Merchants of Virtue

by Paul C R Monk

  ‘Not for you, it ain’t,’ said the lieutenant. ‘This is a Catholic country. You’ve got five minutes, or I’ll kick ‘em out myself – And by the way, you’re coming with me to sell your livestock.’

  Rapier continued to the privy. At the door he turned back and shouted: ‘Where’s your god now, eh? Five minutes!’ Then, after a beat, he added: ‘Unless you abjure!’ before disappearing inside the brick outhouse.

  Jeanne looked at her husband with bravado. ‘At least we are settled,’ she said. Jacob took her in his arms, and they reached for their three children who had huddled around them.

  Feeling inside his jacket, in a whisper Jacob said: ‘Take this, conceal it.’

  Jeanne took the pouch of gold coins he had furtively unhitched from his inner pocket and slipped it inside her dress.

  A few minutes later she felt a twinge of fear and despair as she led her children over the threshold of their home. However, she plucked up the instant she perceived her neighbour who feigned to be engrossed in a book. She would not, for the life of her, let him believe she was beaten.

  *

  Jeanne’s back, hips and pelvis ached continuously, and stabbing pains in her abdomen had her reaching for a wall or a tree. She had walked first to the west side of town to the house of her mother-in-law, the widow of a respected physician. But a neighbour had told her that the old lady had taken her coach with her daughter and had not been seen since.

  She had wended her way back across town avoiding the busiest thoroughfares. In rue Porte du Moustier she laid down a blanket over a stone bench just twenty yards from her sister’s house where troopers were still quartered.

  Paul, in spite of his years, could not bear the indignity and shame of his mother having to give birth in the open street. He still remembered the screams from the birth of the last baby called Jérôme who went to heaven not long after his baptism. When the church bell chimed seven o’clock the boy took up all his courage – which was greater than his recent embarrassment and fear – and ran to his aunt’s house despite his mother calling him back. He hoped the soldiers would be eating and that a servant would come to the door.

  Instead of a servant it turned out to be an old man with cropped grey hair who resembled his kind-hearted uncle Robert.

  ‘Paul, my lad,’ said the man, keeping his voice down. It was obvious to the boy now that this old man was his uncle whom he had never seen without his big hair. And how much older he looked compared to the other day when they were playing at swords in the garden.

  Robert Garrisson needed no explanation. A glance across the street to his left told him everything he needed to know.

  ‘Step inside, my lad,’ he said.

  ‘We have nowhere to go, mother can no longer walk about, and my little sister keeps crying,’ said Paul, stood inside the carriage entrance where a sedan chair was parked.

  Robert made a sign for his nephew to stay put. Then he climbed up the flagstone steps, and disappeared through a first-floor door into a room filled with the tumult of men of war eating, grunting, hollering, drinking, burping and laughing.

  Five minutes later the boy was chumping into a chicken drumstick while telling his aunt Suzanne how they had been told to leave their own house.

  ‘She must come inside, Robert,’ said Suzanne holding a clenched hand to her lips.

  ‘Not yet, my dear, the soldiers here will send her away too, then where will she go?’

  ‘But she cannot have her baby in the street like an animal!’

  ‘God forbid, no. There is only one way, Suzanne, and may God forgive what I am about to do.’ Robert then turned to his nephew. ‘Paul, I want you to tell your mother to endeavour to move further up the street a few houses past our own in that direction,’ he said pointing the way. ‘Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, my uncle,’ said the boy.

  ‘Tell her to wait there until the soldiers have left this house. Your aunt will let her know when you can come inside.’

  *

  It took Jeanne all her strength to move the thirty yards up the street where she was able to place her blanket on a convenient tree stump. There, she prayed to God that her labour pains would not intensify until she had found a refuge. She stroked her son’s hair (his head was on her lap) and rocked her three-year-old daughter who had fallen asleep now that she had been given food and drink from the basket of provisions that Paul had brought from their aunt Suzanne’s.

  At that hour of the day most folk were having their supper; only a handful of passers-by walked the street. Of those who did only a few gave a look of surprise at the sight of a well-clad family huddled there without the father. They mostly went on their way as if nothing was there at all. Others crossed the road grumbling their disgust at the thought that some deserters still dared give resistance to the King and the church of Rome.

  The clock had scarcely struck quarter past eight when the door opened. An officer stepped out of the Garrissons’ house. On his heels came Robert, who was in turn followed by half a dozen red-faced dragoons, some put out at having to leave their comfortable quarters. Robert pointed to his left to detract the officer’s attention away from Jeanne and her children waiting further up the street to the right. The section of soldiers went marching down the road.

  As soon as the last bonneted head turned the corner Suzanne came running out of her house. Jeanne managed to get to her feet on her approach. Then, for the first time since the overt persecution began, she let her emotions get the better of her, and she wept in the arms of her sister.

  *

  ‘I know what Robert has done,’ said Jeanne once within the safety of the house.

  However, for the time being, Suzanne was not open to discussion and focused on getting her sister up the second flight of stairs and into bed. Elizabeth was given instructions to prepare whatever she could find to eat for her siblings. Antoine, the valet, was sent to fetch Madame Gauberte, the midwife.

  ‘Robert has abjured, hasn’t he?’ said Jeanne.

  ‘Do not worry your sweet soul, my dear sister,’ said Suzanne in her characteristic mirthful tone despite her uncharacteristically ruffled appearance. ‘Yes, Robert has abjured, I have not, though. The soldiers have gone, and you, my dear, are safe now.’

  ‘But it is my doing…’

  ‘Nonsense. Robert wants me to tell you that he did it not only so that you could have your baby in appropriate surroundings, but because he is not a young man anymore. He could not have endured the chaos and suffering from the soldiers much longer.’

  ‘But if I had not come…’

  ‘No buts, just listen. He wants you to know that your coming has liberated him. It has given him an honest reason to abjure, at least on paper, though not in his soul. So, my sister, I implore you to rest, you must focus all your strength on the baby and the work at hand. I shall make the preparations.’

  7

  26 and 27 August 1685

  With restrained fervour, de la Berchère said: ‘I shall send a note to Versailles with the news that Montauban is once again a Catholic city.’

  ‘Nine thousand six hundred and ninety conversions,’ said the bishop, sitting back in his leather-padded armchair, thoroughly sated. ‘And not a drop of blood spilled!’

  ‘The method is simply ingenious.’

  ‘A miracle.’

  ‘Yes, quite. A miracle,’ said the intendant. Indeed, it was as though the good Lord had smiled down upon them. He would say just that in his letter to the King. Although, as he then pointed out, it was true that they did have the advantage of an army behind them.

  ‘Guided by the grace of God,’ intoned the bishop, whose prayers had been answered so completely. There could not have been a greater reward for his relentless struggle against heresy, and he inwardly praised the Lord every minute of the day. All his doubts had been dispelled.

  They were sitting either side of the long, polished oak table in the middle of the intendant’s chamber. It might have seemed like they were e
njoying a hearty meal but in fact they were busy totalling the piles of signed abjuration certificates against the number of absolutions performed. This meant tallying the totals given by the country priests who had been assigned to churches, and strategic points throughout the town, to meet the staggering demand.

  Their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. On the intendant’s command the clerk entered. ‘I thought you should know that the Delpech woman is reported to have been taken in by her sister, sir,’ he said servilely. ‘Yet, the sister’s husband, Maître Robert Garrisson, is a newly converted Catholic.’

  ‘Then we shall have to fine Monsieur Garrisson five hundred livres as dictates the law,’ said de la Berchère with a resolute frown. ‘If he insists on putting her up he must be imprisoned and the woman thrown out by force.’

  ‘Yes, my Lord.’ The clerk gave a slow, deliberate bow.

  ‘If I may, my Lord,’ said the bishop. Lifting his hand from its natural resting place on his belly, he propped himself up squarely in his wide armchair and said, ‘It might ignite public feeling if we did not allow her off the streets to have her child. Indeed, I have been led to believe that some of the new Catholics are already regretting their conversion. An incident of this sort could well kindle a feeling of indignation and cause some of them to rebel, or worse, to revert back to their sect.’

  ‘Hmm, you have a point, Monseigneur,’ said the intendant, arching his long, spindly fingers toward his nose in a pose of contemplation. ‘Indeed, my informants tell me that some are already endeavouring to leave the realm.’

  ‘What is more, my Lord, there have been more male than female converts. Women are easily given to their emotions and could rally to her side, which could upset or even reverse the balance.’

  ‘In that case, let her have her baby,’ said the intendant to the clerk. ‘Then do as the law dictates.’

  The clerk bowed once more and left the room.

  *

  Jacob had been relegated to manservant in his own home. He was allowed only to sit in the entrance hall, where every time he closed his eyes a soldier belched out his name, or an insult, followed by a command.

  ‘Jacob, more wine!’

  ‘Jacob, more chicken!’

  ‘Shit-face Jacob, fetch the pisspot!’

  However, it was night time and the tall house had fallen into relative silence. Even his guard had overindulged in the excellent wine, and was at present slouched over, snoring heavily on the wooden bench in the hall beside him.

  Jacob sat there a moment longer, his thoughts with his wife and children, but also with his production and his trade. Should he tell Jeanne that he had invested a large sum of money in Satur’s last venture? That they were without news, that quite likely the ship had sunk with his debtor in it? There again, did it matter now that he was on the verge of losing everything anyway?

  It was two days since his wife and children had been turned out of their own home. Word had reached him that it had pleased God to give Jeanne a refuge. And the previous evening Robert Garrisson had sent him word of the birth of a baby girl.

  All was peaceful, he could even hear mice in the next room rummaging over the venison carcass parts and sleeping bodies of soldiers. At last the time had come for him to slip out.

  Under a crescent moon, he hurried through the empty streets of Montauban to the Garrissons’ house where he found a welcome respite from servitude. He immediately recovered some human warmth, and some of the dignity that the soldiers had been steadily grinding away.

  He lost no time in kissing his children, all four of them, and his wife, before letting her close her weary eyes while he held her hand.

  Before falling deep into slumber in the soft four-poster bed, Jeanne recalled the first birth, how he held her hand until she slept, and how he was still holding it when she awoke two hours later for the feed. She remembered how he marvelled at the endless supply from her breasts, nature’s fountain, she remembered him calling it.

  Tonight, however, his visit would have to be brief. The soldiers might stir at any moment, even though he had taken the precaution of lacing the barrel of his best wine with sweet oil of vitriol, a strong sedative that he had found in the medicine chest inherited from his father.

  ‘A simple signature on a piece of paper will not take away my religion,’ said Robert at the dining-room table, which was lit up by a twelve-candle chandelier. Jacob had noticed the room was missing silverware and candelabras but at least the lawyer had saved his furniture. And his paintings of family members still hung on the four walls above the oak panelling.

  ‘Quite so,’ said Jacob, spreading smooth duck pâté over a crust of bread. ‘But you have abjured all the same. Indeed, with all due respect, Robert, I believe you have made yourself a wealthier man by your simple signature.’

  ‘You could do the same, Jacob,’ said Robert, who sat without eating. ‘Abjure and lie low until the time is right to leave. Or until the King dies, upon my soul!’

  ‘I cannot.’

  ‘A lie to gain time. That is all.’

  ‘I cannot put aside my faith as you put aside your convictions inside a court of law!’

  ‘That is unfair. I have never defended anybody I thought unworthy of a second chance.’

  ‘Well, now I am the one who risks losing everything, while you and Satur sign your abjurations and benefit from the exoneration of this year’s tithe.’

  ‘My signature also means your wife will not give birth in the street, Jacob.’

  ‘And I am eternally grateful, Robert. Perhaps I am being unfair. But if everyone in the country has the same response, there will officially be no more Protestants in France, then I fear the worst.’

  ‘The revocation of the Edict of Nantes, you mean. I am sure that is what the King has intended. In which case you must flee, my dear friend, to a more clement country. And do not be surprised if I join you. Many have already fled to Geneva, Amsterdam, Berlin, and even to London.’

  ‘I doubt my seafaring legs would get me across Lake Geneva let alone the Channel. Nevertheless, it is also my view that we should flee. But the realm is sealed, never mind the city gates…’

  A commotion in the corridor cut their conversation short. Then Suzanne swept into the room.

  ‘Robert, Jacob, soldiers are coming!’

  ‘So be it,’ said Robert, now standing calm but resolute. Being a lawyer, he knew better than anyone the price to pay for harbouring a Huguenot. ‘I will gladly pay the fine.’

  ‘That is not all, if I may, sir,’ said a broad-shouldered man now standing, holding his dented hat in his hands, in the doorway behind Madame Garrisson. His name was Abel Rostan. A few years earlier Robert had defended his innocence upon a salt smuggling charge, so saving him from being sentenced to 5 years on a galley ship. He worked as a caterer, and had been busy with his wife serving the King’s officers in their quarters.

  ‘Do come in, Monsieur Rostan,’ said Robert.

  ‘I am your servitor, sir,’ said Rostan with a bow. ‘I came as soon as I overheard soldiers grumbling about having to go out at this hour. They are coming here to throw Madame Delpech out of your house, sir, and yourself in prison if you refuse.’

  ‘So help me God, is there no reprieve from their monstrosities?’ said Jacob, standing with his fists on the table.

  ‘I thought this would come,’ said Robert, ‘in truth I have been half-expecting it.’

  He thanked Abel Rostan for his presence of mind and let his valet show him out. Turning back to Jacob he said, ‘I have been thinking about it, we must endeavour to send Jeanne to the country.’

  ‘My properties have been requisitioned, down to the smallest farm.’

  ‘Then she and the children must go to Villemade,’ said Suzanne.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Robert, ‘the farmhouse there, barring the milkmaid, has remained vacant since the farmer and his wife fled the country.’ Robert paced to the doorway and called to his valet who was already on the stairs. �
��Antoine, make ready the carriage!’

  ‘I will wake the children,’ said Suzanne who then hurried up the stairs with Jacob behind her.

  *

  Alerted by the disturbance, Jeanne was already sitting up in the high bed as Jacob walked into her room.

  ‘They are coming, aren’t they?’ she said calmly.

  ‘Robert is going to take you where you will be safe,’ he said, taking her hand.

  ‘You must come as well, Jacob.’

  ‘Yes,’ seconded Robert who had walked in behind his brother-in-law. ‘Then as soon as you are fit to travel, you must all leave the country.’

  ‘I cannot go anywhere yet, or they will come looking for me,’ said Jacob. ‘I must return to our house and pray that by doing so you and the children may be left in peace.’

  Before either Jeanne or Robert could protest, there came a banging at the door downstairs.

  ‘There is no time,’ said Suzanne, now standing in the doorway with the three children still sleepy-eyed in their improvised night clothes.

  ‘Jacob, you’d better leave,’ said Robert who then stepped onto the landing, leaned over the parapet of the stairway and called to Antoine to join them.

  Hurriedly, Jacob kissed his wife and embraced his children while the soldiers banged on the door. He was glad he had not troubled Jeanne with the probable failure of his latest venture. It no longer mattered. And in that confused moment it occurred to him that he may never see his family again. Yet the urgency of the situation meant he could not dwell.

  ‘Put the children back in their beds,’ said Robert to his wife, ‘if they are not seen they will not be missed.’ Turning to Jacob, he said, ‘Antoine will show you a back way I used to take as a boy, I will vouch for Jeanne. Go now, my friend, before your soldiers wake and find you gone.’

  An instant later Jacob was leaping behind the valet from a rear window onto the stable roof. In the white light of the moon he then edged along a dividing brick wall to the end where he jumped down into the alley that led to an adjoining street.