After all these, the veiled platform moved on majestically. Before it went girls in white, chanting and scattering flowers: the Mayor and his staff marched solemnly on either side, holding the ends of the long streamers which hung from the dais, while the guilds of St. Ives and St. Cosmo formed an imposing escort. Then came the verger of St. Martin’s, strutting like a game-cock, preceding two priests, one long and thin, the other short and fat; and the vicar himself, his hands folded over his portly stomach, singing litanies in his deep bass voice as he walked; or rather giving out a booming note from time to time, while the others did the work.
The general public brought up the rear in a miscellaneous mass, like a flood held back, as it were, by our procession. In this order we advanced through the city gate, straight towards the Count’s Meadows, in the midst of a whirl of golden plane leaves, stripped from the trees by the wind and sent fluttering before us into the sluggish river, on which they drifted like flakes of gold. At the entrance to the Meadows there was a guard of three policemen and a Captain, in command at the château. The latter was a new broom, and being eager to magnify his office, he rolled his eyes and frowned severely at us; but his own men and the citizens understood one another, and they only opposed us for form’s sake. We, on our side, made believe to be offended, and demanded a passage with much noise and profanity, but we had hard work to keep our faces straight, and besides it would have been risky to go on in this way much longer, for Calabre and his men, getting out of hand, began to brandish their big candles about the ears of the police. So the Mayor stepped forward, raised his cap at arm’s length from his head, and cried: “Hats off!” At the word, the veil which hid the statue fell to the ground, and the town bailiffs with loud voices proclaimed: “Place for his Lordship the Duke!” Instantly the tumult ceased, the saints and their followers ranged themselves on both sides of the way, and respectfully presented arms; while the Captain and his satellites, hastily pulling off their hats, stood aside to make way for the platform, on which was perched the Duke in effigy. He wobbled slightly, as his porters bore him along, but by the plumed hat, sword, and wreath of laurels, it was easy to recognize him; and to put the matter beyond doubt, there was a pompous Latin inscription at the base of the dais, proclaiming his dignity to all the world.
The features were perhaps not a perfect likeness, but as we had not had the time to make a new statue we had just taken an old wooden figure, which we found stuck away in the garret of the Town Hall. We did not know who or what it represented, but on the pedestal was the half-effaced name of Balthazar, which we afterward shortened to Balduke. No one cared whether the statue resembled the Duke or not; statues seldom do look like the people that they are supposed to represent; witness those of the saints, or our Lord Himself; but to the eye of faith they are perfectly satisfactory, and as a devout believer sees his god in a log of wood, just so that day we saw our Duke before us.
All obstacles being removed, his Lordship proudly entered his own meadows, and we naturally followed; banners waving, drums beating, trumpets sounding, and the Holy Sacrament as a fitting climax. No loyal subject would have dared to offer any objection, so even the sulky Captain was obliged to choose between stopping the Duke or following him, and he decided to fall into step with us. And now, with victory in sight, we very nearly came to grief at the eleventh hour; for a dispute arose as to who should pass in first, and all considerations due to age or sex were completely forgotten. St. Eloi and St. Nicholas jostled one another, St. Joseph was rude to his mother-in-law: and as we were all somewhat over-excited, the consequences might have been serious. Fortunately I was able to intervene with success; having a foot in every camp. My name is Nicholas, my trade is under the protection of Sts. Joseph and Anne, and the patron of vineyards, St. Vincent, may be called my foster brother, as he and I have sucked at the same breast; so I belong to all the saints, if only they are on my side.
Just then I happened to spy a country cart passing, and who should be lurching along beside it but my friend Gambi? “Comrades!” I cried, “we must not try to get ahead of each other on this glorious day; the greatest among us is here;—after the Duke, of course! so give three cheers for Bacchus!” Whereupon I caught Gambi by the slack of his breeches and threw him up into the cart, where he alighted in a cask of grapes; then seizing the reins, we drove in triumphantly; first Bacchus sitting in his cask, kicking his legs and laughing fit to kill himself; and then all the procession following arm in arm, dancing with joy.
It was delightful to be once more in our dear Meadows; and there we stayed all day, and far into the night, cooking, eating, and playing around the statue of the good Duke.
The place looked like a pigsty the next day; there was not a single blade of grass left, and the print of our feet was stamped deep all over the ground, as a proof of the devotion with which his loyal subjects had feasted their suzerain. He must have been hard to please if he was not satisfied, and we on our part were delighted with the events of the day.
An inquiry was indeed started by the Procurator, who professed to be indignant, and threatened us with dire consequences; but on second thoughts he found it wiser to let the whole thing drop; since no one really wanted to close the door so happily reopened.
This was the method we chose to show that we could be true subjects of the Duke and King, and yet insist on having our own way—for there is no denying that we are a stiff-necked generation—and this being done, the town seemed to pick up its spirits after the trials it had passed through, and we were once more all good friends together. We would wink and slap each other on the back, when we met, and say that people had better let us alone, as the good tricks were not yet all out of the bag: and so in this way the memory of our misfortunes died away and was forgotten.