On the side of the court, as on the side of the sea, three windows of
the gallery, which extended the full length of the edifice, opened upon
a balcony which was over the principal door of the castle.
The recorder began to realise that it required much ceremony to
introduce him to the baron, when suddenly the windows were opened, and
ten or twelve gentlemen, in handsome hunting-suits, booted and spurred,
holding a glass in one hand and a napkin in the other, rushed out on the
balcony, shouting and laughing at the top of their voices.
At their head was Raimond V.
It was easy to see by the flushed cheeks of these joyous companions
that they had just arisen from the table, and had emptied more than one
bottle of Spanish wine.
The convivial friends of Raimond V. belonged to the nobility of the
neighbourhood, and were all known for their hatred of Marshal of Vitry,
and open or secret opposition to Cardinal Richelieu.
Honorât de Berrol and Reine, utterly powerless to dissuade the baron
from his dangerous projects, had retired into one of the apartments in
the tower.
The recorder began to think he was mistaken in counting on a favourable
reception from the baron; he even feared that he might be made the
victim of some infernal trick, as he saw the clamorous gaiety of the
guests of Maison-Forte, especially when he recognised among the number
the old lord of Signerol, who had rudely refused him entrance into his
castle.
However, he tried to put a good face on the matter, and followed by his
clerk, who was trembling in every limb, he advanced to the balcony with
his two halberdiers at his heels.
Addressing himself to Raimond V., who was leaning over the balcony
railing and looking contemptuously on the company below, he said:
“In the name of the king and his Eminence, the cardinal--”
“The cardinal to the devil! Let his infernal Eminence return to the
place he came from!” shouted several gentlemen, interrupting the
recorder’s speech.
“Beelzebub, at this moment, is making a red brass hat for his
Eminence,” said the lord of Signerol.
“The girdles of his Eminence ought to be good rope for hanging!”
said another.
“Let the recorder have his say, gentlemen,” said the baron, turning
to his guests, “let him speak, my friends,--it is not by a single
note that you recognise the bird of the night. Come on, Manjour! speak,
recorder, speak, read out your scrawl!”
The clerk, completely demoralised, and doubtless meditating a retreat,
turned his head away from the door, and discovered with dismay that the
bridge had been withdrawn.
“Master Isnard,” whispered he, with broken voice, “we are caught
in a mouse-trap; they have carried away the bridge.”
Notwithstanding the self-possession he affected, the recorder looked
over his shoulder, and said, in a low voice: “Clerk, order the
halberdiers to approach without attracting attention.”
The clerk obeyed; the little band concentrated in the middle of the
court, with the exception of the Bohemian.
Standing at the foot of the balcony, he seemed to contemplate with
curiosity the gentlemen gathered there.
Master Isnard, anxious to accomplish his task, and seeing that he had
been mistaken in presuming upon the hospitality of Raimond V., read, not
without hesitation, the judicial summary.
“In the name of his Majesty, our sire, King of France and of Navarre,
and Count of Provence, and of his Eminence, the cardinal, I, Thomas
Isnard, recorder of the admiralty of Toulon, sent by the king’s
attorney to the seat of the said admiralty, make here in this
Maison-Forte the census and catalogue of the arms and ammunitions of war
therein enclosed, in order to draw up a statement, on which statement
his Excellence, the Marshal of Vitry, Governor of Provence, will decide
to the end that we may be advised as to what quantity of arms and
ammunition ought to be left in the said Maison-Forte; accordingly, I,
Thomas Isnard, recorder of the admiralty of Toulon, here present myself
in person to the said Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez, praying him of
necessity to obey the orders signified. Made at Maison-Forte des Anbiez,
dependent of the diocese of Marseilles, and the jurisdiction of Aix,
December 17,1632.” The old baron and his friends listened to the
recorder with perfect calmness, exchanging frequent glances of contempt.
When Master Isnard had concluded, Raimond V. leaned over the railing of
the balcony and replied:
“Worthy recorder, worthy deputy of the worthy Marshal of Vitry, and of
the worthy Cardinal Richelieu,--God save the king, our count, from his
Eminence,--we, Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez, and master of this poor
mansion, we authorise you to complete your mission. You see that door
there on the left, on which is nailed the sign-board, ‘Arms and
Artillery,’--open it, and perform the duties of your office.”
As he said these words the old gentleman and his guests sat with their
elbows on the balcony railing, as if they had prepared themselves for
the enjoyment of an interesting and unusual spectacle.
Master Isnard had followed with his eyes the gesture of the baron, which
indicated to him the mysterious magazine.
It was a door of medium size, on which could easily be read the newly
painted words, “Arms and Artillery.” This door was situated in the
middle of the left wing, which was largely made up of rooms for the
servants.
Without being able to account for his repugnance, the recorder looked at
the door of the magazine with suspicion, and said to Raimond V., with an
air almost arrogant:
“Send some one of your people to open that door!” The old
gentleman’s face became purple with anger; he was on the point of
flying into a passion, but restrained himself and replied:
“One of my people, Master Recorder? Alas, I do not have them any
longer. The good old man who received you is my only servant; the taxes
imposed by your worthy cardinal, and the tribute he exacts from us,
have reduced the Provençal nobility to beggary, as you see! You are
accompanied by two companions with halberds, and a fellow with a serge
mantle,”--here the clerk made a respectful bow,--“your own people
are more than enough to put your orders in execution.”
Then, seeing the Bohemian at the foot of the balcony, Raimond called to
him: “Eh, you man there with the red cap, who in the devil are you?
What are you doing there? Do you belong to this band?”
The wanderer approached the balcony, and said: “Monseigneur, I am a
poor travelling artisan, who lives by his work. I come from Bany. I was
on my way to La Ciotat, and I entered to see if I could get work at the
castle.”
“Manjour!” exclaimed the baron, “you are my guest; do not stay in
the court.”
At this remarkable invitation, the men of the law looked frightened, and
at the same instant the Bohemian, with a wonderful agility, climbed up
one of the granite pillars which supported the balcony, as quick as a
wildcat, and seated himself at the feet of the baron, outside of the
balustrade, on a little slab projecting from the balcony floor.
The ascension of the Bohemian was so rapid, and done so cleverly, that
it excited the admiration of the guests.
The baron, laughingly seizing one of his long black locks of hair,
said to him: “You climb too well to travel in the main road; it is my
opinion, fellow, that windows are your doors, and roofs serve you as
a place to promenade. Come in the house, boy; Laramée will give you
something to drink.”
With a light bound the Bohemian jumped over the railing of the balcony,
and entered the gallery, which served as dining-room on important
occasions, where he found the remains of the abundant dinner of which
the baron’s guests had just partaken.
The recorder remained in the court with his escort, not knowing upon
what course to resolve.
He looked at the unlucky door with a vague disquietude, while the old
gentleman and his friends betrayed some impatience as they waited for
the end of this scene.
Finally, Master Isnard, wishing to get out of an embarrassing position,
turned to the baron and said, with a solemn air:
“I call to witness the people who accompany me if anything unbecoming
happens to me, and you will answer, sir, for any dangerous and secret
ambuscade which could hurt the dignity of the law or of justice, or our
honourable person.”
“Eh, Manjour! what are you crowing about? Nobody here wishes to
interfere with your office; my arms and my artillery are there: enter,
examine, and count; the key is in the door!”
“Yes, yes, go in, the key is in the door,” repeated the chorus
of guests, with a sneer which seemed a sinister omen to the recorder.
Exasperated beyond measure, but keeping himself at a respectful distance
from the door, the recorder said to his scribe:
“Clerk, go and open this door; let us make an end of--”
“But, Master Isnard--”
“Obey, clerk, obey,” said the recorder, still drawing back.
The poor scribe showed the register which he held in one hand, and the
pen that he held in the other.
“My hands are not free. I must be ready to draw up an official report.
If some sorcery bursts out of that door, ought I not, on the very
instant, enter it upon my verbal process?”
These reasons appeared to make some impression on the recorder.
“Little John, open that door,” said he to the lackey.
“Oh, master, I dare not,” replied Little John, getting behind the
recorder.
“Do you hear me, you wretch?”
“Yes, sir, but I dare not; there is some sorcery there.”
“But, on my oath, if you--”
“If the salvation of my soul depended on it, sir, I would not open
it,” said Little John, in a resolute tone.
“Come, come!” said the recorder, overcome with vexation, as he
addressed the halberdiers, “it will be said, my brave fellows, that
you alone acted as men in this stupid affair! Open that door, and put an
end to this ridiculous scene.”
The two guards retreated a step, and one of them said:
“Listen, Master Isnard, we are here to give you assistance as far as
we are able, if any one rebels against your orders, but no one forbids
you to enter. The key is in the door; enter alone, if you wish to do
so.”
“What, an old pandour like you afraid!”
The halberdier shook his head, and said:
“Listen, Master Isnard, halberds and swords are worth nothing here;
what we need is a priest with his stole, and a holy water sprinkler in
his hand.”
“Michael is right, Master Isnard,” said the other guard; “it is my
opinion that we will have to do what was done to exorcise the dolphins
that infested the coast last year.”
“If that dog of a Bohemian had not run away like a coward,” said
the recorder, stamping his foot with rage, “he might have opened the
door.”
Then, happening to turn his head, the recorder discovered several men
and women standing at the windows of Maison-Forte; they were partially
hidden by the basement, but were looking curiously into the court.
More from self-esteem than courage, Master Isnard, seeing that he was
observed by so many persons, walked deliberately to the door, and put
his hand on the key.
At that moment his heart failed him.
He heard in the magazine a rumbling noise and extraordinary excitement,
which he had not detected before.
The sounds were harsh, with nothing human in them.
A magic charm seemed to fasten the recorder’s hand to the key in the
door.
“Come, recorder, my boy, go on! there you are! go on!” cried one of
the guests, clapping his hands.
“I wager he is as warm as if it were the month of August, although the
wind is blowing from the north,” said another.
“Give him time to invoke his patron and make a vow,” said a third.
“His patron is St. Coward,” said the lord of Signerol; “no doubt
he is making a vow never to brave another danger if he delivers him from
this one.”
Pushed to extremity by these jeers, and reflecting that, after all,
Raimond V. was not so cruel as to force him into real danger, the
recorder opened the door, and suddenly jumped back.
At that moment he was roughly overthrown by the onset of two Camargnan
bulls, that rushed from the stable, head downward, and uttering a
peculiar and stifled bellowing, for they were muzzled.
The two animals were not of very large size, but were full of vigour.
One was tawny, streaked with dark brown; the other was black as jet.
The first use they made of their liberty was to bound over the court,
paw the earth with their fore feet, and try to divest themselves of
their muzzles.
The appearance of the two bulls was greeted with hurrahs and bravos by
the guests of the baron.
“Eh, well, recorder, your inventory?” cried Raimond V., holding his
sides, and giving full vent to his hilarity. “Come, clerk, enter upon
your official report my bulls, Nicolin and Saturnin. Ah! you demand
the arms that I possess,--there they are. It is with the horns of these
fellows from Camargne that I defend myself. Eh, Man-jour! I see by
your fear that you recognise them as arms, serious and offensive. Come,
recorder, label Nicolin, and draw up Saturnin.”
“God’s death!” cried the lord of Signerol, “these bulls look as
if they would like to make an inventory of the clerk’s and recorder’s
breeches!”
“By Our Lady, in spite of his corpulence, the recorder made a leap
then that would do honour to a toreador!” “And the clerk,--how he
winds around the trees! He is equal to a frightened weasel!”
“Christmas! Christmas! Nicolin has a piece of his cloak!”
It is needless to say that these different exclamations described the
phases of the improvised race with which Raimond V. entertained his
friends.
The bulls were in hot pursuit of the recorder and his clerk, whom they
wished first to attack. The halberdiers and Little John had prudently
availed themselves of the protection of the wall.
Thanks to the trees planted in the court, the recorder and his clerk
were able for some time to escape the attacks of the bulls by running
from tree to tree.
But after awhile their strength was exhausted. Fear paralysed their
energies, and they were about to be trampled under foot by these
ferocious animals. Be it said to the praise of Raimond V. that,
notwithstanding the brutality of his savage pleasantry, he would have
been distressed beyond measure if a tragedy had ended this adventure.
Happily one of the halberdiers screamed:
“Master Isnard,--climb a tree,--quick, quick, before the bull gets
back.”
The corpulent recorder followed the halberdier’s counsel, and throwing
himself upon the trunk of a sycamore, he held on with knees, feet, and
hands, making unheard-of efforts in his clumsy ascent.
The baron and his guests, seeing that the man was no longer in real
danger, again began their jests and laughter. The clerk, more nimble
than the recorder, was now safely seated in the top of a sycamore.
“Master Bruin has come at last! Take care, beware!” cried Raimond,
laughing till the tears came in his eyes at the efforts of the recorder,
who was trying to straddle one of the largest branches of the tree he
had climbed with so much difficulty.
“If the recorder looks like an old bear climbing his pole,” said
another, “the clerk looks like an old, shivering monkey,--see his jaws
chatter.”
“Come, come, clerk, get to your task; where is your pen and your ink,
and your register? You are safe, now,--scribble your scrawl,” cried
the old lord of Signerol.
“Attention, attention, the tournament has begun!” cried one of the
guests. “It is Nicolin against a halberdier.”
“Largess, largess for Nicolin!”
Seeing the two men of the law safe from their horns, the bulls had
turned upon the halberdiers.
But one of the halberdiers, throwing himself against the wall, pricked
the animal so sharply in the nose and the shoulder, that the bull dared
not make another attack, and bounded off into the middle of the court.
Seeing the courage of the halberdier, the baron cried:
“Have no fear, my brave fellow, you shall have ten francs to drink his
health, and I will furnish the wine gratis.”
Then addressing the invisible Larmaée, the old gentleman ordered:
“Tell the shepherd to send his dogs, and drive these bulls back into
the stable. The dance of the recorder and the clerk has lasted long
enough.”
The baron had hardly finished speaking, when three shepherd dogs of
large size came out of a half-open door and ran straight after the
bulls. After a few flourishes, the animals ended the farce by galloping
into the stable, the magazine of arms and artillery of Maison-Forte, as
the treacherous sign-board had announced.
The recorder and his clerk, seeing themselves delivered from danger,
still did not dare descend from their impregnable position. In vain
Laramée, bearing two glasses of wine on a silver plate, came offering
the stirrup-cup from the baron, and telling them, what was true, that
the bridge had been replaced, and their horses and mules were waiting
for them outside.
“I go from here only that my clerk may draw up an official statement
of the grievous outrage by which the baron, your master, has rendered
himself amenable,” cried the recorder, almost breathless, wiping the
sweat from his brow, which literally ran with water, in spite of the
cold weather. “Perhaps you are reserving some other bad treatment for
us, but the governor, and if necessary the cardinal himself, will avenge
me, and on my oath, there shall not remain one stone on another of this
accursed house--may Satan confound it--”
Raimond V., holding in his hand a long hunting-whip, descended into
the court, gave the ten francs to the halberdier who had so bravely
combatted the bull, and went up to the tree from which the recorder was
fulminating his threats.
“What is that you say, you scoundrel?” said the baron, cracking his
whip.
“I say,” shouted the recorder, “I say that the marshal will not
leave this offence unpunished, and that on my arrival in Marseilles, I
will tell him all, I--”
“Eh, Manjour!” cried the baron, with another crack of the whip, “I
hope you will tell him all. I have received you in this way that you may
tell him, indeed, that he may learn in what light I hold his orders,”
cried the old gentleman, unable to restrain his anger; “the Provençal
nobility has known how, in the last century, to drive from its province
the insolent Duke d’Epernon and his Gascons, as unworthy of governing
it, and shall we not drive away a Vitry, a wretched assassin, who acts
like an Italian bandit, who leaves our coasts without defence, who
obliges us to protect ourselves, and then comes to take away from us the
means of resisting the pirates! Get out of here, you rogue, and go to
draw up your scrawls elsewhere than in my house!”
“I will not get down!” cried the recorder.
“Do you want me to smoke you out of the tree like a badger in the
trunk of a willow?”
Believing Raimond V. capable of anything, Master Isnard slowly descended
the tree. His clerk, who had remained silent, imitated his example, and
reached the ground at the same time with his master.
“Stop!” said the baron, putting a few pieces of silver in the
scribe’s hand. “You can drink to the health of the king, our count.
All this is not your fault, clerk.” “I forbid you to accept one
coin!” cried the recorder. “You shall be obeyed, Master Isnard,”
said the scribe. “These are two silver crowns, and not one coin,”
and he pocketed the present.
“And I will add in my report, sir, that you tried to corrupt my
agents,” said the recorder.
“Out of here, out, out, you stinking beast!” cried the baron,
cracking his whip.
“You give people strange hospitality, Baron des Anbiez,” said the
recorder.
This reproach seemed to touch Raimond deeply; he said: “Manjour! all
the country knows that the lord and the peasant have found free refuge
and loyal hospitality in this house. But I am and will be without pity
for the petty tyrants of a tyrant cardinal. Out of here, I say, or I
will whip you like a bad dog!”
“It will sound well,” cried the recorder, purple with rage, and
walking backward toward the bridge, “It will sound well that you have
attempted the life of an officer of the king’s justice, and that you
have driven him away from your house with blows of the whip, instead
of allowing him to execute peaceably the orders of his Eminence, the
cardinal, and of the marshal.”
“Yes, yes, you can tell all that to your marshal, and you can add
that, if he comes here, although my beard is gray, I engage to prove to
him, sword in hand and dagger in fist, that he is nothing but a hired
assassin, and that his master, the cardinal,--God preserve the king from
him,--is only a sort of Christian pacha, a thousand times more a
despot than the Turk. You can tell him, too, to beware of pushing us to
extremes, because we can remember a noble prince, brother of a good
and noble king, blinded for the moment by this false priest, cousin of
Beelzebub. You can tell him, too, that the nobility of Provence, worn
out by so many outrages, would rather have for their sovereign Count
Gaston of Orleans, than the King of France, since at this time the King
of France is Richelieu.”
“Take care, baron,” whispered the lord of Signerol, “you are going
too far.”
“Eh, Manjour!” cried the impetuous baron, “my head can answer for
my words; but I have an arm, thank God, able to defend my head. Out of
here, you knave! Open your long ears well, and shut them well to keep
what you hear. As for our cannon and ammunition, you will see nothing of
them. We will renounce our arms when the dogs beg the wolves to cut off
their paws and pull out their teeth. Out of here, I say; and repeat my
words, and worse, too, if it seems good to you!”
The recorder, having reached the gate, rapidly crossed the bridge,
followed by his clerk and his guards, and as he mounted his horse,
hurled a thundering anathema at the house of the baron.
Raimond V., delighted with the success of his trick, entered with his
guests, and sat down to the table, as the hour of luncheon had just
arrived.
The end of the long day passed away in joy, in the midst of gay
conversation arising from this adventure.
From one of the windows of the castle, Honorât de Berrol had witnessed
this scene. Knowing the obstinacy of his future father-in-law, he had
not attempted remonstrance, but he could not repress his fear when he
thought of the imprudent words Raimond V. had uttered on the subject of
Gaston of Orleans.