Raimond V. was far too angry to notice the expression of sadness and grief that was depicted on the countenances of the two betrothed. Addressing Honorât, he said, in a loud voice:
“Manjour! do you know, forsooth, what Trinquetaille has just informed me? Would you believe, my son, that the citizens of La Ciotat, those vile swine that have fattened on my bounty and that I have saved from the teeth of Barbary dogs, wish to summon me, to-morrow morning, before the overseers of the port, on the matter of our fishery contest! And the abbé pretends that—” Then, returning to the door, the baron called out:
“But come on, abbé, where in the devil have you hid yourself?”
The good chaplain showed his tall form among the folds of the portière, for he had been discreetly waiting in the antechamber.
“The abbé,” continued Raimond V., “pretends that this fine tribunal is sovereign, if you please,—a tribunal composed of old man Cadaou, a fish vender, and some other triton garlic eaters, who hardly own, among them all, one boat or net. Manjour! my children, think of my being placed under a ban by those old scoundrels!” “Monseigneur,” said Abbé Mascarolus, “the decision of the overseers of the port on all matters pertaining to the fisheries is supreme, and without appeal. It has been confirmed by the patent letters of Henry II. in 1537, by Charles IX. in 1564, and by the king, our count, in 1622. It is one of the oldest customs of the Provençal community. There is no instance of a nobleman, priest, or citizen who has set it aside, and, monseigneur—”
“Enough, abbé, enough!” rudely interrupted the baron. “If they have the impudence to summon me, I shall not have the weakness to obey their summons, even when it is made in virtue of all the kings the abbé has just declared to us. As to the patents of the kings, I will oppose titles and privileges conceded by other kings to my house for services rendered to them, as an offset, and my seines and nets will stay where they are, and, by the devil, I will take care that they do stay!”
“Monsieur, permit me,” said Honorât.
“Monsieur? Eh! Why in the devil do you call me monsieur? Am I not your father?” cried the baron, looking at Honorât.
Honorât cast a distressed look at Reine, as if to make her understand that it was due to her that he could no longer call the baron by the tender name of father.
Honorât replied, in a voice trembling with emotion, “Ah, well, since you wish it, my father—”
“Ah, come now, what is the matter, pray?” asked the astonished baron of his daughter. “Eh! Of course I wish you to call me father, since you are, or will be, my son in a few days.”
Reine blushed, looked down, and remained silent. “Ah, well, come, speak now, I pray you,” said the old gentleman to Honorât. “What have you to tell me?”
“From what I have learned,” answered Honorât, “the consuls, excited by the recorder Isnard, have manifested some hostility to you, father; do you not fear that the citizens and fishers may join these wicked people, when they see that you refuse to appear, and—”
“I, afraid of those scoundrels! Why, I laugh at them as I would at a broken spur,” cried the old gentleman, impetuously. “I have, from father to son, the right to lay my seines and nets in the cove of Castrembaou. I will maintain my right, even if all the fishers on the coast, from here to Sixfours, oppose it.”
“The fact is, monseigneur,” said the abbé, “that however much they may contest it, you have the right. Your titles and privileges of fishery date back to the year 1221, the 14th day of February, under the reign of Philippe, King of France, and your claims have been registered by Bertrand de Cornillon.”
“Eh! what do I want with the authority of Bertrand de Cornillon!” cried the baron. “Power makes the right, and I have the force to sustain the right. Man-jour! did ever one see such trickery? What rascals! I, who have always helped them, and defended them! Ah, just let them come and talk to me!”
“Ah, my dear father, they would find you still, as they have always found you, generous and kind and—” “I believe it, certainly; how could I revenge myself on such boobies, if it was not by showing them that a gentleman is of better stock than they?”
“Ah! I recognise all that very well, monseigneur,” said the abbé. “If the overseers could only examine your titles—”
“What, examine my titles! I have driven away with my whip a recorder sent by a duke and a peer, a marshal of France, and I must go and submit to the arbitration of those old tar-jackets, who will descend from their wretched boats to mount their tribunal? I must go and take off my hat before those old scoundrels, who the very morning of their audience have cried in the port, ‘Buy—buy—soup—fish—buy—buy,’—a people that my family has loaded with benefits. In his last voyage to Algiers to redeem captives, did not my brave and good brother, Elzear, bring back from Barbary five inhabitants of La Ciotat? Did not my brother, the commander, three years ago, chase away with his black galley five or six chebecs from the coast, because they were interfering with these fishermen, and make them fly before him like a cloud of sparrows before a falcon? And these are the people who accuse me! Let them go to the devil! Let them send me their recorder, and they will see how I shall receive him. I have just had a new lash put on my whip! But enough of these miseries. Give me your arm, my daughter. The weather is fine; we will promenade. Come with us, Honorât.”
“You will excuse me, father; I am needed at home, and I shall not be able to accompany you.”
“So much the worse. Go, then, quick, so as to come back quicker still. I fear nothing from these idiot sheep penned up in La Ciotat, but if they make any attempts upon my fishing-nets, I shall need you to keep me from making Laramée hang several of them over my nets as scarecrows!”
Then the baron, yielding to his changing and impetuous moods, altered his tone, and said, gaily, to the abbé, “Now, abbé, if I had some of these insolent rascals hanged, it would be serious, because I do not think you have in all your pharmacy a remedy for hanging.”
“I beg your pardon, monseigneur, but I have been told that if you make the patient, before his execution, drink a great quantity of iron water, which, so to speak, envelopes and saturates the vital principle, and if, on the other hand, the patient will apply to his naked skin some large magnetic stones, or a loadstone, the power of the said stone is such that, in spite of the hanging, he will retain the vital principle in his body, for reason of the irresistible power of attraction possessed by this metal. I would not dare affirm it, but I have been recently told of this remedy.”
“By Our Lady, that is a wonderful remedy, eh! Who informed you of it, abbé?”
“A poor man, who gives very little thought to the welfare of his soul, but who knows many beautiful recipes,—it is the Bohemian who healed your greyhound, monseigneur.”
“The Singer, Manjour! I imagine he occupies himself with the hanged and with hanging; he thinks of his future, you see. Each one preaches his own saint, does he not, abbé?—which does not prevent this vagabond being a skilful man. Never a better farrier lifted the foot of a hunting-horse than this same Bohemian,” added Raimond V.
When she heard the vagabond mentioned, Reine blushed again, and Honorât could scarcely repress a gesture of indignation.
Raimond V. continued:
“Dame Dulceline is enchanted with him; she tells me that, thanks to him, she will have a magnificent cradle for Christmas. But you have heard him sing, my daughter, what do you think of it? Because I am a bad judge, I am not acquainted with any songs but those the abbé sings, and our old Provençal refrains. Is it true that this wanderer has a wonderful voice?”
Wishing to put an end to a conversation which, for many reasons, was painful to her, Reine replied to her father:
“No doubt, he sings very well. I have scarcely heard him. But if you wish to do so, father, we will take our promenade; it is two o’clock already, and the days are short.”
The baron descended, followed by his daughter. In passing through the court, he saw through the half-open door of the coach-house the ancient and heavy carriage he always used when he attended service in the parochial church of La Ciotat, at the solemn festivals of the year, although he had his own chapel at Maison-Forte.
Knowing the kind of antipathy which prevailed against him in the little city, the bold and obstinate old baron took the ingenious idea of braving public opinion by going to church next day with a certain pomp.
Reine’s astonishment was unspeakable when she heard her father order Laramée to have this, carriage ready next day at midday, the hour of high mass.
To every question of his daughter, the baron replied only by a persistent silence.
Now let us return to less important actors.
As she left the apartment of her mistress with Luquin, Stephanette had disdained to reply to the jealous suspicions of the captain, and had shut herself up in her dignity and her chamber. The windows of this chamber looked out into the court. The young girl saw through the windows the preparation of the old carriage, and, too, Luquin Trinquetaille, as he walked back and forth in a very agitated state of mind.
Was it curiosity to know what extraordinary event induced the baron to go out in this carriage, or was it a desire to obtain an interview with the captain? Whatever it was, Stephanette descended into the court She first addressed Master Laramée.
“Is monseigneur going out in this carriage?”
“All I know is, that monseigneur ordered me to have this old Noah’s ark ready. And, speaking of Noah’s ark,” added Laramée, with a sneering, satirical air, “if you have an olive-branch in your pretty little rose-coloured beak, you ought to bear it as a sign of peace to that Abrave captain you see there measuring the court with his long legs like he was possessed. They say that he is at open war with the Bohemian, and the olive-branch is a symbol of peace that would flatter the worthy Captain Luquin.”
“I did not ask you anything about that, Master Laramée,” said Stephanette, with a dry tone. “Where is monseigneur going in that carriage? Is it to-day or to-morrow that he wishes to use it?”
“To-morrow will be to-day, and after to-morrow will be to-morrow, mademoiselle,” bluntly replied the majordomo, offended by the imperious manner of Stephanette, and he added, between his teeth: “There is a dove transformed into a speckled magpie.”
During this conversation, Luquin Trinquetaille had approached Stephanette. The captain tried to assume a cold, dignified, and disdainful air.
“My dear little one,” said he, in a very careless tone, “do you not think flame colour a very pretty colour?” Stephanette turned her head, and, looking behind her, said to Luquin:
“Your dear little one? If you are talking to Jeannette, the laundress, that I see down there, you had better speak louder.”
“I am not speaking to Jeannette, do you understand?” cried Luquin, losing patience. “Jeannette, laundress as she is, would not have the boldness, the effrontery, to give a ribbon to a vagabond Bohemian.”
“Ah, that is it, is it?” said the mischievous girl. “Really, this ribbon has the same effect on you, that a scarlet streamer has on a bull from Camargne.”
“If I were a bull from Camargue, with double horns, this vagabond would feel the point of them. But no matter, this miscreant shall pay for his insolence; may I die, if I do not cut off his ears and nail them to the mast of my tartan!”
“It is his tongue, rather, that you ought to be jealous of, my poor Luquin, for never a troubadour of the good King René sang more sweetly.”
“I will tear out his tongue, then,—a hundred thousand devils!”
“Come, do not do anything absurd, Luquin. The Bohemian is as courageous and expert as a gendarme.” “Many thanks for your pity, mademoiselle, but I do not fight with dogs, I beat them.”
“Yes, but sometimes the dog has good teeth which bite very hard, I warn you.”
“Curse me, if you are not the most diabolical creature I ever knew!” cried Trinquetaille. “I believe, by St. Elmo, my patron, that if I were to fight to-morrow in camp with this copper face, you would say: ‘Our Lady for the Bohemian!’”
“Without doubt, I would say it.”
“You would say it?”
“Why, yes. Ought I not to take the part of the weak against the strong,—the small against the great? Ought I not at least to encourage the poor man who would dare challenge the formidable, unconquerable arm of the captain of The Holy Terror to the Moors?”
“Holy Cross! you are jesting, Stephanette, and I have no desire for it now.”
“That is very evident.”
“Where is this good-for-nothing fellow, this vagabond?”
“Do you wish me to go at once and find out? No inquiry would be more agreeable to me.”
“This is too much, you are making sport of me. Ah, well, good-bye! All is over, you understand, all is over between us.”
Stephanette shrugged her shoulders, and said, “Why do you talk nonsense like that?”
“What, nonsense?”
“Without a doubt, mere imagination and pretence.”
“Pretence! Ah, you think so? Pretence! Ah, well, you will see. Do not think you can take me with your cajoleries. I know them,—crocodile tears.”
“Do not say that, Luquin. I am going to force you to get on your knees before me and ask my pardon for your stupid jealousy.”
“I, on my knees! I, ask your pardon! Ah, that would be pretty! Ah, ah, I on my knees before you!” “On both knees, if you please.”
“Ah, ah, the idea is a pleasant one, on my word!”
“Come, come, this very instant,—here, on this spot.”
“Mademoiselle, you are crazy.”
“M. Luquin, in your own interest, do it now, I pray you.”
“Fiddlesticks!”
“Take care.”
“Ta, la, la, la, la,” said the captain, singing between his teeth, and keeping time by rising on his toes and falling back on his heels.
“Once, twice, will you get on your knees and ask my pardon for your stupid jealousy?”
“I would rather, you can understand, strangle myself with my own hands.”
“Luquin, you know that when I wish a thing, I wish it. If you refuse what I ask, I will be the one to say good-bye to you. And I will not come back, either, remember that.”
“Go, go; perhaps you will meet the Bohemian on the way.”
Stephanette did not answer a word, but turned around abruptly and walked away.
Luquin was very brave for a few moments, then his courage failed him, and at last, seeing that the young girl walked with a firm, resolute step, he followed her and called, in a supplicating voice:
“Stephanette!”
The young girl walked faster.
“Stephanette, Stephanette, do be reasonable, you know very well that I love you.”
Stephanette continued to walk.
“A thousand devils! Is it possible for me to ask your pardon for my jealousy, when I have seen that—” Stephanette quickened her step.
“Stephanette, ah, well, come now, in truth you bewitch me. You make me do all that you wish.” Stephanette slackened her step a little.
“To come to the point, no, a thousand times no, I am weaker than a child.”
Stephanette began to run.
The captain of The Holy Terror to the Moors was obliged to exercise his long, heron-like legs to catch up with her, as he said, with a stifled voice, “Ah, well, come now, diabolical creature that you are,—one must do as you wish,—here I am on my knees,—only stop a moment. Ah, well, yes, I was wrong. Are you satisfied? Is it possible to be so base?” murmured Luquin, in parenthesis; then he said, aloud: “Ah, well, yes, I was wrong to be jealous of—of—But at least stop, will you not? I cannot run after you on my knees. I was wrong, I tell you.”
Stephanette slackened her gait a little, then stopped still, and said to Luquin, without turning her head:
“On your knees.”
“Well, I am; I am on my knees. Fortunately for my dignity as a man, that corner of the wall hides me from the eyes of that old gossip of a majordomo,” said Luquin to himself.
“Repeat after me.”
“Yes, but do turn your head, Stephanette, so I can see you; that will give me courage.”
“Repeat, repeat first; come, say, ‘I was wrong to be jealous of that poor Bohemian.’”
“Humph! I was wrong to be jealous of—that—humph—of that scoundrel of a Bohemian.”
“That is not it,—‘of that poor Bohemian.’”
“Of that poor Bohemian,” repeated Luquin, with a profound sigh.
“‘It was a very innocent thing for Stephanette to give him a ribbon.’”
“It was—humph—it was a very innocent thing for Stephanette—humph!”
These words seemed to strangle the captain, who coughed violently,—“Humph, humph!”
“You have a very bad cold, my poor Luquin. Repeat now: ‘It was a very innocent thing for Stephanette to give him a ribbon.’”
“To give him a ribbon.”
“Very well; ‘because I have her heart. And all this is only a young girl’s folly, and I know well that she loves nobody but her Luquin,’” said Stephanette, rapidly.
Then, without giving her betrothed time to rise and repeat these sweet words, Stephanette turned around quickly while he was still on his knees, and gave him a kiss on the forehead, and then disappeared through a passage in the court before the worthy captain, as delighted as surprised, had been able to take a step.
At the instigation of Master Isnard, still implacable, for reason of the inhospitable reception given to him by Raimond V., the consul, Talebard-Talebardon, on Saturday evening despatched a clerk to Maison-Forte des Anbiez, for the purpose of informing the baron that he was to appear the next day, Sunday, before the overseers of the port.
Raimond V. made the trembling clerk sit down to the table and take supper with him, but every time the man of the law opened his mouth to ask the baron to appear before the tribunal, the old gentleman would cry out, “Laramée, pour out some wine for my guest!”
Then he had the clerk taken back to La Ciotat somewhat intoxicated.
Interpreting the conduct of the baron according to their own view, Master Isnard and the consul saw in his refusal to answer their summons the most outrageous contempt.
The next day, which was Sunday, after the mass, at which, notwithstanding his resolution the evening before, the baron did not appear, the consuls and the recorder went through the houses of the principal citizens, exciting public sentiment against Raimond V., who had so openly braved and insulted the privileges of Provençal communities.
Much artifice, much deceit, and a great deal of persistence on the part of Master Isnard were necessary to make the inhabitants of La Ciotat share his hostility against the lord of Maison-Forte, because the instinct of the multitude is always in sympathy with the rebellion of a lord against a lord more powerful than himself; but on account of recent disputes about fishing privileges, the recorder succeeded in arousing the indignation of the multitude.
As we have said, it was Sunday morning; after mass the overseers of the port held their sessions in the large town hall, situated near the new harbour. It was a massive, heavy building, constructed of brick, and had many small windows.
On each side rose the dwellings of the wealthiest citizens.
The site of the town hall was separated from the port by a narrow little street.
A noisy crowd of citizens, fishermen, sailors, artisans, and country people were pressing into the yard, and many had already seated themselves at the door of the town hall, so as to be present at the session of the overseers.
The citizens, instructed by the recorder, circulated in groups among the multitude, and spread the news that Raimond V. despised the rights of the people by refusing to appear before the overseers.
Master Talebard-Talebardon, one of the consuls, a large man, corpulent and florid, with a shrewd, sly look, wearing his felt hood and official robe, occupied with the recorder the centre of one of these animated groups of which we have spoken, and which was composed of men of all sorts and conditions.
“Yes, my friends,” said the consul, “Raimond V. treats Christians as he treats the dogs he hunts with. The other day he threatened this respectable Master Isnard whom you see here with his whip after having exposed him to the fury of two of the fiercest bulls from Camargne; it was a miracle that this worthy officer of the admiralty of Toulon escaped the awful peril that threatened his life,” said the consul, with an important air.
“A real miracle, for which I return thanks to Our Lady of la Garde,” added the recorder, devoutly. “I never saw such furious bulls.”
“By St Elmo, my patron!” said a sailor, “I would gladly have given my new scarf to have been a witness of that race. I have never seen bull-fights except in Barcelona.”
“Without taking into account that recorder-toreadors are very rare,” said another sailor.
Master Isnard, deeply wounded at inspiring so little interest, replied, with a doleful air, “I assure you, my friends, that it is a terrible, a formidable thing to be exposed to an attack from these ferocious animals.”
“Since you have been pursued by bulls,” asked an honest tailor, “do tell us, M. Recorder, if it is true that angry bulls have the tail curled up, and that they shut their eyes when they strike?”
Master Talebard-Talebardon shrugged his shoulders, and replied, sternly, to the inquirer:
“You think then, cut-cloth, that a person amuses himself by looking at a bull’s tail and eyes, when he is charging on him?”
“That is true, that is true,” replied several assistants. “Certain it is,” continued the consul, wishing to move the crowd to pity the recorder, and irritate it against the baron, “certain it is that this officer of justice and of the king narrowly escaped being a victim to the diabolical wickedness of Raimond V.”
“Raimond V. destroyed two litters of wolves’ whelps that ravaged our farm, to say nothing of the present he made us of the heads of the wolf and the whelps, which are nailed to our door,” said a peasant, shaking his head.
“Raimond V. is not a bad master. If the harvest fails, he comes to your aid; he replaced two draught-oxen that I lost through witchcraft.”
“That is true, when one holds out a hand to the lord of Anbiez, he never draws it back empty,” said an artisan.
“And at the time of the last descent of the pirates in this place, he and his people bravely fought the miscreants; but for him, I, my wife, and my daughter, would have been carried off by these demons,” said a citizen.
“And the two sons of the good man Jacbuin were redeemed and brought back from Barbary by good Father Elzear, the brother of Raimond V. But for him they would still have been in chains galling enough to damn their souls,” replied another.
“And the other brother, the commander, who looks as sombre as his black galley,” said a patron of a merchant vessel, “did he not keep those pagans in awe for more than two months while his galley lay soaked in the gulf? Come, a good and noble family is that of Anbiez. After all, this man of law is not one of us,” and pointed to the recorder. “What does it matter to us if he is or is not run through by a bull’s horn?”
“That is true, that is true; he is not one of us,” repeated several voices.
“Raimond V. is a good old gentleman who never refuses a pound of powder and a pound of lead to a sailor, to defend his boat,” said a sailor.
“There is always a good place at the fireside of Maison-Forte, a good glass of Sauve-chrétien wine and a piece of silver for those who go there,” said a beggar.
“And his daughter! An angel! A perfect Notre Dame for the poor people,” said another.
“Well, who in the devil denies all that?” cried the consul. “Raimond V. kills wolves because he is fond of the chase. He does not mind a piece of silver or a pound of powder or a glass of wine, because he is rich, very rich; but he does all this to hide his perfidious designs.”
“What designs?” asked several auditors.
“The design of ruining our commerce, ravaging our city, in short, doing worse than the pirates, or the Duke d’Eperaon with his Gascons,” said the consul, with a mysterious air.
All this, which he did not believe, the consul had uttered as an experiment, and the alarming disclosure of some hidden design, exciting the curiosity of the crowd, was at last listened to with attention.
“Explain that to us, consul,” said all, with one voice.
“Master Isnard, who is a man of the law, is going to explain this tissue of dark and pernicious schemes,” said Talebard-Talebardon.
The recorder came forward with an anxious air, raised his eyes to heaven, and said:
“Your worthy consul, my friends, has told you nothing but what is, unfortunately, too true. We have proofs of it.”
“Proofs!” repeated several hearers, looking at each other.
“Give me your attention. The king, our master, and monseigneur the cardinal have only one thought,—the happiness of the French people.”
“But we are not French, we are quite another thing,” said a Provençal, proud of his nationality. “The king is not our master, he is our count.”
“You talk finely, my comrade, but listen to me, if you please,” replied the recorder. “The king, our count, not wishing to have his Provençal communities exposed to the despotic power of the nobles and lords, has ordered us to disarm them. His Eminence remembers too well the violences of the Duke d’Epernon, of the lords of Baux, of Noirol, of Traviez, and many others. He desires now to take away from the nobility the power of injuring the people and the peasantry. Thus, for instance, his Eminence wished,—and these sovereign orders will be executed sooner or later,—he wished, I repeat, to remove from Maison-Forte, the castle of Raimond V., the cannon and small pieces of ordnance which guard the entrance of your port, and which can prevent the going out of the smallest fishing-boat.”
“But which can also prevent the entrance of pirates,” said a sailor.
“No doubt, my friends, the fire bums or purifies; the arrow kills the friend or the enemy, according to the hand which holds the crossbow. I should not have had any suspicion of Raimond V., if he had not himself unveiled to me his perfidious designs. Let us put aside his cruelty to me. I am happy to be the martyr of our sacred cause.”
“You are not a martyr, as you are still living,” said the incorrigible sailor.
“I am living at this moment,” replied the recorder, “but the Lord knows at what price, with what perils, I have bought my life, or what dangers I may still be required to meet. But let us not talk of myself.”
“No, no, do not talk of yourself,—that does not concern us,—but tell us how you obtained proof of the wicked designs Raimond V. has against our city,” said an inquirer.
“Nothing more evident, my friends. He has fortified his castle again, and why? To resist the pirates, say some. But never would the pirates dare attack such a fortress, where they would gain nothing but blows. He has made a strong fort in his house, from which the cannon can founder your vessels and destroy your city. Do you know why? In order to tyrannise over you for his profit, and tread Provençal customs under foot with impunity. Wait; let me give you an instance. He has, contrary to all law, established his fishing-nets outside of his legal boundary.”
“That is true,” said Talebard-Talebardon; “you know he has no right to do it. What injury that does to our fisheries, often our only resource!”
“That is evident,” answered a few hearers; “the seines of Raimond V. have injured us, especially now when the supply of fish is smaller. But if it is his right?”
“But it is not his right!” shouted the recorder.
“We will know to-day, as the suit is to be decided by the overseers of the port,” said an auditor.
The recorder exchanged a glance of intelligence with the consul, and said:
“Doubtless the tribunal of overseers is all-powerful to decide the question, but it is exactly on this point that my doubts have arisen. I fear very much that Raimond V. is not willing to refer to this popular tribunal. He is capable of refusing to obey that summons, made, after all, by poor people, on a high and powerful baron—”
“It is impossible! it is impossible! for it is our special right. The people have their rights, the nobility have theirs. Freedom for all!” cried many voices.
“I hold Raimond V. to be a good and generous noble,” said another, “but I shall regard him as a traitor if he refuses to recognise our privileges.”
“No, no, that is impossible,” repeated several voices.
“He will come—”
“He is going to appear before the overseers—”
“God grant it!” said the recorder, exchanging another glance with the consul. “God grant it, my friends; because, if he despises our customs enough to act otherwise, we must think that he put his house in a state of such formidable defence only to brave the laws.”
“We repeat that what you are saying, recorder, is impossible. Raimond V. cannot deny the authority of the overseers, nor can he deny the authority of the king,” said an auditor.
“But, first, he denies the authority of the king,” cried Master Isnard, triumphantly; “and, since I must tell you, I believe, even after what your worthy consul has told me, that he will deny, not only the royal power, but the rights of the community also; in a word, that he will positively refuse to appear before the overseers, and that he wishes to keep his seines and nets where they are, to the detriment of the general fishery.”
A hollow murmur of astonishment and indignation welcomed this news.
“Speak, speak, consul; is it true?”
“Raimond V. is too brave a nobleman for that.”
“If it is true, yet—”
“They are our rights, after all, and—”
Such were the various remarks which rapidly crossed each other through the restless crowd.
The consul and recorder saw themselves surrounded and pressed by a multitude which was becoming angrily impatient.
Talebard-Talebardon, in collusion with the recorder, had prepared this scene with diabolical cunning.
The consul replied, hoping to increase the dissatisfaction of the populace:
“Without being absolutely certain of the refusal of Raimond V., I have every reason to fear it; but the recorder’s clerk, who carried the summons to Maison-Forte yesterday, and who has been obliged to go to Curjol on business, will arrive in a moment, and confirm the news. Our Lady grant that it may not be what I apprehend. Alas! what would become of our communities, if our only right, the only privilege accorded to us poor people, should be snatched away from us?”
“Snatched away!” repeated the recorder; “it is impossible. The nobility and the clergy have their rights. How dare they rob the people of the last, the only resource they have against the oppression of the powerful!”
Nothing is more easily moved than the mind of the populace, and especially of the populace on Mediterranean shores. This crowd, but a moment before controlled by their gratitude to the baron, now forgot almost entirely the important services rendered to them by the family of Anbiez, at the bare suspicion that Raimond V. wished to attack one of the privileges of the community.
These rumours, circulated among different groups, singularly irritated the minds of the fishermen. The recorder and the consul, thinking the moment had arrived in which they could strike a final blow, ordered one of their attendants to go in quest of the recorder’s clerk, who ought, they said, to have returned from his journey, although, in fact, he had not left La Ciotat.
At this moment, the five overseers of the port and their syndic, having met after mass under the porch of the church, passed through the crowd to enter the town hall, where they were to hold their solemn audience.
The new circumstances gave additional interest to their appearance; they were saluted on all sides with numerous bravos, accompanied with the cries:
“Long live the overseers of the port!”
“Long live the Provençal communities!”
“Down with those who attack them!”
The crowd, now greatly excited, pressed hard upon the steps of the overseers, so as to be present at the session.
Then the clerk arrived. Although he said much in protest of the interpretation given to his words by the recorder and the consul, those men continued to exclaim with hypocritical lamentations.
“Ah, well, ah, well, consul,” cried one of the crowd, “is Raimond V. coming? Will he appear before the tribunal?”
“Alas! my friends,” replied the consul, “do not question me. The worthy recorder has predicted only too well. The tyrannical, imperious, irascible character of the baron has been again made manifest.”
“How? How?”
“The clerk was charged yesterday to notify Raimond V. to appear before the tribunal of overseers; he has returned and—”
“There he is! Ah,—well, come to the point!”
“Ah!”
“Ah, well!”
“Ah, well, he has been overwhelmed with the cruel treatment of Raimond V.”
“But,” whispered the clerk, “on the contrary, the baron made me drink so much wine that I—”
Master Isnard seized the clerk so violently by his smock-frock, and threw such a furious glance on him, that the poor man did not dare utter a word.
“After having overwhelmed him with cruel treatment,” continued the consul, “Raimond formally declared to him that he would make straw of our privileges, that he intended to keep his seines, and that he was strong enough to overcome us, if we dared act contrary to his will, and that—”
An explosion of fury interrupted the consul.
The tumult was at its height; the most violent threats burst out against Raimond V.
“To the fishing-nets! the fishing-nets!” cried some.
“To Maison-Forte!” cried others.
“Do not leave one stone upon another!”
“To arms! to arms!”
“Let us make a petard to blow up the gate of the moat on the land side!”
“Death, death to Raimond V.!”
Seeing the fury of the populace, the recorder and the consul began to fear that they had gone too far, and that they would find it impossible to control the passions they had so imprudently unchained.
“My friends,—my children!” cried Talebard-Tale-bardon, addressing the most excited of the speakers, “be moderate. Run to the fishing-nets,—that you may do, but make no attack upon Maison-Forte, or upon the life of the baron!”
“No pity!—no pity! You yourself have told us, consul, that Raimond was going to fire on the city and the port and do worse than the Duke d’Epernon and his Gascons.”
“Yes, yes. Let us destroy the old wolfs den and nail him to his door!”
“To Maison-Forte!”
“To Maison-Forte!”
Such were the furious cries which met the tardy words of moderation, which the consul now tried to make the excited people heed.
The more peaceable inhabitants pressed around the town hall, so as to enter the room of the tribunal where the overseers were already seated. Others, divided into two bands, were preparing, in spite of the entreaties of the consul, to destroy the fishing-nets and attack Maison-Forte des Anbiez, when an extraordinary incident struck the crowd with amazement, and rendered it silent and motionless.
Slowly descending the street, in the direction of the public square, was seen the heavy ceremonial carriage of Raimond V.
Four of his men, armed and on horseback, preceded by Laramée, opened the march; then came the carriage, with a crimson velvet canopy, somewhat worn; the retinue, as well as the body of the carriage, which was without windows, yet bore conspicuously the baron’s coat of arms, showed the red and yellow colours of the livery of Raimond V.
Four strong draught-horses, yoked with rope traces, laboriously dragged this rude and massive vehicle, in the depth of which sat the baron majestically enthroned.
Opposite him sat Honorât de Berrol.
Inside the coach, near the doors, two small stools were placed. On one sat Abbé Mascarolus, with a bag of papers on his knees. The steward of the baron occupied the other.
The imperfect construction of this ponderous vehicle permitted no place for a coachman. A carter, dressed for the occasion in a greatcoat, with the baron’s livery, walked at the head of each pair of horses, and conducted the equipage as he would have managed a farm-wagon.
Finally, behind the carriage came four other armed men on horseback.
Although rude, this equipage and retinue inspired profound admiration among the inhabitants of the little town; the sight of a coach, however inelegant, was always to them a novel and interesting thing.
As we have said, the crowd stood silently looking on. They knew that Raimond V. never used this carriage except on important occasions, and a lively curiosity suspended for a time their most violent passions.
They whispered among each other concerning the direction the carriage would take: was it to the church, or was it to the town hall?
This last supposition became probable as Raimond V., having turned the corner of the street, took the road which led to the edifice where the overseers of the port were assembled.
Soon doubt changed to certainty, when they heard the stentorian voice of Laramée cry:
“Room! make way for monseigneur, who is going to the tribunal of the overseers!”
Theae words, passing from mouth to mouth, finally reached the ears of the consul and the recorder, whose disappointment and vexation were extreme.
“Why, what have you said, recorder?” cried the men who surrounded him, “here is Raimond V.; he is coming to present himself before the tribunal of overseers.”
“Then he has not resolved to make straw of our privileges?”
“He intends to appear, yes, he intends to appear without doubt,” said Master Isnard, “but he is coming with a retinue of armed men; who can tell what he is going to say to those poor overseers of the port?”
“Doubtless he wishes to intimidate them,” said the consul.
“He wishes to make his refusal to recognise their jurisdiction all the more contemptuous by coming to tell them so himself,” said the recorder.
“An armed retinue?” said a hearer. “And what do these men with carbines intend to do against us?”
“The consul is right. He is coming to insult the overseers,” said one of the most defiant citizens.
“Come now, Raimond V., as bold as he is, would never dare do that,'’ replied a third.
“No, no; he recognises our privileges,—he is a good and worthy lord,” cried several voices. “We were wrong to distrust him.”
In a word, by one of those sudden changes so common in popular excitements, the mind of the people at once turned over to the favour of Raimond V. and to hostility toward the recorder.
Master Isnard put both his responsibility and his person under cover, and, in so doing, did not hesitate to expose his unfortunate clerk to the anger of the people.
Instead of manifesting hostility to the baron, several of the citizens now assumed a threatening attitude toward the recorder for having deceived them.
“It is this stranger,” said they, “who has excited us against Raimond V.”
“This good and worthy noble who has always stood for us!”
“Yes, yes, that is so; he told us that Raimond wished to destroy our privileges, and, on the contrary, he respects them.”
“Without doubt, monseigneur did well in delivering him to the bulls of Camargne,” cried a sailor, shaking his fist at the recorder.
“Permit me, my friends,” said the recorder, painfully realising the absence of the consul, who had prudently escaped to the town hall, where he would appear as a plaintiff against the baron, “permit me to say that, although nothing could make me put faith in the baron’s good intentions, I do not hesitate to say that good may come out of all this. Perhaps my clerk has been mistaken; perhaps he has exaggerated the extent of the remarks made by the Baron des Anbiez. Come now, clerk,” said he, turning to the scribe with a severe and haughty air, “do not lie. Have you not deceived me? Recall your experience. Perhaps you were frightened into wrong. I know you are a coward. What did the baron say to you? Zounds! clerk, woe to you if you have deceived me, and if by your folly I, myself, have deceived these estimable citizens!”
Opening his large eyes to their utmost, and utterly confounded by the audacity of the recorder, the poor clerk could only repeat, in a trembling voice: “Monseigneur told me nothing; he made me sit down at his table, and every time I tried to tell him of the summons from the overseers Master Laramée came with a big glass of Spanish wine, that I was, to speak reverently, obliged to swallow at one draught.”
“Zounds!” cried the recorder, in a thundering voice. “What! this is the bad treatment you complained of! Forgive him, gentlemen, he was certainly drunk, and I am sorry to see that he has deceived us about the designs of Raimond V. Let us hasten to the town hall, where we can assure ourselves of the reality of certain facts, for the baron’s carriage has stopped there, I see.”
Thus speaking, and without appearing to hear the threatening murmurs of the crowd, the recorder hurried away, accompanied by the unfortunate clerk, who in the retreat received several thrusts, evidently addressed to Master Isnard.
The large audience-chamber of the town hall in La Ciotat formed a long parallelogram lighted by tall, narrow windows, with panes set in frames of lead.
On the walls opposite the windows—bare walls, white with a coating of lime—were displayed several flags captured from Barbary pirates.
Projecting rafters of unpolished wood crossed each other beneath the ceiling. At the extremity of this immense hall and opposite the large door of entrance could be seen, upon a stage, the tribunal of the overseers of the port. Before them was a long table roughly cut at right angles.
The judges were four in number, presided over by the watchman from the cape of l’Aigle, who had temporarily resigned his ordinary functions into the hands of Luquin Trinquetaille.
According to custom, these fishermen wore black breeches, a black doublet, and a black mantle, with a white band; on their heads they wore hats with a wide brim. The youngest of these judges was not less than fifty years old. Their attitude was simple and serious; their sunburnt faces and long white or gray hair shone with a Rembrandt light under the sudden ray of sunshine shooting from the narrow windows, and were distinctly outlined on the shadowy light which reigned in the body of the hall.
These five old seamen, elected by their corporation on St. Stephen’s Day, justified the choice of their companions. Brave, honest, and pious, they assuredly represented the best of the maritime population of the town and the gulf.
The tribunal and the place reserved for those who were to appear before them were separated from the crowd by a rude barrier of wood.
We quote from the work, “Voyage and Inspection of M. de Séguiran,” already cited in the preface: “The jurisdiction of the overseers was very simple. Whoso wishes to enter a complaint before these overseers can be heard, but not before he has deposited two sous and eight farthings in the common purse, after which he can demand the party against whom he enters a complaint. The said party is obliged to make the same deposit, and both are heard; and at the end of the argument the eldest of these overseers pronounces judgment according to the counsel of his colleagues.”
The secretary of the community called in a loud voice the plaintiffs and defendants.
Never had a session excited so much interest in the public mind.
Before the arrival of Raimond V. the greater part of those who filled the hall were still ignorant of the baron’s intentions, whether or not he would appear before the tribunal. The smaller number, however, hoped that he would respect the privileges of the community.
But when they learned from the curious ones outside that the gentleman’s carriage of state was already in the square, they eagerly watched every movement of the constantly increasing multitude.
The crier was obliged to elevate his voice to its utmost to command silence, and Peyrou, the watchman, as assignee of the overseers, at last administered a severe rebuke to the clamorous crowd, and order finally prevailed.
The tribunal then regulated some business of little importance, but with as much care and deliberate circumspection, and as much attention to detail, as if one of the first lords of Provence was not expected every moment to appear before them.
The multitude was compact when Raimond V. presented himself at the door, and he had great difficulty in entering the large hall with Honorât de Berrol.
“Make way, make way for monseigneur!” cried several eager voices.
“Have the overseers called me, my children?” said Raimond V., affectionately.
“No, monseigneur.”
“Then I will wait here with you. It will be time to make way for me when I am called before the tribunal.”
These simple words, uttered with as much kindness as dignity, had a tremendous effect upon the crowd. The veneration inspired by the old gentleman, who but a moment before had been so menaced, was so great that the people formed a sort of circle of solemnity around him.
An officer took great pains to inform the secretary that the baron had entered the hall, and that it would be proper to call his case before others on the docket. The secretary, profiting from a short interval, submitted this suggestion to Peyrou, the assignee or syndic.
The latter simply replied: “Secretary, what is the next name on your list?”
“Jacques Brun, pilot, versus Pierre Baif, sailmaker.”
“Then call Jacques Brun and Pierre Baif.”
Peyrou owed much to the baron’s family. He was warmly attached to the house of Anbiez. In thus acting, he did not wish to make a display of his rights and exaggerate their importance. He was only obeying the spirit of justice and independence found in popular institutions.
It was without hesitation, and without the least intention to offend Raimond V., that the watchman said, in a loud and firm voice:
“Secretary, call another plaintiff.”
The dispute between Jacques Brun, the pilot, and the sailmaker, Pierre Baif, was of little importance. It was promptly, but carefully, decided by the overseers in the midst of the general preoccupation, and the cause of the baron immediately followed.
Notwithstanding the presence of the Baron des Anbiez, it was not known that he intended to appear before the tribunal. Naturally, the crowd remembered the insinuations of Master Isnard. The latter insisted that the baron was capable of manifesting his contempt for the tribunal in a very startling manner.
At last the secretary called, in an excited voice: “Master Talebard-Talebardon, consul of the city of La Ciotat, versus Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez.”
A long murmur of satisfied impatience circulated around the hall.
“Now, my children,” said the old gentlemen to those who surrounded him, “make way, I pray you, not for the baron, but for the suitor who is going before his judges.”
The enthusiasm inspired by these words of Raimond V. proved that, in spite of their instinctive thirst for equality, the people always had an immense liking for persons of rank who submitted to the common law.
The crowd, dividing on each side, made a wide avenue, in the middle of which Raimond V. walked with a grave and majestic step.
The old gentleman wore the sumptuous costume of the time: a doublet with points, a short mantle of brown velvet, richly braided with gold, wide trousers of the same material, which formed a sort of skirt descending below the knee. His scarlet silk stockings disappeared in the funnel of his short boots made of cordovan leather, and equipped with long gold spurs. A costly shoulder-belt sustained his sword, and the white plumes of his black cap fell over his collar of Flanders lace.
The countenance of the old gentleman, habitually joyous, showed at that moment a lofty expression of nobility and authority.
A few steps from the tribunal the baron took off his hat, which he had kept on until then, although the crowd was uncovered. One could not help admiring the dignity of the face and bearing of this noble old man with long hair and gray moustache.
Soon Master Talebardon arrived.
Notwithstanding his usual assurance, and although he had the recorder Isnard at his heels, he could not conquer his emotion, and carefully avoided the baron’s glances.
Peyrou rose, as well as the other overseers; he kept his hat on.
“Bernard Talebard-Talebardon, come forward,” said he.
The consul entered the enclosure.
“Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez, come forward.”
The baron entered the enclosure.
“Bernard Talebard-Talebardon, you demand, in the name of the community of La Ciotat, to be heard by the overseers of the port, against Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez.”
“Yes, syndic,” replied the consul.
“Deposit two sous and eight farthings in the common purse, and speak.”
The consul put the money in a wooden box, and, advancing near the tribunal, stated his grievance in these terms:
“Syndic and overseers, from time immemorial the fishery of the cove of Camerou has been divided between the community of the city and the lord of Anbiez; the said lord can lay his nets and seines from the coast to the rocks called the Seven Stones of Castrembaou, which form a sort of belt, about five hundred steps from the coast. The community hold the right from the Seven Stones of Castrembaou to the two points of the bay; before you, syndic and overseers, I affirm on oath that this is the truth, and I adjure Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez, here present and called by me, to say if such is not the truth.”
Turning to the gentleman, Peyrou said to him:
“Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez, is what the plaintiff says true? Has the right of fishery always been thus divided between the lords of Anbiez and the community of the city of La Ciotat?”
“The fishery has always been thus divided. I recognise it,” said the baron.
The perfect agreeableness with which the baron made his reply left no doubt as to his submission to the ability of the tribunal.
A murmur of satisfaction circulated through the hall. “Continue,” said Peyrou to the consul.
“Syndic and overseers,” pursued Talebard-Talebardon, “in spite of our rights and our custom, instead of confining himself to the space between the rocks of the Seven Stones of Castrembaou and the coast, Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez, has laid his nets beyond the rocks of the Seven Stones toward the high sea, and consequently has injured the rights of the community which I represent. He fishes in the part reserved for the said community. These facts, which I affirm on oath, are known, besides, to everybody, as well as yourselves, syndic and overseers.”
“The syndic and the overseers are not in this suit,” replied the watchman to the consul, severely. Then turning to the gentleman, he said to him:
“Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez, do you admit that you have thrown your nets on this side of the Seven Rocks, and toward the high sea, in the part of the cove reserved for the community of La Ciotat?”
“I have had my nets thrown this side of the Seven Rocks,” said the baron.
“Plaintiff, what do you demand from Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez?” said the syndic.
“I require,” answered Talebard-Talebardon, “the tribunal to forbid the lord of Anbiez henceforth to fish or to lay seines beyond the rocks of Castrembaou; I require that the said lord be commanded to pay to the said community, under the claim of damages and restitution, the sum of two thousand pounds; I require that the said lord be notified that, if he again lay nets and seines in that part of the cove which does not belong to him, the said community shall have the right to remove and destroy by force the said nets and seines, making the lord of Anbiez alone responsible for the disorders which may follow the exercise of this right.”
As they heard the consul formulate so clearly his charge against Raimond V., the spectators turned to look at the baron.
He remained calm and unmoved, to the great astonishment of the public.
The violent and impetuous character of the baron was so well known that his calmness and self-possession inspired as much admiration as astonishment.
Peyrou, addressing the old lord, said, in a solemn tone:
“Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez, what have you to reply to the plaintiff? Do you accept his requisitions from you as just and fair?”
“Syndic and overseers,” replied the baron, bowing respectfully, “yes, that is true. I have had my nets laid outside of the Seven Rocks of Oastrembaou, but, in order to explain my act, I will state that which all of you know.”
“Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez, we are not in this suit,” said Peyrou, gravely.
In spite of his self-control and his affection for the watchman, the old gentleman bit his lip, but soon regained his calmness and said:
“I will say to you, syndic and overseers, what every one knows: for several years the sea has fallen to such a degree that the part of the cove in which I had the right to fish has become dry. The sea broom has pushed its way there to the utmost, and my greyhound Eclair started a hare there the other day; honestly, syndic and overseers, to make any use of the part of the cove which belongs to me, I should need, now, horses and guns, instead of boats and nets.”
The baron’s reply, delivered with his usual good humour, amused the crowd; even the overseers could not repress a smile.
The baron continued:
“The retreat of the sea has been so great that there is hardly six feet of water in the spot around the Seven Rocks, where my fishing-place ends and that of the community begins. I have believed I had the right to lay my nets and my seines five hundred steps beyond the Seven Rocks, since there was no more water on this side, supposing that the community, following my example, and the movement of the water, would also advance five hundred steps toward the high sea.”
The moderation manifest in the baron’s tone, his reasons, which were really plausible, made a very great impression on the spectators, although the greater part of them had a common cause with the consul, who represented the interest of the town.
Addressing the consul, the syndic said:
“Talebard-Talebardon, what have you to reply?”
“Syndic and overseers, I reply that the cove of Castrembaou has no more than six hundred steps to begin from the Seven Rocks, and that if the lord of Anbiez is adjudged five hundred, there will hardly remain one hundred steps for the community to throw its nets; now, every one knows that fishing for tunnies is profitable only in the bay. No doubt the waters, retiring, have left all the fishing domain of the lord of Anbiez dry, but that is not the fault of the community, and the community ought not to suffer from it.”
For a long time this grave question was in litigation. As we have said, the rights and opinions were so divided, that the consuls could have arranged everything amicably for the baron, but for the perfidious counsel of Master Isnard, the recorder.
The honest seamen, who composed the tribunal, almost invariably showed excellent sense; their judgments, based on the practice of an avocation which they had followed from infancy, were simple and righteous. Nevertheless, on this occasion, they were not a little embarrassed.
“What have you to answer, Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez?” said Peyrou.
“I have only to answer, overseers and syndic, that neither is it my fault that the waters have retired; by my title I possess the right of fishing over half the bay; owing to the retreat of the waters, I can go dry-shod over my piscatorial domain, as my chaplain says; now I ought not, I think, to be the victim of a circumstance which is the result of a superior force.”
“Raimond V.,” said one of the overseers, an old tar with white hair, “do you hold, by your title, the right to fish from the coast to the Seven Rocks, or the right to fish over an extent of five hundred steps?”
“My title claims the right to fish from the coast to the Seven Rocks,” replied the baron.
The old seaman whispered a few words to his neighbour.
Peyrou rose, and said, “We have heard enough, we will proceed to give judgment.”
“Syndic and overseers,” replied the baron, “whatever may be your decision, I submit to it beforehand.” Peyrou then said, in a loud voice: “Talebard-Talebardon, Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez, your cause is heard. We, overseers and syndic, will now consider it.” The five fishermen rose, and retired into the embrasure of a window. They seemed to be arguing very animatedly, while the crowd awaited their decision in profound and respectful silence; the lord of Anbiez talked in a low voice with Honorât de Berrol, who was much impressed by the scene.
After about a half-hour’s discussion, the syndic and overseers resumed their places, and stood with their hats on, while Peyrou read from a large book of registration the following formal statement, which always preceded the decree of this tribunal:
“This day, 20th day of December, in the year 1632, being assembled in the town hall of La Ciotat, we, syndic and overseers of the port, having made Talebard-Tale-bardon, consul of the city, and Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez, appear before us, and having heard the aforesaid in their accusation and defence, aver what follows:
“The demand of Talebard-Talebardon seems to us a just one. According to the title of Raimond V., his right of fishery does not extend indifferently over a space of five hundred steps, but over the space lying between the coast and the Seven Rocks of Castrembaou. The waters have retired from the part which belonged to him; that is the will of the Almighty, and Raimond must submit to it. If, as in the Gulf of Martignes, the sea had advanced on the coast, the fishery of Raimond V. would have been so much increased, and the community could not have exceeded their limits beyond the Seven Rocks; the opposite has taken place, which, no doubt, is unfortunate for the lord of Anbiez, but the community cannot surrender its rights of fishery. God controls the waters as pleases him, and we must accept what he sends. Our conscience and our reason then decide that henceforth Raimond V. can lay no more nets or seines outside of the Seven Rocks; but we also decide, in order to prove the gratitude of this city to the said Raimond V., who has always been her good and courageous protector, that he has the right to ten pounds of fish for every hundred pounds of fish which are caught in the bay. We know the good faith of our brother fishermen, and are sure that they will honestly fulfil this condition. The provost and other officers of the city are hereby notified to execute our judgment pronounced against Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez. In case the said lord of Anbiez opposes our judgment, he will be required to pay one hundred pounds forfeit, of which one-third goes to the king, one-third to the hospital of St. Esprit, and the other third to the said community. The hearing of the said misdemeanours and disputes of fishery being by the letters patent of Henry II. prohibited to Parliament and all other magistrates, their Majesty decreeing that suits brought before them on the question of the fishery shall be referred to the said overseers to be heard and judged by them, in consequence of which the decisions of the said overseers have always been declared without appeal. Made in town hall of La Ciotat, etc.”