these vague resemblances and the decrepitude of a dying old man, the king, the

man of power, rose supreme. His eyes, of a light yellow, seemed at first sight extinct; but a spark of courage

and of anger lurked there, and at the slightest touch it could burst into flames and cast fire about him. The

doctor was a stout burgher, with a florid face, dressed in black, peremptory, greedy of gain, and

selfimportant. These two personages were framed, as it were, in that panelled chamber, hung with

highwarped tapestries of Flanders, the ceiling of which, made of carved beams, was blackened by smoke.

The furniture, the bed, all inlaid with arabesques in pewter, would seem today more precious than they were

at that period when the arts were beginning to produce their choicest masterpieces.

That title, recently substituted for the former term of "myrrh master," is still applied to the faculty in

"Salt mackerel. Otherwise, you have so much bile in motion that you may die on AllSouls' Day."

"Compose yourself, sire," replied Coyctier. "I am here. Try not to fret your mind; find some way to amuse

"Ah!" said the king, "my daughter Marie used to succeed in that difficult business."

As he spoke, Imbert de Bastarnay, sire of Montresor and Bridore, rapped softly on the royal door. On

receiving the king's permission he entered and announced the Comte and Comtesse de SaintVallier. Louis

XI. made a sign. Marie appeared, followed by her old husband, who allowed her to pass in first.

"Sire," replied his daughter in a low voice, as she embraced him, "I want to speak to you in secret."

Louis XI. appeared not to have heard her. He turned to the door and called out in a hollow voice, "Hola,

"Go to the maitre d'hotel, and tell him I must have salt mackerel for dinner. And go to Madame de Beaujeu,

and let her know that I wish to dine alone today. Do you know, madame," continued the king, pretending to

be slightly angry, "that you neglect me? It is almost three years since I have seen you. Come, come here, my

pretty," he added, sitting down and holding out his arms to her. "How thin you have grown! Why have you let

The jealous husband cast so frightened a look at his wife that she almost pitied him.

"Ah! you love each other too much,is that it?" said the king, holding his daughter between his knees. "I did

right to call you Mary fullofgrace. Coyctier, leave us! Now, then, what do you want of me?" he said to

In this danger, Marie boldly put her hand on the king's lips and said in his ear,

"SaintVallier," said the king, laughing, "I think that Bridore has something to say to you."

The count left the room; but he made a gesture with his shoulders well known to his wife, who could guess

"Sire, do you want me to tell you the real truth, or would you rather I deceived you?"

"In that case, I think you look very ill today; but you will not let my truthfulness injure the success of my

"What is your cause?" asked the king, frowning and passing a hand across his forehead.

"Ah, sire," she replied, "the young man you have had arrested for robbing your silversmith Cornelius, and

"I need not ask if there is love in this business," said the king, raising his daughter's head gently and stroking

her chin. "If you don't confess every morning, my daughter, you will go to hell."

"Where would be the pleasure?" cried the king, seeing only an amusement in this affair.

"I don't see it so," said the king, coldly. "I am the law and justice of my kingdom, and I must punish

"Come, don't put on that solemn face of yours! Give me the life of that young man."

"Then," said Louis XI., interrupting her, "as I am not to know the truth, I think Tristan had better clear it up."

"Sire, I assure you, you will regret all this. The socalled thief stole nothing. If you will grant me his pardon,

"Ho, ho! this is getting serious," cried the king, shoving up his cap. "Speak out, my daughter."

"Well," she said, in a low voice, putting her lips to her father's ear, "he was in my room all night."

"I have your blood in my veins, and I was not born to love a scoundrel. That young seigneur is the nephew of

With the words the king pushed his daughter from his knee, and hurried to the door of the room, but softly on

tiptoe, making no noise. For the last moment or two, the light from a window in the adjoining hall, shining

through a space below the door, had shown him the shadow of a listener's foot projected on the floor of his

chamber. He opened the door abruptly, and surprised the Comte de SaintVallier eavesdropping.

"Sire," replied SaintVallier, haughtily, "I would prefer an axe at my throat to the ornament of marriage on

"You may have both," said Louis XI. "None of you are safe from such infirmities, messieurs. Go into the

farther hall. Conyngham," continued the king, addressing the captain of the guard, "you are asleep! Where is

Monsieur de Bridore? Why do you let me be approached in this way? PasquesDieu! the lowest burgher in

After scolding thus, Louis reentered his room; but he took care to draw the tapestried curtain, which made a

second door, intended more to stifle the words of the king than the whistling of the harsh north wind.

"So, my daughter," he said, liking to play with her as a cat plays with a mouse, "Georges d'Estouteville was

"No! Ah! by SaintCarpion, he deserves to die. Did the scamp not think my daughter beautiful?"

"Oh! that is not it," she said. "He kissed my feet and hands with an ardor that might have touched the most

"Do you take me for SaintLouis, and suppose I should believe such nonsense? A young fellow, made like

him, to have risked his life just to kiss your little slippers or your sleeves! Tell that to others."

Having said these words, Marie felt that she had risked the life of her husband, for Louis instantly demanded:

The adventure amused him immensely. But he did not expect the strange confidences his daughter now made

"Ho, ho, Monsieur de SaintVallier! So you dare to shed the royal blood!" cried the king, his eyes lighting

At this moment the bell of Plessis sounded the hour of the king's dinner. Leaning on the arm of his daughter,

Louis XI. appeared with contracted brows on the threshold of his chamber, and found all his servitors in

waiting. He cast an ambiguous look on the Comte de Saint Vallier, thinking of the sentence he meant to

pronounce upon him. The deep silence which reigned was presently broken by the steps of Tristan l'Hermite

as he mounted the grand staircase. The grand provost entered the hall, and, advancing toward the king,

"Our man is in the hands of the monks. He confessed the theft after a touch of the 'question.'"

The countess gave a sign, and turned pale; she could not speak, but looked at the king. That look was

observed by SaintVallier, who muttered in a low tone: "I am betrayed; that thief is an acquaintance of my

"Silence!" cried the king. "Some one is here who will wear out my patience. Go at once and put a stop to the

execution," he continued, addressing the grand provost. "You will answer with your own body for that of the

criminal, my friend. This affair must be better sifted, and I reserve to myself the doing of it. Set the prisoner

at liberty provisionally; I can always recover him; these robbers have retreats they frequent, lairs where they

lurk. Let Cornelius know that I shall be at his house tonight to begin the inquiry myself. Monsieur de

SaintVallier," said the king, looking fixedly at the count, "I know about you. All your blood could not pay

for one drop of mine; do you hear me? By our Lady of Clery! you have committed crimes of lese majesty.

Did I give you such a pretty wife to make her pale and weakly? Go back to your own house, and make your

"You will leave tonight to attend to my affairs with the government of Venice. You need be under no

anxiety about your wife; I shall take charge of her at Plessis; she will certainly be safe here. Henceforth I

shall watch over her with greater care than I have done since I married her to you."

Hearing these words, Marie silently pressed her father's arm as if to thank him for his mercy and goodness.

Louis XI. was fond of intervening in the affairs of his subjects, and he was always ready to mingle his royal

majesty with the burgher life. This taste, severely blamed by some historians, was really only a passion for

the "incognito," one of the greatest pleasures of princes, a sort of momentary abdication, which enables

them to put a little real life into their existence, made insipid by the lack of opposition. Louis XI., however,

played the incognito openly. On these occasions he was always the good fellow, endeavoring to please the

people of the middle classes, whom he made his allies against feudality. For some time past he had found no

opportunity to "make himself populace" and espouse the domestic interests of some man "engarrie" (an old

word still used in Tours, meaning engaged) in litigious affairs, so that he shouldered the anxieties of Maitre

Cornelius eagerly, and also the secret sorrows of the Comtesse de SaintVallier. Several times during dinner

"Who, think you, could have robbed my silversmith? The robberies now amount to over twelve hundred

thousand crowns in eight years. Twelve hundred thousand crowns, messieurs!" he continued, looking at the

seigneurs who were serving him. "Notre Dame! with a sum like that what absolutions could be bought in

Rome! And I might, PasquesDieu! bank the Loire, or, better still, conquer Piedmont, a fine fortification

When dinner was over, Louis XI. took his daughter, his doctor, and the grand provost, with an escort of

soldiers, and rode to the hotel de Poitiers in Tours, where he found, as he expected, the Comte de Saint

"Monsieur," said the king, "I told you to start at once. Say farewell to your wife now, and go to the frontier;

you will be accompanied by an escort of honor. As for your instructions and credentials, they will be in

Louis then gave the ordernot without adding certain secret instructionsto a lieutenant of the Scottish

guard to take a squad of men and accompany the ambassador to Venice. SaintVallier departed in haste, after

giving his wife a cold kiss which he would fain have made deadly. Louis XI. then crossed over to the

Malemaison, eager to begin the unravelling of the melancholy comedy, lasting now for eight years, in the

house of his silversmith; flattering himself that, in his quality of king, he had enough penetration to discover

the secret of the robberies. Cornelius did not see the arrival of the escort of his royal master without

Louis XI. could not help smiling as he saw the fright of the miser and his sister.

"No, my old crony," he said; "don't worry yourself. They will sup at Plessis, and you and I alone will make

the investigation. I am so good in detecting criminals, that I will wager you ten thousand crowns I shall do so

They went at once into the strong room, where the Fleming kept his treasure. There Louis, who asked to see,

in the first place, the casket from which the jewels of the Duke of Burgundy had been taken, then the

chimney down which the robber was supposed to have descended, easily convinced his silversmith of the

falsity of the latter supposition, inasmuch as there was no soot on the hearth,where, in truth, a fire was

seldom made,and no sign that any one had passed down the flue; and moreover that the chimney issued at

a part of the roof which was almost inaccessible. At last, after two hours of close investigation, marked with

that sagacity which distinguished the suspicious mind of Louis XI., it was clear to him, beyond all doubt, that

no one had forced an entrance into the strongroom of his silversmith. No marks of violence were on the

locks, nor on the iron coffers which contained the gold, silver, and jewels deposited as securities by wealthy

"If the robber opened this box," said the king, why did he take nothing out of it but the jewels of the Duke of

Bavaria? What reason had he for leaving that pearl necklace which lay beside them? A queer robber!"

At that remark the unhappy miser turned pale: he and the king looked at each other for a moment.

"Then, sire, what did that robber whom you have taken under your protection come to do here, and why did

"If you have not guessed why, my crony, I order you to remain in ignorance. That is one of my secrets."

In any other circumstances the king would have laughed at his silversmith's cry; but he had suddenly become

thoughtful, and was casting on the Fleming those glances peculiar to men of talent and power which seem to

penetrate the brain. Cornelius was frightened, thinking he had in some way offended his dangerous master.

"Devil or angel, I have him, the guilty man!" cried Louis XI. abruptly. "If you are robbed again tonight, I

shall know tomorrow who did it. Make that old hag you call your sister come here," he added.

Cornelius almost hesitated to leave the king alone in the room with his hoards; but the bitter smile on Louis's

withered lips determined him. Nevertheless he hurried back, followed by the old woman.

"What do you want to do with our flour, sire?" she cried, not the least impressed by his royal majesty.

"Old fool!" said Cornelius, "go and execute the orders of our gracious master. Shall the king lack flour?"

At last she reappeared, bearing one of those stout linen bags which, from time immemorial, have been used in

Touraine to carry or bring, to and from market, nuts, fruits, or wheat. The bag was half full of flour. The

housekeeper opened it and showed it to the king, on whom she cast the rapid, savage look with which old

"What does that matter?" said the king. "Spread it on the floor; but be careful to make an even layer of itas

The old maid did not comprehend. This proposal astonished her as though the end of the world had come.

Maitre Cornelius, who was beginning to understand, though vaguely, the intentions of the king, seized the

bag and gently poured its contents on the floor. The old woman quivered, but she held out her hand for the

empty bag, and when her brother gave it back to her she disappeared with a heavy sigh.

Cornelius then took a feather broom and gently smoothed the flour till it looked like a fall of snow, retreating

step by step as he did so, followed by the king, who seemed much amused by the operation. When they

reached the door Louis XI. said to his silversmith, "Are there two keys to the lock?"

The king then examined the structure of the door, which was braced with large plates and bars of iron, all of

After examining everything, the king sent for Tristan, and ordered him to post several of his men for the

night, and with the greatest secrecy, in the mulberry trees on the embankment and on the roofs of the

adjoining houses, and to assemble at once the rest of his men and escort him back to Plessis, so as to give the

idea in the town that he himself would not sup with Cornelius. Next, he told the miser to close his windows

with the utmost care, that no single ray of light should escape from the house, and then he departed with

much pomp for Plessis along the embankment; but there he secretly left his escort, and returned by a door in

the ramparts to the house of the torconnier. All these precautions were so well taken that the people of Tours

really thought the king had returned to Plessis, and would sup on the morrow with Cornelius.

Towards eight o'clock that evening, as the king was supping with his physician, Cornelius, and the captain of

his guard, and holding much jovial converse, forgetting for the time being that he was ill and in danger of

death, the deepest silence reigned without, and all passers, even the wariest robber, would have believed that

"I hope," said the king, laughing, "that my silversmith shall be robbed tonight, so that my curiosity may be

satisfied. Therefore, messieurs, no one is to leave his chamber tomorrow morning without my order, under

Thereupon, all went to bed. The next morning, Louis XI. was the first to leave his apartment, and he went at

once to the door of the strong room. He was not a little astonished to see, as he went along, the marks of a

large foot along the stairways and corridors of the house. Carefully avoiding those precious footprints, he

followed them to the door of the treasureroom, which he found locked without a sign of fracture or

defacement. Then he studied the direction of the steps; but as they grew gradually fainter, they finally left not

the slightest trace, and it was impossible for him to discover where the robber had fled.

At these words the old Fleming hurried out of his chamber, visibly terrified. Louis XI. made him look at the

footprints on the stairs and corridors, and while examining them himself for the second time, the king

chanced to observe the miser's slippers and recognized the type of sole that was printed in flour on the

corridors. He said not a word, and checked his laughter, remembering the innocent men who had been hanged

for the crime. The miser now hurried to his treasure. Once in the room the king ordered him to make a new

mark with his foot beside those already existing, and easily convinced him that the robber of his treasure was

"The pearl necklace is gone!" cried Cornelius. "There is sorcery in this. I never left my room."

"We'll know all about it now," said the king; the evident truthfulness of his silversmith making him still more

"Oh, sire!" said the lieutenant, "an amazing sight! Your silversmith crept down the side of the wall like a cat;

"I!" exclaimed Cornelius; after that one word, he remained silent, and stood stockstill like a man who has

"Go away, all of you," said the king, addressing the archers, "and tell Messieurs Conyngham, Coyctier,

Bridore, and also Tristan, to leave their rooms and come here to mine.You have incurred the penalty of

death," he said to Cornelius, who, happily, did not hear him. "You have ten murders on your conscience!"

Thereupon Louis XI. gave a silent laugh, and made a pause. Presently, remarking the strange pallor on the

"You need not be uneasy; you are more valuable to bleed than to kill. You can get out of the claws of MY

justice by payment of a good round sum to my treasury, but if you don't build at least one chapel in honor of

"Twelve hundred and thirty, and eightyseven thousand crowns, make thirteen hundred and seventeen

thousand crowns," replied Cornelius mechanically, absorbed in his calculations. "Thirteen hundred and

"He must have buried them in some hidingplace," muttered the king, beginning to think the sum royally

magnificent. "That was the magnet that invariably brought him back to Tours. He felt his treasure."

Coyctier entered at this moment. Noticing the attitude of Maitre Cornelius, he watched him narrowly while

"Sire," replied the physician, "there is nothing supernatural in that. Your silversmith has the faculty of

walking in his sleep. This is the third case I have seen of that singular malady. If you would give yourself the

amusement of watching him at such times, you would see that old man stepping without danger at the very

edge of the roof. I noticed in the two other cases I have already observed, a curious connection between the

actions of that nocturnal existence and the interests and occupations of their daily life."

At this answer, Louis XI. made the gesture which was customary with him when a good idea was presented

"At such times," continued Coyctier, "persons attend to their business while asleep. As this man is fond of

hoarding, he has simply pursued his dearest habit. No doubt each of these attacks have come on after a day in

"Where is it?" asked Cornelius, who, by a singular provision of nature, heard the remarks of the king and his

physician, while continuing himself almost torpid with thought and the shock of this singular misfortune.

"Ha!" cried Coyctier, bursting into a diabolical, coarse laugh, "somnambulists never remember on their

When Louis XI. was alone with his silversmith, he looked at him and chuckled coldly.

"Messire Hoogworst," he said, with a nod, "all treasures buried in France belong to the king."

"Yes, sire, all is yours; you are the absolute master of our lives and fortunes; but, up to this moment, you have

"Listen to me, old crony; if I help you to recover this treasure, you can surely, and without fear, agree to

"No, sire, I will not divide it; I will give it all to you, at my death. But what scheme have you for finding it?"

"I shall watch you myself when you are taking your nocturnal tramps. You might fear any one but me."

"Ah, sire!" cried Cornelius, flinging himself at the king's feet, "you are the only man in the kingdom whom I

would trust for such a service; and I will try to prove my gratitude for your goodness, by doing my utmost to

promote the marriage of the Burgundian heiress with Monseigneur. She will bring you a noble treasure, not

"There, there, Dutchman, you are trying to hoodwink me," said the king, with frowning brows, "or else you

"All that is talk," returned the king, looking the other in the eyes. "You need not have waited till this moment

to do me that service. You are selling me your influencePasquesDieu! to me, Louis XI.! Are you the

"Ah, sire," said the old man, "I was waiting to surprise you agreeably with news of the arrangements I had

made for you in Ghent; I was awaiting confirmation from Oosterlinck through that apprentice. What has

"Enough!" said the king; "this is only one more blunder you have committed. I do not like persons to meddle

in my affairs without my knowledge. Enough! leave me; I wish to reflect upon all this."

Maitre Cornelius found the agility of youth to run downstairs to the lower rooms where he was certain to find

"Ah! Jeanne, my dearest soul, a hoard is hidden in this house; I have put thirteen hundred thousand crowns

Jeanne Hoogworst rose from her stool and stood erect as if the seat she quitted were of redhot iron. This

shock was so violent for an old maid accustomed for years to reduce herself by voluntary fasts, that she

trembled in every limb, and horrible pains were in her back. She turned pale by degrees, and her face,the

changes in which were difficult to decipher among its wrinkles,became distorted while her brother

explained to her the malady of which he was the victim, and the extraordinary situation in which he found

"Louis XI. and I," he said in conclusion, "have just been lying to each other like two pedlers of coconuts. You

understand, my girl, that if he follows me, he will get the secret of the hidingplace. The king alone can

watch my wanderings at night. I don't feel sure that his conscience, near as he is to death, can resist thirteen

hundred thousand crowns. We MUST be beforehand with him; we must find the hidden treasure and send it

Cornelius stopped suddenly, and seemed to be weighing the heart of the sovereign who had had thoughts of

parricide at twentytwo years of age. When his judgment of Louis XI. was concluded, he rose abruptly like a

man in haste to escape a pressing danger. At this instant, his sister, too feeble or too strong for such a crisis,

fell stark; she was dead. Maitre Cornelius seized her, and shook her violently, crying out:

"You cannot die now. There is time enough laterOh! it is all over. The old hag never could do anything at

He closed her eyes and laid her on the floor. Then the good and noble feelings which lay at the bottom of his

soul came back to him, and, half forgetting his hidden treasure, he cried out mournfully:

"Oh! my poor companion, have I lost you?you who understood me so well! Oh! you were my real

treasure. There it lies, my treasure! With you, my peace of mind, my affections, all, are gone. If you had only

known what good it would have done me to live two nights longer, you would have lived, solely to please

me, my poor sister! Ah, Jeanne! thirteen hundred thousand crowns! Won't that wake you?No, she is dead!"

Thereupon, he sat down, and said no more; but two great tears issued from his eyes and rolled down his

hollow cheeks; then, with strange exclamations of grief, he locked up the room and returned to the king.

Louis XI. was struck with the expression of sorrow on the moistened features of his old friend.

"Ah! sire, misfortunes never come singly. My sister is dead. She precedes me there below," he said, pointing

"I make you my heir. I care for nothing now. Here are my keys. Hang me, if that's your good pleasure. Take

"Come, come, crony," replied Louis XI., who was partly touched by the sight of this strange suffering, "we

shall find your treasure some fine night, and the sight of such riches will give you heart to live. I will come

At that answer the king, who had made a few steps toward the door of the chamber, turned round abruptly.

The two men looked at each other with an expression that neither pen nor pencil can reproduce.

"May God and the Virgin keep you in their good graces!" replied the silversmith humbly, conducting the king

After so long a friendship, the two men found a barrier raised between them by suspicion and gold; though

they had always been like one man on the two points of gold and suspicion. But they knew each other so

well, they had so completely the habit, one may say, of each other, that the king could divine, from the tone

in which Cornelius uttered the words, "As you please, sire," the repugnance that his visits would henceforth

cause to the silversmith, just as the latter recognized a declaration of war in the "Adieu, my crony," of the

Thus Louis XI. and his torconnier parted much in doubt as to the conduct they ought in future to hold to each

other. The monarch possessed the secret of the Fleming; but on the other hand, the latter could, by his

connections, bring about one of the finest acquisitions that any king of France had ever made; namely, that of

the domains of the house of Burgundy, which the sovereigns of Europe were then coveting. The marriage of

the celebrated Marguerite depended on the people of Ghent and the Flemings who surrounded her. The gold

and the influence of Cornelius could powerfully support the negotiations now begun by Desquerdes, the

general to whom Louis XI. had given the command of the army encamped on the frontiers of Belgium. These

two masterfoxes were, therefore, like two duellists, whose arms are paralyzed by chance.

So, whether it were that from that day the king's health failed and went from bad to worse, or that Cornelius

did assist in bringing into France Marguerite of Burgundywho arrived at Ambroise in July, 1438, to marry

the Dauphin to whom she was betrothed in the chapel of the castlecertain it is that the king took no steps in

the matter of the hidden treasure; he levied no tribute from his silversmith, and the pair remained in the

cautious condition of an armed friendship. Happily for Cornelius a rumor was spread about Tours that his

sister was the actual robber, and that she had been secretly put to death by Tristan. Otherwise, if the true

history had been known, the whole town would have risen as one man to destroy the Malemaison before the

But, although these historical conjectures have some foundation so far as the inaction of Louis XI. is

concerned, it is not so as regards Cornelius Hoogworst. There was no inaction there. The silversmith spent

the first days which succeeded that fatal night in ceaseless occupation. Like carnivorous animals confined in

cages, he went and came, smelling for gold in every corner of his house; he studied the cracks and crevices,

he sounded the walls, he besought the trees of the garden, the foundations of the house, the roofs of the

turrets, the earth and the heavens, to give him back his treasure. Often he stood motionless for hours, casting

his eyes on all sides, plunging them into the void. Striving for the miracles of ecstasy and the powers of

sorcery, he tried to see his riches through space and obstacles. He was constantly absorbed in one

overwhelming thought, consumed with a single desire that burned his entrails, gnawed more cruelly still by

the everincreasing agony of the duel he was fighting with himself since his passion for gold had turned to

his own injury, a species of uncompleted suicide which kept him at once in the miseries of life and in those

Never was a Vice more punished by itself. A miser, locked by accident into the subterranean strongroom

that contains his treasures, has, like Sardanapalus, the happiness of dying in the midst of his wealth. But

Cornelius, the robber and the robbed, knowing the secret of neither the one nor the other, possessed and did

not possess his treasure,a novel, fantastic, but continually terrible torture. Sometimes, becoming forgetful,

he would leave the little gratings of his door wide open, and then the passers in the street could see that

already wizened man, planted on his two legs in the midst of his untilled garden, absolutely motionless, and

casting on those who watched him a fixed gaze, the insupportable light of which froze them with terror. If, by

chance, he walked through the streets of Tours, he seemed like a stranger in them; he knew not where he was,

nor whether the sun or the moon were shining. Often he would ask his way of those who passed him,

believing that he was still in Ghent, and seeming to be in search of something lost.

The most perennial and the best materialized of human ideas, the idea by which man reproduces himself by

creating outside of himself the fictitious being called Property, that mental demon, drove its steel claws

perpetually into his heart. Then, in the midst of this torture, Fear arose, with all its accompanying sentiments.

Two men had his secret, the secret he did not know himself. Louis XI. or Coyctier could post men to watch

him during his sleep and discover the unknown gulf into which he had cast his riches,those riches he had

watered with the blood of so many innocent men. And then, beside his fear, arose Remorse.

In order to prevent during his lifetime the abduction of his hidden treasure, he took the most cruel precautions

against sleep; besides which, his commercial relations put him in the way of obtaining powerful

antinarcotics. His struggles to keep awake were awfulalone with night, silence, Remorse, and Fear, with

all the thoughts that man, instinctively perhaps, has best embodiedobedient thus to a moral truth as yet

At last this man so powerful, this heart so hardened by political and commercial life, this genius, obscure in

history, succumbed to the horrors of the torture he had himself created. Maddened by certain thoughts more

This death coincided, almost, with that of Louis XI. Nothing then restrained the populace, and Malemaison,

that Evil House, was pillaged. A tradition exists among the older inhabitants of Touraine that a contractor of

public works, named Bohier, found the miser's treasure and used it in the construction of Chenonceaux, that

marvellous chateau which, in spite of the wealth of several kings and the taste of Diane de Poitiers and

Happily for Marie de Sassenage, the Comte de SaintVallier died, as we know, in his embassy. The family

did not become extinct. After the departure of the count, the countess gave birth to a son, whose career was

famous in the history of France under the reign of Francois I. He was saved by his daughter, the celebrated

Diane de Poitiers, the illegitimate greatgranddaughter of Louis XI., who became the illegitimate wife, the

beloved mistress of Henri II.for bastardy and love were hereditary in that family of nobles.