The Knight of Malta

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: