Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  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doubtless meditating a retreat, turned his head away from the door, and discovered with dismay that the bridge had been withdrawn.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 baro
n, 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.