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MAITRE CORNELIUS
MAITRE CORNELIUS HONORE DE BALZAC CHAPTER I
A CHURCH SCENE OF THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY
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 candle-trays 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 and the lateral chapels always sombre even at mid-day.
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 spoke the vaults re-echoed sighs the
edifice itself seemed endowed with life.
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 middle-ages 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 its
sublime devotions which sympathized with those of Christianity.
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 semi-learned observations will serve perhaps to
vindicate the truth of this study certain details of which may
frighten the perfected morals of our age which are as everybody
knows a trifle straitlaced.
At the moment when the chanting ceased and the last notes of the
organ mingling with the vibrations of the loud "A-men" 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 new-comer 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 to dive into futurity.
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 side-aisles of the cathedral. This simony
is in practice to the present day. A woman had her chapel as she now
has her opera-box. 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
silver-gilt lamp hanging from the vaulted ceiling of the chapel
before an altar magnificently decorated cast its pale light upon a
prayer-book held by the lady. The book trembled violently in her hand
when the young man approached her.
"A-men!"
To that response sung in a sweet low voice which was painfully
agitated though happily lost in the general clamor she added rapidly
in a whisper:--
"You will ruin me."
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 is heard in its echo.
The lady turned pale; her furtive glance left for a moment the vellum
page of the prayer-book 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 fan-tail. The cross of Saint-Michel 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
gave him no umbrage and the new-comer young slender and elegant.
"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
foot-falls 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.
"Do not be frightened as you leave the church; let yourself be
managed."
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 he said
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Unpublished Work 
