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.