The general astonishment was very natural.
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.”
The reason and good sense of this decision were wonderfully appreciated
by the crowd; they applauded the judgment repeatedly, crying:
“Long live the overseers! Long live Raimond V.!”
The session being ended, the crowd dispersed. Raimond V. remained a few
minutes in the hall, and said to the watchman of the cape of l’Aigle, as
he grasped him by the hand:
“Righteously judged, my old Peyrou.”
“Monseigneur, poor people like us are neither lawyers nor scribes, but
the Lord inspires the honest with a sense of justice.”
“Honest man,” said the baron, looking at him with keen interest,
“will you dine with me at Maison-Forte?” “My sentry-box is waiting
for me, monseigneur, and Luquin Trinquetaille is getting weary of it.”
“Come, come, then, I will see you at Maison-Forte with my brothers;
they will arrive soon.”
“Have you any news from the commander?” asked Peyrou.
“I have some from Malta; it was good, and informs me again of his
return here for Christmas, but his letter is sadder than ever.”
The watchman looked down and sighed.
“Ah, Peyrou,” said the baron, “how grievous is this melancholy,
whose cause I do not know!”
“Very distressing,” replied the watchman, absorbed in his own
thoughts.
“You, at least, know the cause of it,” said the baron, with a sort
of bitterness, as if he had suffered from his brother’s reticence.
“Monseigneur!” said Peyrou.
“Cheer up! I do not ask you to unveil this sad secret to me, since it
is not your own. Come, good-bye, my honest fellow. After all, I am very
glad that our dispute was judged by you.”
“Monseigneur,” said Peyrou, who seemed to wish to escape from the
recollections awakened by the baron’s questions about the commander,
“it was rumoured that you would not come before the tribunal.”
“Yes, at first I resolved not to go there. Talebard-Talebardon could
have come to an amicable settlement; in the first moment of anger I
thought of sending all of you to the devil.
“Monseigneur, it was not the consul only who decided to bring the case
before us.”
“I thought so, and for that reason I reconsidered it; instead of
acting like a fool, I have acted with the wisdom of a graybeard. It
was that scoundrel from the admiralty of Toulon that I whipped, was it
not?”
“They say so, monseigneur.”
“You were right, Honorât,” said the baron, turning around to M. de
Berrol. “Come, we shall see you soon, Peyrou.”
Upon going out of the large hall, the baron saw his carriage, which was
drawn up in the town hall square, surrounded by the crowd.
They saluted him with acclamation and he was deeply moved by this
reception.
Just as he was about to enter the carriage he saw Master Isnard, the
recorder, standing within the embrasure of a door.
The man of law seemed quite melancholy over the result of the session.
His perfidious designs had miscarried.
“Ho! Master Recorder,” cried the baron, half-way up his carriage
steps, “do you return soon to Marseilles?” “I return there
immediately,” answered he, peevishly. “Ah, well, just say to the
Marshal of Vitry that, if I threatened you with my whip it was because
you brought from him insulting orders to the Provençal nobility; you
see that I am quite willing to appear before the popular tribunal whose
decisions I respect. As to the difference of my conduct under the two
circumstances, you, recorder, can explain it to the marshal. I shall
always resist by force the iniquitous orders of tyrants, sent by a
tyrant cardinal, but I shall always respect the rights and privileges of
the ancient Provençal communities. The nobility is to the people what
the blade is to the hilt. The communities are to us what we are to
them; do you understand, you rascal? Tell that to your Vitry.”
“Monseigneur, these words--” said the recorder, quickly.
But Raimond V., interrupting him, continued:
“Tell him, in short, that if I keep my house fortified, it is that
I may be useful to the city, as I have been. When the shepherd has no
dogs, the flock is soon devoured; and, Manjour, the wolves are not far
off.”
As he uttered these words, Raimond V. entered his carriage and slowly
departed, followed by the prolonged shouts and acclamations of the
multitude.
The old gentleman, notwithstanding his candour and bluntness of speech,
had, with great deftness and a shrewd policy, ranged the populace on his
side in the event of a possible collision with the power of the marshal.