‘But he said he had a daughter my age,’ said Elizabeth with her head on her mother’s lap. ‘He said she was pretty just like me.’
‘Do as I tell you, children. Never leave my sight. You must promise to God.’
‘Yes, Mother, we promise,’ said Paul.
‘Why is the French soldier so nasty to us?’ said Elizabeth.
‘He is not,’ said Jeanne, realising that he had probably saved her child from a calamity. ‘Now sing with me, children, quietly.’
The children joined her as she softly sang, ‘Call upon me in the day of trouble. I will deliver thee…’
Hurried footsteps on the stairs interrupted their psalm. Jeanne anxiously lent an ear to the sound of someone pacing up the corridor. Her face expressed relief when her husband burst into the room.
After a pause to take in the scene of his family huddled together, he said, ‘The delegation stood firm.’
‘Thank goodness,’ said Jeanne.
By force of habit he strode over to the cot, placed between the bed and the tall wardrobe with carved lozenge panels, where Louise was still sleeping. Then he continued in a more controlled voice, ‘Only one abjured. Tomorrow’s meeting at eight o’clock is open to more of us.’
‘How much longer must we endure?’ said Jeanne in a lower voice. ‘I long to bathe, or at least…’
At that instant the bedroom door was thrust open, the soldier from Paul’s room opposite looked inside. He said in his thick Germanic accent: ‘Abjure, and we leave you in peace!’ Then he withdrew and marched off down the corridor, and down the stairs. This was nothing new, soldiers kept bursting in with the same message.
‘They will not let us rest,’ said Jeanne, ‘I dare not even change…’
Before Jacob could answer there came the ringing of a brass bell from downstairs. Moving to the door, he said, ‘I hope that with more of us present tomorrow we can persuade them that we stand as one, and that will be enough to discourage them in their villainy, and give them every reason to leave us in peace. Bear up a little longer, my dear wife. United, we will stand strong.’
The bell rang again, this time with more urgency. In a perpetual bid to keep his family out of harm’s reach, Jacob hurried back downstairs.
5
24 August 1685
Ducamp’s soldiers kept Jacob up most of the night. And he was a walking wreck when, the next morning, he made his way to the town hall as did one hundred and seventy-nine other coreligionists. Yet, he looked forward to this meeting more than any other he could remember in the annals of Montauban. He was confident it would allow the Protestant city to affirm its identity. He looked forward to getting on with his harvest preparations which he cherished more than ever, as he did having his family around him in the gathering season. He regretted quarrelling with Jeanne over Maître Satur. How right she had been to warn him against making money for money’s sake. It would have been more christianly to use it to work new land, and to employ more people. Lending money, as Calvin stated, was a fine mechanism when put to the good of others, but was plain usury when it was for pure personal profit. And to think he had knowingly turned a blind eye as to its application in Satur’s shipping ventures. He had not wanted to know the details because he knew deep inside that it could well be used to finance not only the purchase and transport of New World produce to Europe, but the transport of slaves to America. For he well knew that a cargo ship could not leave for the Americas with an empty hold. He decided he would pull out of Satur’s moneylending schemes and New World ventures.
Presided by Lefranc, the debate centred on why the people of Montauban had slipped away from the religion of their ancestors. Were their differences not merely the relic of religious upheaval that had swept through northern Europe during the previous century? And yet, that upheaval of long ago had no place in today’s society, had it not? Moreover, were they not each and every one of them Christians? Did they not share the same values? Did they not love their King, country and their children?
Even Delpech could not refute that certain points appeared to tip the balance in favour of a return to the established church. But then, what about the papal artifices, the sacraments, the unchristian worship of artifacts?
It was not until four hours had passed that intendant de la Berchère stood once again before the assembly to conclude with his characteristic gravity.
He said: ‘So, my lords and gentlemen, this morning we have mutually identified that there is not sufficient difference between our religious values for you to remain separated from the fold. With God’s grace and in the name of Christ who died for us all on the cross, we would willingly embrace you back into our spiritual family here now. But, it is for you to decide, your future lies with your conscience. Let me remind you, however, that you will be rewarded if you adhere to our King’s will. On the other hand, if you do not, you will expose yourselves, by your own obstinacy, to the rigours of our soldiers. In which case the winter will be long, I can assure you.’
The Marquis de Boufflers, who had been standing with one foot on his chair, stepped forward. He had ridden back to Montauban the previous evening. He did not want to miss this rendezvous with history. And he did not want history to take a wrong turn. For he knew full well he was not only defending his glorious majesty, he was acting for the good of the nation, of generations to come, and for the sake of future civil peace in France. Had the past not already shown there could only be one religion?
He cleared his throat, and spoke with his characteristic flourish of the hand though his words were no less uncompromising.
‘Indeed, my lords and gentlemen, if you elect not to reciprocate our embrace, and so not desire to side with our King, then you shall not be his friends. And you know what soldiers can be like when lodged at the expense of the enemy.’
The intendant continued: ‘So, I invite you to step forward now and sign the declaration. You will then be led to the bishop’s palace where you will be given absolution, after which you will recover your status and the full rights of your station.’
The intendant’s eyes fleetingly fell upon the respected lawyer and leading member of the assembly, Maître Pierre Satur, standing near the front. After so much heated debate an intense silence now filled the room. Even for the intendant it was a tense moment.
De Boufflers, however, knew from experience that the hush that followed meant that the assembly was collectively bordering on the ledge of their conscience. In other words, they were making up their minds.
At last Maître Satur bowed his head solemnly, then stepped forward. The marquis and the intendant were about to greet him at the register like a friend who had just made it across a ravine on dangerous footbridge, when a voice rose up from amid the assembly. It was Jacob Delpech who, waving his felt hat, called out. ‘Maître, you of all people cannot surely abjure your religion so easily. You are letting down your fellow-townsmen.’
The intendant frowned but it was the marquis who was quickest to react. He said: ‘Sir, is it intolerance that prompts you to place your own choice above Maître Satur’s conscience?’
‘It is common sense and our mutual faith,’ said Jacob, who now found himself standing in a little isle of space in the middle of the assembly. ‘And with all due respect, my lords, would you accept someone who so easily renounces his religion for another? If so, then should you not fear that the same person might forfeit your religion just as easily for that of an infidel aggressor?’
This time it was the intendant, remaining calm and collected in his black satin jerkin, who said: ‘We are neither Turks nor Saracens. Your townsman is as much a Christian as we are.’
Jacob beseeched, ‘Maître Satur, sir, are you decided to betray yourself, your fellows, and God?’
The intendant could hardly believe his ears, the impertinent was going to ruin everything. He was tempted to summon a guard to throw the imbecile out. Thankfully, however, Pierre Satur, in his ill-fitting periwig, at last turned and answered.
That was not so good, thought the intendant. Especially as today was the one hundred and thirteenth anniversary of the Protestant massacres by Catholics. However, putting the finger on some people’s unspoken fear in fact turned out to be a clincher. To Jacob’s dismay other high-ranking members of the assembly stepped forward in support of Satur.
The balance was thus tipped. In twos and threes the Huguenots advanced to sign the declaration and their subsequent conversion. Over one hundred and sixty-three abjurations were registered in one fell swoop.
A coup de grace for Protestant resistance in France. Any remonstrance from the likes of Jacob Delpech was thereon met with scolding stares, disapproving frowns and scathing words borne of a sentiment of guilt and bourgeois clannism.
Lefranc de Lacary declared the session closed. With de Boufflers in high spirits and the intendant suppressing a secret smile at the corners of his mouth, the bureau president led the procession of new Catholics to the episcopal palace.
His Eminence the bishop greeted the converts with solemnity and benevolence befitting such a moment of reunification. He gave them absolution in the chapel, and then wisely sent them home for a lunch respite before the afternoon celebrations.
*
News of the conversions spread even before the bells of Saint Jacques could finish their celebratory chimes. The intendant took pleasure once again in his detached observations and superior knowledge of human nature. As he had predicted, after the conversion of the top business and juridical individuals, there came a surge of abjurations which continued throughout the afternoon and all through the ensuing days.
Bishop Jean-Baptiste-Michel was obliged to recruit extra priests from the countryside to cope with the thousands of abjurations. It could only be an act of God. To prove his devotion and to consolidate the new sheep into the flock, he orchestrated a great procession which meandered through town singing a Te Deum in thanksgiving.
All reformist obstructions having thus been removed, Montauban could breathe again and resume business as before. It was in general a time of relief, and one that came with the perspective of renewed prosperity. Printers could print, journalists could report, solicitors and clerks could return to their offices. The time of persecution had ended that Friday 24th August. Except, that is, for the recalcitrant, as the intendant labelled them. He would now be able to focus on weeding them out.
6
25 August 1685
Monsieur Boudoin, a red-faced, portly man in his late forties, was one Montalbanais who had welcomed the dragonnade. Every day since it began, he had given thanks in prayer for God’s mysterious ways that had brought him out of the clutches of debt and ruin.
He had lost much of his wife’s inheritance investing in slaves for the New World, whose ship had sunk off the coast of Barbados. He had spent many a night bent over worrying how he could avoid the shame of selling his house, and having to take rented accommodation at the age forty-eight.
Was the dragonnade a godsend?
At any rate, he would certainly not miss such windows of opportunity so close to home. He knew he had to get in quick, though; hesitation would only lead to picking up the leftovers. He had been diligently busying himself across town by purchasing Huguenot furniture from soldiers so they could buy victuals. In this way, Monsieur Boudoin also had the moral satisfaction of defusing a potentially explosive situation which could put the Huguenot in mortal danger, for there was nothing more hazardous than lodging angry men of war.
He had nonetheless been shy if not embarrassed about helping his wealthy heretic neighbour – a neighbour who also happened to be one of his creditors. However, with the recent abjurations en masse, those windows of opportunity throughout the town were now closing with surprising rapidity. Nobody would have guessed in a thousand years that catholicisation could be achieved so quickly in the Protestant stronghold. It just went to show what little mettle this generation of Protestant bourgeois was made of. Soldiers were relinquishing their quarters at a horrendous rate, and with a dwindling number of Huguenots, Monsieur Boudoin had no choice but to endeavour to put his scruples to one side with regard to his neighbour, Monsieur Delpech.
Jacob’s pantry had been emptied of food three times by the fifth afternoon of the soldiers’ arrival. To pay for present and future upkeep, Lieutenant Ducamp resolved to sell the dining room suite, four walnut armchairs with matching low table in the latest fashion, an escritoire handed down from Jacob’s grandfather, a fine Venetian cabinet, and a beautiful leather topped ministerial desk. The lieutenant had no idea where to sell the bourgeois junk, and only had a rough idea of what it was worth. Thankfully, Monsieur Boudoin from across the road was at hand with ready cash, which would save Ducamp’s men from having to lug furniture across town to the auction room.
*
When they saw the thick-armed soldiers envisaging how to carry the furniture outside, Monsieur and Madame Delpech voiced their outrage.
‘Sir, you are breaking the law,’ said Jacob to Lieutenant Ducamp who was pulling up his brown leather thigh boot. He had been giving his feet a breather. Jacob continued. ‘If you insist in your endeavours then I shall have no other choice than to inform the authorities!’
‘Not my onions, pal,’ said Ducamp, stamping his heel to the bottom of his boot. He turned and barked another order at his men who were passing the large table through the dining-room door that led to the entrance hall. ‘Easy boys,’ he said, ‘that’s good stuff, we don’t wanna scratch it.’
Didier Ducamp proceeded to carry out his plan as if the owners were of no consequence, a delicious tactic he had picked up in Bearn as part of the strategy to pressure the Huguenots into submission and abjuration. It usually worked wonders, far better than any string of insults, although insults did generally have to come first as a preamble since they set the tone.
Madame Delpech, who had staggered to a seat among her children, was promptly lifted up by her underarms so that the soldier could carry the embroidered armchair outside. Jacob protested, and took his wife’s shaking hand.
Ducamp turned to them and in his deep baritone voice, he said calmly: ‘Abjure. And we will put everything back, and leave you in peace.’
‘Intimidation will not get what you want,’ said Jacob staring back with determination in his eyes.
Jeanne, with new courage, said, ‘What God gives no man can take away.’
Ducamp wondered for a moment if they feigned a lack of common sense. Or were they just being plain arrogant because of his station as a lowly lieutenant? He decided to raise the stakes and told a soldier to fetch the carved oak crib from the master bedchamber. Ducamp knew it was customary to lay infants in the ancestral cot passed down through the ages, and by the looks of it, the one upstairs was no exception.
Jeanne had laid all her children in that crib, and had prepared it for her new baby.
Ducamp looked straight into her eyes, he knew he had every chance of winning an abjuration if he could break the woman.
But she stood her ground with bourgeois dignity. She said, ‘Naked came I out of my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return: the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away.’
Ducamp was again struck in his pride. His game of one-upmanship had done nothing more than lock the Huguenots further into their stubborn defiance.
An hour later most of the furniture was stacked in the street. Before accepting Boudoin’s ludicrous offer, Ducamp decided he would give Delpech and his duchess one last chance.
‘For god’s sake, man,’ he said to Jacob. There was a slight resonance now in the bare dining-room where they stood. ‘Why don’t you just lie, then you can have everythin
g back? You are not signing away your life, you know!’
‘But you see, sir,’ said Jacob, ‘we would be doing precisely that. We would be signing away our values, our faith in God, and His promise of eternal life.’
Ducamp knew now for sure that the man would not be subjugated, it was a waste of time trying, he had seen the obstinate type before in Pau.
Jacob continued, ‘If you go ahead with this travesty of justice, which amounts to nothing less than pillagery, then I shall have to report it to your commander…’
Ducamp shrugged his shoulders, he had heard it all before. He let the Huguenot rattle off his foolish protest while he strode outside where a crowd of onlookers were already admiring the fine furniture. Then he went ahead with the sale.
*
Jacob did not wish to leave Jeanne and their children at the mercy of ruthless hands, so he accompanied them most of the way to Jeanne’s sister’s on foot. Their coach had been rendered unusable, and their servants had fled. Given the ardent appetites of the men who would not have thought twice about taking even old Monique, neither Jacob nor Jeanne could blame the servants for leaving the house. It was, on the contrary, one worry less.
Once past place des Monges, which led on to rue Porte du Moustier where his sister-in-law lived, Jeanne let him head back toward the town hall where he hoped to gain an audience with the Marquis de Boufflers.
The balmy streets were throbbing with bells chiming, drums thumping, processional singing, and most of all, the clopping and clatter of horses and soldiers departing. They were vacating their lodgements and joining their regiment across the river Tarn at their basecamp in Villebourbon.
Jeanne had barely walked ten paces when she came upon a notice freshly pasted to a tree. It announced a fine of 500 livres to anyone found guilty of harbouring persons of the so-called Reformed Religion.
Merchants of Virtue Page 4