“That is true; and if one can mix with these teardrops of the vine a tear of a stag killed in venison season, Dame Dulceline, the rubies will shine like sparks of fire.”
“Ah, well, M. Abbé, Pierron, the fisherman, brought back faithfully that precious chain even before the appointed hour. I repeat, M. Abbé, our youth is an honest youth, but I do not see the use of risking the loss, not by theft, but by accident, of beautiful jewels, for the pleasure of seeing these young people dance the old Provençal dances in the streets and roads, to the sound of tambourines and cymbalettes and flutes, that play the national airs, ooubados and bedocheos, until you are deaf.”
“Ah, well, Dame Dulceline,” said Mascarolus, smiling sweetly, “you are going to learn that you were wrong not to see in this custom, too, a lesson and a use. When mademoiselle loaned to Thereson, the poor daughter of a miller, a costly ornament, she showed a blind confidence in the girl; now, Dame Dulceline, confidence begets honesty and prevents dishonesty. That is not all; in giving Thereson the pleasure of wearing this ornament for one day, our young mistress showed her at the same time the charm and the nothingness of it, and then, as this pleasure is not forbidden to the poor people, they do not look on it with jealousy. This custom, in fact, establishes delightful relations between rich and poor, which are based on probity, confidence, and community of interest What do you think now of the dance of St. Elmo, Dame Dulceline?”
“I think, M. Chaplain, that, although I have no jewels but a cross and a gold chain, I will lend them with a good heart to young Madelon, the best worker in my laundry, on the next feast of St. Lazarus, because every time I take this gold cross out of its box the poor girl devours it with her eyes, and I am sure that she will be wild with joy. But I am getting bewildered, M. Abbé; I brought some pure oil to fill the two Christmas lamps, which mademoiselle is to light, and I was about to forget them.”
“Speaking of oil, Dame Dulceline, do not forget to fill well with oil that jug in which I have steeped those two beautiful bunches of grapes. I wish to attempt the experiment cited by M. de Maucaunys.”
“What experiment, M. Abbé?”
“This erudite and veracious traveller pretends that by leaving bunches of grapes, gathered on the day which marks the middle of September, in a jug of pure oil for seven months, the oil will acquire such a peculiar property that whenever it burns in a lamp whose light is thrown on the wall or the floor, thousands of bunches of grapes will appear on this wall or floor, perfect in colour, but as deceptive as objects painted on glass.” Dame Dulceline was just about to testify her admiration for the good and credulous chaplain, when she heard in the court the sound of carriage and horses, which announced the return of Raimond V.
She disappeared precipitately. The door opened, and Raimond V. entered the gallery with several ladies and gentlemen, friends and their wives, who had also been present at the midnight mass in the parochial church of La Ciotat.
The baron and the other men were in holiday attire, and the women in that dress which going and coming on horseback rendered necessary, inasmuch as carriages were very rare.
Although the countenance of Raimond V. was always joyous and cordial when he welcomed his guests at Maison-Forte, an expression of sadness from time to time now came over his features, for he had relinquished all hope of seeing his brothers at this family festival.
The guests of the baron all admired the cradle Dame Dulceline had prepared with so much skill, and the chaplain received the praises of the company with as much modesty as gratitude.
Honorât de Berrol appeared more melancholy than ever.
Reine, on the contrary, realising the necessity for making him forget the refusal of her hand, which she had at last decided upon, by means of various evidences of kindness and friendship, treated the young man with cousinly esteem and affection.
Nevertheless, she was conscious of a painful embarrassment; she had not yet informed the baron of her determination not to marry Honorât de Berrol. She had only obtained her father’s consent to have the nuptials delayed until the return of the commander and Father Elzear, who, from what was implied in their last letters, might arrive at any moment.
Eulogies on the cradle seemed inexhaustible, when the baron, approaching the company of admiring guests, said: “My opinion is, ladies, that we had better begin the cachofué, for this hall is very damp and cold, and the fire is only waiting to blaze!”
The cachofué, or feu caché, was an old Provençal ceremony, which consisted of bringing in a Christmas log and lighting it every evening until the New Year. This log was lighted and extinguished, so that it would last the given time.
“Yes, yes, the cachofué, baron!” exclaimed the ladies, gaily. “You are to be the actor in the ceremony, so the time to begin depends on you.”
“Alas! my friends, I hoped indeed that this honoured ceremony of our fathers would have been more complete, and that my brother the commander would have brought with him my good brother Elzear. But that is not to be thought of for this night at least.”
“The Lord grant that the commander may arrive soon with his black galley,” said one of the ladies to the baron. “These wicked pirates, whom we all dread, would not dare make a descent if they knew he was in port.” “The pirates to the devil, good cousin!” cried the baron, gaily. “The watchman is spying them from the height of Cape l’Aigle; at his first signal all the coast will be in arms. The port of La Ciotat is armed; the citizens and fishermen are keeping Christmas with only one hand, they have the other on their muskets; my cannon and small guns are loaded, and ready to fire on the entrance to the port, if these sea-robbers dare show themselves. Manjour! my guests and cousins, if I had obeyed the Marshal of Vitry, at this hour my house would be disarmed and out of condition to defend the city.”
“And you did very bravely, baron,” said the lord of Signerol, “to act as you did. Now the example has been given and the marshal will meddle no longer with our affairs.”
“Manjour! I hope so indeed. If he does, we will meddle with his,” said the baron. “But where is my young comrade of the cachofué?” added he. “I am the eldest, but I must have the youngest to go for the Christmas log.”
“Here is the dear child, father,” said Reine, leading a beautiful boy of six years, with large blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and lovely curls, up to the baron. His mother, a cousin of the baron, looked at the boy with pride, not unmixed with fear, for she suspected that he might not be equal to the complicated rôle necessary to be played in this patriarchal ceremony.
“Are you sure you understand what is to be done, my little Cæsar?” asked the baron, bending over the little boy.
“Yes, yes, monseigneur. Last year, at grandfather’s house, I carried the Christmas log,” replied the child, with a capable and resolute air.
“The linnet will become a hawk, I promise you, my cousin,” said the baron to the mother, delighted with the child’s self-confidence.
Raimond V. then took the little fellow by the hand, and, followed by his guests, he descended to the door of Maison-Forte, which opened into the inner court, before beginning the ceremony of the cachofué.
All the inmates and dependents of the castle, labourers, farmers, fishermen, vine-dressers, servants, women, children, and old men, were assembled in the court.
Although the light of the moon was quite bright, a large number of torches, made of resinous wood fastened to poles, illuminated the court and the interior buildings of Maison-Forte.
In the middle of the court were collected the combustibles necessary to kindle an immense pile of wood, which was to be set on fire the same moment that the cachofué in the hall of the dais was lighted.
Raimond V. appeared before the assembly attended by four lackeys in livery, who walked before him, bearing candlesticks with white wax candles. He was followed by his family and his guests.
At the sight of the baron, cries of “Long live monseigneur!” resounded on all sides.
In front of the door on the ground lay a large olive-tree, the trunk and branches. It was the Christmas log.
Abbé Mascarolus, in cassock and surplice, commenced the ceremony by blessing the Christmas log, or the calignaou, as it was called in the Provençal language; then the child approached, followed by Laramée, who, in his costume of majordomo, bore on a silver tray a gold cup filled with wine.
The child took the cup in his little hands and poured, three times, a few drops of wine on the calignaou, or Christmas log, and recited, in a sweet and silvery voice, the old Provençal verse, always said upon this solemn occasion:
“‘Allègre, Diou nous allègre,
Cachofué ven, tou ben ven,
Diou nous fague la grace de veire l’an que ven,
Se si an pas mai, que signen pas men.’”
“Oh, let us be joyful, God gives us all joy;
Cachofué comes, and it comes all to bless;
God grant we may live to see the New Year;
But if we are no more, may we never be less!”
These innocent words, recited by the child with charming grace, were listened to with religious solemnity.
Then the child wet his lips with the wine in the cup, and presented it to Raimond V., who did likewise, and the cup passed from hand to hand, among all the members of the baron’s family, until each one had wet his lips with the consecrated beverage.
Then twelve foresters in holiday dress lifted the calignaou, and carried it into the hall of the dais, while, in conformity to the law of the ceremony, Raimond V. held in his hand one of the roots of the tree, and the child held one of the branches; the old man saying, “Black roots are old age,” and the child answering, “Green branches are youth,” and the assistants adding in chorus, “God bless us all, who love him and serve him!”
The log, borne into the hall on the robust shoulders of the foresters, was placed in the immense fireplace, whereupon the child took a pine torch, and held it to a pile of fir-apples and boughs; a tall white flame sparkled in the vast, black hearth, and threw a joyous radiance to the farther end of the gallery.
“Christmas, Christmas!” cried the guests of the baron, clapping their hands.
“Christmas! Christmas!” repeated the vassals assembled in the interior court.
At the same moment, the pile of wood outside was kindled, and the tall yellow flames mounted in the midst of enthusiastic shouts, and whirls of a Provençal dance.
One other last ceremony was to take place, and then the guests would gather around the supper-table.
Reine advanced to the cradle, and Stephanette brought to her a wooden bowl filled with the corn of St. Barbara, which was already green. For it was the custom in Provence, every fourth of December, St Barbara’s day, to sow grains of corn in a porringer filled with earth frequently watered. This wet earth was exposed to a very high temperature, and the com grew rapidly. If it was green, it predicted a good harvest, if it was yellow, the harvest would be bad.
Mlle, des Anbiez placed the wooden bowl at the foot of the cradle, and on each side of this offering lit two little square silver lamps, called in the Provençal tongue the lamps of Calenos, or Christmas lamps.
“St Barbara’s corn, green; fine harvests all the year!” cried the baron: “so may my harvests and your harvests be, my guests and cousins! Now to the table, yes, to the table, friends, and then come the Christmas presents for friends and relations!”
Master Laramée opened the folding doors which led to the dining-room, and announced supper. It is needless to speak of the abundance of this meal, worthy in every respect of the hospitality of Raimond V.
What, however, we must not fail to remark, is that there were three table-cloths, in conformity to another ancient custom.
On the smallest, which was in the middle of the table, in the style of a centre-piece, were the presents of fruits and cakes that the members of the family made to their head.
On the second, a little larger and lapping over the first, were arranged the national dishes of the simplest character, such as bouillabaisse, a fish-soup, famous in Provence, and broiled salt tunny.
Lastly, on the third cloth, which covered the rest of the table, were the choicest dishes in abundance, and artistically arranged.
We will leave the guests of Raimond V. to the enjoyment of a patriarchal hospitality as they discussed old customs, and grew excited over arguments relating to freedom and ancient privileges, always so respected and so valiantly defended by those who remain faithful to the pathetic and religious traditions of the olden time.
That happy, peaceful evening was but too soon interrupted by the events to which we will now introduce the reader.
CHAPTER XXX. THE ARREST
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.