Maitre Cornelius | Page 8

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 all-powerful
protection.
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 Saint-Louis, 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 exchange from Maitre Cornelius.
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 fellow-men; others said that he had never been
robbed at all,--that these melancholy executions were the result of cool
calculations, and that their real object was to relieve him of all fear for
his treasure.
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 Saint-Martin; 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; ill-luck will happen to you." Passing in front of
the Fleming explained all sudden pains and evils, involuntary sadness,
ill-turns of fortune among the Touraineans. Even at court most