Maitre Cornelius by Honoré de Balzac (i read book txt) 📖

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 strong-room 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 debtors.

"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 he prowl about at night?"

"If you have not guessed why, my crony, I order you to remain in ignorance. That is one of my secrets."

"Then the devil is in my house!" cried the miser, piteously.

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 to-night, I shall know to-morrow 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.

"Have you any flour?" demanded the king.

"Oh yes; we have laid in our stock for the winter," she answered.

"Well, go and fetch some," said the king.

"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?"

"Our good flour!" she grumbled, as she went downstairs. "Ah! my flour!"

Then she returned, and said to the king:--

"Sire, is it only a royal notion to examine my 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 maids appear to squirt venom upon men.

"It costs six sous the 'septeree,'" she said.

"What does that matter?" said the king. "Spread it on the floor; but be careful to make an even layer of it--as if it had fallen like snow."

The old maid did not comprehend. This proposal astonished her as though the end of the world had come.

"My flour, sire! on the ground! But--"

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?"

"No, sire."

The king then examined the structure of the door, which was braced with large plates and bars of iron, all of which converged to a secret lock, the key of which was kept by Cornelius.

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 the Malemaison was occupied as usual.

"I hope," said the king, laughing, "that my silversmith shall be robbed to-night, so that my curiosity may be satisfied. Therefore, messieurs, no one is to leave his chamber to-morrow morning without my order, under pain of grievous punishment."

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 treasure-room, 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.

"Ho, crony!" called out the king, "you have been finely robbed this time."

At these words the old Fleming hurried out of his chamber, visibly terrified. Louis XI. made him look at the foot-prints 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 no other than himself.

"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 thoughtful.

He immediately sent for the men he had stationed on the watch and asked:--

"What did you see during the night?"

"Oh, sire!" said the lieutenant, "an amazing sight! Your silversmith crept down the side of the wall like a cat; so lightly that he seemed to be a shadow."

"I!" exclaimed Cornelius; after that one word, he remained silent, and stood stock-still like a man who has lost the use of his limbs.

"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 Fleming's face, he added:--

"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 the Virgin, you are likely to find things hot for you throughout eternity."

"Twelve hundred and thirty, and eighty-seven thousand crowns, make thirteen hundred and seventeen thousand crowns," replied Cornelius mechanically, absorbed in his calculations. "Thirteen hundred and seventeen thousand crowns hidden somewhere!"

"He must have buried them in some hiding-place," 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 the king related the adventure.

"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."

"Ah! Maitre Coyctier, you are a wise man."

"I am your physician," replied the other, insolently.

At this answer, Louis XI. made the gesture which was customary with him when a good idea was presented to his mind; he shoved up his cap with a hasty motion.

"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 which he has felt some fears about the safety of his treasure."

"Pasques-Dieu! and such treasure!" cried the king.

"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 waking what they have done when asleep."

"Leave us," said the king.

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 only taken what you need."

"Listen to me, old crony; if I help you to recover this treasure, you can surely, and without fear, agree to divide it with me."

"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