Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “To come to the point, no, a thousand times no, I am weaker than a child.”

  Stephanette began to run.

  The captain of The Holy Terror to the Moors was obliged to exercise his long, heron-like legs to catch up with her, as he said, with a stifled voice, “Ah, well, come now, diabolical creature that you are, — one must do as you wish, — here I am on my knees, — only stop a moment. Ah, well, yes, I was wrong. Are you satisfied? Is it possible to be so base?” murmured Luquin, in parenthesis; then he said, aloud: “Ah, well, yes, I was wrong to be jealous of — of — But at least stop, will you not? I cannot run after you on my knees. I was wrong, I tell you.”

  Stephanette slackened her gait a little, then stopped still, and said to Luquin, without turning her head:

  “On your knees.”

  “Well, I am; I am on my knees. Fortunately for my dignity as a man, that corner of the wall hides me from the eyes of that old gossip of a majordomo,” said Luquin to himself.

  “Repeat after me.”

  “Yes, but do turn your head, Stephanette, so I can see you; that will give me courage.”

  “Repeat, repeat first; come, say, ‘I was wrong to be jealous of that poor Bohemian.’”

  “Humph! I was wrong to be jealous of — that — humph — of that scoundrel of a Bohemian.”

  “That is not it,— ‘of that poor Bohemian.’”

  “Of that poor Bohemian,” repeated Luquin, with a profound sigh.

  “‘It was a very innocent thing for Stephanette to give him a ribbon.’”

  “It was — humph — it was a very innocent thing for Stephanette — humph!”

  These words seemed to strangle the captain, who coughed violently,— “Humph, humph!”

  “You have a very bad cold, my poor Luquin. Repeat now: ‘It was a very innocent thing for Stephanette to give him a ribbon.’”

  “To give him a ribbon.”

  “Very well; ‘because I have her heart. And all this is only a young girl’s folly, and I know well that she loves nobody but her Luquin,’” said Stephanette, rapidly.

  Then, without giving her betrothed time to rise and repeat these sweet words, Stephanette turned around quickly while he was still on his knees, and gave him a kiss on the forehead, and then disappeared through a passage in the court before the worthy captain, as delighted as surprised, had been able to take a step.

  CHAPTER XVI. THE OVERSEERS OF THE PORT

  AT THE INSTIGATION of Master Isnard, still implacable, for reason of the inhospitable reception given to him by Raimond V., the consul, Talebard-Talebardon, on Saturday evening despatched a clerk to Maison-Forte des Anbiez, for the purpose of informing the baron that he was to appear the next day, Sunday, before the overseers of the port.

  Raimond V. made the trembling clerk sit down to the table and take supper with him, but every time the man of the law opened his mouth to ask the baron to appear before the tribunal, the old gentleman would cry out, “Laramée, pour out some wine for my guest!”

  Then he had the clerk taken back to La Ciotat somewhat intoxicated.

  Interpreting the conduct of the baron according to their own view, Master Isnard and the consul saw in his refusal to answer their summons the most outrageous contempt.

  The next day, which was Sunday, after the mass, at which, notwithstanding his resolution the evening before, the baron did not appear, the consuls and the recorder went through the houses of the principal citizens, exciting public sentiment against Raimond V., who had so openly braved and insulted the privileges of Provençal communities.

  Much artifice, much deceit, and a great deal of persistence on the part of Master Isnard were necessary to make the inhabitants of La Ciotat share his hostility against the lord of Maison-Forte, because the instinct of the multitude is always in sympathy with the rebellion of a lord against a lord more powerful than himself; but on account of recent disputes about fishing privileges, the recorder succeeded in arousing the indignation of the multitude.

  As we have said, it was Sunday morning; after mass the overseers of the port held their sessions in the large town hall, situated near the new harbour. It was a massive, heavy building, constructed of brick, and had many small windows.

  On each side rose the dwellings of the wealthiest citizens.

  The site of the town hall was separated from the port by a narrow little street.

  A noisy crowd of citizens, fishermen, sailors, artisans, and country people were pressing into the yard, and many had already seated themselves at the door of the town hall, so as to be present at the session of the overseers.

  The citizens, instructed by the recorder, circulated in groups among the multitude, and spread the news that Raimond V. despised the rights of the people by refusing to appear before the overseers.

  Master Talebard-Talebardon, one of the consuls, a large man, corpulent and florid, with a shrewd, sly look, wearing his felt hood and official robe, occupied with the recorder the centre of one of these animated groups of which we have spoken, and which was composed of men of all sorts and conditions.

  “Yes, my friends,” said the consul, “Raimond V. treats Christians as he treats the dogs he hunts with. The other day he threatened this respectable Master Isnard whom you see here with his whip after having exposed him to the fury of two of the fiercest bulls from Camargne; it was a miracle that this worthy officer of the admiralty of Toulon escaped the awful peril that threatened his life,” said the consul, with an important air.

  “A real miracle, for which I return thanks to Our Lady of la Garde,” added the recorder, devoutly. “I never saw such furious bulls.”

  “By St Elmo, my patron!” said a sailor, “I would gladly have given my new scarf to have been a witness of that race. I have never seen bull-fights except in Barcelona.”

  “Without taking into account that recorder-toreadors are very rare,” said another sailor.

  Master Isnard, deeply wounded at inspiring so little interest, replied, with a doleful air, “I assure you, my friends, that it is a terrible, a formidable thing to be exposed to an attack from these ferocious animals.”

  “Since you have been pursued by bulls,” asked an honest tailor, “do tell us, M. Recorder, if it is true that angry bulls have the tail curled up, and that they shut their eyes when they strike?”

  Master Talebard-Talebardon shrugged his shoulders, and replied, sternly, to the inquirer:

  “You think then, cut-cloth, that a person amuses himself by looking at a bull’s tail and eyes, when he is charging on him?”

  “That is true, that is true,” replied several assistants. “Certain it is,” continued the consul, wishing to move the crowd to pity the recorder, and irritate it against the baron, “certain it is that this officer of justice and of the king narrowly escaped being a victim to the diabolical wickedness of Raimond V.”

  “Raimond V. destroyed two litters of wolves’ whelps that ravaged our farm, to say nothing of the present he made us of the heads of the wolf and the whelps, which are nailed to our door,” said a peasant, shaking his head.

  “Raimond V. is not a bad master. If the harvest fails, he comes to your aid; he replaced two draught-oxen that I lost through witchcraft.”

  “That is true, when one holds out a hand to the lord of Anbiez, he never draws it back empty,” said an artisan.

  “And at the time of the last descent of the pirates in this place, he and his people bravely fought the miscreants; but for him, I, my wife, and my daughter, would have been carried off by these demons,” said a citizen.

  “And the two sons of the good man Jacbuin were redeemed and brought back from Barbary by good Father Elzear, the brother of Raimond V. But for him they would still have been in chains galling enough to damn their souls,” replied another.

  “And the other brother, the commander, who looks as sombre as his black galley,” said a patron of a merchant vessel, “did he not keep those pagans in awe for more than two months while his galley lay soaked in t
he gulf? Come, a good and noble family is that of Anbiez. After all, this man of law is not one of us,” and pointed to the recorder. “What does it matter to us if he is or is not run through by a bull’s horn?”

  “That is true, that is true; he is not one of us,” repeated several voices.

  “Raimond V. is a good old gentleman who never refuses a pound of powder and a pound of lead to a sailor, to defend his boat,” said a sailor.

  “There is always a good place at the fireside of Maison-Forte, a good glass of Sauve-chrétien wine and a piece of silver for those who go there,” said a beggar.

  “And his daughter! An angel! A perfect Notre Dame for the poor people,” said another.

  “Well, who in the devil denies all that?” cried the consul. “Raimond V. kills wolves because he is fond of the chase. He does not mind a piece of silver or a pound of powder or a glass of wine, because he is rich, very rich; but he does all this to hide his perfidious designs.”

  “What designs?” asked several auditors.

  “The design of ruining our commerce, ravaging our city, in short, doing worse than the pirates, or the Duke d’Eperaon with his Gascons,” said the consul, with a mysterious air.

  All this, which he did not believe, the consul had uttered as an experiment, and the alarming disclosure of some hidden design, exciting the curiosity of the crowd, was at last listened to with attention.

  “Explain that to us, consul,” said all, with one voice.

  “Master Isnard, who is a man of the law, is going to explain this tissue of dark and pernicious schemes,” said Talebard-Talebardon.

  The recorder came forward with an anxious air, raised his eyes to heaven, and said:

  “Your worthy consul, my friends, has told you nothing but what is, unfortunately, too true. We have proofs of it.”

  “Proofs!” repeated several hearers, looking at each other.

  “Give me your attention. The king, our master, and monseigneur the cardinal have only one thought, — the happiness of the French people.”

  “But we are not French, we are quite another thing,” said a Provençal, proud of his nationality. “The king is not our master, he is our count.”

  “You talk finely, my comrade, but listen to me, if you please,” replied the recorder. “The king, our count, not wishing to have his Provençal communities exposed to the despotic power of the nobles and lords, has ordered us to disarm them. His Eminence remembers too well the violences of the Duke d’Epernon, of the lords of Baux, of Noirol, of Traviez, and many others. He desires now to take away from the nobility the power of injuring the people and the peasantry. Thus, for instance, his Eminence wished, — and these sovereign orders will be executed sooner or later, — he wished, I repeat, to remove from Maison-Forte, the castle of Raimond V., the cannon and small pieces of ordnance which guard the entrance of your port, and which can prevent the going out of the smallest fishing-boat.”

  “But which can also prevent the entrance of pirates,” said a sailor.

  “No doubt, my friends, the fire bums or purifies; the arrow kills the friend or the enemy, according to the hand which holds the crossbow. I should not have had any suspicion of Raimond V., if he had not himself unveiled to me his perfidious designs. Let us put aside his cruelty to me. I am happy to be the martyr of our sacred cause.”

  “You are not a martyr, as you are still living,” said the incorrigible sailor.

  “I am living at this moment,” replied the recorder, “but the Lord knows at what price, with what perils, I have bought my life, or what dangers I may still be required to meet. But let us not talk of myself.”

  “No, no, do not talk of yourself, — that does not concern us, — but tell us how you obtained proof of the wicked designs Raimond V. has against our city,” said an inquirer.

  “Nothing more evident, my friends. He has fortified his castle again, and why? To resist the pirates, say some. But never would the pirates dare attack such a fortress, where they would gain nothing but blows. He has made a strong fort in his house, from which the cannon can founder your vessels and destroy your city. Do you know why? In order to tyrannise over you for his profit, and tread Provençal customs under foot with impunity. Wait; let me give you an instance. He has, contrary to all law, established his fishing-nets outside of his legal boundary.”

  “That is true,” said Talebard-Talebardon; “you know he has no right to do it. What injury that does to our fisheries, often our only resource!”

  “That is evident,” answered a few hearers; “the seines of Raimond V. have injured us, especially now when the supply of fish is smaller. But if it is his right?”

  “But it is not his right!” shouted the recorder.

  “We will know to-day, as the suit is to be decided by the overseers of the port,” said an auditor.

  The recorder exchanged a glance of intelligence with the consul, and said:

  “Doubtless the tribunal of overseers is all-powerful to decide the question, but it is exactly on this point that my doubts have arisen. I fear very much that Raimond V. is not willing to refer to this popular tribunal. He is capable of refusing to obey that summons, made, after all, by poor people, on a high and powerful baron—”

  “It is impossible! it is impossible! for it is our special right. The people have their rights, the nobility have theirs. Freedom for all!” cried many voices.

  “I hold Raimond V. to be a good and generous noble,” said another, “but I shall regard him as a traitor if he refuses to recognise our privileges.”

  “No, no, that is impossible,” repeated several voices.

  “He will come—”

  “He is going to appear before the overseers—”

  “God grant it!” said the recorder, exchanging another glance with the consul. “God grant it, my friends; because, if he despises our customs enough to act otherwise, we must think that he put his house in a state of such formidable defence only to brave the laws.”

  “We repeat that what you are saying, recorder, is impossible. Raimond V. cannot deny the authority of the overseers, nor can he deny the authority of the king,” said an auditor.

  “But, first, he denies the authority of the king,” cried Master Isnard, triumphantly; “and, since I must tell you, I believe, even after what your worthy consul has told me, that he will deny, not only the royal power, but the rights of the community also; in a word, that he will positively refuse to appear before the overseers, and that he wishes to keep his seines and nets where they are, to the detriment of the general fishery.”

  A hollow murmur of astonishment and indignation welcomed this news.

  “Speak, speak, consul; is it true?”

  “Raimond V. is too brave a nobleman for that.”

  “If it is true, yet—”

  “They are our rights, after all, and—”

  Such were the various remarks which rapidly crossed each other through the restless crowd.

  The consul and recorder saw themselves surrounded and pressed by a multitude which was becoming angrily impatient.

  Talebard-Talebardon, in collusion with the recorder, had prepared this scene with diabolical cunning.

  The consul replied, hoping to increase the dissatisfaction of the populace:

  “Without being absolutely certain of the refusal of Raimond V., I have every reason to fear it; but the recorder’s clerk, who carried the summons to Maison-Forte yesterday, and who has been obliged to go to Curjol on business, will arrive in a moment, and confirm the news. Our Lady grant that it may not be what I apprehend. Alas! what would become of our communities, if our only right, the only privilege accorded to us poor people, should be snatched away from us?”

  “Snatched away!” repeated the recorder; “it is impossible. The nobility and the clergy have their rights. How dare they rob the people of the last, the only resource they have against the oppression of the powerful!”

  Nothing is more easily moved than the mind of the populace, and especially of
the populace on Mediterranean shores. This crowd, but a moment before controlled by their gratitude to the baron, now forgot almost entirely the important services rendered to them by the family of Anbiez, at the bare suspicion that Raimond V. wished to attack one of the privileges of the community.

  These rumours, circulated among different groups, singularly irritated the minds of the fishermen. The recorder and the consul, thinking the moment had arrived in which they could strike a final blow, ordered one of their attendants to go in quest of the recorder’s clerk, who ought, they said, to have returned from his journey, although, in fact, he had not left La Ciotat.

  At this moment, the five overseers of the port and their syndic, having met after mass under the porch of the church, passed through the crowd to enter the town hall, where they were to hold their solemn audience.

  The new circumstances gave additional interest to their appearance; they were saluted on all sides with numerous bravos, accompanied with the cries:

  “Long live the overseers of the port!”

  “Long live the Provençal communities!”

  “Down with those who attack them!”

  The crowd, now greatly excited, pressed hard upon the steps of the overseers, so as to be present at the session.

  Then the clerk arrived. Although he said much in protest of the interpretation given to his words by the recorder and the consul, those men continued to exclaim with hypocritical lamentations.

  “Ah, well, ah, well, consul,” cried one of the crowd, “is Raimond V. coming? Will he appear before the tribunal?”

  “Alas! my friends,” replied the consul, “do not question me. The worthy recorder has predicted only too well. The tyrannical, imperious, irascible character of the baron has been again made manifest.”

  “How? How?”

  “The clerk was charged yesterday to notify Raimond V. to appear before the tribunal of overseers; he has returned and—”

  “There he is! Ah, — well, come to the point!”

  “Ah!”

  “Ah, well!”

  “Ah, well, he has been overwhelmed with the cruel treatment of Raimond V.”