Merchants of Virtue

by Paul C R Monk

  From the corner of the street lined with elms she saw soldiers on the steps of her sister’s house. Her heart sank, she did not want to bring further distress upon her sister’s household. Despite the discomfort of her load, she turned around, and with her children holding her skirts, she headed back towards her house where she hoped Jacob would have returned by the time she arrived.

  It was not, however, the distance that pained her most. She could take her time, and besides, she felt that the longer she could keep herself and her children from those dreadful soldiers the better. No, it was not her breathlessness nor her aching back that gave her most discomfort, it was the number of remarks directed at her from houses she passed along the way. Folk of the ‘true’ religion, now in the majority and with the tacit connivance of local authorities, openly vented their disapproval of nonconformists.

  Jeanne, her three children now strung along behind her, entered rue Larrazet, a quiet, narrow lane lined with tall houses that bypassed the pomp and procession now in rue Soubirou on the north side of place des Monges. It was a route she used to take in the hottest months of summer when she was younger.

  *

  In an upstairs room halfway up the narrow street, despite the late hour of the day, two young chambermaids were still doing the bedrooms.

  ‘I heard the baron say we are living an historic moment,’ said the new girl from Toulouse while tucking in the bed linen. She had only been with the house since the beginning of summer. She had agreed to go there because of the extra pay for Catholic servants, and perhaps because the baron had a foible for fair hair.

  ‘That may be, Elise, but we’ve still got to change the linen, sweep the floors, and empty the pots,’ said the other chambermaid whose name was Yvette. She was not yet twenty, slightly younger than Elise though more serious-minded under her dark blob of sauerkraut hair.

  ‘I thought we’d never get through all that washing-up. And the mess…’

  ‘After-procession festivities,’ said Yvette, flopping the bolster pillow like a black pudding across the bed. ‘Went on late into the night, you can be sure.’

  ‘The baron was ever so tipsy,’ Elise said coquettishly as she picked up the chamber pot. Moving to the window, she said, ‘I heard him say good times are here to stay.’

  She placed the pot on top of an oak chest of drawers and leaned out of the half-shuttered window. ‘Quick!’ she said turning back to Yvette. ‘Here comes that Delpech woman. Looks like ‘er old man’s gone and dumped her. Poor thing, she’s red as a cardinal. Lovely dress, though.’

  Yvette joined her at the window and said, ‘I don’t pity her at all, nor her sect. They all stick together like shit to a sheet. Huh, think they’re more saintly than the Pope, they do.’

  Elise said, ‘Not anymore they don’t though, do they, ha!’

  ‘Glad they’ve banned it at last,’ said Yvette.

  ‘Took ‘em long enough, didn’t it?’

  ‘But she still won’t convert back, you know,’ said Yvette. ‘Thinks she’s a cut above the rest. Huh, we’ll soon see where her airs and graces get her now.’

  ‘And what of her children? Has she a heart?’

  ‘Her sort only thinks of herself!’

  ‘Huguenot toffs are no different from our lot then,’ said Elise with her characteristic little laugh.

  ‘And they’re the devil incarnate when it comes to affairs. You know Monsieur Boudoin, the odds and sods merchant, who fell on hard times?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Says her husband offered to lend him money, at an exorbitant rate too. So much so that he ended up having to borrow more and more just to pay back the interest.’

  ‘That’s not very Christian-like, is it?’ said Elise. ‘Glad there ain’t no Huguenots in Toulouse, we kicked ‘em all out. If you can’t fit in then ship out, that’s what my gran says!’

  ‘No,’ said Yvette, ‘you can’t fit a square peg into a round hole, can ya?’

  ‘The baron says the bishop has been so patient, and so forgiving.’

  ‘He’s a saintly man,’ said Yvette, ‘bon-vivant but saintly. Yet the likes of her will show him no gratitude. They ought to send her to the nunnery.’

  Elise pushed open the shutter another few inches with one hand and took up the chamber pot with the other. ‘Take that, heretic bitch!’ she yelled out and threw the pot’s contents out of the window. She pulled the shutter flap back with a playful but guilty little giggle.

  ‘Elise, you didn’t!’ said Yvette stepping away from the window.

  ‘I did, right on her bonce too.’

  ‘That’s rotten!’

  ‘No it in’t, it’s patriotic. And don’t look so glum, it’s only a bit of fun. Won’t be able to do it when she turns Catholic, will we!’

  ‘Good shot, though!’ conceded Yvette who suddenly realised that the new girl was capable of anything, and wondered if she had already obliged the baron.

  *

  Jeanne walked on without showing her disgust, thankful that the chamber pot water had splashed her coif not her children.

  She made it back to her house as the church bell struck four o’ clock. But Jacob was not there, and neither were the soldiers. So she now stood outside her own home with no key. She thanked God she had thought to take some pain d'épices which she broke and shared among her children.

  Her condition and her situation touched the heart of a neighbour, Madame Simon, a pious catholic woman of fifty-six. It may have been forbidden to offer shelter to a Huguenot, but she was not about to watch a pregnant woman suffer from the arrogant stupidity of men. She brought her a chair and some fresh lemon juice, which Jeanne accepted with overflowing gratitude. Had she been obliged to stand anymore her legs and back would have given way under the strain.

  *

  Jacob’s venture to file a complaint had not met with greater success than Jeanne’s attempt at finding refuge. De Boufflers, sensing that the wind of change was favourable, had lost no time in giving the order to a unit of troops to embark on another missionary tour of the neighbouring townships and villages. Lieutenant Ducamp and his dragoons were among these men. Now that the capital of the generality had fallen, the marquis was determined to convert the rest of Lower Quercy. And he could not wait to see the King’s face, not to mention that of Madame de Maintenon.

  In the absence of the marquis, Jacob had insisted on seeing the intendant. But de la Berchère refused him an audience. Instead he sent Delpech an order for him to return to his house to greet another dispatch of the King’s soldiers.

  On arriving back home Delpech was astonished to discover his wife desperately fanning herself on a chair, and his children, Lizzie and Paul playing, Lulu sleeping, on the stone threshold of his front door. He deduced the soldiers must have left and taken the key.

  He was contemplating how to break into his own premises when a magistrate appeared with the key and a note from Lieutenant Ducamp.

  As they entered the spacious townhouse even the magistrate was unable to hide his dismay at the disorder. They were met with the scattering of vermin and bottles rolling on floorboards, splashes of wine on every textile, broken glass and scraps of food trodden into the beautifully-woven carpet, grease wiped on the curtains, and not a stick of furniture in the large dining-room other than a two-seater sofa and a solitary crib.

  ‘If you will, sir,’ said Jacob, determined to muffle his emotions, ‘I would ask you to record the state in which you find my property.’

  ‘I am sorry, sir,’ replied the magistrate recovering his mask of stoicism, ‘that is not within my remit.’

  After the civil servant took his leave Jacob opened the note from the lieutenant and read.

  ‘I fear my men were lambs compared to your next guests. You will have been warned. If you love your children, ABJURE!’

  *

  The interval will no doubt be short, thought Jeanne. So she quickly assembled her children in her bedchamber, laid out fresh clothes for them, and did likewise
for herself. While changing her youngest daughter she could not help asking herself why on earth she did not leave the country when she had been offered the chance. But she knew she must not give in to remorse, and besides, at least she was with her husband.

  The sound of the door latch brought her out of her ponderings.

  ‘Paul, where are you going?’ she said to her seven-year old boy who was about to disappear into the corridor.

  ‘To the privy, mama,’ he said, and she waved him on, telling him not to dawdle.

  She refocused her attention on dressing Louise — barely three and already as chatty as a magpie — and tried not to think about the conditions in which she might have to go into labour. Instead, she forced herself to remain confident that God would light their lantern. Be it through feminine intuition or God’s grace, she then turned her mind to preparing a small leather travel bag with the bare necessities.

  *

  Downstairs, the boy trundled through the kitchen toward the courtyard where the new latrine pit was housed. Jacob was dipping a finger into the copper basin of water he had been heating up for Jeanne. It was the first time the boy had seen his father in front of a stove, and he concluded that he looked perfectly odd in a kitchen. But with the house now empty of servants, Jacob had been given no choice. At least it had allowed him time to mull over his harvest plans, which he hoped to send to his overseer in Verlhac.

  He was about to stoke the fire again when a heavy rapping at the front door announced the dreaded new arrivals.

  ‘Come here, my boy,’ he said to Paul. He had grabbed a leather jug which he now only partially filled so it would not be too heavy. With one hand around his son’s shoulder he carried the jug to the foot of the stairs where he handed it to the boy.

  ‘Take it up to your mother quick as you can,’ he said. The boy took the leather jug with both hands. ‘Think you can manage?’

  ‘Yes, papa,’ said Paul.

  Of course he could manage, and he made it his personal mission to deliver it to his mother. He heaved the receptacle up the stairs letting it rest just an instant on every third step.

  The soldiers were now banging on the front door with a hard instrument, probably the butt of a musket.

  ‘Open up, by order of the King!’ yelled a deep voice through the three-inch oak door. Jacob could no longer stall and soon found himself face to face with the soldier who introduced himself as Lieutenant Godefroi Rapier. Despite being a doorstep lower the lieutenant looked square into Jacob’s eyes as he handed him a billet.

  He said: ‘You are Monsieur Delpech, merchant and proprietor of this house?’

  ‘I am,’ said Jacob.

  ‘You are to give full board and lodging to eight soldiers now, and six more this evening,’ said the lieutenant as Jacob perused the billet. Jacob glanced back at the rugged, unshaven face, and the soldier said: ‘Unless you have decided to abjure.’

  ‘I have not,’ said Jacob. ‘I am afraid I shall have to let you in.’

  The soldier pushed his way into the house closely followed by a rabble of men of arms. They were not amused to find the storeroom bare of meat, and the most movable furniture gone.

  ‘Sir,’ said Jacob, ‘the previous soldiers took everything I had, I cannot be made responsible for their pillaging. There is not much left I can give you.’

  At that moment the sound of a jug clunking on the floorboards upstairs alerted the lieutenant.

  ‘Bertrand, Lecoq, go see upstairs!’

  Jacob explained that the noise was only his son taking water to his pregnant wife, but the lieutenant continued as if he had not been interrupted.

  ‘Monsieur Delpech, I am in possession of an inventory of your properties. I do declare that we shall have no choice but to proceed in the sale of the livestock from your farms.’

  *

  Paul was desperately trying to carry the jug with two hands down the long, high-ceilinged corridor toward his parent’s bedroom.

  ‘You boy, stop there!’ ordered the soldier named Bertrand. Paul halted a second, but then carried on, straight as a post and tightening the muscles in his buttocks. He realised, however, that he was not going to make it. And there was something else. He let drop the jug and still kept walking with a stiff gait, tears welling in his eyes.

  ‘Pwah,’ said Lecoq, as he approached the boy. ‘Little tyke’s gone and shit himself!’

  This gave cause for much laughter among the soldiers. Lecoq grabbed the jug and threw the contents at the boy’s lower body where soft poo was running down his leg.

  The banging at the front door had prompted Jeanne to make herself decent. She was passing her robe battante over her bump when she heard the ruckus outside her room. The next instant two soldiers burst in, one holding her son by the scruff of the neck.

  ‘Looks like the lady’s been bitten by a mosquito, Henri,’ said Lecoq, nudging his brother-in-arms who looked sternly at Jeanne and said forcefully, ‘We are requisitioning this room by order of the King. So Lady, take your heretic brats downstairs before we chuck ‘em out the window!’

  ‘Unless you’d care to abjure,’ added Lecoq in a show of civility.

  *

  Scuttling from storeroom to dining-room, Jacob was at pains to accommodate his visitors who wanted feeding at once.

  ‘What will you give us to sell to procure more food?’ demanded Lieutenant Rapier, angry with hunger.

  ‘I told you, I can give you nothing but what is left in the pantry.’

  ‘What, stinking cheese?’ roared the lieutenant. ‘If you’re trying to be funny, I am not laughing! Where d’you keep your money?’

  ‘I have none here, sir.’

  ‘You lie,’ said Rapier who then motioned Jacob to follow him into the study, and to a subordinate he pointed out the bookcase which contained no less than two hundred and sixty-three leather-bound books. From experience he knew Huguenots could be deceitfully devious. ‘Guillaume,’ he blasted, ‘look inside them books, then tear every one of ‘em apart!’

  Jacob protested, there were no hollowed books for hiding coins in his collection, it would be a sacrilege to destroy them.

  ‘The Huguenot has a point, they’re worth more in one piece,’ said the lieutenant. ‘Once you’ve checked them, stack ‘em outside where people can buy ‘em. They’ll fetch enough to keep us in grub and grog till we sell his cattle.’

  Jacob’s protestations fell on deaf ears.

  Rapier went to continue his tour of the premises, but then turned back to Delpech and said: ‘Oh, nearly forgot, given that Monsieur de Molinier, our previous host, abjured, you’ll notice your billet’s been dated to include payment for our time spent at his residence.’

  *

  Monsieur Boudoin had strategically placed his favourite armchair in front of a first-floor window so that he could observe any comings and goings at the big house – a house which he no longer saw as a source of debt anxiety, but as a beacon of hope – in case he had to step in to temper any potentially volatile situation. He had heard of how obnoxious men of war could become on empty stomachs. It is neighbourly help of a kind, he thought to himself, it saved them from physical suffering, and you could not take your possessions with you to the next world, could you? Such was the purport of Monsieur Boudoin’s musings when he saw beautiful leather-bound books being piled up outside the house.

  They did not have to wait there long before Monsieur Boudoin appeared with a ready cash offer, so that the soldiers could fetch some venison and bread and fill their cups with wine. Boudoin was only too glad to be able to help facilitate the cohabitation despite his ground floor storage space seriously running out of room, which was worrying. He would have to rent somewhere to harbour his growing stock of household items and furniture. The soldiers soon became busy with their book delivery task, which, upon Boudoin’s suggestion, was extended to Jacob’s collection of paintings and tapestries.

  Jeanne took advantage of the brief hiatus to clean Paul down in the courtyard. Jacob ha
d managed to retrieve some fresh breeches for the boy. While dressing him, Jeanne whispered to her husband that she could not have her baby in her home now, filled as it was with such callous individuals.

  ‘I am unworthy,’ said Jacob who had taken his youngest daughter from the arms of Elizabeth. He kissed her forehead then turned back to his wife. ‘I am a wretch who cannot even offer protection to his children, nor comfort to his wife in her greatest hour of need.’

  ‘You have done all you can, Jacob,’ said Jeanne, and, preferring to make a joke out of their predicament, she said, ‘I mean, you did heat up the water!’

  Jacob’s face momentarily lost all sign of strain when he said, ‘Yes, it was quite an operation.’ The children half-giggled at the thought of their father in the kitchen.

  On a graver tone Jeanne then said, ‘The truth is, it is not your fault, Jacob. It was I who insisted on coming to town, against your wishes.’

  Jacob said in a lower voice, ‘They are requisitioning the farms and the country house. Where will you go?’

  ‘God will show us a way,’ said Jeanne.

  ‘But you have no means of transport. And how will you get past the soldiers?’

  ‘Keep your faith, Jacob,’ said Jeanne softly. ‘I simply sense it would be dangerous for the children to remain here much longer.’

  It was not like Jeanne to use exaggerated language and Jacob was suddenly struck with horror at the unsaid danger. He wanted them to remain close by him where he could at least try to protect them, with his life if necessary. But then what? However, before they could reach the outcome of their whispered conversation it was rudely curtailed when the lieutenant stepped into the yard and stood before them.

  He said: ‘There’s no place for sprogs and pregnant women in a soldier’s quarters. Your wench and her sprats will have to go!’ He strode on toward the privy at the opposite side of the courtyard.

  ‘But, sir,’ said Jacob almost unable to process the barbaric command. Handing his daughter back to Lizzy, he continued, ‘My wife is on the verge of childbirth. This is her lawful home.’ Rapier halted in his stride and turned back to Jacob who was saying, ‘Is this no longer a state of law where an honest man can live in peace in his own home?’