For a long time he gazed at this casket with sorrowful attention; the sight of it seemed to awaken the most bitter memories. Then, assuring himself that this mysterious trust was still intact, he shut the doors of the ebony chest and, like a dreamer, returned to his seat at the door of his cabin.
CHAPTER V. THE BETROTHED
Stephanette left the watchman with a light heart She was just about to quit the esplanade, when she saw, on the last steps of the stairway, the tall figure of Captain Luquin Trinquetaille. With an imperative sign the young girl ordered him to return by the way he had come.
The sailor showed an exemplary submission; he stopped, made a right-about, with the quickness and precision of a German grenadier, and gravely descended the steps he had just mounted.
Had the meeting been arranged by the lovers? We do not know, but certain it was that Stephanette, preceded by her obedient adorer, descended the narrow, winding flight of steps which conducted to the watchman’s cabin, with the lightness of a gazelle.
Many times Luquin turned his head, to catch a sight of the neat ankle and little foot, which cleared the rough rocks so nimbly, but Stephanette, with a threatening gesture, and queen-like dignity, arrested the curiosity of the ex-artilleryman, who was compelled to accelerate his gait in obedience to the oft-repeated words:
“Go on, Luquin, go on!”
While the lovers are descending the escarpment of the cape of l’Aigle, we will say a few words about Luquin Trinquetaille. He was a robust fellow of thirty years, brown and sunburnt. He had a manly figure, a frank, ingenuous manner, somewhat vain; he wore a costume which marked both the soldier and the sailor, – a military coat, and Provencal breeches, fastened around his waist by the belt which held his broadsword.
The air was cold, and over his coat he wore a mantle, the seams of which were braided in red and blue wool; the hood half covered his forehead, and under it could be seen a forest of black curls.
When they had reached the foot of the mountain, Stephanette, in spite, of her agility, felt the need of rest.
Luquin, delighted with an opportunity for conversation, carefully sought a spot where she could be comfortably seated.
When he had found it, he gallantly took off his mantle and spread it out on the rock, so that Stephanette could have a seat with a back; then, crossing his hands on the head of his cane, and leaning his chin on his hands, he contemplated Stephanette with a calm and happy adoration.
When she had recovered from the effects of her precipitous descent, Stephanette turned to Luquin, and said, with the air of a spoiled child, and a woman sure of her despotic domination:
“Why, Luquin, did you come to the watchman’s cabin for me, when I told you to wait for me at the foot of the mountain?”
Luquin, preoccupied with admiration for Stephanette’s fine colour, which the walk had imparted, did not reply.
“Did ever anybody see the like?” cried she, with an impatient stamp of her little foot. “Do you hear what I say to you, Luquin?”
“No,” said the captain, coming out of his reflective mood; “all that I know is that from Nice to Bayonne, from Bayonne to Calais, from Calais to Hambourg, from Hambourg to – ”
“Have you finished your European trip, Luquin?”
“Indeed, from one pole to the other there is not a prettier girl than you, Stephanette.”
“What! Did you make such an extensive voyage to arrive at that discovery, captain? I pity the privateers of the Holy Terror to the Moors, by the Grace of God, if the voyages of this poor old polacre have no better results!”
“Do not speak ill of my polacre, Stephanette; you will be glad to see its blue and white pavilion when I return from Nice, and how you will watch for my coming from the turret of Maison-Forte!”
Luquin’s conceitedness disgusted Stephanette; she replied, with an ironical air:
“Well, well! I see that a watchman on the cape of L’Aigle is altogether unnecessary. All the young girls who wait impatiently for the return of Captain Trinque-taille, and all the jealous ones who watch his departure with their eyes fixed on the sea, will be sufficient to discover the pirates. There is nothing more to fear from corsairs.”
Luquin took on an air of modest triumph, and said:
“By St. Stephen, my patron, I am too sure of your love, and too happy in it, Stephanette, to care if I am expected or regretted by other girls; and although Rose, the daughter of the haberdasher in La Ciotat, – who resembles the flower whose name she bears, – often tells me – ”
“My faith! Thank you for your confidences, Luquin,” said Stephanette, with a jealous impatience she could not dissimulate. “If I told you all that the patron Bernard or Master Terzarol said to me, it would take till evening.”
Captain Luquin frowned when he heard the names of his rivals, and exclaimed:
“Thunder of heaven! If I knew that those two rascals dared even to look at your shoes as you pass, I would make a figurehead for my polacre of one, and a weather-cock for my mast of the other! But no! They know that Luquin Trinquetaille is your betrothed, and his name rhymes too well with battle for them to want an issue with me.”
“Well, well, my fine bully!” replied Stephanette, recalling the watchman’s advice, and fearing to excite the jealousy of the inflammable captain; “if Bernard and Terzarol talk to me ever so long, I shall reply that every one knows I am too much in love with the most wicked devil in La Ciotat But wait, – see here what Master Peyrou gave me for you. Read that, and do everything he orders. It is late; the sun is setting, and it is getting cold. Let us go back to Maison-Forte; mademoiselle will be anxious.”
The two lovers hastened on their way, and, as they walked, Trinquetaille read the following instructions given by the watchman:
“Every morning at sunrise the captain will change the charge of his cannon, and will put on the ball one of the red flies affixed to this paper.
“After that, make a double cross on the ball with the thumb of the left hand. From sunrise to sunset, cabin-boys must relieve each other on the watch at the top of the mast; they will always look at the east and the south, and every five minutes repeat ‘St Magnus.’
“Set the swords in order on the stem, three by three, point downward.
“Set the muskets on the right of the deck, three by three.
“On the day of departure, at the rising of the moon, carry on deck a vase filled with oil; throw in it seven grains of salt, saying with each grain ‘St Elmo and St Peter.’
“Leave the vase on deck until the moon goes down. At that moment cover it over with a black veil, on which write in vermilion the word ‘Syrakoe.’ Every morning at sunrise, rub the arms and the locks of the muskets with this oil.”
At this point, Captain Trinquetaille stopped and said to Stephanette:
“By St. Elmo, Master Peyrou is a sorcerer. Three months ago, if I had had these flies of magic paper, my swivel-guns, instead of resting mute on their pivots when I applied the match, would have replied sharply to that Tunis chebec which surprised our convoy, and we did not see until it was almost on us – ”
“But, Luquin, do not your sentinels see at a distance?”
“No; and if, while they were watching, they had said ‘St. Magnus’ every five minutes, as Master Peyrou says in his sorcery, it is certain the virtue of St. Magnus would have prevented the pirates’ approach without being seen.”
“And would you have made use of this magic oil for the muskets, Luquin?”
“Without doubt, the day that my guns would not go off, I would have given all the oil which burns in the eternal lamp of the Chapel of Notre Dame de la Garde, for one drop of this oil with the seven grains of salt, and that formidable word ‘Syrakoe’ written on the cover.”
“Why so, Luquin?”
“My artillery was useless, and I wished to board the chebec with a grand reinforcement of musket-shot, but as wicked fate would have it, the arms were below, and the locks of the muskets were rusty; you see, then, Stephanette, if we had arranged the arms on deck, three by three, and had rubbed the musket locks with this magic oil of Syrakoe, we would have been able to resist, and perhaps capture this pirate chebec instead of flying before it, like a cloud of sparrows from a hawk!”
It is easy to see that, under these mysterious and cabalistic formulæ, the watchman on the cape of L’Aigle gave the best practical advice, and endeavoured to restore such nautical precautions and practices as had, through negligence or want of care, fallen into disuse.
The red flies, placed every morning on the balls with a sign of the cross, had no doubt a very negative virtue, but to perform this magical operation, it was necessary to change the charge of the artillery, often damaged by the water of the sea, which swept the deck, and thus the powder was kept dry and the guns ready for use.
The counsel of the watchman, followed exactly, prevented serious disaster, whether it pertained to the oil of Syrakoe, or the cries of “St Magnus,” or the arms arranged three by three on the deck.
In looking steadily toward the east and the south, points of crossing by the pirates, the sentinels of course could give warning of their approach.
In invoking St. Magnus every five minutes, they would not run the risk of sleeping at their posts.
In short, it was important to have always on deck arms in good condition and readiness. The watchman accomplished this by ordering them to be arranged in stacks of three, and carefully rubbed with oil, which would preserve them from the inclemency of the weather.
In formulating his recommendations in cabalistic phrase, he assured the execution of them.
After renewed praises of the watchman’s wisdom, Luquin and Stephanette arrived at Maison-Forte. Notwithstanding her air of gaiety, the young girl’s heart was deeply pained at the thought of her lover’s departure the next morning. Tears flowed down her cheeks; she extended her hand to Trinquetaille, and said, with a trembling voice:
“Good-bye, Luquin, every morning and evening I will pray God to keep you from meeting these wicked pirates. Oh, why do you not abandon this perilous calling, which gives me continual anxiety?”
“I will, when I have gained enough, so that Mlle. Trinquetaille” – only the nobility had the title of madame – “need not envy the richest citizen of La Ciotat.” “How can you talk so, Luquin?” said the young girl, reproachfully, as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “What matters finery and a little more comfort to me, when you are risking your life every day?”
“Do not be distressed, Stephanette, the watchman’s advice shall not be lost: with the help of St. Magnus, and the magic oil of Syrakoe, I can defy all the pirates of the regency. But, good-bye, Stephanette, good-bye, and think of Luquin.”
With these words, the worthy captain pressed Ste-phanette’s white hands, and hurried away, lest he should betray the emotion which filled his heart, as if it were a thing unworthy of him.
The young girl’s eyes followed her lover as long as possible, and at nightfall she entered Maison-Forte, the home of Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez.
CHAPTER VI. MAISON-FORTE
Maison-Forte, or Castle des Anbiez, stood upon the seashore. In the time of storm, the waves beat upon the terrace or rampart which stood out from the shore to protect the entrance into the port of La Ciotat, where were anchored a few fishing-boats, and the pleasure tartan of Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez.
The aspect of the castle presented nothing remarkable. Built in the middle of the fifteenth century, its architecture, or rather its construction, was massive. Two towers with pointed roof flanked the main body of the dwelling exposed to the south, and commanding a view of the sea. Its thick walls, built of sandstone and granite, were of reddish gray colour, and were irregularly cut by a few windows, which resembled loopholes for cannon.
The only framed windows of a gallery, which ran across the entire length of the castle, on the first floor, were large and bowed.
Three of them opened upon a balcony ornamented with a beautiful grating of hammered iron, in the middle of which was carved the baron’s coat of arms. The same coat of arms showed upon the entablature of the principal door.
A short flight of steps descended to the terrace.
The necessities of civil and religious war, at the end of the last century, and the constant fear of pirates, had altered this terrace into an armed and embattled rampart, parallel with the façade of the castle, and joined to the foot of the turrets by two sides of a right angle.
A few old orange-trees with shining leaves testified to the ancient character of this esplanade, once a smiling flower garden, but two sentry-boxes for scouts, a few enclosures for cannon-balls, eight pieces of ordnance, two of which were mounted, and a long, turning culverin showed that Maison-Forte of the Baron des Anbiez was in a good state of defence.
The position of this castle was the more important as the little bay it commanded, as well as the Gulf of La Ciotat, offered the only place where vessels could anchor; the rest of the coast presenting a line of unapproachable rocks.
The façade of the Castle des Anbiez which looked north, and the surrounding land, were very picturesque.
Irregular buildings, added to the principal edifice according to the different requirements of successive proprietors, broke the monotony of its lines.
The stables, dog-kennels, sheepfolds, commons, and lodgings for labourers and farmers, formed the enclosure of an immense court, planted with two rows of sycamores. This court was reached by a drawbridge over a wide and deep ditch.
Every evening this bridge was removed, and a heavy door of oak, strongly supported on the inside, put the little colony in safely for the night.
Every window of these buildings opened upon the court, with the exception of a few dormer windows, solidly protected by iron grating, which looked out upon the plain.
Maison-Forte counted about two hundred persons among its dependents, – servants, farmers, labourers, and shepherds.
Among them were sixty men of from thirty to fifty years, accustomed to the use of arms during the civil wars in which the impetuous baron had taken part. Royalist and Catholic, Raimond V. had always mounted his horse when it was necessary to defend the ancient rights and possessions of Provence against governors or their deputies, for the kings of France were not kings of Provence, but counts.
The intendants of justice or presidents of courts, whose office it was to collect the taxes, and to announce to the assembled states the assessment of voluntary gifts which Provence owed to the sovereign, were almost always the first victims of these revolts against royal authority, made with the cry of “Long live the king!”
Under such circumstances Raimond V. was among the first to rebel. In the last rebellion of Cascaveoux, – so named from the word cascavoeu, the Provençal for little bell, which the insurgents fastened to the end of a leather strap, and rang as they cried, “Long live the king,” – none sounded the battle-cry, and shook his bell more violently, or made his dependents shake this signal of revolt, with more enthusiastic ardour than Raimond V.
In that, the baron showed himself the worthy son of his father, Raimond IV., one of the gentlemen most seriously compromised in the rebellion of the Razats, which name originated from the fact that the Provençals had been as spoiled of their possessions as if a razor had been employed. This rebellion broke out under Henry III., in 1578, and was suppressed with great difficulty by Marshal de Retz.
The baron looked with great impatience upon the growth of the power of Cardinal Richelieu, at the expense of the royal authority, and the disappearance of the sovereign beneath the shadow of the prime minister.
Similar movements of resistance manifested themselves in Languedoc and in Provence, in favour of Gaston of Orleans, brother of Louis XIII., whom the royalist faction opposed to the cardinal.
There is no doubt that the baron would never have taken an active part in these intrigues, but for the apprehension caused by the pirates along the coast, but, compelled to concentrate his forces in order to defend his house and estate, he declaimed violently against the cardinal, especially since the latter had given the government of Provence to the Marshal of Vitry.
These important functions had, up to that time, been filled by the Duke of Guise, admiral of the Levant, who, to the great delight of the Provençals, after many obstacles, had replaced the Duke d’Epernon.
“The young lion has devoured the old bear,” said Cæsar of Nostradamus on this subject at the celebration of the nomination of the young Lorraine prince for this important post.
When the Marshal of Vitry was promoted to the position of Governor of Provence, the nobility gave vent to their indignation, because a member of the house of Lorraine was not considered worthy of this dignity, usually reserved for a prince of the blood.
When Louis Gallucio, marquis, was Duke of Vitry, it was remarked that the Cardinal de Retz, without otherwise blaming him for having been one of the murderers of the Marshal of Ancre, said simply of him: “He had little sense, but he was bold to temerity, and the part he had in the murder of the Marshal of Ancre gave him, in the eyes of the world, a certain air of business and execution.” This speech gives us an idea of the times and manners.
The Baron des Anbiez, notwithstanding his fondness for independence and rebellion, was the best and most generous of men.
Adored by the peasants of his domain, and revered by the inhabitants of the little town of La Ciotat, who always found him ready to direct their troops and aid them with all his power to defend themselves from the pirates, he exercised a powerful influence throughout the neighbourhood.
Finally, his vigorous opposition to several orders of the Marshal of Vitry, which seemed to him to aim a blow at the rights of Provence, had been highly and generally approved in the country.
When Stephanette returned to Maison-Forte, the sun was just setting. The first care of the young girl was to go to Mlle. Reine des Anbiez. Reine was accustomed to occupy a chamber situated on the first floor of one of the turrets of the castle.
This room was round in shape, serving her as a cabinet for study, and was furnished with great care and expense.
The baron, loving his daughter to idolatry, had devoted to the interior arrangement of this room a considerable sum. The circular walls were covered with rich Flemish tapestry of deep green, with designs of a darker shade, enwrought with threads of gold.
Among other pieces of furniture was a walnut bookcase, curiously carved in the style of the renaissance, and encrusted with Florentine mosaic. A rich, thick Turkey carpet covered the floor. The spaces separating the beams of the ceiling were of azure blue, studded with arabesques of gold of delicate workmanship.
A silver lamp was suspended from the main girder by a chain of silver. The form of these lamps, still used in some villages of Provence, was very simple. They were made of a square of metal, the edges of which, an inch in height, contained the oil, and formed a sort of beak at each angle from which issued the wicks.
On a table with curved legs placed in the embrasure of the window lay a lute, a theorbo, and some pieces of unfinished tapestry.
Two portraits, one of a woman, the other of a man, in the costume of the reign of Henry III., were placed above this table, and lit up by oblique rays through little windows in leaden frames, which were set in the long and narrow casement.
To supply the want of a chimney a large copper coal-pan, curiously carved, and supported by four massive claws, stood in a corner of the room. It contained a bed of ashes and some embers, upon which were smoking some sprigs of fragrant broom.
Reine des Anbiez wore a dress of heavy brown Tours silk, with a train, and tight waist and sleeves; her cheeks were flushed, and her features expressed not surprise only but fright.
She seized her waiting-woman by the hand, and conducted her to the table, and said to her:
“Look!”
The object to which she called the attention of Stephanette was a little vase of rock crystal.
From its long and slender neck issued an orange-coloured lily, with an azure blue calyx, in which stood pistils of silvery whiteness. This brilliant flower exhaled a delicious odour which resembled the mingled perfume of vanilla, lemon, and jessamine.
“Oh, mademoiselle, what a beautiful flower! Is it a present from the Chevalier de Berrol?”
At the mention of her betrothed’s name, Reine turned pale and red by turns; then, without replying to Stephanette, she took up the vase with a sort of fear, and showed her a beautifully enamelled figure which she had discovered there, and the representation of a white dove with a rose-coloured beak, and extended wings, holding in its purplish bronze feet a branch of olive.
“Our Lady!” screamed Stephanette in fright. “It is the very picture of the enamelled pin that young miscreant robbed you of in the rocks of Ollioules, after he had saved monseigneur’s life.”
“But who brought this vase and flower here?” asked Reine.
“You do not know, mademoiselle?”
Reine turned pale and made a sign in the affirmative. “Holy Virgin, this must be sorcery!” cried Stephanette, setting the vase back on the table as if it had burned her hand.
Reine could scarcely control her emotion, but said to her:
“A little while ago, when I went out to see my father mount his horse, I promenaded until nightfall in the great walk by the drawbridge, and when I returned I found this flower on this table. My first thought, like yours, was that Chevalier de Berrol had sent it or brought it, although such a flower in this season would be a miracle; I asked if the chevalier had arrived at Maison-Forte, and was told he had not; besides, I had the key of this apartment with me.”
“Then, mademoiselle, it must be magic.”
“I do not know what to think. In examining the vase more attentively, I see the enamelled likeness of the pin that – ”
Reine could not say more.
Her face and form betrayed the violent emotion which the memory of that strange day caused her, the day when the foreigner had dared approach his lips to hers.
“We must consult the chaplain or the watchman, mademoiselle,” exclaimed Stephanette.
“No, no, be silent. Do not noise abroad this mystery which frightens me in spite of myself. Let us examine this apartment well; perhaps we may discover something.”
“But this flower, this vase, mademoiselle!”
As a reply, Reine threw the flower in the coal-pan.
It almost seemed that the poor flower turned itself in pain upon the burning coals; the light hissing produced by the water which oozed out from the stem, seemed like plaintive cries.
Soon it was in ashes.
Then Reine opened the window which looked upon the esplanade, and threw out the crystal flagon. It broke with a noise upon the parapet, and its fragments fell into the sea.
At this moment sounded heavy steps, and click of spurs upon the flagstones of the staircase. The hoarse voice of Raimond V. called joyously to his daughter to come and see – that demon of a Mistraon!
“Not a word of this to my father,” said Reine to Stephanette, putting her finger on her lips.
And she descended to meet the good old gentleman.