by Eugène Sue
“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.
CHAPTER XVIII. THE TELESCOPE.
AFTER THE SESSION, during which, in his function of syndic of the overseers of the port, he had declared the condemnation of Raimond V., the watchman of Cape l’Aigle returned to his sentry-box, temporarily entrusted to the care of the brave Luquin Trinquetaille.
Peyrou was sad; the last words of the Baron des Anbiez on the subject of the commander had awakened the most painful memories.
But as he ascended the steep fortifications of the promontory, his heart expanded. Too much accustomed to solitude to find enjoyment in the society of men, the watchman was happy only when he was on the summit of his rock, where he listened in sweet meditation to the distant roaring of the sea and the terrible bursts of the tempest.
Nothing is more absolute, nothing is more imperious, than the habit of isolation, especially among those who find inexhaustible resources in their own power of observation or in the varied extravagance of their own imagination.
It was with a profound feeling of satisfaction that the watchman set foot upon the esplanade of Cape l’Aigle.
He approached his sentry-box, and there found the worthy Luquin fast asleep.
Peyrou’s first act was to scan the horizon with an anxious look, then to examine it with the aid of his telescope. Happily, he saw nothing suspicious, and his countenance took on rather a cheerful than a severe expression, when, roughly shaking the captain of The Holy Terror to the Moors, he called to him, in a loud voice:
“Wake up, wake up! the pirates!”
Luquin made a bound and stood on his feet, rubbing his eyes.
“Ah, well, my boy,” said the watchman, “so your great activity has fallen asleep. To hear you talk, one would think a doree or a mullet could not have made a leap in the sea without you knowing it. Ah, young man, young man, the old Provençal proverb, Proun paillou, prou gran, — Much straw, little grain.”
Luquin looked at the watchman with a bewildered expression, and was hardly able to collect his faculties; finally, reeling like a drunken man, he said, stretching his arms: “It is true, Master Peyrou, I slept like a cabin-boy on the watch, but I did keep my eyes open with all my strength.”
“That is the reason, my boy, sleep got into them so easily. But I am here now, and you can go down into the city. There will be more than one bottle of wine emptied without your help at the tavern of the Golden Anchor.”,
Luquin had not entirely come to himself, and he stood staring at the watchman with a stupid air.
Peyrou, no doubt, trying to wake the captain entirely from his condition of torpor, added: “Come, come now, Stephanette, your betrothed, will be engaged to dance with Terzarol, the pilot, or with the patron Bernard, and you will not have her hand once the whole day long.”
These words produced a magic effect on the captain; he straightened himself on his long legs, shook himself, tried to keep his equilibrium, and, finally stamping on the ground several times, said to the watchman:
“Listen, Master Peyrou, if I were not sure of having swallowed only one glass of sauve-chrétien with that devil of a Bohemian, to make peace with him, because Stephanette wanted me to do it, — a base weakness for which I cannot forgive myself, — I should certainly think I was drunk,” said the captain.
“That is strange, you drank only one glass of sauve-chrétien with the Bohemian, and you are overcome by it?”
“Only one glass, and that only half full, because what you drink with a miscreant like him tas
tes very bitter.” “Is this Bohemian always at Maison-Forte, pray?” asked Peyrou, with a thoughtful and serious air.
“Always, Master Peyrou, for everybody there dotes on him, from monseigneur to Abbé Mascarolus. He is in high favour with the women, from Mlle. Reine to old Dulceline, without speaking of Stephanette, who gave him a flame-coloured ribbon — flame-coloured ribbons, indeed!” exclaimed Luquin, with indignation. “It is a ribbon woven by the rope-maker that this wretch needs! But what can you do? All the women have their heads turned. And why? Because this vagabond strums, good and bad together, in some sort of fashion, an old guitar, so hoarse that it sounds like the pulleys of my tartan, when they hoist the big sail.”
“Did not the Bohemian arrive at Maison-Forte the day Raimond V. had the recorder chased by a bull?” “Yes, Master Peyrou, it was on that fatal day that this stray dog set foot in Maison-Forte.”
“That is strange!” said the watchman, talking to himself. “Then I was mistaken.”
“Ah, Master Peyrou, I am often seized with a desire to conduct this vagabond out to the cove beach, and exchange pistol-shots with him until either he or I come to our death.”
“Come, come, Luquin, you are foolish, jealousy makes you wild, and you are wrong. Stephanette is a good and honest girl, I can tell you. As to this vagabond—”
Then interrupting himself, as if he wished to keep what he was about to say secret from Luquin, he added: “Come, come, my boy, do not lose your time with a poor old man, while your young and pretty betrothed is waiting for you. Do not neglect her; be with her often, and marry her as soon as possible. There is another Provençal proverb: A boueno taire bouen labourraire, — A good labourer for good soil.”
“Wait, Master Peyrou, you put balm in my blood,” said the captain. “You are almost as good as a sorcerer. Everybody respects you and loves you; you take Stephanette’s part, so she must deserve it.”
“By Our Lady, she deserves it without a doubt. Did she not come before your departure for Nice, and ask me if you could undertake the voyage with safety?”