While Raimond V. and his guests were supping gaily, the company of
soldiers seen by the watchman, about fifty men belonging to the regiment
of Guitry, had arrived almost at the door of Maison-Forte.
The recorder Isnard, followed by his clerk, as usual, said to Captain
Georges, who commanded the detachment:
“It would be prudent, captain, to try a summons before attacking by
force, in order to take possession of the person of Raimond V. There are
about fifty well-armed men in his lair behind good walls.”
“Eh! what matters the walls to me?”
“But, besides the walls, there is a bridge, and you see, captain, it
is up.”
“Eh! what do I care for the bridge? If Raimond V. refuses to lower
it--ah, well, zounds! my carabineers will assault the place; that
happened more than once in the last war! If necessary, we will attach a
petard to the door, but let it be understood, recorder, that, whatever
happens, you are to follow us to make an official report.”
“Hum! hum!” grunted the man of law. “Without doubt, I and my clerk
must assist you; I shall be able, even under that circumstance, to note
the good conduct and zeal of the aforesaid clerk in charging him with
this honourable mission.”
“But, Master Isnard, that is your office, and not mine!” said the
unhappy clerk.
“Silence, my clerk, we are here before Maison-Forte. The moments are
precious. Do you prepare to follow the captain and obey me!”
The company had, in fact, reached the end of the sycamore walk, which
bordered the half-circle.
The bridge was up, and the windows opening on the interior court were
brilliant with light, as the baron’s guests had departed but a little
while.
“You see, captain, the bridge is up, and more, the moat is wide and
deep, and full of water,” said the recorder.
Captain Georges carefully examined the entrances of the place; after
a few moments of silence, he pulled his moustache on the left side
violently,--a sure sign of his disappointment.
A sentinel, standing inside the court, seeing the glitter of arms in the
moonlight, cried, in a loud voice:
“Who goes there? Answer, or I will fire!”
The recorder jumped back three steps, hid himself behind the captain,
and replied, in a high voice:
“In the name of the king and the cardinal, I, Master Isnard, recorder
of the admiralty of Toulon, command you to lower this bridge!”
“You will not depart?” said the voice. At the same time a light
shone from one of the loopholes for guns which defended the entrance. It
was easy to judge that the sentinel was blowing the match of his musket.
“Take care!” cried Isnard. “Your master will be held responsible
for what you are going to do!”
This warning made the soldier reflect; he fired his musket in the air,
at the same time crying the word of alarm in a stentorian voice.
“He has fired on the king’s soldiers!” cried the recorder, pale
with anger and fright “It is an act of armed rebellion. I saw it.
Clerk, make a note of that act!”
“No, recorder,” said the captain, “he has barked, but he has not
desired to murder. I saw the light, too, and he fired in the air to give
the alarm.”
In answer to the sentinel’s cries, several lights appeared above the
walls; numerous precipitate steps, and a great clang of arms were heard
in the court At last, Master Laramée, a helmet on his head and his
breast armed with a cuirass, appeared at one of the embrasures of the
gate.
“In the name of God, what do you want?” cried he. “Is this
the time, pray, to come here and trouble good people who are keeping
Christmas?”
“We have an order from the king which we come to put into
execution,” said the recorder, “and I--”
“I have some wine left yet in my glass, recorder; good evening, I am
going to empty it,” said Laramée, “only, remember the bulls, and
know that a musket-ball reaches farther than their horns. So, now,
good-night, recorder!” “Think well on what you are going to do,
insolent scoundrel,” said Captain Georges; “you are not dealing this
time with a wet hen of a recorder, but with a fight-ing-cock, who has a
hard beak and sharp spurs, I warn you.”
“The fact is, Master Isnard,” said the clerk, humbly, to the
recorder, “we are to this soldier what a pumpkin is to an artillery
ball.”
The recorder, already very much offended by the captain’s comparison,
rudely repulsed the clerk, and, addressing Laramée with great
importance, said:
“You have this time, at your door, the right and the power, the hand
and the sword of justice. So, majordomo, I order you to open and to
lower the bridge.”
A well-known voice interrupted the recorder; it was that of Raimond
V., who had been informed of the arrival of the captain. Escorted by
Laramée, who carried a torch, the old gentleman appeared erect upon the
little platform that formed the entablature of the gate masked by the
drawbridge.
The fluctuating light of the torch threw red reflections on the group of
soldiers, and shone upon their steel collars and iron head-pieces; half
of the scene being in the shade or lighted by the rays of the moon.
Raimond V. wore his holiday attire, richly braided with gold, and his
white hair fell over his lace collar. Nothing was more dignified, more
imposing or manly than his attitude.
“What do you want?” said he, in a sonorous voice. Master Isnard
repeated the formula of his speech, and concluded by declaring that
Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez, was arrested, and would be conducted under
a safe escort to the prison of the provost of Marseilles, for the crime
of rebellion against the orders of the king.
The baron listened to the recorder in profound silence. When the man of
law had finished, cries of indignation, howls, and threats, uttered by
the dependents of the baron, resounded through the interior court.
Raimond V. turned around, commanded silence, and replied to the
recorder:
“You wished to visit my castle illegally, and to exercise in it an
authority contrary to the rights of the Provençal nobility. I drove
you away with my whip. I did what I ought to have done. Now, Manjour! I
cannot allow myself to be arrested for having done what I ought to have
done in chastising a villain of your species. Now, execute the orders
with which you are charged,--I will not prevent you, any more than I
prevented your visit to my magazine of artillery. I regret the departure
of my guests, for they also, in their name, would have protested against
the oppression of the tyranny of Marseilles.” This speech from the
baron was welcomed with cries of joy by the garrison of Maison-Forte.
Raimond V. was about to descend from his pedestal when Captain Georges,
who had the rough language and abrupt manners of an old soldier,
advanced on the other side of the moat; he took his hat in his hand, and
said to Raimond V., in a respectful tone:
“Monseigneur, I must inform you of one thing, which is, that I have
with me fifty determined soldiers, and that I am resolved, though to my
regret, to execute my orders.”
“Execute them, my brave friend,” said the baron, smiling, with a
jocose manner, “execute them. Your marshal wishes to know if my powder
is good; he instructs you to be the gunpowder prover. We will begin the
trial whenever you wish.”
“Captain, this is too much parley,” cried the recorder. “I order
you this instant to employ force of arms to take possession of this
rebel against the commands of the king, our master, and to--”
“Recorder, I have no orders to receive from you; only take care not
to put yourself between the lance and the cuirass,--you might come to
grief,” said the captain, imperiously, to Master Isnard.
Then, turning to the baron, he said, with as much firmness as deference:
“For the last time, monseigneur, I beseech you to consider well: the
blood of your vassals will flow; you are going to kill old soldiers
who have no animosity against you or yours, and all that,
monseigneur,--permit an old graybeard to speak to you frankly,--all
that because you wish to rebel against the orders of the king. May God
forgive you, monseigneur, for causing the death of so many brave men,
and me, for drawing the sword against one of the most worthy gentlemen
of the province; but I am a soldier, and I must obey the orders I have
received.”
This simple and noble language made a profound impression on Raimond V.
He bowed his head in silence, remained thoughtful for some minutes, then
he descended from the platform. Murmurs inside were distinctly heard,
dominated by the ringing voice of the baron. At the same instant the
bridge was lowered and the gate opened; Raimond V. appeared, and said to
the captain, as he offered his hand with a dignified and cordial air:
“Enter, sir, enter; you are a brave and honest soldier. Although my
head is white, it is sometimes as foolish as a boy’s. I was wrong. It
is true, you must obey the orders which have been given to you. It
is not to you, it is to the Marshal of Vitry that I should express my
opinion of his conduct toward the Provençal nobility. These brave men
ought not to be the victims of my resistance. To-morrow at the break of
day, if you will, we will depart for Marseilles.”
“Ah, monseigneur,” said the captain, pressing the hand of Raimond
V. with emotion, and bowing with respect, “it is now that I really
despair of the mission that I am to fulfil.”
The baron was about to reply to the captain when a distant, but dreadful
noise rose on the air, attracting the attention of all those who filled
the court of Maison-Forte. It was like the hollow roar of the sea in its
fury.
Suddenly a tremendous light illuminated the horizon in the direction of
La Ciotat, and the bells of the convent and the church began to sound
the alarm.
The first idea that entered the baron’s mind was that the city was on
fire.
“Fire!” cried he, “La Ciotat is on fire! Captain, you have my
word, I am your prisoner, but let us run to the city. You with your
soldiers, I with my people, we can be useful there.”
“I am at your orders, monseigneur.”
At that moment the prolonged, reverberating sound of artillery made the
shore tremble with its echoes, and shook the windows of Maison-Forte.
“Cannon! Those are the pirates! The watchman to the devil for allowing
us to be surprised! The pirates! To arms, captain! to arms! These demons
are attacking the city. Laramée, my sword! Captain, to horse! to horse!
You can take me prisoner to-morrow, but to-night let us run to defend
this unfortunate city.”
“But, monseigneur, your house--”
“The devil take them if they venture here! Laramée and twenty men
could defend it against an entire army. But this unfortunate city is
surprised. Quick! to horse! to horse!”
The roar of the artillery became more and more frequent. All the
bells were ringing,--a deep rumbling sound reached as far as
Maison-Forte,--and the flames increased in number and intensity.
Laramée, in all haste, brought the baron’s helmet and cuirass.
Raimond V. took the helmet, but would not hear of the cuirass.
“Manjour! what time have I to fasten that paraphernalia? Quick, bring
Mistraon to me,” cried he, running to the stable.
He found Mistraon bridled, but, seeing that it required some time to
saddle him, he mounted the horse barebacked, told Laramée to keep
twenty men for the defence of Maison-Forte, commended his daughter to
his care, and took, in hot haste, the road to La Ciotat.